The doors to the heavily armored CG transport closed, and Rex launched himself at the twi’lek.

Shor’s back hit the wall with a distinct crunch, and he managed to draw a terrified breath before a plastoid covered forearm pressed against his neck. 

“Rex, no!”

But he paid Fox no mind at all. Everything but the wide-eyed, shaking, despicable face before him felt distant and faded. There was a pull at his shoulder, and then at his blaster belt, but he didn’t care. Let his brother take his weapon. He didn’t need it.

“She was your friend!” he snarled, bearing down on the windpipe beneath his arm. “And look what you’ve done to her! You’ve made her a spectacle! You broadcasted her name, her face, her pain!”

Rex had never been so livid, never felt so helpless. Not when he’d been forced to retreat or been taken prisoner or lost a squadron. Not even when he’d come back to you battered and languishing in your bed. This was invasive, this was sick. He needed to hurt the person who caused this. He needed to feel Shor break beneath his hands. 

Your beaten face, flung high up on that screen for the entire system to see, flashed before his eyes again. Every cry, every wince, every nightmare you’d had over the last two weeks flooded his brain.

The first punch was too simple, too easy. He felt the bones around Shor’s nose crack beneath his glove, and it did nothing to assuage the frenzied monster that had risen up inside him. So he did it again. And again.

Shor grunted, his head flew back and banged against the wall of the ship. Fox shouted, and Rex heard the clack of plastoid against plastoid as his brother’s arms wrapped around him and tugged. He did not cede ground. Not this time.

Not when another creeping, repulsive thought had snuck its way into his head, “The pictures,” he grunted, Fox straining behind him. “Some of them showed her room. Some of them were from this week.”

He released some pressure from Shor’s throat, “You foul piece of shit! The angles were from her desk, where I threw the fucking button you gave her!”

Rex went for the stomach this time, punching upward with so much force he thought, just for a second, he might punch through. Shor wheezed and coughed, struggling against the cuffs he was still bound by. 

A yank at his head, and sudden light filled his vision. Fox had gotten his helmet off of him. Not that it mattered. 

“Did you watch all week, while she tried to heal?” He gritted out, laying more hits to the twi’s ribs. He hoped he left fractures spidering clear to his spine. “Did you watch her sleep? Did you watch her change? You sick little-”

There was a brief flash of pain at the back of his skull. Rex saw the overhead lights of the transport grow brighter and brighter, until his entire vision went white. He felt himself topple over, but he was gone before he hit the floor.

*********************************

The ride to CG HQ had been quiet and tense, but at least it jostled you around enough to keep you alert. 

The hours after your netscreen had gone blank had been a fuzzy, gray amalgamation of your own shock and panic. You’d knelt there on the floor, struggling to breathe until a sharp knock at your door spurred your numb body into autopilot movements. 

At the sight of three heavily armed troopers, their helmets painted red instead of blue, you finally burst into tears. 

They were sweet, sweeter than they needed to be, taking the time to awkwardly comfort you until you calmed down enough to listen. They were here to take you to safety, the one named Lockpick gently explained to you, just in case some nutjobs managed to figure out where you lived. When that didn’t get your heavy limbs moving, another clone stepped up, taking your shoulders in hand and settling his jaggedly-painted helmet in front of your face.

“My name is Sergeant Hound, ma’am,” he said, low and kind, like you might bolt from him at any moment. “You probably don’t remember, but we met a few weeks back. I need you to pack a bag of clothing and essentials. We’re going to take you to Captain Rex.”

A sense of urgency finally sparked in your brain. Your head whipped up, eyes gazing into the steady visor before you. It wasn’t the visor you wanted to be looking into right now, “Rex?”

Hound nodded and placed a hand over his heart, “I promise, ma’am. He’ll be very happy to see you.”

That was all it took. You’d dressed and packed in ten minutes, and your clone escort sat you down in their speeder, surrounding you from all sides. 

The ride was quick, and Corrie HQ was humming with energy and movement, soldiers running this way and that, deploying and reporting back. No one seemed to look in your direction except…

Fox was waiting for you at the entrance, issuing commands to all the troopers running up to him. They turned around and left him just as quickly, like he was a revolving turnstile of stress and orders. 

He barely acknowledged your escort, just nodded decisively when he saw that you were still in one piece, “Good. Hound, rejoin your unit and get back out there. I want my streets back from the brawlers by morning.”

Hound and his comrades were gone before you could even thank them. 

You turned back to your host, who was scanning you up and down, “Commander. Good to see you again.”

He hummed absentmindedly and tapped at his datapad, “I wish it were under different circumstances. Glad to see you’re on the mend though.”

You chanced a glance around, searching for a flash of 501st blue, “Where…?”

“He’s in my office,” Fox sighed. “Should be awake by now.”

Worry stabbed at your heart, “Awake?”

He placed a hand on his hip, “I…had to knock him out. He was going at Ryesim, and I couldn’t snap him out of it. If he’d killed him, if the injuries are even attributed to him, Rex could be decommissioned.”

Fear, raw and terrible, flooded your being. Anger too. This was so wrong. This was so unfair.

“It’s another reason I want you here,” Fox grunted, offering you his elbow. “I have a story to put in the report about the incident, but I need Rex to agree to it.”

You nodded, grasping his arm and squaring your shoulders, “Just take me to him, please.”

*********************************

Good soldiers follow orders. This, Rex had drilled into his head from the beginning.

Apparently, bad soldiers woke up with the mother of all migraines. The lights in Fox’s office made his eyes thrum, but the memory of Shor’s face breaking under his knuckles made the pain worth it.

There was the constant rumble of activity on the other side of the metal wall against which a lumpy,  too-short couch sat. Fox must have dumped his ass here after knocking him out. If Rex was truly honest with himself, he knew that was a big risk, even for brothers. Rex had attacked a civilian. Fox would have been better off to shoot him and save himself the trouble.

“He’s up,” Ah, speaking of his brother’s voice. He’d be able to pick out that short, clipped phrasing and irritated click of teeth anywhere. “Shake it off, Cap. I’ve got papers for you to sign.”

Awareness began to creep in amongst the too-bright lights and pulsing in his skull. Rex blinked hard at the durasteel wall before turning to see Fox tapping impatiently at the helmet on his desk. His eyes were undercut by ever-present dark circles, but they were bright. Sharp. And not nearly as angry as they should be. Fox looked almost patient. And just beyond him, perched uncomfortably on a chair in the corner…

You. 

Rex practically sprang upright on the couch, “Cyare-”

“Don’t,” Fox’s brow-beaten command was the only thing that kept Rex from racing to your side. Well, that and the fact that his head felt like it was ten times heavier than usual. “We have some things to discuss first.”

Of course they did. A hollow sort of numbness invaded his senses, and he couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. Your pained resignation was practically radiating from the corner. You knew. You knew what he’d done. You’d watched the beginnings of it live on the net, like you promised him you would. 

The vision of your face, as tall as a building and put on display for every bastard in the anti-clone movement to see and use, invaded him once again, and Rex could not find it in himself to summon regret. 

So then. This was it. Ryesim was probably demanding every charge possible be placed at Rex’s feet. If, of course, a medic hadn’t wired his jaw shut with all the damage he’d done. And if his last free act, last breathing act, was to avenge some of the pain inflicted on you…well, that was alright, wasn’t it? He supposed he ought to count himself grateful that Fox had brought you here to say goodbye. That would be the absolute worst of it - you crying, sobbing, begging him to run, pleading with Fox to let him go. And he would hold you and tell you he’d do it all over again-

A digipad hit him in the chest and fell into his lap. The document displayed was horribly formal, with the Corrie logo and Fox’s letterhead emblazoned at the top. 

“The official report,” Fox nodded at the meticulous sea of words, which Rex knew shouldn’t exist until the guilty party was questioned and charged. “Ryesim attacked you in the transport, got your helmet off, knocked you out, and the rest of the boys had to detain him.”

Rex blinked. Maybe his bleary mind was playing tricks, “What are you-”

“And then he picked a fight with a big old drunk in the tank, got roughed up some more.” 

