#sfe24

When Crosshair first opened his eyes, he didn’t recognize his surroundings. He remembered the escape pod hurtling through the atmosphere of a planet he didn’t recognize, and of course he remembered crashing on the outskirts of a forest and field, but that was about it. By the time he hit the ground his vision had gone blurry, but he remembered the jolting feeling before all his other senses decided to sign off as well. 

Now, the first thing he registered was the wafting smell of something cooking in the next room. It had been so long since he had any kind of food other than stolen Imperial rations, and even then, he could tell that whatever was being made now would be infinitely better than the flavorless slop and rock-hard bricks they used to serve at the bases and send on missions. 

The second thing he noticed was how warm his body was. Spending a seemingly endless amount of time trapped with the same air in that escape pod was completely different than the soft blanket that was currently resting atop his body, and there was no way the Empire would hand out supplies like this to clones, let alone prisoners. Running his hand across the fabric, a small smile curled on his lips.

Maybe he was dead. He couldn’t imagine a version of reality where he would be afforded these comforts, not after what he had done to his family. He had spent so much time in that tiny vessel, chasing down an ice cold trail his brothers left in the endless expanse of the galaxy, maybe that crash had finally put that journey to an unsatisfying end. 

But those thoughts immediately exited his head as he heard someone enter the space, and he turned to see you approaching his resting place. “You’re awake,” you said softly, still at a distance. “That’s good, I was just about to come and change your dressings.” 

In that moment Crosshair realized another thing, that his armor was gone. He was wearing the bottom part of his blacks, but there was a loose tunic of unfamiliar fabric resting over his top half. He shifted as he sat up to face you, and he could feel the tightness of bandages wrapping across his right shoulder and upper area of his chest. 

“Who are you?” he said, and this version of his voice was alien to even him. It was scratchy and hoarse, a product of both the injuries and the fact that he hadn’t spoken aloud in quite some time. He hoped his tone wasn’t accusatory, especially if you had taken care of him while he was unconscious. 

You told him your name as you stepped closer, fresh bandages in your hand. “Your escape pod crashed at the edge of my property and when I found you, I didn’t know how long it would be until you woke up.”

If you woke up. You didn’t say that part, but Crosshair was willing to bet you’d considered it. 

“Is the escape pod still functional?” he asked, his voice coming out sharper than it had before. That thing, cramped (and now busted) as it was, was his ticket off this planet.

You stared at him for a moment before responding. You were so close to him now, one hand reaching out to remove his tunic. “I don’t know. It’ll need some new parts and heavy repairs at the very least, but I might be able to make it fly.” 

Whew. That was at least something he could work with. “Where can I find-” 

At this point you had begun to remove his old bandage dressing, but you stopped as you registered his words, raising your eyebrows. “Woah buddy,” you said. “With your injuries, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. You need to focus on healing, and then we can tackle the task of your ship.” 

He scoffed. Who did you think you were? This was his life, and if he wanted to make terrible decisions he was fully within his right to do that. Besides, the voice in his head he so desperately tried to ignore chimed in, he didn’t deserved to be treated with this kindness. “I need to leave as soon as possible,” he said, his gaze turning steely. 

You returned the expression, gesturing down to the bleeding gash on his chest and burns on his shoulder, which were both thanks to his less-than-graceful landing. “Not in this condition.” 

“It doesn’t matter what condition I’m in, I need to leave.” 

You must have noticed the desperation in his voice, because your tone softened as you began to apply a bacta solution to his shoulder. “Look,” you said. “I don’t know what happened to you, or what you’re looking for beyond this planet, but I do know this. Unless the Empire is seconds behind you, which they aren’t since you’ve been passed out on my couch for over a rotation, leaving hurriedly will do you absolutely no good.” 

“How do you know?” he said, too shocked to elaborate but hoping you understood. 

“Your armor was a pretty dead giveaway,” you said. “And besides, people who aren’t on the run usually let their wounds fully heal.” He was silent, his mind still attempting to figure out exactly what your game was. “I don’t work for the Empire, that’s one thing I can promise. All I want is to help you, but I can’t do that if I’m worried you’re going to bolt the moment I turn my back.”

“Fine,” he said, though it came out more like a growl than he intended. 

A smile crossed your face, clearly happy at the small victory you had won over him. “Excellent,” you said as you finished re-applying his bandages. “And now, since you already know my name, can I ask yours?” 

“Crosshair.” He still wasn’t happy about the current state of things, even though he knew it would be for the best. 

“It’s nice to meet you Crosshair,” you responded, seemingly not bothered by the annoyance in his voice. “Would you like some soup?”  He nodded, and you left the room to fetch it, humming an upbeat tune under your breath as you did so.  

As much as he didn’t really want to admit it, something about you made him want to stay, and the thought was terrifying. 

Over the next few rotations, Crosshair got a glimpse of what it would be like to settle down. Yes, you lived away from others (there wasn’t another home nearby that he could see), but you didn’t do so out of fear, like he would have (and like other clones who defected were forced to). You grew your own produce, sewed your own clothes from fabrics purchased at the local market, and made a life working as a droid and speeder mechanic. In a different life, Crosshair could see himself going about his days in a similar fashion. 

The internal conflict started not long after. The escape pod he had been traveling in turned out to be crushed beyond repair, so you had pulled a decrepit-looking starship from your shed and offered that to him, and he didn’t really have any other options. 

You didn’t let him help because the injuries on his chest were still too fresh, but he made himself useful in other ways as he sat on a chair next to where you were working on the ship.  “Could you toss me the wrench next to you?” 

“The small one or the large one?” 

You poked your head out of the ship’s cockpit. “Small one please.” Crosshair nodded and tossed the tool in your direction. “Thanks!” 

Kriff, he wanted to stay. But he needed to finish what he started, to find his family and at the very least apologize for not listening to them about the Empire. And while you were so kind, could he really ask you to permanently allow him to live here? He doubted you felt the same way about him that he did about you, so those desires would have to remain in his mind for now. 

“Okay, I refitted the hyperdrive and adjusted the control panel in the cockpit,” you said, popping into view and tossing the tools in your hand to the ground with a clatter. “With a new set of converters, she should be able to go as fast as you want her to.” 

“When are you going to let me out of your clutches?” Crosshair asked, leaning back slightly in his chair. 

“Why, you want to escape or something?”  you fired back, raising your eyebrows in his direction as a playful smile crossed your face. “A few rotations probably, once your chest wound closes up more and doesn’t take as much gauze.”

“I don’t want to take up more of your time and resources.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. “It’s been nice to have someone else around here.”

Maker, did he want to stay. 

But he couldn’t. 

In a very Crosshair fashion, he slipped away in the dead of night, the moment his wounds were healed. As much as it hurt not saying goodbye, it would hurt more if your feelings didn’t match his.  

***

On the surface, the man standing at the produce stall didn’t really look like Crosshair (for one, he had a rather striking face tattoo), but you could see resemblance in their mannerisms. Or you were just crazy, because there was no way those two could be connected. At this point, you had accepted that Crosshair was not coming back, and that was the end of things. 

It had stung, to wake up one morning and see him gone, with the cot he slept in perfectly made and a scrawled note on the pillow thanking you for everything you did. Of course you knew he would leave, but you at least expected that you would be around to say goodbye. 

Clearly he didn’t feel the same way about you that you did about him, or this would not have happened. It was stupid, to allow yourself to fall for your temporary houseguest, and you were paying the price for it now. You just didn’t know that paying the price meant you had to be content with seeing ghosts of him at every turn. 

You were looking at the homemade sweets one Twi’lek was selling as you watched as a young girl drag the man with the face tattoo over in your direction. “Hunter, let’s get some candy for everyone back at the ship!” 

You smiled quickly before turning away, they didn’t need you watching their every move. “Do have leftover credits?” 

“Yes, and Crosshair gave me some as well, though I don’t know why.” 

Wait. 

Crosshair? 

Maybe you hadn’t been so incorrect when you noted their facial similarities earlier. 

The man and young girl walked up to the booth, and you couldn’t stop the words from falling out of your mouth. “Excuse me, did I hear you say Crosshair?” 

The man instantly stood up straighter, a threatening gaze on his face. “What’s it to you?” 

But you stood your ground and didn’t back away. “I knew someone by that name,” you said. “I was just wondering if it was the same person, as I’d like to send him a message.” 

At this point, you saw the girl’s eyes widen, and you could hear your name in a quiet voice. The man stopped. “What did you say Omega?” 

“This is the person who helped Crosshair,” she said excitedly. “That must be why he gave me the extra credits when he heard we were coming to this system!”

The man’s face changed instantly, the threatening expression evaporating in a second. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “But usually, people who talk about my brother aren’t exactly happy to see him.”

You laughed and introduced yourself to the two, moving away from the bustling market to talk. “Crosshair told me a lot about his brothers and sister, but he never told me any of your names.” 

The man, who you learned was called Hunter, smiled. “That sounds like Crosshair for sure. He owes you a great deal, for saving his life.” 

“He doesn’t owe me anything,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s just nice to know that he found what he was looking for.”

You didn’t say anything about how he left, not sure what he had told his family. “He should have still waited around to say goodbye though,” Omega said, and Hunter stopped. 

“How do you know about that?” he asked, and you had the same question. 

“I overheard him talking to you and Echo when he first came back and you asked him about his injuries,” she said, before turning her attention back to you. “He really likes you, you know.” 

That was certainly news to you. “He does?” 

Hunter nodded. “The di’kut just didn’t know what to do, and he made the decision he thought he had to.” 

“I wish he would have said something,” you said softly, before you could think twice about it. 

“Crosshair won’t admit it, but he feels the same way,” Hunter said. 

Omega’s voice was bright as her face lit up with a realization. “You should come back with us!”

Immediately, you shook your head. “No, I don’t think that would be such a good idea,” you said. 

“If you’re worried about Crosshair being mad at you, that won’t be an issue,” Hunter said. “But if you’d prefer to move on completely, I understand. We won’t say anything about seeing you here if you don’t want us to.” 

You had to admit, the choice was a difficult one. And despite a knot of worry taking hold in your stomach, you eventually agreed to return to the ship with Hunter and Omega. If all went well, you certainly had enough land and resources for your family to grow by six, and if it didn’t, you could always pretend this day never happened. 

Omega gave you a hug as you nodded, and soon you were walking with the two of them to the rendezvous point, anxiously staring at the sky. What if Hunter and Omega were wrong? Could you handle that embarrassment? 

You wanted to run as a ship descended from the sky, but you stayed rooted in place. As the ramp touched the ground you could see three figures in the doorway, and Omega gleefully shouted across the space. “Hey Crosshair! Look who we ran into at the market!” 

Crosshair’s eyes widened as he registered you standing there, and he pushed past the other two people on the platform to step onto the ground. “We’ll give you two some privacy,” Hunter said, shooing both his brothers and Omega back into the ship. 

“It wasn’t my idea to come back with them,” you said quickly, still unsure if he was unhappy with the current situation or not. 

“I know,” he said. “When I told them how I left, I got a lecture about how I should have said goodbye, and I knew they were right. I need to apologize for that, I didn’t want to take your aid for granted.” 

“Why did you leave?” you asked, your voice quiet. “I didn’t truly imprison you, did I?” 

“It was the opposite actually,” he said, shaking his head. “I liked spending time with you so much that it terrified me, because I didn’t think you felt the same way. It wasn’t fair of me to do that, but I don’t think I would have been able to resist if you asked me to stay.” 

The feeling of worry in your stomach dissipated instantly, and it was replaced with a thunderous herd of butterflies. “Crosshair,” you said kindly, reaching up to softly run your fingertips across his cheek. “I would have never asked that of you, no matter how much I wanted to.”

His hand moved to rest over yours, and the feeling of warmth that overtook your body was honestly a little embarrassing. “I wanted you to ask,” he said. “More than anything. And I thought that these feelings were unimportant, that I could just move past them, but I couldn’t. Eventually it was Hunter who demanded I tell him why I was moping around all the time.” 

You smiled. “Well, you’ve seen my place,” you said. “I’d be happy for you and your family to come live there, if you’d be interested.” 

“Yes, we would be,” he breathed, his hands moving down to rest on your waist. 

Suddenly your faces were much closer than you realized, and your gaze flickered down to his lips. It seemed that Crosshair had the same thought, because he moved even closer. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, the look on his face akin to that of a desperate plea. 

Instead of torturing him any longer, you closed the gap between you two, crashing your lips into his. It was everything you’d dreamed of, the feeling of his hands resting on your waist and his lips against yours for the first time something you would remember for the rest of your days. 

You were so utterly lost in each other that you didn’t hear the ramp of the ship descend again, but the gleeful shouts of Crosshair’s family did pull you two apart. “Shut up,” Crosshair growled at Hunter, whose grin was the widest of them all. 

You smiled, placing a quick peck on his lips. “They’re just happy for you,” you said softly. 

“It’s annoying.” 

You laughed. “Come on, we can always continue this back home.” 

Crosshair’s grip on your waist tightened for a moment. “That better be a promise, mesh’la.” 

You just smiled as you pulled away from him, excited to extend your offer to your new family, whether they knew it yet or not.

- the end -

“Skywalker.” He called into the cave, Anakin already moving to the opening with a confused look. 

“Is that Master Kalen?” Rex muttered from above you and you nodded, not moving your head from his shoulder but straining to listen to what was being said. 

“Master Kalen, what are you doing here?” Anakin asked and the Jedi Master gave him a look of distaste. 

“I have come to lead your battalion, you have been requested back in Coruscant, orders from the Chancellor himself.” 

That had you sitting up, turning to look at Rex with furrowed eyebrows and Rex looked equally as confused. Rex stood up first, holding a hand out to help you up before the two of you made your way over to Anakin and Kalen. 

“I can’t just leave my men! I’m in the middle of a mission!” Anakin protested, taking a step towards Kalen who rolled his eyes at the outburst. 

“You’re more than welcome to take it up with the Chancellor, Skywalker. I am here to relieve you, this mission will be completed.” Kalen told him, his tone cold and almost robotic- actually scrap that you were sure you’d heard more emotion from C3-PO than you had Kalen. 

“Fine,” Anakin relented, turning to see you and Rex behind him. “Master Kalen, this is Rex, he’s my first in command, you won’t find a better Captain.” Anakin said and you watched a small smile twitch at Rex’s lips before he pushed it away and nodded towards Kalen. 

“Come on, Y/N.” Anakin said, gesturing for you to follow him and as glad as you were for the chance to leave the planet, another part of you didn’t want to leave Rex behind.

“Only your presence was requested back in Coruscant, Skywalker. The Padawan can stay with me.” Your eyes widened as Anakin turned to look at you, clearly ready to protest but Kalen cut him off. “The Padawan stays, you should leave.” 

Kalen walked further into the cave leaving you, Rex and Anakin alone with no room to protest. 

“Please don’t leave us with him, Master.” You pleaded and Anakin gave you an amused smile though his eyes flickered over to Kalen wearily. 

“He seems like a real piece of work, I’ll give you that.” Anakin murmured, soft enough not to travel through the cave, before he turned to Rex. “Just stick to the plan, ok? It won’t be easy but you have to get to Obi-Wan.”

“Don’t worry, Sir, we’ve got this.” Rex nodded and you smiled reassuringly at him. 

“I know you do.” Anakin said softly before reaching over and resting his hand on your shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze. “Stay with Rex, alright?”

“That won’t be a problem.” You grinned at him causing Anakin to roll his eyes but there was no heat behind it. He knew you and Rex had something going on, he didn’t know the full extent and quite frankly he didn’t want to know exactly what his Padawan and Captain were getting up to but who was he to put a stop to it? It would be hypocritical of the secretly married Jedi. 

“I’m sure it won’t.” He replied dryly, watching as Rex averted his glance and your grin widened. “I’ll see you soon, stay safe.”

With that Anakin left the cave and you heard the sound of the ship leaving.

“Get ready to move out.” Master Kalen’s voice rang out through the cave and you frowned, turning to Rex who looked at you questioningly. Through the Force you could feel the general confusion from the men as you looked over at the Jedi Master.

“Sir, the men need to rest.” Rex said as he took a step over to Kalen, the Jedi towering over him as he puffed his chest out and gave Rex the same look you would give something you’d trod in.

“I don’t believe I asked for your opinion, CT-7567.” He told Rex and you stared openly at Kalen, watching as Rex’s shoulders tensed up.

You stepped closer to the Jedi Master, mouth already open but Rex put a subtle hand on your back, out of view of Kalen and shook his head. Rumours of Kalen had spread quickly amongst the men since the war had started, it was no secret he was a harsh man and his treatment towards clones was nothing short of cruel, going through his own at a suspicious rate. Rex knew that no amount of arguing was getting through to this man, not from a clone or a padawan.

You glared at the Jedi’s back as the tired men left the safety of the cave and headed back out into the dangerous terrain, the darkness having fully settled causing everyone to struggle to see ahead. The men tried their hardest to stay alert but the exhaustion had gotten to everyone, everyone except Kalen who marched ahead at the front of the group, leaving you and Rex walking behind everyone, shoulders brushing with each step.

“He shouldn’t speak to you like that.” You muttered angrily, missing the way Rex’s lips pulled into a smile despite how much he agreed, it was nice having somebody feel angry for him, it was nice that it was you that was angry for him.

