#sw fluff

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

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

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

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

Rex blinks, confused. “Why would I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fives—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tries is the key word.

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

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

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

Or is she something else entirely?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In here. Quickly.”

Rex glances back once and considers the alternative.

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

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

He finds…you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rex swallows. “Why are you helping me?”

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

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

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

Friend, then.

Rex can work with that.

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

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

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

Rex knows but stifles the thought again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I take a look?”

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

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

This isn’t.

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

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

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

What the kriffing hell is going on with him?

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

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

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

Your eyes widen. “No. I didn’t mean—”

“Oh—”

“But if you want—”

“It’s—”

“I can cut it.”

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

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

“It’ll be cold.”

“I know,” answers Rex quickly.

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

Kriff me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can move your hand now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Rex,” he finally answers.

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

“Just Rex.”

“Okay, Just Rex.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sleeping, Rex?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course. It’s nothing. Really.”

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

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

“Can you walk?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” asks Rex, flustered.

“You like her,” says Skywalker.

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

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

“Sir. That explains nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Visions. They have to be. Despite being only a padawan, you found yourself to be quite the well-versed one. People had a lot of faith in you, they roped you into the same category they often did Anakin-- which undoubtedly made him one of your closest confidants. Both having been picked by the council to train past the average due date, and both displayed grand abilities with the force. But he just seemed to have such a better time handing such a blessing and a curse. You were in awe of him. 

These dreams, premonitions, began to affect even the way you trained. Staying up until late into the night, and limiting your sleep to short increments that don't lull you into enough comfort to dream, doesn't do too well with days that require mental strain and physical fitness. You began falling behind in a way, and people noticed. You were stuck at a crossroads of sorts; did you relieve yourself of having to handle these visions you had, or did you rest yourself well enough to perform at the level everyone expects you to? 

Then, it’d hit you. You'd never properly talked to anyone about this, you never told anyone how you felt, keeping it locked away deep inside of you you’d rather carry your sorrow by yourself and bear the consequences of silence than speak up about it. A part of you felt as though it wasn't important enough to justify a council meeting, that your pain didn't warrant any help, and you didn't want to be a burden to anyone else in a way. Who could you even talk to about this? Surrounded by younglings who wouldn't understand, or padawans focused on their own training, and heaven forbid you spoke to the higher-ups on this matter-- when they have actual pressing matters to attend to. Some worse than your dreams. You decide to stay to yourself once more. 

The soft clacking of blunt heels echoes in an otherwise empty hall-- another unsuccessful training session under your belt, apparently. You felt dejected, and those around you grew curious about your behavior. Another night you would spend awake in your room, tossing and turning over the fears that you couldn't tell anyone about. Or, so you thought. 

A second sound of feet growing rushed in the hallway you both shared, an unfamiliar tune of what seemed to be an even unfamiliar stride draws ever close to you until you look behind you to see who could greet you at a time like this. 

“Hey, do you think we could talk for a minute?” 

It was Anakin. You had almost forgotten about him as you were so wrapped in yourself, but this question makes your heart drop. Is he here to talk about your low performance? Did your master send him? Did something really happen and you never said anything? 

“Oh, of course, what's the issue?” 

You respond in the most casual tone you can muster, just barely coated over the fear and worry lacing every syllable you speak. 

“Is, everything okay with you? I mean this genuinely. I've seen the way you’ve been training recently-- it's not like yourself. And I know you like I know myself. You are strong, and something really must be getting to you right now, I can almost see it in your eyes.” 

You stand there silenced for a moment. 

“Oh- but, please, correct me if I'm wrong. I don't mean to assume I just wanted to check on you. I care for you.” 

You feel a tear well in your eye at the sound of that. He was your friend. And as you stood there, a mouth slightly open as you tried to get the words out you felt that realization wash over you. Maybe he could do something about it, maybe he would understand what you were talking about-- maybe, he's experienced them too. 

“Anakin, I've been having visions. Visions of our masters, our friends, they were-” 

Getting choked up on your words for a moment you pause to compose yourself. Anakin looks at you with eyes full of attentiveness, not a smidge of judgment is found within his eyes focused on you, a mouth closed to allow himself to listen and even more let you compose yourself without interruption. 

“They were, in a battle that can't be won. I watched them get hurt, and fail. There was nothing I could do, it was like I was an outsider to my own future. And, I can't sleep over it. I can barely eat anakin. To be honest I'm a mess. And I just don't know what to do, I don't want my family to die.” 