“That’s not what happened-”

“Wow, Rex. He must’ve really hit you hard,”  Fox’s tone was strange… casual cut with a quiet sort of insurmountability. “I have a signed statement from Ryesim himself, as well as multiple troopers who swear that’s exactly how things played out.” He sat back on his desk, lazily crossing his ankles, sipping a cup of caf, and staring a hole directly through the middle of Rex’s forehead.

A dark, harrowing chasm opened up in the pit of his stomach, “What are you doing?” He couldn’t help it. He glanced at you in the corner, biting your lip and staring at the floor. The truth. You deserved to know the truth about what he’d done. “I tried to break Ryesim in half-”

But Fox wasn’t done spinning his shit, “This incident will be recorded and entered into the system, but since you’ve decided not to press charges, that’ll be the end of it. That’s very forgiving of you, Rex.”

“Commendable, even,” came your small voice in the corner, which had not entirely lost its lovely sense of irony. Your red, bleary eyes held a sharp vindictiveness Rex had never seen before. “They should give you another medal for being so kind to him.”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. The office air was stale. His guilty, bruised hand itched beneath his glove, “No. I… no, you can’t do this. I should be-”

“Be what?” A fierce change took over Fox’s face, and suddenly, all hand-waving pretense evaporated. He delicately, primly set his caf down… and advanced on Rex like a hungry nexu. “Should you be court martialed? Put in a cell? If I could treat you like anyone else who broke the law, I would, but it doesn’t work that way.” His voice rose in volume, coated with something worryingly close to fear. “You’ll be rogue Republic property, and they won’t bother to decommission you! They’ll strangle you in your cell! They’ll induce heart failure through something in your food! They’ll take you to the lower levels and make it so no one will be able to identify your body, then broadcast some story a few weeks later about you heroically died in battle! You do not get to do that to me! You do not get to do that to her!”

A sob echoed hard off the metallic office, and Rex watched in despair as tears fell freely from your cheeks to the hard floor. You hugged yourself and looked away. His throat felt tight. 

“How the hell did you get a statement like that from him?” He grit out through clenched teeth, meeting his brother’s furious stare. 

Fox jerked his head in your direction, “She asked.”

“What.” The word was flat, dangerous, and Rex stood up, chest to chest with his fellow trooper. “You. Fucking let her. In the same room as that-”

“I had to, Rex,” came your sweet, angelic whisper, and it was steady despite your tears. You sat there in your lounge wear, looking entirely too cold and lonely in your seat. Rex couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed Fox back with probably too much violence and rushed to your side. You melted into the hard planes of his armor, shaking, clutching, breathing him in. “I’m not going to let you die over his stupid ass.”

“She was so smart about it,” Fox went back to leaning on his cluttered desk, and Rex sent him the nastiest glare he could muster. “In exchange for admitting fault and agreeing to the accurate sequence of events, Ryesim will face no charges from the GAR for assaulting a soldier, and no charges for the very serious illegal surveillance of a private citizen.”

Rex practically snarled, placing a hand on the back of your head. How fucking dare… “You can’t expect her to agree to that.”

“It was my idea,” came your small, tired voice. You gazed up at him, eyes still watery. “Fox’s offer wasn’t going to be good enough. Shor was pissed. I had to give him something.”

“You don’t have to give that rat anything-”

“You’re worth it,” you smiled through your tears, and his heart felt like it sputtered out and reignited all in the same moment. “They don’t get to take you away from me.”

He hesitated for just a moment more, then sighed. The adrenaline and rage that had sustained him so well before he caught the blunt end of Fox’s blaster had dissipated, leaving him stranded in a desert of exhaustion. What’s more, you were tired, and you were scared. He could worry about his honor or lack thereof later.

He looked back to his brother, who was watching you comfort each other with longing he was trying to cover with a smug smile. The soothing sensation of you in his arms hit Rex like an out of control speeder, and he finally felt the full weight of what Fox had given him. “It seems I owe you a never ending list of favors, brother.”

Fox snorted, “I’m just glad you’re not quite as stupid as the rest of your droid-smashing bimbos in blue.”

But Rex was already shaking his head. Humor be damned. Cavalier brotherhood be damned, “Seriously.” He laid his head on top of yours and allowed himself to breathe for the first time since he’d left you dozing in bed. Your hair still carried its usual scent, and his knees nearly gave way. “Thank you.”

Fox inclined his head, then his eyes seemed to shutter out any tender emotions he might have been feeling. Back to business, “I’ve arranged for you both to stay in the barracks for a few days. Empty commander’s quarters. You can thank the chancellor for keeping us so short staffed.”

“I can’t…” You piped up, sounding as tired as he was. “I can’t go home for a while, Fox says. Honestly, after all this, I might think about moving.”

Rex’s throat tightened. This was his fault, all of it. Every single thing that had befallen you was because of his presence in your life. He thought of earlier in the week, when he’d stared at a collection of rings with so much hope. How had it gone so irrevocably wrong? Blowing shit up… barking orders… picking the least-terrible-but-still-terrible option… was this all he could give you? He’d destroyed your simple existence with such efficiency it might as well be a droid factory.

But your arms were squeezing around him so hard he could feel it through the plastoid, “Come back to me.” You muttered into his chest. 

Fox cleared his throat, and began tapping his pen impatiently against the desk, “Let’s hop to, shall we? It’s not like I’ve got six million things to do, all held up by your existential constipation. How you operate with so much guilt coursing through your veins is beyond me.”

Rex growled, but shuffled over to snatch the pen from his brother’s grip, all while you hung off his waist, stiff and sniffling. He signed the doc without looking at it, instead pinpointing your overnight bag, dragging you back over to it, and shouldering that too.

“Thire’s waiting outside,” Fox was already sitting back at his desk, looking at his next report. He eyed Rex’s disheveled armor and terrible bruise, raised an eyebrow at your exhausted attempts to crawl inside his chest plate. “Try to look a little more put together while you’re walking through my halls, the both of you.”

To hell with that. If Rex wanted to carry you through the barracks like a kidnapped bride, there was nothing his brother could do to stop him, “C’mon, cyare. You need to relax, yeah?” At your quick little nod, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and shoved his bucket back over his head. “You’re my favorite brother, commander.” He called back over his shoulder.

“Damn right, I am. As repayment, tell Fives to quit hosting shot night for my troopers.”

“That secretary doesn’t know what she’s missing!”

“Shut your fucking mouth and go get some rest.”

 *********************************

“Is this…like where you usually sleep?” You asked, inspecting the sparse quarters the CG had given you. “When you’re not home?”

Home. Your small, warm apartment came to mind, giving the buzzing under Rex’s skin something to focus on. You wouldn’t be going back there anytime soon, and he forced himself to push past the heartbreak that thought brought him, “No, this is nicer. The Resolute only has single rooms for soldiers ranked commander or higher. I share with three other men.”

You hummed absentmindedly in the back of your throat, finally removing yourself from his side and placing your bag on the bed. You started rummaging through it for seemingly no reason, “I spose it makes sense.” Your voice was suddenly high and chipper, bright and breakable as a mirror under the sun. “There’s probably more room here than on your ship.”

“...Right,” Rex didn’t know how it happened, but he got the distinct feeling he was standing on uneven ground. Treacherous. Unknown. “Cyare, I-”

“Which side of the bed do you want?” You didn’t turn to look at him. “The same as the one you take at home?”

He couldn’t help it. He flinched, “Actually, I’d prefer the one closest to the door.” The words came tumbling out, even though they weren’t the words he wanted to say. This wasn’t the conversation you were supposed to be having. 

You nodded decisively, “Alright then.” The whole exchange was horribly cheerful. You still fiddled, pointedly, with the zipper on your bag. 

And the silence that followed stretched for miles. Was this a fight? Technically, the two of you hadn’t had a real fight before, and your attempts to distance yourself now… they hurt. Tentatively, Rex approached you, placing two hands on your shoulders. You were trembling.

“Are you angry with me?” He asked with more confidence than he felt. “You have every right to be.”

You shook your head, “Just… just angry.”

“And scared?” He dared to take a step closer, sliding his gloved hands from your shoulders down to your waist. “And tired?”