For months you and Rex had gravitated towards each other, both letting yourselves fall into something that could never truly be defined, both knowing that your feelings weren’t allowed and yet both letting it happen anyway. 

Neither of you had spoken about it, whether it was because you were scared speaking about it would shatter everything or just because whatever this was didn’t need speaking about, maybe it was a mixture of both but the two of you were happy, the war had been long and taxing, draining everyone of everything and to find a bright spot in all that darkness, who were either of you to deny yourselves of it?

“Don’t smile.” You glared at Rex when you looked over at him, no real heat in the action as you nudged your shoulder into his drawing a chuckle from the man. 

“He’ll be gone soon,” Rex promised, taking your hand in his and brushing his thumb against your skin in an attempt to soothe you, watching as the motion caused some of the tension to slip away from your body. “It’s just one mission, what could go wrong?”

He regretted the question as soon as he asked it and he regretted it two days later as he led his exhausted battalion into battle, mind completely foggy and his whole body drained, his men in the same state. 

He could see all of them were sloppy, none of them were as alert as they should have been as they went up against a battalion more than triple their size of battle droids. Rex felt his stomach churn as he looked around at the injured and dead men he was entrusted to lead, felt fury within himself as he looked at Kalen who was more than happy to sit back and watch as the clones fought the battle.

Rex was struggling to keep his attention on the battle but he struggled even more to keep track of you. Usually the two of you never strayed far from each other, oftentimes finding yourselves fighting back to back with each other but today the men were stretched too thin so whilst Rex covered one side you were too far away for comfort fighting the other side of the opening where the Separatists had ambushed you.

The battle lasted for hours, those who had managed to come out alive were bloody and beaten, hours before they had thought it was impossible to be more drained than they were but this battle had left them completely devoid of any strength they had left.

Rex let his blaster fall to the floor, leaning against a tree and let his eyes fall shut, his body feeling too heavy to do anything more than just stand there. It had been a long time since they’d had a battle this bad, not since their early days fresh off Kamino. He couldn’t stand the thought of having to go through all of his men, knowing too many had been lost.

The only thing he wanted right now was you. 

Just as he was about to force his tired body to move he heard somebody running against the leaves on the ground, wondering which of his men had managed to find the energy for anything but slumping down in silence.

“Captain!” Echo called, stopping to catch his breath as Rex opened his eyes and saw the man completely pale and his hands shook but it was his eyes that had Rex on alert, they were wide and scared in a way Rex hadn’t seen from Echo.

“Rex,” The man breathed out softly and that was enough for Rex to stand to attention, “it’s Y/N.”

Rex didn’t need to hear anything else, Echo’s tone along with his expression told Rex enough and he felt his heart shatter and speed up at the same time, letting Echo lead the way as he raced to your side, stopping in his tracks when he saw the amount of blood pouring from a wound near your ribs.

“No.” He breathed out, his body moving on autopilot as he lowered himself down next to you.

You forced your eyes to open, smiling tiredly up at Rex as he sat with you, gently pulling you against his chest, his head against yours and his arms wrapping around you as he watched Kix apply more pressure to the wound.

“I’m okay.” You whispered, listening to his watery laugh as all the evidence before him told him that was an obvious lie. 

“Don’t do this to me.” He pleaded softly, silent tears already trailing down his cheeks. “Don’t give up on me.”

“Never giving up on you, Rex.” You murmured, a smile on your face as you leaned your head back to look at him, watching as he forced a shaky smile onto his face. 

“You’ll be okay.” Rex told you, the words meant more for himself than you and he tried desperately to convince himself that this could be fixed, it had to be, Rex couldn’t do this without you.

“You’ll be okay, too.” You whispered back to him, Rex’s face crumbling as he lost composure at your words. “Knowing you, loving you has been the best experience of my life.”

Rex bit back a sob of desperation at your choked out words, watching as you struggled to force them out but you knew if Kix’s couldn’t get the bleeding under control, if Obi-Wan didn’t get here in time, you knew Rex needed something to hold onto after you were gone.

“You are the reason, you are the reason I can find good in the galaxy, you are the good in this galaxy. Don’t lose that.” You coughed and Rex choked on a sob as a small stream of blood trickled down your chin. “You are the reason I know how to love and know how it feels to be loved and I have loved you every day, Rex, I have loved you every day I have known you.”

Rex nodded, tears streaming down his face mirroring yours and he kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger there as he whispered his own words back to you.

“I love you. I love you so much, please don’t do this, Y/N, don’t do this to me.” He begged and pleaded but he knew there was nothing that could be done, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Kix glared down at your wound in defeat, he saw the faces of his men watching with heartbroken expressions as their Captain lost the love of his life, he watched as your eyes drifted closed and didn’t open again.

Rex let his own eyes fall closed, cries of true loss and heartbreak filled the quiet scene and Rex was unable to focus on anything but you in his arms, completely blocking out his surroundings.

He missed as the men around him parted, he missed as Obi-Wan crouched down next to the two of you, gently nudging Kix out of the way as he placed his hand on your wound. He had never been particularly good at Force healing but he called upon the Force and silently begged and pleaded with it to save his Padawan, in title you might have been Anakin’s but everyone knew you were both of theirs, they both trained you, both offered you a shoulder to lean on, both needed you as you needed them.

Rex gasped when he felt a hand on his cheek, eyes flying open to stare at you, colour coming back to your face as you sat up with a wince to face him. His gaze strayed behind you for a moment, watching as Obi-Wan knelt back against his heels and smiled softly at the scene in front of him.

“Cyar’ika,” He breathed out, resting his forehead on yours and watching as you smiled at him with so much love in your eyes. “Thank the stars.”

You laughed softly and cupped his cheek, closing the distance between the two of you and finally kissed him. The kiss was soft and slow but Rex felt more alive than he had ever felt as he pulled you closer, kissing you until the need to breathe was too much.

“Never do that to me again.” Rex ordered and you couldn’t help but laugh again as you kissed him again.

“Yes Captain.” You grinned, watching as Rex fondly rolled his eyes and pulled you against him, mindful of your aching body but needing to hold you, needing to know you were going to be okay and he still had an entire lifetime with you, that you hadn’t been snatched away from him before he even had a chance to tell you that you were his reason too.

----

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The laboratories of the medical frigate Panacea are slow at this time of day—in the late afternoon when most of the blood samples and other tests have already been processed, but the day shift hasn’t yet begun to tidy up. Dr. Sung, the physician who directs it all, is fairly lenient, and the staff often take breaks around this time. Your headphones are currently playing 7920s Alderaanian rock music, a new favorite of your colleague Maven. There have been no accidents or strange occurrences today, which means that you’re entirely unsurprised when an announcement crackles over the ship’s speakers, cutting through your music: the Panacea has a new mission, and you’re to report to your commanding officer to receive your orders. Never a quiet day.

The laboratory staff shuffle lazily into the conference room where you typically meet. It’s a cramped fit, so you end up squished between Maven and Levendy. Maven, like you and most of the other non-clones on board the Panacea, bears the insignia of the Judicial forces, and below that the bars of a first lieutenant—the lowest rank granted to non-clones who join the Republic Navy. Somebody in the Senate decided that a random person signing up for the Judicial forces deserves a higher rank than the vast majority of the military-trained clones.

Everyone knows it’s nonsense.

Levendy wears the plain uniform of a clone medical officer, which also marks him as a first lieutenant, but unlike you and Maven, he earned that rank for his leadership skills. To be quite frank, you’re still not entirely sure what his job title is, but in practice he’s the second-in-command of the laboratory. While Dr. Sung wields her decades of medical expertise, he fine-tunes your operations to military precision. His hair is dyed an impressively saturated dark blue, a fact for which you’re quite grateful. Working on a ship with hundreds of identical men is a challenge even for your detail-oriented eye.

Dr. Sung strides into the room on quick feet. The situation of the 212th and 501st on Christophsis is worse than they thought it would be, she explains. The Panacea is on its way to bolster their medical staff.

There’s nothing special about the mission, for now. You go back to work, and switch your music to something a little calmer.

The sun is nearly kissing the horizon when the Panacea arrives on Christophsis. You watch from a port window as the ship descends through the atmosphere, slow and steady, as medical frigates always are. Smoke drifts from the wreckage strewn about the capital, marring the otherwise breathtaking view; the crystalline towers act as prisms that fragment the rays of the sun, creating a kaleidoscopic effect.

The Panacea has a rhythm, this many months into the war. You’ve already prepared the laboratory as best you can, and in the precious few minutes after the ship lands, you sit quietly. Then, you start to receive samples from Medbay 1—the part of the ship that you would call the emergency department, if it were in a civilian hospital. You process them, test them, and send the results back to the medics and doctors. One tube of blood shows anemia. One urine sample shows an infection. So on, and so forth.

Five hours after your arrival, your comm dings with a reminder.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” you tell Dr. Sung. “I need to check on the bacta starter.”

Dr. Sung hums in acknowledgement, then says, “Take a break, while you’re at it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The bacta starter tanks are kept in what you call “wet storage”, which is effectively a miniature laboratory off of the large supply room down the hall. It’s a short enough walk that it doesn’t inconvenience you, but a long enough walk that you get a mental break when you venture out for supplies. This section of the ship is nearly empty right now, and you go at a leisurely pace, allowing your thoughts to wander just a little. You reach the supply room, type in the code, and open the door.

Immediately, you freeze.

There’s a clone standing at the back wall, clad in white armor that looks to have been hastily wiped down after the battle, dirt still caked into its crevices. It bears the red Cross of Koros on its pauldron—a combat medic, then. His helmet sits at his feet, so you can see the bantha-in-headlights look of surprise on his face as he notices you in the doorway. You glance over him. No blaster. Good. You hate it when the men bring their weapons to the lab.

Although, in this case, you’re not sure why an infantry clone would come to the lab at all.

“What are you in here for?” you ask, as you shut the door behind you and make your way over to the small sink.

“Umm…” says the medic, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his brain, searching for a reasonable excuse. “Five minutes of peace and quiet?”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, and the medic seems to relax at the sound.

“Aren’t we all,” you say. “Well, don’t mind me. I’m just here to check on my little friends.”

“…little friends?”

You gesture to the door that leads to wet storage. “The bacta starter needs to be fed.”

The medic nods and looks back down at the datapad in his hand, so you leave him be and set about your work: measuring out synthsugar and nutripowder; adjusting the pH; gently breaking up the biofilms, so they stay liquid and usable; checking the cell density. Working with bacta is far more complicated than working with normal cultures, and you find it rather fun.

You’re nearly finished when you glance up and find the medic not fidgeting with his datapad, but looking at you with curiosity in his eyes. He glances away when he notices you looking back at him. Interesting. Most clones couldn’t care less about lab work.

You find yourself stealing glances of your own. The clone’s hair is a standard cut on top, but buzzed a little shorter on the side with a zig-zag pattern. After you close up the starter tanks, you walk over to him, stick out your hand, and introduce yourself. He responds not with a handshake, but by gripping your forearm firmly—a common clone greeting.

“Private Kix, 501st Legion, Nimbus Company.”

“Pleased to meet you, Kix.”

“Uhh…you, too.”

That’s another mannerism you’ve noticed among the clones, the awkwardness in the face of the empty pleasantries that Republic society so often employs. It’s kind of endearing.

Kix clears his throat. “Can I ask you a question? About the bacta, that is. I just asked you a question.”

“Of course.”

“What do the labels mean?

You glance back over at the tanks lined up on the counter, neat colored stickers on the sides and lids—Maven insisted that they be arranged in rainbow order.

“Those are starters for different types of bacta. Clone-specific, Humans and Near-Humans, Rodian, Duros and Near-Duros. So on, and so forth.”

“Clones use different types of bacta?”

“Of course. You reserve tanks on the Resolute for General Skywalker and General Kenobi, don’t you?”

Kix tilts his head thoughtfully. “I thought we did that so we always have them available. I didn’t realize the bacta was different. But…we use the same bacta on clones and Jedi in the field?”

“Clone bacta works on Humans in a pinch, but it’s not the best formula for more advanced care. I don’t mean to be rude, but did you never learn this in your training?”

Kix shakes his head. “We learned how to patch up other clones in the field, but everybody else has to wait until you guys get there. Most of our training time was spent on combat skills.”

That makes sense, you suppose, but you never thought about it like that before. None of the clones that you work with are older than ten and a half, which was why the Republic Navy had been so desperate to hire medical and technical personnel—the clones couldn’t possibly have enough experience to run a hospital ship on their own.

“What sort of skills? I’ve heard about medical officer training, but never combat medics.”

“Jetpacks,” Kix says immediately.

“Jetpacks?”

That’s all it takes, apparently, to get him talking, launching with enthusiasm into a story about jetpack training. He’s just begun describing his squadmate crashing into the ceiling when the keypad on the door beeps.

In a flash, Kix darts around a corner, out of sight. You turn on the faucet to wash your hands in a panicked attempt to make yourself look busy.

The door opens. Luckily, it’s just Levendy.

“Was there somebody in here?” he asks, as he starts plucking vacuum tubes out of bins.

“No,” you say, trying to keep your voice nonchalant. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought I heard voices.”

“Maybe from the other room?”

“Hmm. Maybe.”

Levendy only takes a minute to gather what he needs, and is gone. Kix emerges from his hiding place.

“I guess I should go,” he says. “I’m really not supposed to be here. Coric will come after me, at some point.”

You check the time. “Ah, I’m sorry. You came in here for peace and quiet, and I’ve been a chatterbox.”

Kix smiles at you, soft with a hint of smirk. “I don’t think it’s a bad trade to find a clever woman, instead.”

“Oh, you think I’m clever?”

“And pretty.”

Your breath catches a little, not so much from the compliment as from the bluntness with which it was delivered. The curiosity you’ve seen in his eyes for the past half an hour now takes on a new shade of meaning, and you find…you find that you don’t mind it at all. You’ve always found the clones reasonably attractive, you suppose, but none have ever brought a flush to your face before. Your cheeks are burning, now.

Kix glances down at his feet, and you realize that you’ve been quiet for too long.

“So,” you say, keeping your voice light, “there’s an officers’ lounge in the northwest wing. The one with the kitchen?”

“I know it.”

“Meet me there after latemeal?”

Kix tilts his head a little, as if trying to read whatever expression is written on your face. It emphasizes the strong, smooth curve of his jawline, just enough to catch your attention. You wonder if he did it on purpose.

“I’d like that,” he says.

There’s a hint of a smile on his face as he picks up his helmet and shoves it back on his head. You watch him leave, see the way he glances back at you before the door shuts.

You try to ignore the little flutter in your stomach that lingers for the rest of your shift.

Your baking adventure—a plain chocolate cake—is already in the oven when Kix arrives in the kitchen, exactly five minutes after the end of the latemeal period. It’s a distinctly clone habit, the precise arrival time. Nearly all of the Judicial officers on the ship come from civilian hospitals, which are notoriously unpunctual.

Polite greetings are exchanged, flimsy things. Kix wanders the kitchen, prodding curiously at the mess of baking ingredients that you have scattered over the countertops.

“What is this?” he asks, gesturing to one of the plain white cannisters.

“That’s granulated sugar, from Alderaan.”

“Sugar…like for hypoglycemia?”

It takes you a moment to realize that he isn’t joking, and you end up spending the next twenty minutes explaining to him what a dessert is. Eggs and flour, at least, he’s already familiar with, but he’s never even heard of cocoa before. The notion that cake doesn’t really have nutrients in it absolutely flabbergasts him, and you’re equally as flabbergasted by the lack of interesting food on the Resolute—clones, apparently, only earn the privilege of food for taste’s sake when they’re living with people like you. Still, it’s an amiable conversation, light and meandering, the sort you rarely get to have anymore.

At one point, Kix taps on the machine under the countertop. “Is this an autoclave?”

“It’s a dishwasher.”

“So…I was close?”

You burst out laughing, and Kix takes it in good humor, though he rolls his eyes at you a little bit.

“Yes, you were close,” you say.

The kitchen is slowly filled with a sweet, rich aroma. You shut the timer off five seconds before it chimes—it’s an irritating sound—and pull the cake out of the oven. You realize that you’ll need a plate to put it on, once it’s cooled some.

To your dismay, when you open up the cabinets, you find that the large plates have been moved to the top shelf. You can reach them, technically, but it’s a pain to stand on your tiptoes for everything.

Then an idea strikes you.

You turn to face Kix, leaning back a little with your hands braced against the countertop.

“Would you mind grabbing the blue plate for me?”

Kix eyes you for a moment before glancing upwards, seeing the large blue plate on the shelf above your head, clearly noticing that it’s within your reach if you stretch. You’ve given him an easy out.

He doesn’t take it.

Without saying a word, he crosses the small kitchen. His gaze doesn’t leave yours as he reaches up, his face tilted down at you from a precious few inches away. You can feel warmth radiating from his body. There’s a gentle clink as he sets the plate down on the counter, and his hand brushes yours.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“You’re welcome.”

Kix doesn’t move away, nor does he break eye contact, so there’s no mistaking when he glances down at your lips. Once, twice. You tilt your head up a little more, a clear invitation.

His lips meet yours before any other part of him touches you. The kiss is hesitant at first, but you lean into it a little and he responds with warm hands on your hips, then on your back, and then he’s holding you closely enough that you don’t need to be braced against the counter anymore, so you let yourself reach up and card your fingers through his short curls. You gasp a little bit between two kisses, but the reaction is purely physiological—there’s no well of anxiety or surprise or pent-up feelings here.