A frown forms upon Anakin's face, but it's a sentimental one. Empathetic, even as he opens his arms for a hug and you with tear-ridden eyes follow his embrace. His arms folded around your back he soothes your sniffles into his robe with a thumb tracing your back, and a soothing reply;

“Oh- oh, it's okay. I know what you’re talking about, truly. It's okay to be afraid of those. You love us, and we all love you just the same. There's no reason to feel bad to be so scared of things like that, it's more than natural. But listen to me okay?” 

He raises his hands to your shoulders, as means to look directly into your eyes before what he says next; 

“You don't have to worry, okay? You and I are alike in so many ways, and I can promise you, they’re not visions. No matter how vivid they may be, the force can't do that to us. You can't see into the future, not even master yoda can, okay? So don't feel like you have to bear that kind of burden. You’re just afraid, and that's okay. I am too. Every day I walk these halls I worry I won't be good enough. And sometimes, that seeps into my dreams as well. And I feel hopeless, just as you are. But you can't let that overtake you. The only way to overcome these dreams is to overcome the feeling of not being good enough to help those you love the way they help you. And the first way to start is knowing that you help me, just as I help you too. We’re in this together okay? And we always will be.” 

His eyes are stern, but they’re coated with care. Said with a small smile on his face to comfort you, he brought you into an embrace once more. 

“You’re a wonderful person, okay? And I will always be here for you. Always."

I miss you.

It's been... kriff I don't even know how long. I think last time I saw you, it was sunny... yeah, it was, I remember thinking how pretty you looked with light dancing in your eyes. I wish I'd kissed you then. Before that too, when we were at 79's and I heard you laugh at one of Phantom's shitty jokes.

You talk to him a lot. Makes sense, he's got a lot to say... I wish I could speak more to you. I just-- can't. I don't know why. My voice is fine, I remember you saying it was pretty once, when you heard me laugh. Made me blush. Kriff, Specs wouldn't let me live that down for weeks. "Sing us a song with your pretty voice, Banshee~"

He was just poking fun, I smiled at it, rolled my eyes, but I hated it. I hated that I couldn't sing like a bird right then and there. I flipped him one instead, we rough housed, and then before we knew it, we were on another battlefield.

I want to tell you everything. I hope it's enough just to want to. That when I put my arm around you, you know I'd do anything for you. That when I look in your eyes all I can think is how lucky I am to have been made, because I get to look at you even for a second. I get to hear your laugh, even if it's muffled it's still the prettiest laugh I know. Or your voice, ah kriff, I could listen to you talk all damn day.

I do, sometimes.

That message you left on my commlink, I saved it. Play it when I'm in the field so if I go, you're the last thing I hear.

"What'cha thinkin' about Ban? You've been staring off into space for like... twenty minutes. You okay?" Athena. She's small, I could throw her pretty far if we combined my strength and her force jump. I think General Valka would kill me if I launched her though.

Nothing, but that's a lie, I'm thinking about you.

"Somebody's lying~" I could punch Phantom right now, that sing-song jeering makes me so- ugh, "You're thinkin' about that babe, aren't you? Vod when ya gonna ask 'em out! Better do it before I do, I make em laugh you know, bet I could get em to make other noi-"

I punch Phantom. I don't even realize I did until Athena gasps at the blood running down Tommy's face. "Kriff I was joking Ban! Ah! What the hell!?"

I'm sorry, Tom, I didn't- he swats my hands, effectively shutting me up.

Ghost comes in later, he looks disappointed. I wish he'd look angry. "Anything to say for yourself?"

No. It was out of line.

"It was. So, why'd you do it? It's not like you to take a crack at Tom in earnest, lucky his nose didn't break." He chuckles, and I'm relieved at that. Didn't hurt him too badly after all.

But I can't answer Ghost... I don't want him to think less of me. Punching my brother just because I got jealous of even the thought of him taking you from me, and you're not even mine? Oh shit, why's he laughing? Hey, stop that, what's so funny?

Why are you laughing?

Ghost smiles, "You're in love huh? That person from 79's, the one you keep staring at? If Tom made a pass at them, I get why you punched him." He pats my shoulder, and I feel myself bristle, but he just shakes his head, "Look. Apologize to Tom, but between you and me, he deserved it. You should tell them when we get back, think you'll be happy with the answer."