You exhaled, a big, suffering thing, but at least some of the tension left your spine, “I feel like a dam that’s about to break. Like one more crack will have me drowning anybody nearby. I just don’t want that to be you.”

Rex leaned down to rest his forehead against your shoulder, “I can take it.” He whispered, and his lips caught against the skin your oversized shirt bared to him. You smelled so good. “I’d take anything from you, honey. I’m not afraid of drowning.” 

“I don’t want to break to pieces all over you. You’ve been through enough already.”

He shuddered, and this time the press of his lips against the back of your neck was entirely purposeful, “I’ll put you back together.”

A stifled sob sounded from behind your tightly closed lips, “I almost lost you today.”

“I know, stars, I know,” he should sit you down, talk through your pain rationally, but the decent, noble part of his brain seemed to have checked out, and the manic energy in his blood seemed to find new purpose. “You saved my life, cyare.”

“Can I… admit something ugly?” The words were small, but Rex chased them, leaning forward to nibble at the length of your jaw he could reach. 

“Yes.”

“There’s a part of me I don’t like very much that relishes what you did to him,” you confess. “Sitting across from him while he nursed the wounds you dealt him… it gave me all the courage I needed to get him to agree to the deal.”

You were proud of him, Rex realized. You loved him for defending you both. Just as he loved you for facing the person who’d put you in such an impossible position. The thought had his stomach swooping, had his dick hardening, and he knew it shouldn’t. 

This wasn’t the sweetness he was used to, wasn’t the light air of comfort your presence usually brought him. This was edged and rocky, uncertain as a lightning storm. It was everything he was always so determined to leave on the battlefield and never bring home to you. And maybe you were stumbling through it too, struggling to adapt to this much apprehension near your relationship. 

“I won’t shame you for it,” he mumbled into your ear. The gravel in his voice was a prayer. His grip tightened around you, fingers curling into your shirt. 

Your breathing became labored, and you reached back to lay a hand at the base of his skull, “I won’t shame you either, Rex. You did what you did for me, and I will not have you apologize. I know who I’ve chosen to love.”

“Sweetheart,” a full groan escaped him. A tiny scrap of honor, the last one he had left, called out from the depths of his mind. “How are your ribs?”

“Fine,” you place his hand over them, using him to place pressure. “They’re just fine.”

“Your arm?”

“Right as fucking rain,” your tone took on just the smallest bit of annoyance.

“Your head?”

“Better than yours,” you snapped, touching gently at the nice bump Fox had left. “Want to stop and let me examine it?”

Rex growled, and whirled you around to face him, “Not even if it kills me.”

He kissed you like it was the last thing he would ever get to do, like your lips were the only good piece of this shitty, unjust universe. You tasted like worry and tears and redemption, and selfish bastard that he was, he would drink it all. 

And one day, he promised himself, on another planet, in another room that was warm and cozy and filled with the scent of you, he would kiss you like this again. He would swoop you up just as you were asking what he’d made for dinner. Your soft skin would still be warm from an afternoon in the garden. You would cup his cheek with a ring on your finger. 

Your tongue felt its way into his mouth, and he burned beneath his armor. You moaned openly, reverently, and tugged at the clasps of his chestplate, “Please.”

In the past, Rex had always neatly placed all the pieces of his armor at the foot of your bed before turning to ravish you. Not this time. Plastoid clattered in quick succession to the GAR carpet. The glove stuck to his right hand, congealed blood from hitting Ryesim acting as a morbid red glue, but Rex ripped it away without a thought, some newly healing skin coming with it. 

In under a minute he was free, straining manhood bobbing against his abdomen as he seized your face with both hands, dragging it back to his own. Your shirt was next, and your flimsy, comfy bra. Your slip-on shoes flew off your feet as Rex pushed you roughly to the bed. 

You whined, topless and needy, your belly a bundle of hot sparks, and grabbed for his biceps. Rex tore down your sweatpants, taking fuzzy socks with them, and came up to rest his hips in between your thighs. He watched, open mouthed, as his cock rubbed against the gathering wetness soaking through your panties.

“Rex…” You whimpered.

He shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his brain, “Do you know how beautiful you are?” He dragged his gaze up from your center, past your stomach and your breasts, along your neck to land on your face. He looked like he wanted to eat you. “Which star did you fall from, angel?”

A pretty blush overtook your cheeks. Even now, ravenous for you, he managed to be sweet. Your eyes began to sting, “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Like what?” He grinned, leaning forward over you ever so slowly. His warm breath ghosted over your chest, and your nipples hardened to greet him. “Like how no one, anywhere, will ever see anything as magnificent as you laid out on a bed, aching to be touched?”

“Rex, love-ah!” You didn’t get the rest of your protest out, because Rex’s tongue laved hot circles around your nipple. He took the other in between his fingers, rolling and pinching, moaning into your breast before releasing it with a pop.

“I promised you I’d make up for lost time,” he said, almost to himself, as he descended upon your other breast. This one he held carefully between his teeth while his still-bloody knuckles trailed down to the apex of your thighs. “We’ve had so much lost time, cyare.”

You whimpered as he stroked you through your panties, the light touches doing everything and nothing at the same time, “Fingers, baby, fingers!”

“Anything you want,” he nipped his way down your stomach as he pulled your panties aside and sunk a finger into your weeping pussy. 

You arched your back, hands twisting and scrambling in the sheets. It had been too fucking long. 

Rex stared between your spread legs, a man possessed. His pupils were blown wide, his jaw set with determination, mesmerized by your half-covered center as he inserted another finger. You were still wearing too much clothing, he thought, but he decidedly did not want to draw his hand away from you, “Can-can I…?” He swallowed, dry mouth unable to finish the thought.

“Yes!” you cried. “Do it, do whatever you want!”

He swore he didn’t remember doing it, but there was one rip…two rips… and your panties fluttered to the floor, forgotten. Your hips bucked in surprise, and suddenly your perfect, swollen clit peeked up from between your lips. He descended without a second thought.

At the first touch of his mouth to your cunt, you both moaned, voices mingling in the heated air. Rex shivered at your taste, eyes fluttering, and your thighs closed roughly around his ears. He lapped at your weeping entrance, gathering your sweetness onto his tongue before returning to suck on your clit. You hissed and wailed his name, losing your voice entirely once he began curling his fingers just right. 

Your orgasm fell upon you hard, cresting faster than you could have expected. Writhing on the simple, rough sheets, you shrieked incomprehensible pleas to the ceiling. Your eyes rolled back, and Rex fucked you gently with his fingers, tonguing your clit with the barest pressure. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmured into your pussy. “Gorgeous, magic thing.”

You covered your face, “Fuck, Rex!”

He chuckled, “You can fuck Rex anytime, cyare.”

You groaned at the joke, then sat yourself up on your elbows, “Lay back, I want to ride you.”

His breath hitched, and he gazed longingly back at your center, “But I wasn’t finished.”

“What happened to ‘anything you want?’” You impersonated his voice, quite badly too. “C’mon, captain. I have some pent up feelings to work through, and I want to do it on your cock.”

Well. He certainly wasn’t going to argue with that. Without any further preamble, he hooked your knees on his hips, supported your neck and lower back, and rolled you gracefully across the bed. Dizzy and giggling, you suddenly sat astride him, his dick grinding up the center of your pussy. The most ethereal sight in the galaxy.

You slipped him inside almost too easily, and his head flew back onto the pillows, “Cyare,” he breathed. 

You smiled down at him, eyes sparkling, “I love you.” You declared, as easy as breathing, and rocked your hips in a rhythm he was all too glad to join. “Brave man. Kind man. I love you.”

“Ner karta,” he stuttered out, and it became very clear that he wasn’t going to last long like this. It didn’t matter. He was drunk on the feeling of you, the taste of you. Finer and more addicting than any spirit he’d sampled. He would fill your pussy to the brim and then lift you immediately to ride his face instead. Rex would pleasure you until you blacked out on top of him. 

This was new too, the intensity of his need to have you, to leave some part of himself with you, in you. A brief, unbidden flash of a possible future blinked before his eyes. You, dressed simply and smiling without worry, lounging and cupping your sweet, rounded stomach-

He came with a broken moan, taken aback not just by the sudden tightening of his balls but also the tears that sprung up in the corners of his eyes. Rex gazed up at you, gasping and a little bit too pleased with yourself.