You make out like teenagers for ten minutes before you remember that there is cake to be eaten. Afterwards, the last kiss he gives you tastes faintly sweet.

That’s the first time. In a world as large as yours, you don’t actually expect there to be a second.

Often, the Panacea functions as a field hospital for whichever legion needs you most. The rest of the time, you serve as an interstellar ambulance of sorts, taking critically wounded men from battleships to Republic medical stations. The ship’s current mission is one of the latter, an easy transfer from the Resolute to the Comfort. There are only a few casualties needing advanced medical care, so you’re docked at the Resolute for less than an hour.

It’s not until later that day that you see a clone sitting in the nearly-empty mess hall, wearing the shade of blue that most of the experienced 501st troopers now sport. There’s a Cross of Koros on his pauldron and a familiar zig-zagged edge to the buzzed sides of his hair, one that you haven’t seen in months, but you haven’t forgotten.

“Kix!” you call out.

Kix turns towards the sound of your voice, and his eyes widen when he sees you. “Hey. It’s been a while.”

“It has. If you don’t mind me asking—why are you here?”

“Commander Tano took a hit during the campaign.”

Oh gods, you think, not the kid.

“She’s fine!” Kix says, almost immediately—your shock must have been written on your face. “They were able to put her straight in bacta. I’m going with her so that a medic she knows is around when she wakes up.”

“Still, I’m sorry. It’s always nerve-wracking when it’s young people.”

Kix shrugs. “I trust the docs. I’m just trying to kill time until sleep cycle.”

His food tray is empty, you notice then. His datapad is open to a diagram of the veins and arteries in the human thigh.

You speak without really thinking:

“When you need a break, I’m thinking of watching the postball game in the officers’ lounge. You’re welcome to join me.”

“Postball?”

You blink. “You’ve never heard of postball?”

 Kix shakes his head.

“It’s the galactic sport. Well, that and podracing, but I’ve never liked podracing. Today is Hosnian versus Brentaal. Hosnian will win, of course, but whatever.”

“Do they always win?”

“Not always, but often enough that cheering for them becomes dull after a while.”

Kix looks down at his datapad, and after a moment of deliberation, shuts it off.

“That sounds fun.”

A standard postball game in the Republic league is one hundred and sixty-five minutes long. You and Kix arrive in the break room twenty-six minutes after the start of the game.

“Did we miss anything?” he asks.

“Sort of, but first third of the game is always boring.”

Then, you begin teaching him the rules. Postball is simple to watch, but devilishly challenging to understand. While anybody can see when a ball goes between two posts, few people actually know how many points it was worth until the commentator announces it. You narrate the game yourself, answering Kix’s myriad of questions.

“So, does everybody watch postball?” Kix asks, around the seventy minute mark.

“Nearly.”

“Where is everyone else, then?”

“In the large rec room, I imagine. That’s where we typically watch the games, if we’re lucky enough not to be working when they happen. The rec room viewings are always horribly loud, though. I wanted some peace and quiet.”

“Peace and quiet…so you invited me?”

You wink at him. “Now we’re even.”

That’s how it goes, until minute one hundred and thirty-one. It’s Brentaal’s play, and they’ve set themselves up quite well, all things considered.

“Now, if Brentaal can score between the fifth and sixth posts, they—”

You trail off as you notice Kix’s face. His eyes are fixed on you, dark brown and unbearably handsome, and a smile quirks at the corner of his mouth. He discarded the top half of his armor when you settled down to watch the game, plastoid stacked neatly on the nearest table, so there’s nothing hiding the way his black undersuit clings to his chest.

“I’m starting to get the feeling you don’t love postball,” you say.

Kix chuckles. “It’s not bad.”

“But you’d rather be doing something else?”

His fingers come up to brush your cheek, and twenty years pass between the first spark of skin on skin and the moment his lips meet yours, warm and languid. He cradles your face in his hands, the rough calluses somehow making it all the more tender. The kiss is slower than the last one was, a touch more intimate. The butterflies you felt those months ago are mellower today, but accompanied by a snake that coils beneath your naval. Kix tilts his head a little more, but lets you deepen the kiss first. You tug him closer, tangling those lovely curls between your fingers. You feel his hand snake around your waist and toy with the hem of your shirt.

Kix breaks away for a brief moment and raises his brow at you in a silent question. You nod. His hands are hot as they slide up beneath your shirt, his mouth a little more insistent when he kisses you again.

You thank your past self for locking the door. Then you turn the postball game off, so the only thing you can hear anymore is his whispers.

Later, you find out that Brentaal scored a winning goal with eight seconds left on the clock. Maven is aghast that you missed it.

“It was the game of the century!” she cries.

But you can’t really bring yourself to care.

“How well can you play sabacc?”

The question catches you off-guard. You’re sitting with Kix on the floor of the officers’ lounge, eating food that you brought from the mess hall and chatting aimlessly. The Panacea is four hours away from Coruscant, on its way to deliver Commander Tano to the Jedi Temple and allow its staff a well-deserved week of leave.

“Well enough that I’ve robbed your brothers blind. I don’t know if you can afford a game with me,” you tease.

“Strip sabacc, then?” Kix suggests, utterly nonchalant.

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you can only hope that it isn’t all that visible. This isn’t a normal way to play sabacc among the men—that much you’re certain of. Clones without money play for the good rations or extra colors of paint.

You clear your throat. “You’re wearing three times as much clothing as I am.”

“If you’re as good as you say, it’s an even playing field.

You can’t resist the challenge. When the game ends, you’ve only removed your left shoe, and Kix is in nothing but the bottom half of his blacks. He displays no false modesty; he leans back on his left hand and runs his right hand through his hair in defeat, and the gesture outlines his musculature in a way that belongs in a painting. Kix is broad-shouldered and well-built, the way that men used to heavy labor are, and you would readily admit that the sight catches your eye like nothing else.

“Stop looking so smug,” he grumbles at you.

“I’m not smug. I’m…admiring the view.”

The blush that rises to his cheeks spreads down past his collarbone. It’s glorious to witness.

When he leaves to accompany Commander Tano to the Temple, he doesn’t say goodbye.

Two months later, the Separatists destroy the water treatment facilities in a major city on Karlinus. Republic forces are hardly impacted, but the civilian population soon falls victim to the widespread contamination, and the Panacea is sent to respond.

The illnesses are varied, and Karlinus is speciologically diverse. With a civilian population, it falls on the Judicial staff to do most of the clinical work. You dust off your phlebotomy skills and your gentlest smile, and you assume the task of taking samples from ill patients.

The first day is long, the work both monotonous and demanding, and you can’t let your unhappiness show on your face when you’re around patients the way you can when you’re alone in the lab. Anxieties swirl in colorful patterns around your head, unheeding of your attempts to placate them. These diseases are curable, you remind yourself. In the eightieth century, with the resources of a Republic hospital ship, these diseases are curable.

Still, by the time you’ve showered and eaten after your shift, you feel like a burned-out motor. 

You’re on your way to your room when a thought strikes you.

It’s a silly thought. Kix is a combat medic. He probably left the ship after he escorted his patients here.

It’s a silly thought…but it’s harmless, right?

Your detour is short, but as you approach the door to the supply room, you start to feel that you need an excuse for this, some reason why you would need to go to laboratory supply after your shift has ended.

But when you open the door, you discover that your foolishness has paid off. Kix is there, standing against the back wall in medbay whites, tapping at a datapad. He smiles when he sees you, and you summon what energy you can to smile back at him. Greetings and pleasantries, though, are the last thing on your mind as you walk to him.

“Are you on duty?” you ask.

“I have a shift in triage in fifty-five minutes.” An odd expression flickers across his face, but you don’t pay it much heed. You run your hand over his shoulder. You’ve never seen him in a proper uniform before, and while you think you prefer the armor, it’s not by a lot.

“So, these are clean?” you ask.

“Yep.”

“Good.”

That’s quite enough talking. Without preamble, you slide a hand behind his neck and gently tug, and he leans in to oblige you. Like a starving man sitting down at a feast, the kiss is mannerless, hands immediately roaming and clutching and tugging at hair. You can’t be sure who starts it, but you end up stepping backwards, waiting for him to press you up against the shelf behind you.

But, in a stroke of extraordinary misfortune (and a flagrant violation of code) the wheels of the shelf are unlocked. It goes rolling, which sends you jolting backwards in a horrifically undignified manner.

Kix catches you. He does not catch the shelf.

There’s a spectacular crash as it hits another set of shelves behind it, sending supplies toppling. You both stand there for a moment, petrified, as if moving an inch will somehow knock the shelf over again.

There’s a beep from the door.

“Hide!” you whisper, just as you did on that first day, and Kix slips into his corner.

Levendy barges into the room a split second later, Maven and two clones hovering over his shoulder.

“What the hell happened?” he exclaims.

You think of a lie almost instantly: “I tripped and tried to catch myself on the shelf. Somebody forgot to put the brakes on.”

Unfortunately, it’s a rather bad lie, because Levendy immediately asks: “What did you trip on?”

“…I’m clumsy sometimes.”

Though he’s the same rank as you and less than half your age, Levendy’s withering stare feels like the worst dressing-down you’ve ever suffered.

He motions the other three away. “You guys can go. I’ll get this cleaned up.”

“No need!” you say. “I can do it myself.”

“Alright. Just make sure you tell me if anything needs to be replaced.”

Levendy lets the door close loudly behind him. You count the seconds: one, two, three, four, five.

“I think you can come out now,” you say.

Kix appears, still wide-eyed. You look at him. He looks at you. Both of you burst out laughing. You laugh until your stomach aches, body flooded with adrenaline and endorphins and sheer relief. Luckily, the shelf debacle didn’t create too much of a mess, and it only takes you a few minutes to restore everything to its rightful place.

You clear your throat. “I guess we should—”

“—keep our hands to ourselves in the supply room?” Kix finishes.

You stand on your tiptoes so that your mouth is near his ear. “My room isn’t far from here, and you have thirty-eight minutes left.”

Kix grins.

It happens again the following week.

…and again, two days after that.

Attention to detail is a non-negotiable skill in the laboratory. The fine shades of yellow and green in a pH test or the detailed edges of colonies on an agar plate can change the entire outcome of a patient’s life.

You find yourself learning to categorize other details, too, as your trysts with Kix turn into a pattern, then into a habit.

Kix keeps the sides of his hair meticulously buzzed. After a while, he starts keeping all of it short, making him all the easier to distinguish in a crowd. The medic symbol on his armor is painted in the more traditional shape, rather than the slightly simplified version used on mass-produced equipment. His smile is a little tilted, one cheek dimpled but not the other. The smell of antiseptic lingers ever so faintly on him until the end of the day, when it’s overridden by the soap that he buys when he’s on leave.

In a world of identical men, you learn to find him over and over again.

The next time you’re planetside with the 501st, the overlap is so brief that you resign yourself to knowing that you won’t see Kix. You’re sitting in a medics’ station, clicking away at a computer console, when he startles you by leaning over the counter.

“Aren’t you supposed to be leaving?” you ask.

“T minus eighteen minutes. Can I borrow some bacta starter?”

“Oh! Of course. It’s in the supply room on…you know where it is.”

Kix winks at you. “I know where it is. Same passcode?”

“Mhm. Take as much as you need.”

Kix opens his mouth to say something, then seems to think better of it as his eyes flit to the side, where another medic is sitting.

“Thank you,” Kix says softly. “And sorry about the late notice.”

Perhaps you’re reading into it too much, but you wonder if that’s his filtered way of apologizing for not being able to spend any time with you.

You hope the affection comes through in your voice when you respond, “It’s no problem.”

(It is absolutely a problem, though.)

“How does an entire tank of bacta starter go missing?” Levendy cries.

“I don’t know,” you say. “I asked everybody.”

The first part is a lie, of course, but the second part is true. You did ask everybody—just to make sure that nobody had seen Kix at the scene of his accidental crime. At least, you presume it was accidental. You did tell him to take as much as he needed, which you’re experienced enough to know means a sample of the starter, and not the entire tank. As a field medic, he didn’t have any way of knowing that; all of the bacta he uses comes pre-packaged, so taking the entire tank would make the most sense to him. But you can’t explain that to Levendy.

“I think that supply room’s haunted,” says Maven.

“I think she’s the one who’s haunted,” Levendy mutters.

You turn away to hide your smile. Haunted, indeed.

Then comes Umbara.

With less than an hour of warning, the Panacea goes from restocking at a medical station to racing across the sector. The planet looks grim even from space, and the surface is worse, a land of endless twilight. You’re not the only medical frigate to arrive. A large field hospital is erected in the capital city. 

Dr. Sung has the honor of explaining to the laboratory staff what sort of misery you’re preparing for, and she doesn’t cushion the blow:

“General Pong Krell is dead. He told the 501st that the enemy would be wearing clone armor as a disguise. He told the 212th the same thing. They slaughtered each other.”

The fear that seizes you is cold and burning and nauseous and visceral. You shove it down, down, down, and concentrate on the words reaching your ears.

“Casualties are high and they’ll be coming in for at least a day as search and rescue finds them in the jungle. The 501st captain reports mostly blaster wounds, but there are also a lot of injuries from the flora and fauna. Pretty much everything here is poisonous, venomous, or both.”

Dr. Sung turns to you. “I’m putting you in charge of taking samples. You have the most experience.”

You nod, not trusting your voice just yet.

The rest of Dr. Sung’s instructions only barely register, skipping over your conscious mind to be filed away somewhere. You approach her when she’s finished.

“Doctor?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Is there a casualty list, yet?”

“Only about a sixth of the men are accounted for, but I’ll send you the tally.”

Dr. Sung opens up her datapad, drops a file in your inbox, and asks no questions.

It’s a list of every man stationed on Umbara and the last time and place at which they were accounted for.

CT-6116, CT-6116, CT-6116…

There he is.

CT-6116: Basecamp 5C.

The timestamp is from twenty minutes ago. You let out a shaky sigh of relief, and allow yourself a few seconds of grace before you start to gather your supplies.

Medbay 1 is an exercise in organized chaos. Dr. Fiaroli is directing triage, sending the men who are severely injured but not actively dying to be kept in one of the large temporary medical buildings. That’s where he sends you, to take samples from the men who’ve been affected by venom. Umbara is an ecologically diverse world, and a perilous one. Without knowing what sort of toxins they’re dealing with, the doctors can’t do anything for these men.

So you make your way through the rows of stretchers, a tiny assistant droid floating behind you. The GAR learned long ago that injured sentients, even clones, respond better to living beings than they do to droids alone. You take the samples yourself, drawing blood and swabbing wounds, and the droid scans the identifying barcode on the inside of each clone’s wrist so that it can label the tubes.

One of the medics points you to a clone a few rows over.

“He was attacked by a fucking tree,” says the medic.

There’s a bitterness in his voice that you know isn’t directed at you, and you understand it. You’ve already seen four victims of the carnivorous plants. It’s like something out of a horror novel.

You make your way to the man between the rows of stretchers, and you realize that his left hand and forearm are wrapped up in statis bandages, the sort that keep a wound stable until it can be operated on, but don’t heal it the way that bacta does. His identifier isn’t visible. From the way blood has begun to soak the bandages, you doubt it’s even still intact.

“What’s your designation, soldier?” you ask.

The man isn’t lucid enough to respond. Hopefully it’s because somebody gave him a very strong hypospray, and not because of the venom.

“We have names, you know,” says a derisive voice from behind you.

You turn to see a man in 501st blue lying on a stretcher, his leg shot clean through with a blaster. He’s scowling at you.

“I know,” you say, “but your real names aren’t attached to your medical records.”

The man harrumphs, then turns to the clone on his other side and says, “Hey, Finnick!”

“What?” comes a voice.

The 501st trooper jerks a thumb towards your patient. “What’s his designation?”

The man called Finnick, wearing 212th orange, lifts a bandaged head to peer over. “That’s Trapper. I don’t know his number, though.”

“His name will be enough, for now,” you say.

The man in blue nods approvingly.

You pull a pen from one of your endless pockets and carefully label the tube with TRPR, which should be enough of a distinguisher to prevent any mix-ups. With steady hands and a trembling heart, you peel back a tiny bit of the bandage and swab the wound.

Trapper groans weakly.

“You’re going to be okay,” you whisper.

Then, you move onto the next soldier.

The entire staff of the Panacea ends up working for at least ten hours straight. You’re lucky that Dr. Sung dismisses you after thirteen, and you make your way to the breakroom to eat a snack before you go to sleep.

You can’t remember how you got here, but you end up dozing on the couch, ration bar crumbs on your shirt. Two soft knocks rouse you. You stumble over and open the door, expecting Maven, who occasionally tracks you down when you fall asleep in odd places.

It’s not Maven. It’s Kix. Dried blood, dirt, and debris are caked in the crevices of his armor, which you don’t think has been taken off for at least a few days. His helmet is missing. Deep shadows are pressed beneath his eyes, and his skin has that two-weeks-unwashed look that the men get after long campaigns, and something you can only describe as misery outlines his expression.

“Kix, I heard what happened, I’m so—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, softly.

You’ve never heard his voice break like that before.