I miss you more now. For three days, I miss you more and more. When The Crypt finally lands I can't get off the ship fast enough. "I'LL TELL THEM TO MEET YOU AT THEIR PLACE!" Ghost calls after me as I take a flying leap from The Crypt's still opening door.

I turn around, run backwards a click so I can sign my thank yous and wave. As I'm rushing through the crowds, the streets, you chime into my helmet. I can't pick up fast enough, I accidentally hang up on you in my excitement. Thankfully you call back immediately.

"Hey, I know you don't talk, so just listen! Ghost called, I'm headed home now, I'll be a few minutes but if you beat me home, just let yourself in okay? The code is your number! I'll see you soon, ahh I can't wait to see you I missed you!!! Bye Ban!"

You missed me... You missed me!! My legs carry me faster than before, I can't stop the smile on my face. It almost hurts my cheeks, I just want to see you already!! The streets here all look the same, where's your door? I know it, I know it, come on, which one-

"Ban!!" It's you. It's you! Where are you, from above? "Banshee look up! To the left, Ban!"

My head snaps around, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I get to see your smile. My heart beat pounds in my chest, my cheeks are hot, Maker you look so beautiful...

I rush the stairs like my life depends on it, feels like it almost might. My body knows the aches of battle well, but this ache is still new to me. The physical need to be close... I yank off my helmet and fling it to stop at your feet before I crash into you.

With your arms around my shoulders, your legs wrapping my waist, every part of me feels whole finally. You smell like sunshine in the cold, like fresh bread from a real bakery, you smell like you, and it's my favorite scent of all. You smell like home.

Once your legs are under you again, I still don't let go, I can't. I've waited too long to hold you, to see you, just be near. I'm not letting you go. Your hands are so soft...

I lean my cheek into your palm, smiling down at you as I continue to catch my breath. Stars I could look at you forever. The way you run your hands over my head, feeling my short hair. You'll come back with ink on you, I know it. The others just drew on me, I hope there's nothing bad up there... I love the way your thumb feels against my lips. The way you map out every part of me, like you're seeing my face for the first time all over again. I love you. Kriff I love you so much I can barely stand it, I--

"What are you thinking about?"

"I love you."

No. No no no. No I didn't-- I didn't mean to say it like that, I'm sorry, please stop looking at me like that, no, I'm sorry, p--

What was that? Do it again.

Your lips on mine... I move forward, careful, trying to mimic the same thing, but- oh... oh that's... you'd move your lips on mine, I move mine the same, slow, softer this time. Am I doing it right? You don't stop me, I think I am. You pull back, breathing hard as I am, smiling so brightly... you're everything to me. You feel like home.

"I love you too, Banshee." You giggle, and my heart sings. One hand leaves my face, I can see ink on your fingers, just like I thought. 1666, you really did use my number as your code... you love me.

As we move inside, you stop, gasping at a sudden realization, "Oh stars, that's the first time I've heard you speak! I didn't know you could!"

   His shaggy black hair sticks to his skin. It’s gross… or at least that’s what you wanted to think. It’s actually kind of hot. Which is a recurring thought of yours these days. No matter how much you insist on ignoring his rugged, handsome features, your brain insists on daydreaming about him.

   That’s why you’re in his bedroom right now, when he’s an even bigger mess than usual, wringing out a wet cloth. For some bizarre reason you missed him, and it’s easy to check in on him every hour or so under the guise of being his overly helpful roommate. Despite how much he protests your aid, much too proud for his own good, you play nurse anyway.

   “Oh yeah,” you drawl, a chuckle resting on your lips. “Didn’t she even refund the plane ticket and keep the money? Hilarious.”

   “Just go away.” Leaning up into a sitting position, he reaches for the glass of water you left by his bedside. “I don’t need your help.”

   When your fingers brush against each other, you fight the urge to recoil from his fervid touch. Instead you slap his hand away and grab the glass. His face contorts into a grimace which only intensifies as you push him back down on the bed. Dropping the wet cloth onto his head, it makes a plopping sound. Water spurts out and down his face, soaking his hair and pillow. Before he has a chance to complain, you bring the glass to his lips.

   “Open wide!” At this rate his anger will burn the fever right out. Still he does as told, gulping the cool liquid down. A few droplets slip past his lips and you catch them with your thumb. When he finishes, you pat his head and coo. “Good boy! What a good b–”

   “Just get out already!”