“Gotcha,” you panted out, desire still evident in every muscle of your body. You were not nearly as boneless as you needed to be.

This wasn’t fucking working.

Crosshair was near madness, and he was sure you were reaching a point where you needed a break. You’d never let him fuck your mouth for this long before. But there you were, topless, tears streaming down your face, knees probably scuffed or even bleeding from the durasteel floor, nevermind that you still had your pants on. And yet you pushed through, voicing not a word of complaint as you gagged on his persistent cock.

And he wasn’t anywhere close to finishing.

You should be complaining, he decided. What had it been? Thirty minutes? Fifty? Crosshair couldn’t keep track of anything except his own frustration, and that was making him a terrible lay. And if there’s one thing he would be loath to be terrible at, it was sex.

His cock throbbed, his balls ached, and you kept moaning. He growled.

Sooner or later, you’re going to hurt her. She’s going to get tired of this, and she’s going to leave. Hunter’s words from earlier in the week creeped back into his mind, and any hope of salvaging this situation dissipated into thin air.

Crosshair abruptly pulled you off his length and backed away, tugging his pants up as he went. Still you knelt, breathing heavily, awaiting what he’d do next. It was the arrangement you’d both worked out months ago. You allowed yourself to be used as he saw fit, and he made sure you left satisfied and ready for dreamless sleep. No feelings, no complications. It had worked well for a long time. But he looked at you then, your face a mess, your curled legs trembling, and for the first time, he couldn’t stand the sight.

She deserves someone who cares deeply about her, Echo’s voice, well, echoed in his head, as unbidden as Hunter’s had been. His nosy brothers had held an intervention of sorts a few days ago while you were out getting supplies. It had started with Tech’s “We want to know what you are doing with our medic,” gone through Wrecker’s “You know she likes you, right? Like, a lot,” and ended with a long speech from Hunter about how “One day Crosshair, you’re going to wake up and realize that she’s moved on. For some reason, she really cares for you. And you’re treating her like a meaningless one night stand, except you keep doing it over, and over and-”

It was stupid. You both liked what you were doing. You were both consenting adults with the power to walk away at any time. You were both happy and fulfilled with that. It was enough.

Except for the past few days, it hadn’t been.

Crosshair began to really notice certain things since the talk with his brothers. Like how you always met him with a cheery good morning, and how you didn’t expect an answer in return. How you’d sit next to him while he cleaned his rifle, content to do all the talking if he just listened. How you always ran over after a close call on missions, frantic about his safety and never expecting him to inquire about your wellbeing, even if you were covered in soot and limping away from an explosion. 

He realized you were giving more, much more to your…friendship, than he was. And that didn’t sit well with him. Your relationship was supposed to be transactional, and here you were, giving him attention and assistance and contact without expecting one damn solitary thing in return. Always giving, never receiving, and he…

He was a fucking prick. 

Horrible, awful scenarios started coming to mind after that. For two days, he thought about what would happen if you got transferred, or completed your service and left, or, stars-forbid, got shot. A concept he’d never considered before. You were always there, always constant as Tech’s pointing finger and Echo’s whirring attachments.

The idea of you leaving him - and he was completely arrogant for never seriously entertaining the thought - was frightening. And Crosshair didn’t do frightened.

The worst part? While he was drowning in inner turmoil due to his asshole brothers and your own damn sweetness, you were waltzing around, perfectly fine. You had never given any outward indication that you wanted something real from him, something more than a smokescreen of orgasms and sharp banter. Now that he knew how much you cared, now that he’d heard that you liked him no matter how hard you tried to hide it, he couldn’t let it go.

You’d been contenting yourself with his hands on your body and his lackluster personality for months, when, according to his brothers, you’d really wanted something deeper. Did you think he would reject you, or that he wasn’t capable of anything more to begin with? Both possibilities stung, a lot deeper than he’d ever supposed they would. Especially as he realized that neither of them were unreasonable of you to assume. Suddenly, he was furious.

That’s how he ended up with his cock down your throat in the back of the Marauder, while everyone else was out on the town. Not in his bed, never in his bed. That was one of the rules he’d made, to stop things from getting too intimate. Instead he’d had you kneel, and you’d done it with a wry smile and no questions. He’d planned to fuck these thoughts out of his head, but as it turns out, his brain was thinking the fuck out of his dick, so to speak. 

So instead, he leaned against the wall, gazing at you. You still kneeled, still waited patiently while he’d stared for who knows how long. 

You deserved better. 

The thought was pounding against his skull, incessant and refusing to leave. And Crosshair knew there were only two ways to resolve it. He could walk away, wish you well, and hope that you found someone who could give you a true relationship, no matter what it might cost him.

Or…he could try to be worthy of you.

The first option entailed less risk, and was definitely more his style. He couldn’t be bad at a relationship if he never tried to give you one. But the thought of someone else seeing you like this, or worse, someone else seeing you in ways he hadn’t yet…on a beach, walking down a colorful city street, riding a speeder bike, in the snow…

He stood abruptly and crossed over to your languishing form. He had you in his arms in less than a second, and had you laying on his bunk in less than five more. 

“Cross, wha-?” you protested. You knew the rules, knew his boundaries, and tried to sit up and leave. 

He grasped your shoulders and gently pushed you back, “Please.” Was all he said, whispered and hoarse. He worried at his lip without realizing it. Your eyes widened, and you let him lean you back on his pillows. He fidgeted with them, trying to make them fluffier than the GAR issued sacks of foam they really were, and you quirked a brow.

“You fucking with me, Cross?” you asked, and he could tell you were putting real effort into keeping the trepidation out of your voice. “Because this is a real weird joke.”

Okay, he deserved that one. But his words were stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth. How was he supposed to know how to tell a woman he liked her anyway? If the Kaminoans included a class on charm somewhere in their training programs, he definitely didn’t get an invite.

Maybe you would be better off with someone who didn’t spend their days getting up close and personal with other people through a fucking scope. 

But all this staring was starting to freak you out. You were sitting awkwardly, legs open, tits out, under his genetically superior gaze. Crosshair didn’t know what kind of face he’d been making, but it clearly wasn’t one you were used to. You crossed your arms over your chest and turned your head to the side, away from him.

“Are we done?” You ground out through a set jaw, a slightly trembling lip. “Is this…ahem…is this over? Because you could just tell me, you don’t have to try and make it easier. I can just go back to my bunk and…and…”

He caught the sheen in your eyes, the catch in your throat. Fuck. Fuck.

“I-I want you…” stars, he can’t even talk. Damn you. Damn him. He cleared his throat. “I. want. you. to stay… there.”

Well, it sounded like it was being tortured out of him, but at least it got your attention. You turned back to look at his face, “You want me to stay here.” You said evenly, jerking your head towards his shabby pillows. “In your bed. Where I’m never, ever supposed to be.”

He swallowed, mouth dry as hell, and nodded. You were so much better at this, so much stronger than he was. He couldn’t do anything but spill his guts in what was probably the least romantic way possible. 

So he did, “I want to try…something else.”

Your lips parted just a fraction, and something seemed to click behind your eyes. But you were tough, tougher than he ever gave you credit for, and you never gave him any ground. Oh you were gentle about it, cool satin to his rough burlap. He suspected it was the healer in you. But you always demanded communication from him, demanded that he explain his behavior, even if it took him a while.

“Something else,” the hitch in your voice had disappeared. “You’re going to have to explain that one to me, babe. You know I’ll try something new, and we have a safe word, but this violates your rules, and I don’t know how to act now. I don’t know what’s okay.”

Babe. It slipped out of your mouth every so often, usually in a teasing lilt over comms during a battle. He didn’t know if he loved it or hated it, but it always brought a sudden heat to his face. He felt the tips of his ears burning.

“I…” c’mon, bastard. You can get this out, you have to get this out. She’s waiting. “I want… toforgettherules.”

“I’m sorry? One more time?”

Brat. In any other circumstance, he’d have you over his knee for something like that. But he took a deep breath, like the ones he’d take before making an impossible shot. And maybe that’s what this was, “I want to forget the rules.”