Kix lets his gaze wander to something behind you and leaves it there, staring past as if meeting your eyes will cut deeper than he wants it to. No talking, then. You can’t imagine he’s here for the sex, either. That burning, needful look that you’ve grown used to is entirely absent, and even if it were there…this is not the sort of stress that one can vent through filthy whispers. His gaze is diverted from you, but not distant, you think, and you wonder if he even knows what he came here for. There’s only one thing you can think of that would help.

“Do you want to use my shower?”

Kix looks down at himself, as if he hadn’t yet noticed the battlefield still coating his armor.

“Yeah. That would be good.”

You gesture down the hall. Kix is clearly unharmed and steady on his feet, but you find yourself leading him up a level to your room with a hand hovering behind his back, the way the medics do when they’re walking with injured soldiers. Nobody is in the corridors.

You arrive in your room, and close the door behind you.

“Give me your armor, first.”

This is something that you can’t help with. Kix has always been fastidious about his armor, never letting you fiddle with the clasps like you’ve wanted to. You watch him closely as he undoes the straps, his hands steady even though his breath trembles. You take each piece from him and set them on your desk.

“There’re clean towels under the sink,” you say.

Kix nods and disappears into the bathroom.

You take a moment, standing in the center of your room with your arms crossed over your chest, staring at the white plastoid and its chipped blue paint and light carbon scoring across the thigh and blood and soil and gods only know what else. There’s probably a standard cleaning solution for it somewhere on the ship, and you need to find clean clothes for Kix to sleep in, anyway. It feels wrong to leave him like this, but you slip out and make your way to the barracks.

Levendy finds you as you’re rummaging through a closet.

“Hey,” he says, and you nearly jump out of your skin. “What do you need those for?”

“These?” you say, holding up the shirt and pants you’ve stolen. “I sleep in them. They’re comfortable.”

(Later, you’ll wonder when you became so smooth a liar.)

“Really? I’d have thought that you civvies would have nicer clothes than us.”

“Yours are lighter. I run hot.”

Levendy hums thoughtfully. “So do clones. Well, help yourself, I don’t care.”

You nod in thanks and scoot around him, snagging socks and underpants behind his back as you pass.

After finding armor cleaning solution in a different closet—thank the stars for the naval habit of clearly labeling everything—you return to your room and sit down at your desk to work on the armor. No sounds can be heard from the bathroom, and you don’t know if Kix took a very fast shower, or if he hasn’t started yet. You’re halfway through scrubbing at his cuirass when you hear the sounds of shuddering pipes and spraying water. That answers that question.

You let ten minutes pass before knocking twice on the door, cracking it open, and hanging the clothes on a hook. Light steam wafts out. That’s your hot water ration gone for the next day. It doesn’t bother you. You shut the door and go back to scrubbing grime off of plastoid.

You hear the water shut off about thirty seconds later, but Kix doesn’t emerge. You finish cleaning the armor and arrange it on the desk, then sit on your bed to check your comm. Fifteen minutes later, he opens the door, wearing both the pants and the shirt—a rarity, in your bedroom.

The next few moments are like a stone sinking to the bottom of a pond.

“Thank you for that,” he says, finally. There’s a smile on his face, delicate but not insincere.

“You’re welcome.”

You tap the spot next to you on the bed, and Kix comes over to sit on the very edge of it. He’s leaned over a little, his hands braced against the frame that surrounds the mattress. For a moment, you wonder if he’s feeling sick. Then he sits on the floor instead, back against the bedframe. You slide down next to him.

Slowly, as if he were a skittish bird who might fly away, you set your hand palm-up on his thigh. The seconds pass more sluggishly than they usually do, and you’re about to retreat when he takes your hand in his.

“God, your hands are cold,” he murmurs.

“My hands have always been cold.”

Kix rubs circles with his thumb into the center of your palm, measured and deliberate. You don’t know how much time passes, nor do you really care, as the muscles in his body slacken one by one. Eventually, you slide a little closer to him and rest your head on his shoulder.

It’s a strange feeling: this docile, innocuous intimacy. Neither of you speak. Occasionally Kix picks at his skin, as if trying to scratch away the ghost of his brothers’ blood. At some point, he taps your knee to get your attention and motions to the bed. You end up laying between him and the wall, and he holds you close with your head tucked under his chin, as if protecting you from the monsters that you never saw.

When you wake, your bed is empty and your desk is clear. You check your comm.

The 501st is shipping out, again.

The next time you see him, it’s in space, for a transfer of men injured in the 501st’s most recent battle. The Panacea is flying side-along with the Resolute to your next campaign, taking advantage of the Venator-class hyperdrive. 

You don’t talk about Umbara. You don’t talk about anything, really, except card games and postball, which Kix is now overly invested in, to your delight.

You’re both lying half-awake in your bunk in the early morning, Kix facing the wall with your arm slung around him and your face against his neck. Your comm buzzes. It’s Levendy.

> did the laboratory supply ghost migrate to your room?

You read the message twice, then three times before it clicks, and your face burns with embarrassment.

Well…it’s Levendy. He was bound to find out eventually.

> Possibly.

> okay, I’ll tell his captain he’s with me

> Thanks. I owe you one.

> no you don’t :)

Kix picks that moment to roll over sleepily, probably wondering why you pulled away from him.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

In lieu of an answer, you hand him your comm, and he reads it with a look of bewilderment on his face.

“‘Laboratory supply ghost’?”

“That’s you.”

Kix hums thoughtfully. “That’s not the worst thing I’ve been called.”

With that, he rolls back over, and falls asleep.

You’re both sitting in your room in your underclothes, eating some sort of overly sweet flatcake that Maven made, when Kix says:

“You know the weird stuff that ghosts leave behind? We read about it in children’s stories on Kamino.”

You take a moment to swallow your food before you respond. “You mean ectoplasm?”

“Yeah. Do you think you could make it in the lab?”

Questions tumble through your mind—namely, “Did you think ectoplasm was actually real?”—before you notice the shit-eating grin on his face, and you suddenly understand.

You kiss him on the mouth and clap him on the shoulder, in that order.

“I love the way you think.”

The ectoplasm is the easy part of the plan, mostly agar with a splash of a “non-toxic” fluorescent dye that should nevertheless probably not be used for this purpose. The difficult part is rigging the lights to flicker—Kix has to recruit Jesse to help with that, one of his squadmates that you’ve heard about but never met. Kix doesn’t tell Jesse who you are, but you think he knows anyway. Then, you have to bait Levendy to come to the supply room at the right moment, alone, and at a time of day when other people won’t be around.

“What if he doesn’t realize what it is?” you ask anxiously, staring at your beautiful blob of spooky goop on the counter. Only a few minutes remain before your plan has to be set in motion.

“Hmm. Well, I think our artistry deserves a signature. That should do it.”

Kix pulls a pen and a scrap of flimsiplast from his pocket, which looks to be a note to remind him to fix the hem of his pantleg, and writes on the back:

Respectfully,

Your local ghost.

You steal the pen and add a little heart, for good measure.

Kix checks to make sure everything is in place, and then tugs you by the hand out of the supply room and down to a nearby medics’ station, where you can wait without looking suspicious. It doesn’t take long.

Levendy’s laughter reaches you clear as day down the hall.

War is hell. You knew that when you enlisted. What you didn’t understand was how many different sorts of hell there are in the galaxy, and you think that the Battle of Sarrish is the worst one.

There’s no visceral horror like there was on Umbara, no evitable tragedy. Sarrish is a sunny world covered in wide plains and plateaus, with few trees to shade the men as they march against the endless sea of droids. Clones thrive in situations where brains triumph over brawn, where tactics and subterfuge are the masters of the game. This is not one of those situations. Sheer numbers carry the Separatists to the brink of victory before reinforcements arrive to bolster the Republic forces, and even then, the cost in lives is not worth what the Republic gained.

There’s another thing, too, that sets Sarrish apart from the many other battles that the Panacea has seen. You arrived on the planet along with the star destroyers, in anticipation of heavy losses, rather than coming to the rescue after everything went sideways. The casualties trickle in endlessly for days and nights and days. Nearly all of them are traumas, so there’s not much for you to do except keep up with the endless demand for bacta.

It’s during one of the lulls in your work that Dr. Sung comes to you with a request: Dr. Fiaroli hasn’t answered his comm in ten minutes, and the metabolic panel of one of his patients is—in Dr. Sung’s words—absolutely fucked.

“Would you run it down to Medbay 1?” she asks.

“Of course.”

You find Dr. Fiaroli quickly, doing a neurological exam on a clone who looks to have been hit in the head.

“Sir? The lab results for CT-09-87-2746 were very abnormal.”

“The one with delirium?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Give the datapad to Sergeant Angel in room 67C. He’s the medic with the stupid hair.”

You find room 67C. In the bed is a clone who seems to be fitfully dozing, and next to him stands a clone medic with bright red hair shaved in a complicated pattern that you’re almost certain is meant to look like hemoglobin. You would not call it stupid, but it certainly is…unique.

“Hi. I have his labs.”

“Oh, thank the stars!” Angel exclaims. “Or, actually, thank you, and thank whoever else is in the lab right now. Thanks. This is all I needed.”

On your way back to the lab, Dr. Fiaroli’s voice calls out, “Lieutenant!”

You turn to see him standing over an unconscious soldier in a stretcher, pressing gauze into a bleeding abdominal wound. A medic is putting an IV in the clone’s arm, and a nurse is simultaneously handing gauze to the doctor and trying to keep the clone calm.

“Yes?”

“Glove up and put pressure on this.”

“Sir, I’m a scientist, not a—”

“Who cares? You have two hands and a brain.”

In all likelihood, this is one of the few orders you’ve been given that you could disobey without serious consequences. Dr. Sung is your commanding officer, not Fiaroli, and she would never ask you to do work that you’re not comfortable with. You can say no. You can go back to the lab.

You snag a pair of gloves from the box on a nearby door caddy, and do what you’re told.

It’s only when a surgeon comes to take the clone to an operating room that you have time to comm Dr. Sung and tell her where you are.

“Does Fiaroli still have a use for you?”

Dr. Fiaroli is at a sink, scrubbing his hands with a particular viciousness.

“Sir…do you still need me?”

“We can take all the help we can get.”

You raise the comm back up to your face. “He says—”

“I heard. He can keep you, if you’re okay with it.”

So, that’s that. Dr. Fiaroli has you assist him with another patient before passing you off to one of the nurses who could use a hand. People bark orders to you and give no explanations, and you follow them without complaint. The work is simple: slide a patient from stretcher to bed; fetch more petroleum gauze; open packages so that the medic’s hands remain sterile. You’re tugged to and fro, barely given time to breathe—which also means that you don’t have time to drown in your fear.

The hours stretch out. After restocking all of the carts with packs of fresh bacta, you find yourself in a medics’ station, taking a minute to sit and chug three cups of water. You vaguely register that a clone has come up on your left to root around a cabinet, but you pay him little heed. Then the man says your name with a shocking amount of familiarity, a warmth that you only ever hear from—

“Kix?”

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Working, I suppose.”

“In Medbay 1?”

“Desperate times, desperate measures.”

“I didn’t think we were that desperate.”

The comment stings. “I do see patients to get samples, you know. I’m not shiny.”

Kix turns from the cabinet to look at you. His brow is knit in an expression you can’t quite interpret.

“I know,” he says. “You shouldn’t have to be here, that’s all. But as long as you are, I could use help with Tup.”

Tup, apparently, is a long-haired 501st infantryman who took a chunk of shrapnel to the unprotected flesh above his elbow. Kix leans over with a pair of shears to cut away the black undersuit clinging to the wound.

“What’s the damage?” Tup asks.

“I’m not sure how bad it is, yet, but I am sure it’s something that can be repaired. You’ll be just fine.”

Kix holds out his empty hand towards you, still facing Tup. You hand him the tweezers, and he looks back, confused.

“Gotta clean it, first,” he says.

Oh, right. You take the tweezers and hand him the antiseptic solution and sterile gauze, instead. 

“Thank you,” he says, softly.

Tup grits his teeth through the disinfecting process. As Kix pokes around the wound, Tup turns his face towards you with curiosity.

“Do you work in the lab?”

“Usually, yes. You might have seen me taking blood from the men, though.”

Tup opens his mouth to say something, but it turns into a sharp gasp when Kix pulls the shrapnel out of his arm.

“Warn a man, will ya?”

“Sorry,” says Kix, and he really does sound sorry. “You always flinch when someone warns you, and that causes more damage.”

You watch as Kix digs through the wound a little bit to check for leftover bits, while Tup glares at the ceiling like it’s offended him. Still, Tup doesn’t really seem annoyed with Kix. 

“I think I’m good with my two hands, for now,” Kix tells you.

The comment is so open-ended, you can’t figure out whether it’s a dismissal or not.

“I’m sure Fiaroli could use your help,” he adds.

That’s definitely a dismissal.

“I’ll go find him. Let me know if there’s anything you need?”

“Will do.”

Kix’s face is a little sorrowful as you go to leave, to find somewhere else to be useful. You want to kiss it off of him, assure him that it’s all fine.

“Nice to meet you, Lieutenant,” says Tup.

“You as well.”

You realize, after the fact, that you never actually introduced yourself to him.

After Medbay 1 calms down enough that they let you go, you end up back in the lab for another hour, music blasting in your headphones to distract you. You’ve just finished loading a set of streak plates into the incubator when you feel a tap on your shoulder—Dr. Sung.

“Lieutenant,” she says, “take a break.”

“For how long?” you ask.

“Let me rephrase: you’re off-duty for the next twelve hours.”

A part of you itches to argue with her, to beg for more work to keep your hands busy and your thoughts bloodless, but you know it would be futile. Your body is on autopilot as you leave the lab, go to your room, and strip out of your scrubs. As you ball them up to throw in your laundry basket, something in the corner of your eye yanks you from your mental haze, and you hold your clothes up to the bright overhead light. Flecks of blood are scattered along the hem of your shirt and the upper thigh of your pant leg. You didn’t notice that, earlier.

Well, it’s nothing that the medics and nurses and doctors haven’t dealt with before. Maybe you were the last being on the ship to have experienced it. The thought spins around your mind, lazy but stubborn, as you shower, dress, and venture out to find food.

You’re not in the mood for the noise of the mess hall, so you head for the kitchen. To get there, you have to pass through the hall where the labs of the ship meet Medbay 4, where the laboratory supply room is. You almost go into the supply room out of habit—almost. You’re too hungry for distractions. There’s nothing in there that you need, anyway.

Of course, you see Kix just a minute later, sitting alone in the corner of a medics’ station.

You stop short in the hallway, eyes roaming over Kix’s back, clad in what looks like a clean medbay uniform. It feels like ages have passed since that early afternoon on Karlinus, since your hope was rewarded in that stupid supply room, when you took out your frustration on the fabric of his uniform and kissed him to the point of drunkenness. You could do that, now. You could whisper sweetly in his ear and unlock your bedroom door for him; you could let the heat of his skin burn away your exhaustion.

But your blood doesn’t stir at the sight of him.

For a moment, you consider asking him to join you for lunch, but what would that accomplish? It’s Kix. You don’t talk. You play card games and watch postball and make love—and even that seems too intimate a term for it, but you wouldn’t use a word as vulgar as “fucking”, either. Whatever you call it, it’s not in your body’s plan right now, as sore in your back as you are in your heart. All you want to do is stretch out in a field and let your thoughts ripen on the vine. That’s not the sort of person you are when you’re with him.

So you pass by unnoticed, and as you wait for your dinner to heat, you decide it’s as good a time as any to make a mess in the kitchen. The cake doesn’t taste as sweet as you remember, and you only finish one slice, leaving the rest out for your colleagues with the note: Help yourself :)

Two days pass before you see Kix again. No words are exchanged as you pass each other in the hallway, but your eyes flit down and up his body in a way that you know he can’t miss.

He arrives at your door late into the night cycle and pins your wrists to the wall.

You don’t come up for air long enough to let him speak, and he returns the favor.

Months later, you’re woken by a pounding on the door, and you nearly fall out of bed.

It’s Maven, here to tell you that you slept through Dr. Sung’s messages summoning you to a general meeting. You make it there only two minutes late, and Dr. Sung explains that the 501st, 104th, and 327th have all been struck by some manner of viral illness. The Panacea is on its way to meet them on the uninhabited side of a mostly rural planet in the Outer Rim.

The mission isn’t unusual, save for the sheer number of infected men. The Panacea arrives, you all gear up, and Dr. Sung quickly discovers that you’re dealing with a strain of Finnian crumple virus. Then comes a full day of taking samples and running tests, as you always do.

On the second day, you arrive in the laboratory early, only to find that Dr. Sung is already there.

“How many cases do we have so far?” you ask.

It takes her a moment to respond, bent down over her microscope. She straightens, blinks a few times, and turns to you.

“Seven hundred and fourteen in active medical care,” she says. “Two recovered. Two dead. Unknown number of total infections.”

You don’t ask what that means for the predicted death rate. Finnian crumple virus is widespread across the galaxy, and its early symptoms are almost always consistent: a shockingly fast onset—hence the name “crumple virus”—that begins with muscle weakness, then progresses to tremors and short recurring fevers. What happens next is dependent on the strain. Dr. Sung has been trying to solve that mystery, but until she does, you have no idea what to expect.

On the bright side, the ease of accessing samples has made your job easier than it ever was back in the civilian hospital. You hope that you’ll be able to repeatedly test all of the men, to set up a quarantining system that will prevent the virus from spreading too quickly. Before that happens, you just need to figure out an efficient way to test them. In pursuit of that endeavor, you have no fewer than eight datapads in front of you, containing every scrap of information about crumple virus that you could get your hands on.

Research projects were always your favorite.

“I think I know what strain we’re dealing with,” says Dr. Sung, not even a day later. “If I’m right, there’s a stock of antibody therapy in one of the university hospitals on Corellia, but I don’t know if they’ll get here on time. I expect a lot of the men will start to decline in about thirty hours.”

“One of the Jedi will be able to bring it, right?” asks Maven. “They fly the fastest ships in the galaxy. They’ll be able to make it on time?”

Dr. Sung swallows hard, maybe the only sign of nervousness you’ve ever seen her display.

“I really hope so.”

Nowadays, you know better than to work until Dr. Sung kicks you out of the lab. Your internal clock is wonky, though, with the shift between ship-time and planet-time, so you end up taking a lunch break in the middle of the afternoon. You go to the mess hall, unwilling to spend any effort making yourself food, and have the line cook put your grains and stew into a bowl that you can take back to your room for some peace and quiet.

Then, across the mess hall, you see Kix, and your plans go up in smoke just as they do every time. His hair has grown out, but after two years of knowing him, you would recognize that one-dimpled smile anywhere. He has a Republic cog tattooed on his bicep, now, and it’s visible from across the room. Just like Jesse’s, if you remember correctly. He’s holding a bowl too, though his is larger than yours, and is walking towards the exit.

You corner him—politely—outside the mess hall. His eyes light up when he sees you, and you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of that.

“How long are you free?” you ask.

“Forty-five minutes. You?”

“It’s flexible.”

You both fall into silence, tense enough to be cut with a knife. This is the part of the script where you decide between a quick tryst in your bedroom or filling an hour with postball and laughter. This is the part of the script where you settle into something that isn’t supposed to break your heart if it ends.

“Let’s eat outside,” says Kix.

“Okay,” you agree, and you feel like you’ve just plunged into water too dark to see the bottom.

The path to the nearest exit cuts through Medbay 4 and a slice of the barracks, and you wonder if anybody will question why the two of you are walking together. Then, you wonder if that’s a conceited thought. Kix offers you his hand as you descend the steps to the earth and sit on the very final one, your feet planted in the beat-up grass.

The wind caresses your face, and you realize that you’ve been indoors for a week.

“I haven’t been out here in a while,” you say.

It’s small talk—small the way a mouse can fit in the palm of your hand.

“You’re going to get deficiencies, hiding in there,” he says.

“Probably. We should have a skylight.”

You fall into silence, sitting on the step of a starship, eating lunch, and it’s the most terrifying thing you’ve done in a year. There is no sabacc to save you from the blankness of the page you have opened, no postball, no desperate kisses, no hands up shirts. You’re nearly finished with your food when Kix finally breaks the silence.

“How long have you been working?”

“Today? About seven hours. You?”

“Nine.”

Kix frowns. “Well, that’s terrible.”

“It’s not so bad. Sarrish was worse.”

“Was it? This feels worse, to me.”

You hum in disagreement. “Sarrish was violent. They had me in Medbay 1, of all people. I’ve never seen that many injuries in my life. I still dream about it, occasionally.”

Kix has fully abandoned his food, now. He’s staring at you with an expression so tender that it’s pained, and you feel a spike of guilt between your ribs.

“I didn’t mean to dump that on you,” you say, quietly.

“I’m a good listener,” he says.

The words are simple statement, but you hear a question in them: Why didn’t you say this before? Now, sitting face-to-face with him, you’re not sure of the answer. The fragile little parcel of joy that had been your relationship before today lies broken at your feet, its contents exposed for examination. The guilt has mellowed in your chest. You didn’t do anything wrong, didn’t hurt him in any way, but as you set in his palm the feelings that you’ve held so close to your chest, all of your other interactions seem like they were conducted at arm’s length.

You clear your throat. “You really think that this is worse than Sarrish?”

“I understood what I was dealing with on Sarrish. I could dismantle the things that were killing my brothers. I knew how to patch up a blaster wound. This is just…I fix IVs all day. There’s nothing else I can do to fight it. I can’t even see it.”

“Neither can I. Not without equipment much more powerful than I have here.”

“You know how it works, though.”

That, you do. Sometimes you forget how little the clones have been taught outside of their duties. Even the surgeons are trained only to stabilize traumas long enough to bring the patient to a real medical station. Everything that you know couldn’t possibly be taught with how little time they have. It’s strange to think about—that men so skilled can be so lacking in knowledge.

“Remember the day we met?” Kix asks.

“Quite well.”

“I couldn’t believe you were willing to teach me that. It was so basic. You were kind about it, too.”

“I thought I was being a bore! You never asked about it again.”

“You never talked about any of that stuff again.”

You didn’t, did you? You steered all those conversations away from work.

“You’ll learn,” you say. “The war will have to end eventually, and you’ll all end up in the Judicial service or in public hospitals, I’m guessing. There will be time to learn.”

“I’ve never put much thought into it. I guess I thought I’d be dead, by the end.”

Dead.

The word stings; it cuts at you like a paring knife that slipped against the peel of a fruit. There’s no use in arguing it—Kix is right. Casualties are mounting across the galaxy, and every hour he spends in the field could be the death of him, and every minute you spend together could be your last. You both knew what you were getting into.

“You may have to revise your plans,” you say.

You didn’t mean it to be funny, but Kix laughs, a sound that sinks into the base of your spine and the soles of your feet and the skin of your cheeks.

“A soldier is always adaptable, ma’am.”

You huff. This time, the silence that follows is comfortable. He holds his hand out to you, palm-up, and you thread your fingers with his.

“Speaking of adapting,” he says, “do you get leave whenever you want?”

“Within reason. I haven’t used much of mine, though.”

“The 501st has a week of shore leave next month. If you wanted to go to Corsucant—”

“Yes,” you say immediately, then realize that you interrupted him. “…sorry.”

In lieu of a reply, Kix tilts your face towards him and kisses you. It’s a chaste thing—your location demands that much—but it burns down beneath your navel all the same. You delight in running your hand through his hair, now long enough again that it curls.

When you break away, a thought occurs to you: 

“You’ve never seen me in anything except navy-issued clothing, have you?”

“No…?”

All of your other clothes are back at home, but an old friend of yours works at the Republic hospital in the capital district on Coruscant. You’re sure she’d lend you something appropriate for a night out. The thought puts a stupid grin on your face, and Kix raises an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say.

He rolls his eyes, and you rest your forehead against his, brushing your thumb along his jaw. His break is near to its end. Kix pulls away with a hushed apology and stands to leave, pressing one last kiss to your temple. As you turn to watch him go, you realize that that was the first time you kissed him in the light of the sun.

You swear to yourself that it won’t be the last.

General Koon makes it in time to save all but five of the men.

The news comes through the ship’s loudspeaker system, and you swear you can hear relief in the voice of the communications officer as he announces that the Jedi’s ship has touched down on the airfield. Maven gives a great whoop of joy, while the rest of the staff seem to melt with relief. Though you have no time to find him before you’ll be needed, you know that somewhere nearby, Kix is smiling that one-dimpled smile of his.

Ten minutes after General Koon lands, you have six large freezers of antibodies and the molecular template you need to create a vaccine. Dr. Sung assigns you to begin working on the vaccine, and you dive into it with a satisfaction that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Hours into the process, you find yourself back in the supply room, rooting through the rows of shelves for aluminum salts. The door emits four quiet beeps and a loud click before it opens, giving you enough time to turn around and see who it is. Your small hope is dashed on a rock when you see the navy blue crop of hair. Levendy lets the door close behind him, then stands still for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest, head tilted at you in careful consideration.

“So, you two finally worked it out?” he says.

“What are you talking about, and why are you in the supply room at twenty-one hundred?”

“Why are you in the supply room at twenty-one hundred?” he counters.

You wave the cannister of aluminum salts. “I’m trying to create a vaccine for ten thousand soldiers. Do you have a science project in here that I don’t know about?”

“No. I was just here for inspection.”

“You are a dirty, filthy liar.”

Levendy gives you a dull look. “Fine. Kix was looking like a love-sick tooka, and I was wondering if you were the reason.”

You sigh and roll your eyes—you feel that the situation calls for more than one display of exasperation.

“I’m just saying!” says Levendy.

With no response, you go back to digging around for supplies, waiting for him to go away. He doesn’t, of course.

“So, did you two finally work it out?”

You pause. There’s a gravitas in Levendy’s voice that you rarely hear. Did you two finally work it out? Instinctually, you want to protest, to tell Levendy that there was nothing that needed to be “worked out” between you and Kix. And also, a relationship between Levendy’s brother and his colleague was none of his business.

Neither of those things are true, though, and you can’t bring yourself to tell a lie this heavy—to yourself, or to Levendy. He’s heard enough of your little fibs and excuses.

“We worked it out,” you say.

There’s a long silence. You keep your gaze firmly fixed on the cannister

“I think he likes you more than you realize,” he says. “I think he trusts you more than you realize, too. That’s a rare thing, with men like us.”

It may be the highest praise you’ve ever received in your life. There’s a pang in your chest, longing but sweet, and it’s only your rather time-sensitive battle against nature that stops you from going to find Kix and dragging him outside to kiss under the stars.

“Aww, you look flustered!” Levendy exclaims.

“Levendy…”

“Alright, alright, I’m going.”

You glare at him, but your heart isn’t in it. Something catches your eye—the note that you and Kix wrote is still taped to the wall above the counter.

“Hmm. You’d better watch yourself. This supply room is haunted, and I hear the ghost is vengeful.”

“Independent contractor, huh?” Fives echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You must have one hell of a boss to end up in a place like this.”

“You could say that,” (Y/n) replied dryly, her gaze flicking down to the cuffs around her wrists. She gave them a testing pull, then sighed. “These things really don’t give, do they?”

“Not unless you’ve got a fusion cutter in your pocket,” Fives said, though his tone was light, there was a sharp edge of seriousness beneath it. “I don’t suppose you brought any tools with you?”

(Y/n) shook her head, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at a sore muscle. “Afraid not. I left my toolkit in my other pants.”

“Figures,” Fives muttered, though there was a hint of a grin on his lips. He shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, and then looked back at her. “So, (Y/n), got any brilliant ideas for getting us out of here?”

She leaned her head back against the wall, her eyes closing briefly as she thought. When she opened them again, they were sharper, more focused. “Well, for starters, I’m not really in the mood to stick around and see what they have planned for us. And second, I don’t like leaving loose ends.”

Fives raised an eyebrow. “Loose ends?”

(Y/n)’s smile was small but full of intent. “The droid control center I was trying to disable before they got the jump on me. It’s still operational, and if I can get back to it, I can make sure it goes offline permanently.”

“Well, that’s definitely a start,” Fives said, impressed despite himself. “But we’re still locked up like a couple of Womp Rats. Any ideas on how we get from here to there?”

She looked at him, her expression serious but tinged with that same dry humor. “Oh, I’ve got a few. But first, we need to get these cuffs off.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Fives asked, genuinely curious.

(Y/n)’s smile widened, her eyes flashing with a mix of determination and mischief. “We improvise.”

Fives couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. This woman was something else, all right. “Improvisation, huh? I like your style.”

“Good,” she said, already scanning the cell for anything they could use. “Because we’re going to need all the luck we can get. And maybe a little bit of that famous clone ingenuity.”

Fives chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “You’ve got it, (Y/n). Let’s see what we can do.”

As they began to work together, Fives felt a flicker of something unexpected—hope. This situation was bad, no doubt about it, but with (Y/n) by his side, he had a feeling they might just pull it off. She was like a wild card, unpredictable and full of surprises. And as she started to outline her plan, he found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, they’d come out of this alive.

Fives shifted his weight, the cold bite of the cuffs digging into his wrists as he watched (Y/n) with a mix of curiosity and growing respect. She was still scanning the cell, her mind clearly working at full speed, but now her focus had shifted to the immediate problem—the restraints that bound them both.

“First things first,” she muttered, her voice low and thoughtful. “We need to get these off.” She tugged at her own cuffs, testing their strength, then glanced over at Fives, her eyes narrowing in concentration. “Any bright ideas?”

Fives glanced down at the cuffs, then up at the wall where they were anchored. He’d been in tight spots before, but this was a whole new level of difficulty. Still, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. “I’m guessing you didn’t happen to stash any tools before they grabbed you?” he asked, a hint of sarcasm in his tone, though his eyes were sharp and focused.

(Y/n) shot him a look that was half-amused, half-annoyed. “Left my toolkit in my other pants, remember? But we’re not completely out of luck.” She nodded towards the overhead light. “If we can get that casing off, there might be something inside we can use. Wires, maybe, or a power cell.”

Fives followed her gaze, the flickering light casting long shadows across the cell. It was a long shot, but it was the only shot they had. “Alright,” he said, shifting again to get a better look at the fixture. “Think you can reach it?”

(Y/n) eyed the distance, then nodded slowly. “If I can get enough leverage... maybe.” She adjusted her position, sliding her legs underneath her and pushing herself up as far as the cuffs would allow. The movement wasn’t graceful—her muscles protested, still sore from whatever beating she’d taken—but she managed to get one foot on the wall, using it to push herself up.

Fives watched her, ready to assist if she needed it. Her determination was something to behold, a fiery resolve that seemed to burn brighter with every passing second. She strained against the cuffs, her fingers just barely brushing the edge of the light fixture, and with a grunt of effort, she managed to hook her fingers around it.

“There,” she muttered, her voice strained but triumphant. “Now, just a little...”

With a sharp twist, the casing popped off, and (Y/n) let out a breath of relief. She tugged it free, pulling down the small bundle of wires and components that had been hidden behind it. “Got it,” she said, her voice tinged with satisfaction.

Fives couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “Not bad. Now, what can we do with it?”

(Y/n) dropped back down, landing with a soft thud as she examined the small cache of parts she’d just liberated. She pulled at the wires, carefully separating them, her fingers moving with practiced ease. “If we can strip these down, we might be able to short-circuit the cuffs. Or at the very least, fry the locking mechanism.”

Fives watched her work, his respect for her growing with each precise movement of her hands. She wasn’t just talking—she knew exactly what she was doing, and she was doing it with a level of confidence that told him this wasn’t her first time improvising her way out of a bad situation.

As she stripped the wires with a small, sharp piece of metal she’d pried loose from the casing, Fives couldn’t help but marvel at her ingenuity. She was quick, efficient, and didn’t waste a single motion. It was like watching a seasoned mechanic work, or a demolitions expert defuse a bomb—every action was deliberate, calculated.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” he asked, genuinely curious. Most civilians he’d met didn’t have this kind of skill set, let alone the nerve to put it into practice in a situation like this.

(Y/n) didn’t look up, her focus still on the wires in her hands. “Here and there,” she replied cryptically. “When you spend enough time dodging trouble, you pick up a few tricks.”

Fives raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to the story than she was letting on. But he didn’t press her. They had more immediate concerns. “Looks like you’ve dodged more than your fair share.”

She gave a small, almost self-deprecating smile. “You could say that.” She glanced up at him then, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of something—maybe recognition, maybe understanding. “And you? I’m guessing you’ve been in a few tight spots yourself.”

Fives chuckled, the sound low and full of dry humor. “You could say that too. I’ve had to get creative more times than I can count.” He paused, his expression turning serious. “But this? This is something else. If we pull this off...”

“When we pull this off,” (Y/n) corrected, her tone firm. “We don’t have any other options, Fives.”

He nodded, impressed by her resolve. “Right. When we pull this off, I’ll buy you a drink. Wherever we end up.”

She smirked, her eyes gleaming with that same wild spark that had caught his attention earlier. “I’ll hold you to that.”

With the wires stripped and ready, (Y/n) turned her attention to the locking mechanism on her cuffs. She twisted the wires together, forming a makeshift circuit, and carefully inserted the ends into the small gap where the lock met the wall. She glanced over at Fives, her expression a mix of concentration and anticipation. “Here goes nothing.”

There was a brief spark, a hiss of electrical discharge, and then a click as the lock released, the cuffs springing open with a soft metallic clang. (Y/n) let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, a triumphant grin spreading across her face.

“Nice work,” Fives said, genuinely impressed. He shifted his arms, bringing his own cuffs into view. “Think you can do the same over here?”

“Watch and learn,” she replied with a wink, already moving over to his side. She worked quickly, her fingers deftly manipulating the wires, and within moments, Fives felt the familiar release of the cuffs as they sprang open.

He rubbed his wrists, feeling the ache where the metal had bitten into his skin, and gave her a nod of appreciation. “You really are something, (Y/n).”

She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Just another day in the life of a ‘contractor.’ Now, let’s get out of here before they realize we’ve gone.”

Fives watched her for a moment longer, a thought crossing his mind as she moved with that same quick, efficient grace, already dismantling the rest of the light fixture to gather more components. She was a force of nature, and as he followed her lead, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was witnessing something extraordinary.

He didn’t know much about her yet, but one thing was clear: she wasn’t just any ordinary civilian. She was brilliant, fiery, and bold—a woman who seemed to come out of nowhere, bringing with her a spark of life and a determination that could light up even the darkest cell.