Your eyes alighted with something like hope, “Why?”

Yes Crosshair, you stupid prick, tell the lady why. He needed to get his head examined. He was talking to himself more than usual. And now he’d started to sound like Hunter.

“Because,” he ground out, teeth clenched. “You deserve…better…than what I’ve been giving you. But I…I don’t want anyone else to deserve you.”

You sat with that for just a moment. And then you brought a hand up to your mouth and giggled. It was such a happy sound, he was almost completely unoffended. 

“You like me,” you murmured, eyes full of mirth and pure, honest delight.

He let out a shaky breath. It was almost a chuckle, “I like you. You’re a little shit, and you give me a heart attack half the time. But I like you.”

“And… I’m allowed to like you back?” This question was tentative, small. Not how he wanted to see you. You should be bright, confident, unafraid to show your brilliance. A fierceness crept into his heart.

“You get to like whatever you damn well please,” he growled, then softened slightly. “But…it would be nice if you liked me.”

You hummed, and dropped the arms covering your gorgeous breasts to cup his face in both hands. Your fingers moved in his cropped strands of hair, but he resisted the urge to close his eyes at the peace it brought him. 

“I like you, more than I ever thought you’d want me to,” you almost-whispered. Then you grinned that same grin you got when Wrecker offered to let you press a detonator. “But if you want in on this, babe, if you want some kind of commitment, I’ve got some rules of my own.”

Strangely, the thought didn’t concern him nearly as badly as it had a day ago. He didn’t know shit about real relationships. He wanted you, and if you gave him some kind of guide to go off of, well, at least there was less of a chance of him fucking it up. 

Crosshair nodded, and your smile grew wider, joy sparkling in your eyes.

“First of all,” you began. “You have to say good morning and good night to me. You also have to hold my hand every so often, and let me kiss your cheek. I promise not to embarrass you…too much.”

He huffed a little, but conceded, “Agreed. Anything else?”

“Oh this is an ongoing list. There will be amendments,” you chirped happily. “I require actual conversation daily, and I get to sleep next to you after we fuck.”

“What do you take me for? Of course you get to-”

“No getting jealous of my guy friends, including your brothers. Like when I give them hugs or candies or-.”

“The regs absolutely cannot be trusted-”

“Ha! I knew you’d be a jealous boyfriend. Oh yeah! And I get to introduce you as my boyfriend from now on.”

Crosshair’s mild disgust must have shown on his face, because you laughed outright, “What about partner? Lover? Fuckbuddy?”

He rolled his eyes, “I’ll make ‘boyfriend’ work. Can I kiss you now or does the princess have more proclamations?”

That shut you up. Despite all the other parts of him you’d had in your mouth, one of his rules had been no kissing on the lips. Your eyes glazed over, and he smirked and leaned forward.

Your lips were so soft, plush and sorely neglected. A vague sense of regret and longing overtook him. How the hell had he managed to avoid kissing you until now? It didn’t really matter. He decided, as you let out a little hum of surprise, that it was about to become his new ritual. Every morning, every night, every time he could drag you into a private little alcove, he’d do it, just to get a chance to press his lips to yours.

He pushed forward, his tongue licking at the line of your lips, and you whined. His cock pulsed, and he began steadily rocking it against your clothed thigh. You opened your mouth eagerly and he dove in. Oh this was divine.

“Never thought,” he mumbled into your mouth. “Never thought it’d be like this.”

“Like…what?” you gasped.

“This…this fucking… brilliant. Stars, your mouth…”

You groaned, and he moved to sweep his deft tongue along your jaw, up to your ear. He bit at your earlobe, and your hips began doing some involuntary rocking of their own. Crosshair growled in your ear, satisfied when you shivered.

He stopped though, when he felt your stealthy hand cup his balls through his pants, “No,” he rasped, taking your wrist in hand and bringing the misbehaving appendage up to nip at your squirming fingers. “I told you, doll. I want… to try… something else.”

“Letting me call the shots would be something else,” you whined, still wiggling in his grasp.

He shook his head, “Not tonight,” he said, sounding out of breath. “Tonight, you just lay there. Look pretty. Look fucking gorgeous because that’s what you are, and keep making little noises for me.”

You whimpered at that, and he smirked. But it wasn’t his usual cocky, infuriating twist of the lips. This was an adorable half smile, part disbelieving, part alive with anticipation. 

Your pants were hastily removed, and while your shoes caused a bit of an obstacle, Crosshair simply wrenched them off and tossed them over his shoulder. One landed with a thump on the durasteel floor - a place he swore you would never be kneeling unprotected again. He was pretty sure the other ended up in Tech’s bunk. 

Crosshair traced his hands down your legs and slowly, ever so slowly pulled your knees further apart. You were pressed back against the pillows, open and waiting for him, and his heart rose to a furious din in his ears. He was almost positive you could hear it. 

He was seized with another fit of insecurity. How was he supposed to know how to cater to you like this? He knew how to grasp your throat just hard enough that your eyes would roll back into your head. He knew how you liked to be tied down and spanked. This wasn’t even the first time he had held your legs apart and let you squirm under his attention. But tenderness… communicating one’s feelings with one’s body… he didn’t even know how to begin. 

His eyes flicked to your face, flushed with shyness and lust. Your kind, welcoming eyes, more open in every breath than he was in his entire lifetime. You bit your lip.

You have to try to be worthy of her, he thought to himself. And he turned his attention to your pussy.

Still clothed in your thin, basic panties, the solid color was stained dark with your wetness. Crosshair cursed, and slowly descended between your legs.

First, he kissed your knees, not bleeding but definitely scraped, and the gentle touch of his lips had you sighing. You’d never made that sound before, that exhale of pure contentment. He wanted more of it. 

You flinched and squirmed as he ran his tongue down your inner thigh, but he held you fast. You weren’t getting away from him. Not now, not when he was finally ready to really try. 

Crosshair knew where you wanted him. You weren’t exactly subtle with the canting of your hips and the nervous fluttering of your fingers over the sheets. Your breaths were coming in short bursts of want. Stars, how were you this sensitive already? He’d seen you in a state of pre-orgasmic distress plenty of times, had made you beg for him past the point where you could speak in coherent sentences, but never had he seen such simple, sweet touches electrify you in this way.

Instead of lowering his mouth to your pussy, though, Crosshair moved to lick and nip at your hip bone. You squealed and moaned, and he decided he’d never heard such an addicting sound.

He brought his tongue across your belly, snapping the waistband of your panties with his teeth before teasing your other hip. Your whimpering was a constant symphony in his dark bunk. He pulled back and chanced a peek at your face. Your eyes were shining with yearning. You had one hand in your hair. He reached up, tugged your abused lip from between your teeth, worried that you’d draw blood, and glanced back down.

The wet spot on your panties had grown, and finally, with a lighter touch than he’d ever directed towards you, Crosshair ran a knuckle up and down your clothed center. You keened, and threw your head back on his feeble pillows, which had flattened almost completely under you. 

I need to get new ones, he thought absently as he tugged your panties to the side, exposing your dripping core. She deserves to be fucked on real pillows. 

He lowered his head, and you were both gone. 

Crosshair had tasted you before, often as a tease while you were tied up and helpless. But not often, and not thoroughly. He usually enjoyed watching your face while taking you apart with his fingers, snarling demeaning pet names into your ear. But this…this was transcendent. You tasted like home, like he could live his entire life and die between your legs. He drank from you slowly, meticulously, lapping at your entrance and circling your clit before closing his lips around it and lightly sucking. Your legs were trembling within minutes. Every few seconds, garbled, meaningless sounds escaped from your throat and spurred him on. He gently, reverently pushed a finger into your hot center, caressing the spot you both loved. You seized up…, and let go.

He rocked you lovingly through your orgasm, fingering you slightly and keeping his mouth clamped around your clit. Your pussy spasmed, your hips jerked, and your mouth opened in a silent scream. 

But he didn’t stop. 

Crosshair began again, stroking your throbbing clit with his tongue, refusing to allow the fire in your abdomen to subside. Now that he’d really tasted you, now that he’d felt you fall apart on his lips, his only goal was to make it happen again.