As they moved to execute the rest of their plan, Fives felt a strange mix of excitement and anticipation, his mind racing with the possibilities. This was going to be one hell of a story to tell when they got out of here.

With their cuffs off, (Y/n) wasted no time. She gathered the loose components from the dismantled light fixture, her fingers moving quickly as she bundled the wires and small power cells into a makeshift tool. Fives watched her with growing respect, impressed by her ability to turn scraps into something useful.

“So, what’s next?” Fives asked, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders to work out the stiffness. “We just waltz out of here, or do you have something a little more dramatic in mind?”

(Y/n) shot him a quick grin, her eyes gleaming with that now-familiar spark. “Waltzing’s not really my style. I was thinking more along the lines of causing some chaos and slipping out in the confusion.”

Fives chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course you were. I should have known you’d have a flair for the dramatic.”

“Hey, when you’re outnumbered and outgunned, you have to get creative,” she replied, her tone light but her focus sharp as she finalized their plan. She glanced at the door, then back at Fives. “You ready?”

“Born ready,” Fives said, flashing her a confident grin. He moved closer to the door, positioning himself just out of sight of the small window. “So, how exactly are we going to cause this chaos of yours?”

(Y/n) held up the bundle of wires and the small power cell she’d extracted. “I’m going to overload the panel here. It’ll cause a short-circuit, and if I’m right, it should trigger a temporary shutdown of the security systems in this section. That’ll give us a window to make our move.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Fives asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

She gave him a sideways look, one eyebrow raised. “Then we’ll have to improvise, won’t we?”

Fives grinned, his admiration for her growing with every passing second. “I like the way you think, (Y/n). Let’s do this.”

(Y/n) nodded, then quickly set to work, her fingers deftly connecting the wires to the control panel beside the door. There was a brief, tense silence as she worked, both of them listening for any sounds that might indicate the guards were coming. But the only noise was the soft hum of the ship’s engines vibrating through the walls.

Finally, (Y/n) stepped back, a satisfied smile on her face. “Alright, here goes nothing.”

She pressed a final connection, and the panel sparked, sending a shower of bright, hot sparks cascading down. There was a loud crack, followed by a flickering of the lights, and then the soft hum of the security systems powering down.

Fives glanced at the door, waiting for the inevitable alarm or countermeasure, but nothing happened. Instead, the door clicked open with a soft hiss, revealing a dimly lit corridor beyond. He turned to (Y/n), an impressed look on his face. “I’ll admit it—I’m impressed.”

“Save the flattery for later,” she said, though her tone was playful. “We’re not out of this yet.”

They slipped out into the corridor, moving quickly but cautiously. (Y/n) took the lead, her eyes sharp and focused as she guided them through the ship’s labyrinthine passages. Fives followed close behind, keeping an eye out for any signs of trouble.

“How do you know your way around this place?” Fives asked as they ducked into a side passage, avoiding a pair of patrolling battle droids.

“I managed to swipe a datapad before they locked me up,” (Y/n) explained, holding up the slim device she’d tucked into her belt. “Got a good look at the ship’s layout before they figured out what I was up to.”

Fives shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Of course you did. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea,” she replied with a wink, her pace quickening as they neared their destination. “The hangar bay should be just up ahead. We get there, grab a ship, and we’re out of here.”

“And here I thought today was going to be boring,” Fives said, his voice low but laced with amusement. “Thanks for keeping things interesting.”

They reached the final corridor leading to the hangar, but as they rounded the corner, they came face to face with a squad of battle droids. Fives cursed under his breath, his hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. The droids whirred to life, their blasters trained on the pair.

“Stop right there!” one of the droids barked, its voice metallic and grating.

(Y/n)’s mind worked quickly, her eyes darting around the corridor as she searched for an escape. Without hesitation, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small device—a leftover component from the cell’s light fixture. She tossed it down the corridor, and it exploded in a flash of bright light and smoke, momentarily blinding the droids.

“Run!” she shouted, grabbing Fives by the arm and pulling him down the side passage.

They sprinted down the corridor, the sound of droid blasters firing wildly behind them. Fives couldn’t help but laugh, the adrenaline coursing through him making everything feel sharper, more alive. “You really do know how to make an entrance, don’t you?”

“Not just an entrance,” (Y/n) shot back, her eyes alight with that wild energy. “I’m all about the exits too.”

They burst into the hangar bay, the vast space filled with rows of ships and scattered crates. The bay was mostly deserted, save for a few droids patrolling the far end. (Y/n) didn’t hesitate, her eyes zeroing in on a small, sleek shuttle parked near the entrance.

“There!” she pointed, already moving towards it. “That’s our ride.”

Fives followed, his heart pounding in his chest as they sprinted across the hangar. As they reached the shuttle, (Y/n) quickly hacked the access panel, the door hissing open just as the droids from the corridor burst into the hangar.

“Get us airborne, now!” Fives shouted as he jumped into the pilot’s seat, his hands moving over the controls with practiced ease.

(Y/n) slid into the co-pilot’s seat, her fingers flying across the console as she activated the shuttle’s systems. The engines roared to life, and the ship lifted off the deck just as blaster fire rained down on them from the droids below.

“Punch it!” (Y/n) yelled, her voice filled with excitement and urgency.

Fives didn’t need to be told twice. He slammed the throttle forward, and the shuttle shot out of the hangar, rocketing into the void of space. They dodged and weaved through the ship’s defensive fire, the stars blurring around them as they pushed the shuttle to its limits.

As the ship finally broke free of the Separatist blockade and jumped to hyperspace, (Y/n) let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She leaned back in her seat, a satisfied smile on her face as the swirling blue vortex of hyperspace enveloped them.

“Well, that was fun,” Fives said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, though there was a genuine smile on his face. He glanced over at her, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really do blow outta nowhere, don’t you? Like some kind of wild, unpredictable force of nature.”

(Y/n) laughed, a sound full of relief and exhilaration. “I’ve been called worse.”

Fives chuckled, leaning back in his seat as the tension of the escape finally began to fade. “Remind me to never underestimate you again.”

“Don’t worry,” (Y/n) replied, her smile widening. “I’ll be sure to remind you if you do.”

As the shuttle sped through hyperspace, the two of them finally allowed themselves a moment of calm. They had made it out, against all odds, and as they sat there, side by side in the cockpit, Fives couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of connection to this wild, unpredictable woman who had come out of nowhere and turned his world upside down.

He glanced over at her, catching the way the soft light of the console played across her features. She was still focused on the readouts, but there was a lightness in her expression now, a quiet confidence that hadn’t been there before. She was something else, all right—a force to be reckoned with, and as they sped towards whatever lay ahead, Fives knew one thing for certain: he was damn glad she was on his side.

The shuttle hummed with the soft, steady rhythm of hyperspace, the stars outside blurring into streaks of light as they hurtled through the galaxy at impossible speeds. For a moment, the cockpit was filled with a heavy, exhausted silence, both Fives and (Y/n) soaking in the brief respite from the chaos they had just escaped.

Fives leaned back in his seat, letting out a long breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. “Well, that was... something,” he muttered, glancing over at (Y/n) with a mix of admiration and disbelief.

(Y/n) smirked, her eyes still fixed on the console as she checked their trajectory. “You don’t seem the type to get rattled easily, Fives. Don’t tell me I’ve finally met a clone who can’t handle a little excitement.”

“Excitement?” Fives echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you call nearly getting blasted to bits by a bunch of tin cans?”

She turned to him, her smirk widening into a full grin. “What can I say? I’ve always had a thing for close calls.”

Fives couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “You must have nerves of steel, (Y/n). Most people would be losing it right about now.”

“Maybe I’m just good at pretending,” she replied with a wink, her tone light but her eyes carrying a depth that hinted at much more beneath the surface.

Fives studied her for a moment, his curiosity piqued even further. (Y/n) was unlike anyone he’d ever met—fearless, quick on her feet, and full of surprises. She had an energy about her that was infectious, a spark that seemed to light up even the darkest moments. He found himself drawn to her in a way he hadn’t expected, and it made him wonder just what kind of life she had led before their paths crossed.

Just as he was about to ask her more, a sharp beep from the console interrupted his thoughts. (Y/n)’s smile faded as she glanced at the readout, her expression tightening. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

Fives leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the incoming data. “I was hoping we’d get a bit more of a head start.”

(Y/n)’s fingers flew over the controls, pulling up a sensor display. A single blip appeared on the screen, growing closer with each passing second. “Looks like one of their fighters made it out of the hangar before we did,” she said, her tone suddenly all business. “And they’re gaining on us fast.”

Fives swore under his breath, his mind already racing with strategies. “What kind of firepower are we looking at?”

(Y/n) glanced at the display, her jaw tightening. “Hard to say, but they’re definitely armed. And unless I’m mistaken, they’re trying to lock onto us with a missile.”

“Of course they are,” Fives muttered, a dry sarcasm coloring his voice. He tapped a few controls, diverting more power to the shields. “Alright, looks like we’re not out of the woods yet. You any good in a dogfight?”

(Y/n) shot him a quick, confident look. “I’ve held my own a few times. How about you?”

“I’ve logged a few hours behind the stick,” Fives replied, his tone equally confident. “But let’s see if we can’t avoid a straight-up fight. We’re not exactly flying a starfighter here.”

“Agreed,” (Y/n) said, her hands moving deftly over the controls as she plotted a series of evasive maneuvers. “Hold on tight. This might get bumpy.”

The shuttle lurched as (Y/n) veered sharply to the right, skimming the edge of a nearby asteroid field. The pursuing ship closed in, its weapons systems locking on with an ominous beep. Fives glanced at the display, noting the distance rapidly decreasing between them and the enemy fighter.

“They’re not letting up,” he remarked, his voice tight with concentration. “Can we outrun them?”

“Not likely,” (Y/n) said, her eyes narrowing as she made another sharp turn, dodging a cluster of asteroids. “We’re going to have to outsmart them.”

Fives felt a surge of adrenaline as the first shots from the pursuing fighter streaked past their shuttle, narrowly missing the hull. He reached for the weapons controls, arming the shuttle’s rear-mounted blasters. “I’ll keep them off our tail as best I can. Just get us somewhere with more cover.”

“On it,” (Y/n) replied, her voice steady despite the tension in the cockpit. She pushed the shuttle’s engines to full power, weaving through the asteroid field with the skill of a seasoned pilot. “Let’s see how good they are at dodging rocks.”

Fives fired off a few shots, forcing the enemy fighter to break off its attack run and dodge the incoming fire. “Nice flying,” he said, glancing over at (Y/n) with a grin.

She flashed him a quick smile, her eyes alight with that same wild energy he’d seen before. “Thanks. Now let’s see if we can lose them for good.”

As they dove deeper into the asteroid field, the pursuing fighter struggled to keep up, its pilot forced to maneuver carefully to avoid the massive rocks tumbling through space. But the enemy was persistent, staying just close enough to keep the pressure on.

“They’re stubborn, I’ll give them that,” Fives muttered, glancing at the sensor display as the fighter drew closer once more. “But so are we.”

(Y/n)’s fingers danced over the controls, her mind working at lightning speed as she plotted their next move. “Alright, here’s the plan,” she said, her voice quick and determined. “We’re going to lure them into a tight spot, then double back and hit them with everything we’ve got. If we time it right, we can catch them off guard.”

Fives couldn’t help but marvel at her audacity. This woman was full of surprises, always a step ahead, always ready to take the fight to the enemy. She had a fire in her that was impossible to ignore, a boldness that blazed brightly even in the face of danger. She blows outta nowhere, like a roman candle of the wild, he thought, the image fitting her perfectly as she guided them through the chaos with a steady hand.

“Alright,” Fives said, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and determination. “Let’s do it.”

(Y/n) nodded, her focus razor-sharp as she executed a series of quick maneuvers, drawing the enemy fighter deeper into the asteroid field. The ship behind them struggled to keep up, its pilot clearly more accustomed to open space battles than navigating through a minefield of floating rocks.

“Now!” (Y/n) shouted, yanking the controls and sending the shuttle into a tight loop. Fives braced himself as the shuttle spun around, bringing them face-to-face with the pursuing fighter.

“Gotcha,” Fives muttered under his breath as he fired the shuttle’s blasters, the shots tearing through the enemy ship’s shields and punching holes in its hull.

The fighter wobbled, its pilot caught off guard by the sudden reversal. Before they could recover, Fives fired again, this time hitting something critical. The fighter erupted in a ball of fire, the explosion briefly illuminating the asteroid field before fading into the void.

Fives let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, a grin spreading across his face. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

(Y/n) exhaled slowly, her grip on the controls relaxing as the immediate danger passed. “Nice shooting,” she said, her voice carrying a note of relief. “That was a close one.”

“Yeah,” Fives agreed, still riding the adrenaline high. He glanced over at her, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re something else, you know that? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who can think on their feet as fast as you.”

(Y/n) smiled, a small, satisfied smile that spoke of a job well done. “I could say the same about you. You’re not just any clone, are you?”

Fives shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Let’s just say I’ve had a lot of practice getting out of tight spots. But I couldn’t have done it without you.”

She looked at him, her eyes softening slightly as the tension of the moment finally began to fade. “Well, it was a team effort,” she said, her voice warm. “And for the record, you’re not so bad yourself.”

They shared a brief moment of mutual respect, the kind that only comes from surviving something intense together. But the moment was fleeting, as the reality of their situation quickly set back in.

“So,” Fives said, breaking the silence with a wry grin, “any more surprises up your sleeve? Or is it smooth sailing from here?”

(Y/n) laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day. But then again, with our luck...”

“Yeah,” Fives agreed, chuckling softly. “With our luck, who knows what’s around the next corner.”

As they settled back into their seats, the stars of hyperspace streaking past them once more, Fives found himself looking at (Y/n) with a sense of awe. She was a force of nature, unpredictable and brilliant, like a roman candle flaring to life in the dark. And as they sped away from the chaos they’d left behind, he knew one thing for certain: this was just the beginning of their story, and he was damn glad to be a part of it.

**** 

Epilogue 

The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long shadows across the rolling hills that stretched out towards the horizon. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, the last remnants of the day’s warmth lingering in the air. It was peaceful here, a world away from the chaos and violence that had once dominated their lives. The war was over, and the galaxy had finally begun to heal. But for Fives, the most significant battle of his life was just beginning.

He stood on the porch of their small house, his hands resting on the wooden railing as he gazed out at the landscape. The breeze was gentle, carrying the scent of fresh grass and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. It was a place of serenity, of quiet moments and simple joys. A place where he could almost forget the scars of the past—almost.

Behind him, he heard the soft creak of the door opening, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps approaching. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was her. He could feel her presence as surely as he felt the sun’s warmth on his skin. (Y/n). His (Y/n).

She came to stand beside him, her hand slipping into his, fingers intertwining with a familiarity that spoke of years spent together, surviving together. Fives turned his head slightly, his gaze finding hers, and for a moment, they just stood there, letting the silence speak for them.

Her eyes, those stormy gray eyes that had first caught his attention in that dark, cold cell, were filled with a mixture of emotions—joy, fear, anticipation. Her other hand rested gently on the slight swell of her belly, a subconscious gesture that made Fives’ heart clench with a fierce protectiveness.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant. It was a question he’d been asking her a lot lately, ever since they’d discovered the news that had changed everything.

(Y/n) smiled, a small, tender smile that made his chest ache with a love so deep it sometimes scared him. “I’m alright,” she replied, her voice steady. But there was a hint of something else there, a trace of uncertainty that she couldn’t quite hide.

Fives squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. “You’re sure?” he pressed gently, his eyes searching hers. “Because I know this is... a lot.”

She nodded, turning her gaze out towards the horizon, the setting sun casting a golden glow across her features. “It is a lot,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “But it’s also... everything. Everything I never thought I could have.”

Fives felt a lump form in his throat, his heart swelling with emotions he could barely put into words. When they had escaped together all those years ago, when they had fought side by side and survived against all odds, he never could have imagined this. He never imagined they would find a place like this, find peace, find each other. And now, they were facing something even more unimaginable.

He looked down at her, at the way she rested her hand on her belly, and a thousand thoughts raced through his mind. Memories of their battles, of their laughter, of the way she had always been the one to push forward, to keep fighting, even when things seemed impossible. She had always been the one to light up the darkness, to bring hope when there was none. And now, here they were, about to bring new life into a world that had once seemed so full of death.

He turned fully towards her, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle, reverent. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t believe... we’re going to be parents.”

(Y/n) laughed softly, a sound that was both joyful and a little nervous. “Believe it, Fives. Because it’s real. It’s happening.”

He nodded, but there was a part of him that still struggled to grasp it, to accept that after everything they had been through, they were now standing on the brink of something so new, so different. He thought back to that moment, not so long ago, when she had told him the news, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement.

“When you stood up, walked away, barefoot,” he recalled in his thoughts, remembering how she had needed a moment to process it all, to let the reality of their future sink in. He had watched her from the doorway, feeling a whirlwind of emotions he hadn’t known he was capable of—joy, terror, love. So much love.

And now, as they stood here together, he couldn’t help but marvel at how far they had come, how much they had endured, and how this woman—this wild, fiery woman who had once blown into his life like a force of nature—had become the center of his world. She had given him everything he had never dared to hope for, and now she was giving him something even more precious.

“We’ll get through this,” Fives said, his voice full of quiet determination. “Just like we’ve gotten through everything else. Together.”

(Y/n) looked up at him, her eyes softening, the love in them so clear, so unwavering. “Together,” she echoed, squeezing his hand. “Always.”

Fives leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin as he closed his eyes and let the moment wash over him. It was a new kind of battle they were about to face, a new challenge unlike any they had encountered before. But for the first time in a long time, Fives wasn’t afraid.

Because he had her. And that was all he needed.

Who cares anyway. You got to observe Cody unnoticed. He often caught you staring at him, much to your annoyance. He’d catch your gaze as you tore it away and you could never really tell what was under them, not daring to match his eye for honest eye. What if he saw the truth hidden in the secret of your soul and was disgusted at it? Now was your chance for a good, long…observation. 

Goodness, Cody was just…wonderful. The way he looked…laughed…and just was. His brother, Rex, idolized him and with good reason. You were good friends with Rex. Going to the same college, you ended up seeing each other in a lot of the gen-ed classes. Eventually, you and he became Literature and Algebra buddies. You understood the Literature with a bleeding heart Rex didn’t understand, and he found your passion both entertaining and helpful. It would be your patience and dedication to helping him understand all the jargon for his passing grades. In turn, Rex helped you in your least favorite subject ever, algebra. Since he started working with you, your grades skyrocketed in a good way. 

And from such a partnership, a great friendship formed. 

That’s how you met Cody. Cody strode over to the table with absolute confidence and charm. Swinging a seat around and straddling it in a carefree, confident manner, he started chatting with you without a proper introduction. 

“My brother's told me a lot about you…”

But before he could continue, the brother in question showed up and innocently interrupted.

When you laid eyes on him, you swore you were charmed and doomed to love him forever. His charming smile melted your heart down to a lockbox for only him. Darn Rex for showing up when he did, you wanted to know what this beautiful man was going to say to you.

From then on, the three of you became a team, inseparable. 

Studying nights turned into game nights, moving nights, baring your souls’ secrets nights and so forth. 

So many laughs and tears shared between you. 

But you couldn’t get out of the facade of only being friends. You didn’t know how, or if you wanted to…you could ruin everything. Not just with Cody (that’d be horrible enough) but you thought you’d lose Rex as a friend as well. 

So, for now, you’d just watch. And hope. And dream. 

Cody's boisterous laugh brought you back to the present. 

You watched him swear it again as he ran his fingers through his hair with a nervous chuckle.

“I'm not in love…”

And you laugh, hoping beyond hope, that he’s wrong. Because you’d already fallen so hard for him.

Smiling warmly, if not a little sadly, you found yourself swallowing hard, feeling put on the spot. Discovered. And a little silly, stupid, absurdness crept into your eyes and cheeks with heat.  

Cody laughed again. A strange, strangled laugh. Not quite suppressed, but controlled. He never laughed like that. 

Cocking your head, intrigued, you paid attention to the detail in front of you. 

The nervous way he was trying to play it cool with his brother who was prodding him with the back of his pen, gleefully shouting in not too quiet tones “you are! You are!” 

Cody was half heartedly swatting at the jabs in between a blushful of laughs, heartfelt denials which didn’t match his smile, and loud “shhh’es. 

“You should ask her!” Rex was not at all quiet about saying it. “It would be so easy! She’s right in there! Boom! Done.” 

“Not that simple.”

“What do you mean it’s not that simple.”

With an eye roll and a sigh you could hear, Cody lowered his voice again. Darn him. 

You shouldn't be eavesdropping anyway. So you turned your eyes back to your paper and pressed on. 

The speeches were a success. The crowd was moved by the humourous, yet touching words. Dinner was on point for flavor and portion. You weren't surprised. With Tech as the groom, of course all details would be in order! 

The plates were just cleared away when the bride and groom started off the dances. 

You stood to the side, tears in your eyes as you watched your friend so happy. Her smile, her laugh, her tears, all so full of the magic of the day. 

Being totally enraptured by the dazzling bride and her dashing husband, who reflected in his own way, the happiness of his wife, you didn't notice when he slipped behind you.

“Would you save the first dance for me?” 

His breath was warm, and his lips tickled your ear with the whisper. You jumped, coming out of your revelry. 

You heard Cody chuckle. 

“Didn't mean to scare you.” 

You laughed in reply. “I wasn't scared…just…surprised!” 

He smiled warmly. More so than you ever remembered seeing him smile before. It was kind and sincere, without any bravado. 

“So…” he started with a slight cough. 

You didn't let him finish.

“I'd love to!” 

As if on cue, the dance floor opened up for all couples. 

Your heart beat madly. 

Was this platonic? Friendly? Interest? 

Swallowing hard, you put your arms around him and started swaying to the music. 

He didn't say anything at first. You were a little surprised by that but whatever, perhaps he just wanted to be settled in the dance first. Problem was, he stayed that way. Quiet, only moving in rhythm to the music. Your anxiety started to peak. 

Emboldened by remembering his soft gaze, you thought you'd try to talk. 

“Sooooo”

“You don't like it do you.” 

When you pulled away shocked, you could see red embarrassed cheeks blazing with puzzlement. 

“I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable or make this awkward.” He scratched his head 

Since when did Cody get shy? And when did he stammer? 

He started to pull away but in a quick response, you threw your arms around him.

“I-I do like it…” you were shaking, trembling as the secret came pouring from your lips. “I….think I love you.” 

Cody wrapped his arms around your waist and burried his head into your shoulder. 

“And I …. Think I love you too.” 

Your chest flooded with warmth and love, not being able to contain the smile you felt forming on your lips. 

“You’re the best, Cody.” You mumbled into his neck, feeling a wave of shyness wash over you. You smiled against his skin, hoping he could feel it. Not only it, but how happy you were. 

“No, the best me has his arms around you. You make me the best version of who I am by just being you.”

He stopped swaying to the music and pulled your arms from around his neck. He placed his palm on your cheek, forcing you to look up at him fully for the first time ever. 

All you saw there was eyes full of hope and happiness, complete love and adoration, before he kissed you. 

Eyes closed, you’d savor the moment. But you couldn’t wait to read what else would be in his eyes when it was over. 

You knew what would be in yours: wonderstruck. 

From the way he was kissing you, you thought, perhaps, he might feel the same. 

What you didn't know what he was thinking was…

He didn't deserve you. You were a gift; something so untouchable, unreachable and precious. 

But, he was going to marry you.Someday, somehow he would. He'd strive every day to deserve you and make you happy. That's all he wanted, was you happy. 

If seeing the glittery tears of happiness roll down your cheeks as you tried not to smile while kissing him was any indication of how happy he made each other….

Yeah, he didn't deserve you, but he'd marry you anyway.

He couldn’t see anything, let alone feel what was unfolding around him. There was only chaos, the kind of madness that was reminiscent of his years at the GAR. For a moment, he thinks that the war is over, but as his senses slowly return to him, he pieces together where he was and what he was meant to be doing. His eyes blink tiredly, and as he tries to get out of bed, a hand shoots quickly and pushes him back. He flinches hard, only to realize that it’s not his body that’s shaking but the earth beneath him.

“Stay down Rex,” your voice pulls him away from the battle raging around him, and he turns his head to the side, eyes blown wide open and brows furrowing in anger at the sight that meets him. It takes him far too long to accept that you are crouching beside him, and his expression must be intense because you avoid his gaze and look out the cave you’ve managed to pull him into for shelter. 

“How…how are you here?” His voice breaks, in turn making you wince at the hurt laced in his question. Even though you still have your hand resting against his sternum, Rex ignores the faint warmth seeping through his clothes and sits up, barely managing to hold back from screaming in agony at the pain that shoots through his shoulder. You take notice of the deep grimace on his features and turn your full attention to him. 

“Could you, for once, listen to me?” You make the mistake of meeting his eyes then, the rest of your lecture dying in your throat when you see tears threatening to roll down his dirt-stained cheeks. He says nothing else, and you hate how miserable he looks, mostly because you know it has nothing to do with the physical pain draining his energy and everything to do with how things turned out between the two of you. 

“We need to lay low until Hunter gets here.” A sudden silence fills the space in between the two of you, and you can tell that he is shocked by your casual mention of his brother’s name, maybe even ask how Hunter knows where you are but he chooses against it. Again, you glance at the opening of the cave, watching the stormtroopers run around while two AT-ATs fire into the distance and continue to destroy everything that comes in their line of sight. There’s so much you want to ask Rex, perhaps even yell at him about. But you know this is neither the time nor the place to lecture him about how he shouldn’t have come to an Empire-infested planet, let alone with only a handful of other rebels.

The explosions only increase as minutes go by, and you hate having to wait beside Rex instead of fighting, but you know you can’t leave him by himself, especially since he was hurt and barely able to move. You sneak a look at him every once in a while, wanting to make sure that he was still awake and breathing. When the sounds of destruction grow near, you leave him in the back of the cave and make your way to the front, wanting to check whether there was anyone nearby. There are less stormtroopers walking nearby, and you notice that one of the transports stopped firing altogether. Thinking they must have realized there weren’t more rebels that attacked their camp, you make your way back inside the cave to tell Rex that you’re safe for the time being. 

Except as soon as you get there, your heart drops at the sight that meets you. You hand shoots to your lightsaber instantly, but the two stormtroopers point their guns instantly, one at you and the other at Rex.

“Don’t even think about it.”

You don’t move a muscle, afraid they’d get a shot right once and take his life then and there. 

“How did you get in?” You ask calmly, knowing not to make any sudden movements for his sake. They don’t answer your question, but you’re counting on one of them saying more than he intends. You glance at Rex and find his chest rising and falling much slower than before, his eyes barely managing to keep your gaze. 

“We knew you were coming and knew where you could hide.” Rex perks at the response, and you notice the smirk on his face, letting you know that they may have just revealed something they shouldn’t have.

“I’m going to give you one chance to walk away. It would be wise to listen to me.” There is false confidence and serenity in your voice, but you try to remain as calm as possible, unsure of whether or not your plan will work. 

“Don’t be stupid. You’re outnumbered, and he’s injured. This is an easy kill.” One of them responds with a laugh and you instantly know whom you will kill first. 

“I’m sorry.” You know that Rex hears the apology because he looks at you the same way he's gazed at you the last time you were in a similar situation. You’re not sure if it’s a look of disappointment or anger, but you know well you’ll never be able to forget it. 

“You should-” Before the armed man can finish his sentence, you ignite your lightsaber and send it swirling through the air, managing to cut his hand off before forcing it to go through the other’s torso. Both bodies drop to the ground, except one of them is dead while the other attempts to scream in agony. You don’t give him a chance to let out a single sound, running to him and taking the helmet off instantly to avoid unwanted visitors. Your hand is on his mouth immediately, a warning of what could happen if he decides to make any noise.

You stand up, and retrieve your lightsaber near the dead body, walking back to the stormtrooper laying beside Rex. You crouch down and stare at him, never once breaking eye contact to let him know that you were serious about your suggestion. 

“You should have taken the warning.”

“I- I thought Jedi don’t kill unarmed men.” His voice shakes with fear, and you hate the power that courses through your veins with each little, unsure breath he takes. 

“Haven’t you heard? All the Jedi are dead.” Not wanting to make this last any longer, you light your saber one last time and watch as life drains from his eyes, the buzzing sound of your weapon ringing through the cave for a moment before you shut it off. You turn around and bite into your lower lip nervously when you see the way Rex is staring at you. He winces when he tries to sit up again and you crouch beside him, not bothering to explain yourself as you check his wound. 

“Sit still, this will feel a little strange.” You rip the fabric down his chest, ignoring the harsh grasp he has on your forearm. It’s only when you place both of your palms atop his wound that his hold increases. 

“You c-can’t.” His voice is hoarse, making you wish this was all a nightmare. 

“Rex, they might be close but they’re not close enough. Let me heal you.”

“If you heal me, you…you won’t be able to protect yourself.” You cringe at the way he breathes the last word, and a part of you wants to shake him awake, tell him that you couldn’t care any less about yourself and only care for him. But you say nothing, shaking your head at the absurdity of his beliefs before shutting your eyes. 

Before either of you can say anything, you fall over against Rex, breathing a sigh of relief when his arms wrap around you and keep you in his embrace. 

“Mesh’la, please.” The petname nearly makes you sob but you tune him out, wanting to prioritize his safety over your own desires. You don’t respond to him, focusing on the slow beat of his heart in an attempt to match your own with it. It’s not faint, but it concerns you, scares you enough that you don’t follow your late master’s advice on what is necessary to be done when healing another. It happens quickly, much faster than it should, but you feel the Force twist and turn within your body until it moves into him. It’s not as it should be, but you continue regardless, knowing there was no other option, no other way to ensure his safety. Only when you feel his grip soften on your skin do you finally open your eyes and look down at his shoulder. It’s completely healed, but the skin is still inflamed, making you wish you were a little more patient. 

“What have you done, sweetheart?” His voice is soothing now, not as angry or hurt as before, and you hate that it’s only because he feels guilty for making you expand your energy for him. You smile at him, marveling at how captivating his hazel gray eyes can be after all those years of knowing him. But the thought slowly dies out as you watch everything turn dark. If there is a confession that shocks you to your core, you don’t really register it, too busy surrendering to the warmth engulfing you.

It seems unfairly short, the heat that allowed you to rest for a moment suddenly getting ripped away from you. It goes as quickly as it comes, and you force your eyes to open in search for it, only to find yourself in an empty room, riddled with nothing but a handful of scraps. 

You study the small sleeping area, and only when you turn behind you do you finally realize where you are, whose room you’re in. The helmet looks back at you, a reminder of where this journey began, how long you’ve been carrying this secret. A part of you wishes you could tell him, but you’re not sure where you can even begin, or if he would feel the same way. You’d always had an inclination, but you didn’t want to meet the consequences should your intuition be wrong.

The sound of the door sliding open catches your attention and you already know who it is before you can look at him. You expect him to ask where you’ve been, or even how you knew where he was. You’re even waiting for him to discuss why Hunter knew where you were all along and he didn’t. But he says none of that. In fact, he says nothing at all as he takes a seat on his cot, instantly taking your hand in between his own and rubbing your wrist. 

The two of you breathe in unison, as if you’ve both been waiting for this moment for so long. You look down to where he’s touching you, and you wonder if you’ll ever feel anything remotely as intimate as this instance. 

The softness with which he touches you, along with his sweet, concerned voice, makes you want to tug him beneath the covers and forget the galaxy around you. But you reel back your emotions, and clear your throat in an attempt to keep yourself under control, afraid he could see right through you. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay. You?” Rex smiles at your concern, remembering all those times you were bloodied and beaten but still prioritized his safety. 

“I’m good…thanks to you.” His thumb circles around the skin of your hand, the sensation feeling like a heated rod rubbing against your joints. A small part of you wishes to remove your palm from his hands, but you don’t want to upset him, or have him misunderstand why you can’t bear his touch all of a sudden. It’s only later that you’d come to realize why you really didn’t want to stop touching him, but for now, you convince yourself it’s to avoid hurting his feelings and not because you can’t find it in yourself to let go of him. It’s difficult to focus on anything else, but as he continues to massage strange figures across the back of your hand, you figure this may be the only time you’ll be able to apologize for what you’ve done all those months ago.

“I’m sorry.” The two words are enough to snap Rex out of whatever haze he’s fallen under. He slowly looks up at you, stopping the circular patterns but continuing to hold your hand in between his. His gaze doesn’t waver for a moment and you know he’s silently asking you to elaborate on the strange outburst.

“Rex, I’m so sorry. For everything.” His impassive expression shifts then, and you swallow the lump in your throat when you see his eyebrows twitch in irritation before resting once more. 

“What happened on Corijn wasn’t your fault.” Rex finally breaks his silence, and you shake your head impatiently, annoyed that he knew what you’re referring to but was choosing to take the higher road for your sake. 

“That’s not what I mean.” You attempt to take your hand away then, but Rex doesn’t let you move another inch, keeping a tight hold on you and tugging you closer to him. You’re not sure if he’s intentionally trying to drag this out or was simply refusing to blame you for what you’ve done.

“Tell me.” You hate how calm he sounds, how caring and patient he’s being with you when he should be angry with you for knowingly hurting him. 

“I’m sorry for…leaving without an explanation. For ignoring your messages.” A sigh of relief leaves your lips, but is quickly interrupted when you understand that there is something much more important you should be apologizing for. You look away for a moment to collect your bearings, and when you think you can handle looking into his sad eyes again, you turn your attention back to him and finally let go of your pride.

“For showing you what I’m capable of.” If you think he’d say anything to confirm your hunch, he disappoints you and remains silent. But as the seconds roll by, you learn that his quietness was not out of judgment but out of meditation. The thought makes you uncomfortable because even though he owed you nothing, he was still trying to choose his words carefully so he doesn’t end up saying something that upsets you.

“I never meant for you to…see what you have seen. To know that I can take life so easily and without hesitation.” Whatever you thought Rex’s reaction would be, you never expected him to let go of you as if you’ve burned him, let alone frown at you in sheer anger. You sit up slowly when you see him take a few steps back and face the opposite wall, and you don’t dare say anything else until you figure out what exactly pissed him off so much. 