“C-cross!” you yelled, hand flying down to his hair. You tugged hard, and he groaned.

“More,” he mumbled into your cunt. His fingers pressed at that tender spot inside you, and your head flew back. You shrieked and writhed on his bed, dripping onto the sheets. 

You were moaning with every breath, tensing your legs and frantically thrusting your hips towards his waiting mouth. Your toes curled repeatedly in the corners of his vision. Your pussy was red and swollen, your slick arousal running down his hand and wrist. 

Crosshair curled his fingers inside of you and allowed his teeth to gently catch against your begging clit, and your second orgasm hit like a lightning strike. You seized up, screaming your release to the ceiling of his bunk. He gently lapped at your clit as you came down, your yells turning to sobs. Tears spilled down your face and onto your chest. You reached for him, and he encircled your shaking body with his arms.

“Shhhhh,” he hushed into your hair. “You’re alright…you’re alright…I…I’ve got you, mesh’la.”

You pulled back, tears tracking your cheeks as you stared into his eyes, “Y-you’ve never called me that before.”

Crosshair knew you understood the word. Echo called you mesh’la on occasion, Wrecker too. “I felt left out,” he said. “I should get to remind you of how beautiful you are more than anyone else.”

You sniffed, and threw your arms around him, “You’re beautiful too,” he heard you mumble, and his heart swelled. “But…”

“But what, doll?”

Your voice took on a fierce, desperate tone, “If you don’t get inside me right now, we’re going to have our first fight.” 

Crosshair was stunned, but only for a moment. This was why he lo…liked you in the first place. 

He took on the domineering tone he usually had with you in these situations, “Demanding girls don’t get what they want.”

But you just grinned, and lifted your chin, “Girlfriend privilege.”

He threw his head back and laughed. What had he gotten himself into? 

He couldn’t wait to find out.

“Just this once, mesh’la.”

You practically went limp in his arms as his straining, red cock breached your entrance. He stilled for just a moment, relishing in the feeling of being inside you. When you looked up at him, eyes shining with something he dare not name, not yet, he felt complete.

Crosshair grabbed hold of your hair and yanked, and you squealed from the pull of his hand and the push of his cock. This much he was sure of: he knew how you liked to be fucked, and he didn’t have it in him to be gentle any longer. And though he wouldn’t last as long as he’d like, no one could accuse him of not being a giving lover.

“Just like that, good girl,” he growled. You whined and writhed, impaled on his cock and unable to even think. “You just lay back, and come for me one more time.”

“Cross…I-I can’t.”

“You can,” he assured you, and his thumb went down to ever so gently move on your clit. “You’ve done it for me before, and you’re going to do it for me again. Scream, bite me if you have to, but you are going to give me one more.”

You wailed, hips thrusting up, frantically trying to match his rhythm. Crosshair released your hair to grab your throat. He leaned in, a hair's breadth away from your ear, and whispered, “That’s it, that’s my good girl.”

You tensed, and he grinned, “You like that? You like knowing you’re mine? That this mouth, these tits, this pussy all belong to me?” He started moving faster, keeping that pressure on your throbbing clit. He bit at your ear, “But remember, mesh’la, just because you’re my girl doesn’t mean I won’t fuck you like the slut we both know you are.”

That did it. Your cunt clenched around him, and you let out an ear-piercing scream. Your release came in strong, crashing waves, wiping your mind of anything else and soaking both of you. Crosshair couldn’t hold out any longer. He buried himself to the hilt and came deep inside you, and you shuddered with the aftershocks, so full and sated Crosshair swore you’d fallen asleep.

He was wrong. You lifted a trembling hand to his face and smiled gently at him, “Thank you, Cross.”

He scoffed, “Nothing to be thankful for. Not like we haven’t done this a hundred times.”

But you shook your head, “We’ve never done this before.” You gestured at the mess you’d made in his bed, at your tangled limbs and the invisible closeness that still existed between you, even after the amazing sex. “Thank you for trying.”

Crosshair felt his strength leave him. He gathered you up, and buried his face in your chest, taking deep, calming breaths, “Don’t let me coast on it.” He murmured. “Don’t cut me any slack. I’m bad at this.”

He heard your giggle from above, “A little unpolished, maybe, but I’ve never seen you fail to excel at something you were determined to accomplish.” You stroked his hair. “We’ll be fine, babe.”

“We need to talk about that nickname.”

“I can think of others,” you teased. “Honey, sweetie, my little tooka-”

He made a gagging noise against your breasts, and you were outright laughing, “Babycakes, darling, love-”

Crosshair knew he’d tensed up at that last one, had let a little gasp escape in his contentment. He blamed the recent orgasm. But you’d heard it, and you stopped laughing.

“Oh…” he heard your voice take on a strange tone, and finally looked up at your face. You looked…shy. Shy and happy. You nodded, “Love, then. I can make that work.”

He felt his ears burning, and he turned his face back into your chest. A sudden possessiveness overtook him, and he gathered you closer, “You can’t…” he mumbled. “You can’t call anyone else that.”

You were quiet for a moment, probably remembering all of the interchangeable nicknames you liked to use with his brothers. Then he felt your hands grab his face - still hiding in your breasts like a coward - and turn it toward your own. You smiled down at him. 

“And that, love, is what we call boyfriend privilege.”

Crosshair gazed at you in amazement, then felt a rare smile break out over his face. He hugged you close, took his time kissing your lips again. He knew, in a moment, he would tell you to stay where you are as he got up and did something he’d never done for you before - clean you up himself. It’s something he would insist on doing from here on out.

Because, he decided, that’s what your boyfriend would do. And, as he was realizing rather quickly, he did not want anyone else to earn that title. 

“Oh yes, go babysit this special squad of elite clones, it’s going to be so fun!” you muttered angrily to yourself, pouring over a sea of half baked statements, equipment requests, and unpaid expenses. 

A headache began to form behind your eyes as you continued to grumble, “The tall one won’t blow you up, the one with the toothpick definitely doesn’t have an attitude problem, and their sergeant absolutely knows how to fill out a mission report!”

You picked up one of said mission reports, a mostly blank page that just said NAL HUTTA. INFILTRATION. COMPLETE. scribbled across the top in Hunter’s untidy scrawl. You tossed it to the ground and thunked your head on the table, taking a moment to lay there. You needed a drink. You wondered, not for the first time that evening, where Crosshair could possibly be keeping his stash of premium Corellian whiskey.

It had been about a year since you’d joined Clone Force 99 as their Communications Officer, and every end-of-month report analysis had gone pretty much the same way. No matter how many times you’d asked your squad to be more organized, to add more detail, to consult you on expenditures, none of your instructions ever seemed to stick. Usually your superiors let it slide. This was CF99, the Bad Batch. Nobody really expected these troopers to be great at paperwork. 

But the squad had an inspection coming up. The first since you’d joined them. And they’d wracked up twice the expenses they were budgeted for, with all receipts buried in a massive pile or half singed from blaster fire. You were about to have some serious answering to do, and the only explanation you’d come up with so far was sorry sir, excuse my Shyriiwook, but how the fuck am I supposed to control these dipshits?

You had a feeling that wasn’t going to cut it.

Briefly, your mind wandered to Tech. If there was anyone on the ship who could help you sort through this mess, to see the patterns in the chaos, it was your resident genius. But he was unfortunately indisposed.

You would be lying if you didn’t say that Tech, even from the very beginning, had always been your favorite. You had clicked on an intellectual level immediately, way back on your first mission when you’d corrected him about a tradition practiced on that particular planet. Instead of being offended or taken aback by your knowledge, Tech had swiftly asked you for points of reference that he could pour into after the mission. He’d then thanked you for your input, and began deferring to you on matters within the realm of your purview. You didn’t know if you’d ever felt such a quick, simple appreciation for your talents before. It was…invigorating.

Tech listened, really, truly listened when you spoke, and always seemed incredibly flattered when you tried to return the favor. Conversation flowed naturally, often well into the night. He was polite and kind, and you’d almost go so far as to say chivalrous in his way, especially lately. Sure, all the boys usually treated you with an added layer of courtesy. You suspected it was because they didn’t quite know what to do with a woman on board. Wrecker seized heavy things from your grasp almost on instinct. Echo was so respectful it was almost disquieting. Hunter had procured extra blankets for your bunk and always made sure you had plenty to eat. And Crosshair…well, he had offered you a toothpick on occasion, but you weren’t sure if that was an attempt at bonding or if there was just something in your teeth.