“Is that what you think I care about?” His voice is calm, but you can practically feel his wrath radiating off of him like deadly waves, as if he was barely managing the facade he was putting up. You’re confused at the abrupt and dramatic response, and only when his response registers in your mind that you finally lose control and snap at him in return. 

“Rex, don’t look at me and tell me you don’t care because I know you do. I cared…or used to at least.” He turns around then, and you hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you had stabbed him with a vibroblade and twisted it. He walks back to you and grabs your shoulders, pulling you towards him so you can focus on nothing but his words. 

“I only ever cared about you. You- you threw yourself into harm’s way for me, as if your life wasn’t more precious.” Like before, you’re shocked by his response and look at him with a confused expression.

“It’s not.” You answer instantly, and Rex curses beneath his breath at how adamant you are, how wholeheartedly you believe your own thoughts and continue to ignore his own. 

“Cyare, please. I- I’ve lost everyone I love. My brothers are broken, and so am I. Do you think I could survive your death too?” You shake your head at him, once again attempting to push him away from you. But Rex slips his hold around your wrists and tugs you even closer, until you’re both breathing the same air. His chest rises and falls rapidly, mirroring your own in fear and anger. For a moment, you see his eyes shift down to your lips and only when you let out a quiet sob does he return his attention to your gaze once more. 

“You don’t understand how much I changed.” The confession is whispered with wariness, and you look away from him, too embarrassed to explain to him why you were so much different than the Jedi he once knew. 

“So your lightsaber is orange. That means nothing to me.” The mention of your weapon steals the air out of your lungs, and you don’t notice you’re crying until you feel Rex’s calloused fingers wipe away the tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“The color means so much more than you realize.” You can barely stand at this point, and Rex must notice the toll this conversation is taking on you because he pushes you back to his cot and sits you down with ease, remaining in your space in an attempt to calm your mind. He parts his lips to relay a confession of his own, but when he sees you avoiding meeting his eyes again, he cups your jaw and pushes it up until he’s in your line of sight. 

“I know what it means. I know why it changed, and I don’t care. You’re so much more to me.”

Rex would tell you later that it took you way too long to understand what he was trying to tell you at this moment. You look at him closely, trying to come to terms with the reality of what he just said. Time seems to stand still as you blink confusingly at him, and it’s only when his other hand cups your cheek as well that you truly comprehend the revelation he’s just thrust upon you. 

“You don’t mean-” Your voice cracks, and it’s the first time in ages that you feel shy in front of Rex. Not embarrassed, or awkward. Just shy and hopeful.

“Each time I look at you,” he leans forward and shuts his eyes, nudging your nose with his own as he takes in a deep breath to commit this moment to memory, “I’m limp as a glove.” The ease with which he murmurs those words sets you mind at ease, and you allow yourself to disregard everything horrible that transpired before this second.

“I’m desperate for you cyare,” Rex shakes with anticipation as he feels your hands finally reach for him, grabbing onto his forearms to make sure that this was real, and he was telling you what you’ve yearned to hear from him ever since you first laid eyes on him all those years ago. 

“And feeling like someone in love.” A shudder courses through your body, sending you into Rex’s embrace and forcing you to break down in his arms. You wrap yourself around him, afraid this is all a dream and that you’d wake up all alone on your ship. Rex lets out a chuckle, one that lets you know he understands the striking reaction to his confession. 

“I can’t go through life without you, not anymore.” He whispers into your ear, praying to the Force that you finally allow yourself to believe how much you matter to him, or at the very least, trust his judgment. 

“Trust me baby, that’s all I’m asking of you. Trust me to know what I want…what I need to keep doing this.” The reassuring sentiments wash over you like the early morning dew, managing to send you into a state of serenity you have not known in a long time. You want to say so much to him, describe what he makes you feel, or even how often you think of him. But your throat is dry from the intensity of the conversation, so you figure you can put him at ease for the time being, until you are brave enough to tell how much you love him. 

“Okay.”

Neither of you say anything else for what feels like hours, relishing the comfortable silence that replaced years of heartache and unspoken feelings. It’s only when you wipe your nose thatRex figures he can joke a little with you. 

“And for kriff’s sake, don’t drop off the face of the galaxy again.”You giggle at the sudden outburst but pull back to look into his eyes as you make him a new promise. 

“I won’t.”

The two of you smile at each other, but you notice the hazel in his eyes quickly become overshadowed with much darker pupils. The easy expressions turn heated, and before you know it, you’re pushing forward and molding your lips with his. It’s a chaste kiss, one that took wars to finally come into existence, and you decide then and there that you’d like to begin and end each day with the touch of his lips. Rex parts his bruised lips to deepen the kiss, smiling to himself when you let out a little gasp and give him a chance to grow even closer to you. 

Your hands twist in his clothes, muscles relaxing as you feel his hands comb into your hair and tug a little. He pulls your head away to give you a chance to breathe, and when your eyes flutter open, he lets out a sigh of relief at seeing them just as dazed as he his heart feels.

“Kriff…I’ve wanted to do that for years.” Rex mutters against your lips, giving you a quick peck on the lips before pulling you back into his arms. You’re about to tell him that you probably wanted to kiss him long before him when you sense a pair of eyes staring at you. 

“Well, the whole of the Rebellion saw this coming.” Gregor laughs when the two of you jump at his laugh, and you can’t help but giggle at Rex when you turn to him and watch as his cheeks turn different shades of red. 

Cody was the marshal commander of the GAR, he was genetically engineered to be a powerful soldier and talented leader, and he had spent countless hours on the front lines of the war. Some of the situations he had found himself and his troops were nothing short of horrific, and he had a reputation for running headfirst at battle droids, both with and without a weapon. Point being, he could do anything he put his mind to. 

Except apparently, ask you out on a date. 

Waxer and Boil, at this point well aware of how their commander felt about the 212th’s auxiliary intelligence officer, tried their best to help, even if it sometimes felt like they were getting a little too much enjoyment at the sight of Cody’s lovestruck stuttering. But no matter how many times they tried to reassure him that you felt the same way, he never believed a word. 

Now, with the war over and many of the regular dangers they faced each day a distant memory, Cody had made up his mind. There was no excuse anymore, he had to own his feelings and finally speak them out loud. If you didn’t return them, then he could put the matter to bed, but he had to say something. 

The music in 79’s blared louder than usual, and the place was packed. Cheerful whoops and drunken laughter filled the space, with clones of all battalions celebrating the victory of the republic and their newfound freedom. There was still much work to be done to secure the best futures possible, but the bills already before the Galactic Senate were promising, and no one really wanted to worry about all that right now anyway. 

You were squeezed in at the end of the 212th’s booth, your leg resting against Cody’s as you sipped on a brightly colored drink and listened to the story being told across the table. His men had been adamant that he sit next to you, and Cody was really starting to feel the effects of his little crush, likely due to the amount of liquor he had already consumed that night and the fact that the clothes you were wearing were a far cry from the simple and practical GAR-issued uniform he was used to seeing you in. As he stared intently at a burn mark on the table, the rest of the world faded out from Cody’s view, until he felt a soft tap to his leg. 

“Is everything okay?” you asked, and he turned to see a concerned expression on your face. “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” 

His brain stopped for a moment. Was this really the chance he had to ask you out? Half drunk and sweatier than usual, he would not have chosen this out of all the times in the galaxy. He stared at you for longer than what might seem normal before snapping out of the trance and realizing that you probably expected an answer to your question. “No, I’m fine,” he said. “You don’t need to worry about me.” 

That last part was meant to be reassuring, but he could see your face flicker with worry before you nodded in response. You didn’t push him any more, but he could have sworn he caught you glancing at him more often as the night progressed. 

You left earlier than the rest of the squad that night, wanting to get some rest before a meeting you had the next morning, but Cody could almost still feel the way your leg rested against his as he and the rest of his troops stumbled back to the barracks hours later. 

***

The next time he saw you, they were at a gala and you were wearing a dress, and Cody was genuinely worried that he had forgotten how to breathe. This dress was long, with a skirt that just barely grazed the floor as you moved, and it was a conscious effort on his part to keep his mouth closed. As much as he felt the true sacrifices made during the war could never truly be acknowledged in a Nabooian ballroom and that this was nothing more a useless show of frivolity, he was certainly enjoying the way you looked. 

“Are you ever going to actually say something?” a voice cut into Cody’s thoughts, and he turned to see his general standing there with a judgemental expression on his face. “Or are you going to just stare at her forever and hope she develops the ability to telepathically communicate?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cody said, trying desperately to save face. Was it that obvious how he felt about you? 

“Come on Cody,” Obi-Wan said as he took a sip of his drink, a smile on his face as he watched his friend shift nervously. “If Anakin’s men can tell how smitted you are from halfway across the dance floor, then I think the secret is out. I honestly have no idea how she hasn’t noticed yet.” 

“I’m just nervous,” Cody said, not wanting to play this game anymore with Rex. “Everyone keeps telling me that she feels the same, but what if they’re wrong? I made up my mind to say something, but no time ever feels like the right one, you know?” 

Obi-Wan smiled. “I don’t think there will ever be the perfect time to say something,” he said kindly. “If by some stroke of unluck she doesn’t return your feelings, nothing bad is going to happen. But waiting forever thinking that the ‘right time’ is going to fall from the sky may only ensure your place on the sideline if she believes you are not interested.” 

Cody sighed. His general was right. The last thing he would want is for you to move on because he wasn’t brave enough to ever tell you how he felt. There may never be a perfect time to do something like this, but he supposed there would be worse times than right now. 

After finishing the drink in his hand, Cody walked across the ballroom and approached you as you spoke to a few senators. A smile immediately crossed your face as he caught your eye, and you had closed the distance between you and him moments later. “I’m so glad you’re here,” you said, wrapping your arms around him in a hug he never wanted to let go of. “Most senators are very nice, but their default topics of conversation are far from interesting.” 

Cody laughed. “I’m glad I could be a help,” he said, as the wheels in his brain turned. Bolder than he usually would have been, he reached a hand out to you. “Would you like to dance with me?” 

After you accepted his hand and allowed him to lead you to the floor, Cody concentrated heavily on his steps. The music guided his movement and you were an excellent dancer, so the last thing he wanted was to step on your feet. You must have been able to tell that he was unsure of himself, because you began to guide him as you danced. 

This is your chance, the voice in his head proclaimed, and for once, he agreed. Maybe it was Obi-Wan’s words before, maybe it was the way you smiled as you twirled across the dancefloor, but Cody was never more ready to finally say something. 

“Is everything okay?” you asked, pulling Cody once more from his own head. 

But unlike last time you had asked him this, he found the words a few seconds later. “Of course,” he said. “I was actually-” 

But before he could finish his sentence, another senator walked up to the two of you, and you could only shoot Cody an apologetic look as you were gently pulled away from him. So much for that moment, he thought sadly as he left the dance floor in search of something to drink. 

***

Cody had abandoned the gala half an hour ago, and it was only an accident that he managed to stumble across a garden. The air was cool as he wandered, taking note of all the beautiful trees and flowers, some in full bloom now that it was dark outside. It was quiet and secluded, the perfect place for him to sit down and mull over every choice he made this evening. He expected that eventually others would find this place and ruin his solitude, but his plan was to head back to where they had been staying soon anyway. 

He didn’t expect the person who found him to be you, but in hindsight he should have. “Do you mind if I sit here?” 

“Finally got a chance to escape, huh?” He asked as you plopped down next to him, a teasing tone to his voice. 

“Maker, they’re so boring,” you said. “But I guess I should be grateful that so many people are interested in what I have to say.” 

Cody’s expression shifted, his curiosity piqued. “Why?” 

“Oh right, you don’t know,” you responded. “I’ve been working with Senator Amidala on the new bill that has to do with you guys. My testimonies and stories from working with you all will hopefully allow us to provide consistent stipends and free housing for all the troops of the GAR.” 

“That’s amazing.” 

You smiled bashfully. “I wish I didn’t have to fight this hard for it though. Padmé thinks we’re close, and hopefully the number of senators who have sought me out this evening to talk about it means she’s right.” 

“Well, if it means anything right now, I couldn’t be more grateful that you’re willing to fight for us, and I know every single of the men I work with feel the same way.” 

“Thanks,” you said softly, leaning your head on his shoulder with a yawn. Cody’s breath hitched, and he desperately hoped you didn’t notice. 

After a few beats of comfortable silence, you spoke again. “What did you want to tell me earlier?” 

Without wasting another moment, Cody just spoke. No warmup, no preparation, he just couldn’t hold it in any longer. “How much you mean to me. Working with you was an experience that I won’t ever forget, but now that the war is over I don’t want to stop seeing you. I understand if you don’t feel the same way, but when I saw you in that dress tonight I forgot how to function for a moment, and my men have been bugging me about this for longer than I want to admit. I always wanted the perfect moment, but maybe that isn’t possible when you’re the only perfect thing in the entire galaxy.” 

There. He had said it, bared his soul to you and finally admitted that the feelings he had were more than just ones of friendship. He took in a shaky breath after he finished speaking, and he watched your face change, hoping for some sign that things would be okay.

“Cody,” you said softly, hand reaching out to his. 

But before you could speak the rest of your thoughts, it began to rain. 

A few droplets quickly turned to a deluge, and the two of you turned towards the sky in shock. Your hand tightened around Cody’s as laughter bubbled from your lips and pulled him towards building. The sound of your shoes on the stone paths was drowned out by the rain, and you were still laughing when you finally made it to an awning. 

The door back to the gala was right there, but neither of you made the move to go back inside. And when you leaned in to kiss him, Cody certainly didn’t complain. 

No more words were spoken, but the communication was effortless. His hands rested on your hips as yours wrapped around his neck, and it didn’t matter that some of the rainwater was making it through the gaps in the awning and still falling on your heads. 

When you finally broke apart, your face remained close to his. “I couldn’t think of a more eloquent answer, I hope that’s alright.” 

“Cyare, I think that was the best possible answer you could have given,” he responded, laughing as he leaned in to kiss you once more. 

Maybe there was no such thing as a perfect moment, but this was pretty damn near close.

- the end -

She wasn’t prepared for the middle of the night knock on her door, she had a long night, and she was exhausted, but she went to open the door and was met face to face with Rex, still in his uniform, helmet slung under his arm.

“Rex…it’s… it’s the middle of the night.” She tilts her head and motions for him to come inside. He has a strange look on his face as he enters.

“I…I know but, I wanted to come as soon as I got back…” Rex says hesitantly as he walked into her living room, she’s following right behind him. “I got your transmission, and…I needed to see you in person, say this to your face.” Rex pauses, then says “You're my best friend, and I wouldn’t want that to change, except I want to be more than that.” He reaches out and grabs her hands in his, His amber eyes looking into hers. She looked back, and she felt her jaw slowly open in amazement. She had nearly forgotten about the transmission she had sent, it was like so many she had sent to him over the war. What was so different about this one that it lead to such a proclamation?

“Rex…I want that too…But what are you talking about?” She asked, an eyebrow raised. He smiled, pulling her close. He looked into her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter, I’ve just been wanting to tell you for so long, I just didn’t have the courage to tell you until you sent that message.”  As he said this he closed the distance between them he pressed his lips against hers, holding her close in his arms, as if he didn’t do this right now the whole galaxy would implode. She melted into his kiss, her arms finding her way around his neck, and for a moment she realized how fleeting this moment was, how soon she would be saying goodbye again. Why fill this moment with questions they could answer later, when they could spend the time together? Rex pulled away from the kiss after a moment, he mumbled softly against her lips.

“You’re the one I want.”

  ~

In the months that followed, things were chaotic but good, Rex was of course busy with the war effort but whenever he could be, he was with her, in her presence, in her bed. The sun shone through the window as they lay in each other’s arms. Rex opens his eyes and smiles softly, looking down at her as she also slowly woke from her slumber.

“G’Morning… Sleep well Mesh’la?” he asked softly, his arms wrapped around her as she lay on his chest.

“Mhm, I always sleep better when you’re here.” She replied with a contented sigh as she traced circles on his chest. He chuckled softly.

“We should have done something about this a long time ago, could’ve had a better night’s sleep all this time.” He playfully teased as he fussed with the sleeve of his shirt on her torso.  She laughed and rolled onto her back looking over at him with a smile on her face.

“Maybe, who knows, I think both of us were probably too blind to realize the other felt the same. All of this practically happened on accident.” She stretched out and started to get ready for the day ahead. Rex reaches for her, taking her hand in his and looks at her with an eyebrow raised at her.

“An accident? What do you mean by that?” He asked with trepidation in his voice. She leans back and runs her thumb over his knuckles and shook her head.

“I mean, I never intended to tell you how I felt, not with the war going on, I figured someday when we win and the Separatists were long gone I would be able to tell you, but my messages, they gave it away before I could.” She looked at his hand, unsure of how to respond beyond that. Rex pulled her back into his arms, he wasn’t ready to let her go for the day.

“I wanted that too, I wanted to tell you when I could love you how you deserve to be loved. When I could wake up by your side every day, where I could bring you flowers, pick up the groceries, live here with you. I can’t give you that right now.” Rex’s voice wavered slightly at the end, holding her close to him. She looked at him and gave him a warm smile.

“I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this, I don’t need all that. I just need you.” She took his hand in hers and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. He took her face in his hands.

“Someday this war will be over, and we’ll both get what we want.”

~

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