Tech though…he’d started standing or sitting up perfectly straight when you entered rooms. He scolded the others for being too loud while you were trying to sleep. He was constantly finding something of yours to “fix” and then give back to you. And just a few days ago, he’d begun this little habit of offering you his hand when leaving or returning to the Marauder. As if you needed help going out the door. You’d practically squeaked in surprise when he looked up at you with earnest brown eyes, daring you to take his offered hand. Crosshair had laughed, but Tech hadn’t cared. He’d just continued to gaze at you patiently, handsome face mostly hidden by goggles and helmet. The air charged with electricity, and when you finally took hold of his hand, you could feel his warmth seeping through his glove. It felt like something between you shifted in that moment, like an invisible string had been spun and tied. You had to admit it was nice to feel cared for. It was sweet. He was sweet.

Too bad he wasn’t here.

The only problem with your… friendship with Tech is that it was sometimes unreliable. He would have these periods where he’d “go dark” as you put it. He’d get his head into a new project or concept and tune out the world for days at a time. Not sleeping, barely eating, and totally fixed on whatever new task had caught his attention. When you inquired about his well being, he would answer in vague, single syllable sentences, or worse, not at all. Being ignored didn’t feel great, but you always knew he’d come out of it tired yet pleased, and ready to show you what he’d been working on. 

However, it would be really nice if this weren’t one of those times. He’d gone under about two days ago, and hadn’t shown any signs of emerging since. You wished he was here to look through this pile with you, tell you how he’d tackle a conundrum like this, or hell, even just keep you company. His ability to focus and problem solve was one of your favorite things about him. It was no wonder he could get so much done by tuning out the world for a few days…

Suddenly, it hit you. Your head flew off the table, and you gazed down hopefully at the sea of papers, a wild look in your eye. Nevermind that you hadn’t slept yet. Nevermind that you were a little dehydrated. Nevermind that Echo still had you on concussion watch after your last mission.

That’s it! you thought. All I have to do is take a page out of Tech’s book, and this will be done in no time!

You lunged for your neglected datapad and got to work.

***********

Tech made his official appearance back into the world around 36 standard hours later, and he was very pleased with himself. He’d developed a prototype for new soundplugs for Hunter, and he couldn’t wait to force them upon his Sergeant. But first, he couldn’t deny his irrepressible urge to show you. You had always appreciated his experiments, and he always appreciated your insights.

Not to mention, he felt you were both… ah… growing closer. Tech had been interested in trying to initiate a more intimate bond with you for a few months now. Only after sufficient research into being a desirable partner and numerous mental exercises for practice did he feel comfortable moving on to the most logical next step: trying to see if you were interested in him in return. His test of trying to hold your hand to help you down from the Marauder had been a definite success. You’d met his attempts with brief shyness, amused puzzlement, and eventually (if he read your body language correctly), anticipation. That was most encouraging indeed. He focused hard for the next few days on getting through the development of his latest prototype, not because it wasn’t a fascinating project, but because he wanted to create more free time for himself. Free time he could use to observe, interact with, and, well, woo you.

His hesitance wasn’t only due to the fact that your affections were hard to read - though you did keep things with the squad painstakingly friendly and professional. Tech was fully aware that he wasn’t the most dynamic or exciting romantic choice amongst his brothers. Echo had a patience about him that he couldn’t hope to emulate, Wrecker was practically built out of fun and carried affection in every bulging muscle, and Hunter and Crosshair had a quality that the holonet had simply called ‘the bad boy thing.’ 

You were bright, achingly beautiful, and more endearing than you had any right to be. It was Tech’s opinion that one person should not be so utterly enthralling - it was simply unfair to the rest of the population. Particularly the occupants of this ship, who all adored you. You could rightly have any one of them you wanted. But yet, surrounded by such obvious choices to warm your bed and your heart, you chose to spend your time at his work table, chatting about nothing and everything. That alone gave him hope. Hope that perhaps, if he paid attention to his research and did not stick his proverbial foot in his proverbial mouth, you would grow to return even a fraction of the affection he felt for you. He could hardly wait so see how you’d been faring the last couple days.

Except every single one of his brothers were currently blocking his way.

“What possible reason would you four have for loitering outside the door?” Tech’s voice came out sharper than he meant it to. 

But none of them even looked back in his direction.

Echo turned to Hunter with a grin, “You lose, sarge. Tech came out of it first.”

Tech frowned, “While I appreciate being completely ignored when I ask a question-”

“The princess has picked up your little habit,” Crosshair tossed back at him through a toothpick. 

“My…habit?”

Wrecker finally spared him a glance, “Shortstuff hasn’t said a word since day before yesterday.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “She didn’t even want to raid the rations with me. I’m gettin’ worried.”

“Wait,” Tech said, alarmed. “You mean she hasn’t eaten?”

“Made her a sandwich yesterday,” Hunter replied, and Tech parsed through the gruff syllables to hear the concern in his voice. “She nibbled at it and kept right on with her paperwork.”

“D’you think she’s mad at us?” Wrecker fretted. “She yelled at us before about receipts.”

“And Hunter’s reports,” Crosshair sneered.

Hunter became defensive in turn, “I’ve told her before, command doesn’t care about reports, they care about results.”

“And that’s clearly made it through her thick skull, good job-”

“Boys, we really need to make sure she drinks something-”

“Should I pick her up, or-”

“How well did that idea work with Tech? He got so scared he tased you-”

“Wasn’t so bad, and I don’t think she has a taser-”

“Maybe if Crosshair hadn’t bought that new attachment-”

“Maybe if Hunter would learn to write the fucking alphabet and not scribble whatever he usually-”

Tech had heard enough. Clearly, something was very wrong with you, and he had missed it carrying on with his own experiments. He tried very hard not to let that thought consume him. You needed assistance, and his brothers were being anything but helpful. 

Using the controls he’d built into his vambrace, Tech commanded the door they were all lurking inside of to whoosh shut, nearly colliding with Hunter’s nose and snapping the end of Crosshair’s toothpick. All four of his brothers turned to glare at him. He stood tall, not bothering to hunch.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” he commanded, and he barely recognized the assertive tone in his voice.

Hunter, though, looked at him with a knowing glint in his eye. Echo sobered up. Crosshair smirked, the expression slightly undercut by his frayed stub of a toothpick. Only Wrecker seemed vaguely surprised.

“She said she was gonna go do her reports,” he shrugged. “We got an inspection comin’ up or something. Next thing we know, she’s got her nose stuck in her datapad and she won’t snap out of it.”

“Won’t sleep,” Crosshair grunted. “Tried to give her tea to help. She poured it out.”

“She took my spare soundplugs,” Hunter added.

“And you can only get grunts or single word answers from her, if she answers at all. ” Echo nodded in Tech’s direction. “It’s exactly how you get when you’re trying to focus. Like she’s channeling your methods or something.”

Tech crossed his arm, “She must be very worried about how the inspection will reflect on her. Did anyone tell her that half the time the officer doesn’t even bother to show up? And when they do, we pass on successful mission count alone?”

His brothers glanced at each other, silent. He sighed, “Perhaps, since these are, as you say, ‘my methods’ I can get her to snap out of it.”

Hunter brightened almost immediately, and if Tech weren’t so worried about you - had you really not slept all this time? - he would be a little wary of the snide glance his sergeant sent the rest of the squad.

“You know, Tech, that’s a great idea,” Hunter clapped him on the back. “In fact, since this is a delicate matter that you know so much about, would you mind if we left it to you?”

“That’s right,” Echo added, now also sporting a winning smile. “You’re the best man for the job, Tech. We’ve tried everything, it hasn’t worked. And we were about to go out for supplies anyway.”

Crosshair even joined in, toothpick miraculously replaced, “The town’s some distance away, so we won’t be back till after nightfall. Might have to spend the night out there. You can help miss perfect sort herself out while we’re gone.”

Tech glared at his brothers. How subtle did they think they were being?

Kind Wrecker hesitated, “Will she be alright though? Tech?”

He adjusted his goggles, clicking his teeth together, “I will do everything I can for her Wrecker.”

Crosshair snorted behind him, and Tech whirled on his squad, already heading towards the door, “Laugh all you want, but you and your discourtesy caused this, all of you! That woman has been much more help to us than we’ve ever been to her, and if you come back without copious signed and annotated receipts for everything you buy, you will not be setting foot back on this ship! Do you copy, troopers?”

Crosshair laughed his way out the door, but Hunter nodded sincerely before departing. Echo sent a salute Tech’s way with his scomp, before dragging Wrecker, who looked like he might start crying, out of the ship.

The door shut, and Tech locked it from his vambrace for good measure. Silence.

Finally, he headed down through the doorway to get a glimpse at your exhausted frame, folded nearly in two over your makeshift workstation. You didn’t stir as he approached, but perhaps that was because of the soundplugs in your ears. 

Your eyes, frantically scanning a shoddy piece of paperwork, were red and sunken. You mumbled nonsense to yourself in a voice with a slight tremor, and Tech could have sworn you had lost weight since he saw you last.

His mind ran through different possible reasons you might have ended up like this, and then twice as many tactical and complicated scenarios in which he could try and get you to stop and get some rest. But he found he was becoming too concerned for any of those. The diminished light in your eyes, the lack of luster in your hair, it was all instilling in him a less-than-dignified response akin to panic. Tech was a survivor of countless dangerous encounters, but none of them set him on edge quite in this way. 

Deciding to throw caution to the wind, he reached out carefully and laid a hand on your shoulder. No response. He frowned. 

“Meshla,” he spoke quietly yet firmly. “I am going to remove your soundplugs.”

He reached both hands out and plucked them from your ears, but aside from a waved hand and a mumbled, “I told you to go away, Hunter,” you didn’t react. Your eyes remained glued to the form.

Alright, he’d try not to be too offended by that. He, after all, was sometimes slightly confused when he came out of a hyperfixated state, and he was too knowledgeable of himself to not see how hypocritical he was being.

He leaned forward, and his mouth nearly touched the back of your ear, “It’s not Hunter,” he breathed. “It’s Tech.”

You jumped, startled, and whirled around to face him, “Tech! Oh…hi, Tech! W-when did you get, um, get…?”

“Just a little while ago,” he answered. “And imagine my surprise when I come out only to find you working yourself to death.”

At this, a little fire crept into your dull eyes, “Throwing stones in a glass ship, Tech?”

“Don’t start that,” he warned. “I am genetically engineered for more stamina, to require less nourishment, and with the capacity to-”

“Don’t start that,” you barked. “I can gauge for myself how much stamina I have and how much nourishment I require. Poor little nat-born me has months of paperwork to sort through-”

“Paperwork that does not technically need to get done,” he said, and he saw the way you furiously zeroed in on his raised pointer finger. “We will pass inspection regardless.”

But you weren’t giving up, “This is my job, Tech! It might not be a state-of-the-art invention or a new fucking discovery, but it’s mine, and I don’t appreciate you trivializing my role on this ship!”

With that, you turned back around sharply, and started tapping on your datapad so hard that Tech thought he might have to replace the screen. He stood there for a moment, assessing. Clearly, this required a little more than your usual style of interaction. You were tired, and more prone to anger than he’d ever seen you. He’d been attempting to appeal to your own sense of self preservation, but you might be needing a more emotional approach.

Fine, if you wanted to play hardball, he’d play. He smoothly invaded your space, your hunched shoulders to his front, and leaned over, placing his hands on the desk at either side of your body.

“Wrecker is in near tears with worry,” he began, low in his voice. “And I guarantee you Hunter’s having trouble getting to sleep with you up and moving all night.”

Your head jerked a little, but you didn’t answer. Tech covered the hand tapping at your datapad with his own, curling his fingers around yours. His other hand took the pad away, set it down as far as the desk would allow, and went up to stroke your hair. He could feel the tension in your shoulders loosen ever so slightly. 

He’d never touched you with such familiarity before, never felt such palpable intimacy. His heart sang as you allowed him to gently caress your hair with feather light touches. 

“I don’t think you’ve ever snapped at me like that before,” he said gently. “But then again, you’re usually well rested and well fed.”

“Not funny,” you huffed. You tried to wriggle out of his hold, reaching for your datapad.

Tech felt a surge of protective frustration in his chest. He’d never seen you this stubborn. You were taking your well-being far too lightly and he was officially tired of it, “It was not meant to be funny,” his voice was a little sharper, a little rougher. 

He seized the back of your chair, and pulled it out and around. Then he kneeled before your slumped form, and took both your hands in his own, “I can see now, that you do not understand how seeing you exhausted and neglected affects me. Allow me to correct that.”

“Tech-”

“I care for you,” he declared, words spilling from him recklessly. He had to get you to understand. “Acutely. Intensely. In a way that is often beyond my control. And I will do everything in my power, employ every skill at my disposal to avoid seeing you come to harm. Even if the one doing that harm is you.”

You blinked rapidly, surprise flooding your glazed eyes, “I-”

But he would not hear your excuses, your dismissals of his concern, “This is bad for your health, bad for my mental state, and ultimately, bad for the squad. I implore you to sleep, to-”

“Please listen-”

“No, mesh’la, there is no excuse-”

“I like you too!” you shouted, a shaking hand touching his lips to stop him from talking. 

Tech froze. Oh stars…he’d told you, hadn’t he? Kneeling on the dirty floor, both of you exhausted, in the middle of a disagreement. 

So much for his carefully curated plans to romance you.

You let out a slightly manic giggle, probably at the slack-jawed look of idiocy on his face. Your hand moved to cup his cheek, “Any ploy to win an argument, huh?”

Tech quickly laid his hand over yours, alarm rising in his chest “I assure you, cyar’ika, this was anything but a ploy. I did not intend-”

“I was teasing, Tech,” you laughed again. “Believe it or not, I’ve been thinking something was up for a couple weeks now.”

He cleared his throat, sheepish, “Ah, yes, well…I was trying to ascertain if you were remotely interested in pursuing an amendment to our current relationship.”

“You know, you could have just asked.”

He felt his cheeks heat up, “I was trying to present myself in the best possible light.”

“Oh, honey,” you smiled. “You do that every day. Though I won’t lie, helping me down from the ship was very cute.”

He sighed, relieved, “That is excellent news. The field of romantic attachments is completely foreign to me. I’ve been conducting research for weeks.”

“Oh? What kind of research?” your eyebrows rose.

“Standard romantic practices for humans,” he began listing off. “Romantic gestures in different cultures, sexual acts and techniques, common date ideas-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” the grin on your face grew wide with mischief. “What acts and techniques?”

“Sexual,” he affirmed with a wave of his hand. “And a lot of my research into romantic-”

You laid your fingers against his lips again, “Oh no, mister, you don’t get to just brush over that one. You looked into the best techniques for getting me into bed? Before you even told me you were interested? Overplanning much?”

“Actually,” he mumbled beneath your hand. “It wasn’t about getting you into bed, rather more about what to do with you once you were there.”

You giggled, rolling your eyes, “No matter how smart they are, pretty boys are all the same. Tech, that’s something we figure out together. Something we talk about and learn about as we go.”

Tech felt something very warm and light settle into his chest, “I understand what you’re saying,” he took your hand away from his mouth by the wrist, before examining it closely, reverently. He placed a brief kiss to your knuckles, and nodded to himself when he heard your little gasp. “But a woman like you, spectacular and brilliant as you are...you deserve the best in every regard. I have no experience to draw upon, so I decided to supplement that with knowledge. Carefully stored and memorized, of course”

He gazed up at your face, some of his nervousness from the past few weeks bubbling to the surface again. There was always a possibility that you wouldn’t be interested in a partner with no experience in the bedroom. But your eyes were shining, and that gave him hope.

“Tech,” you shook your head. “Did it ever occur to you that I might want to be the one giving you a memorable, enjoyable first time?”

He inhaled sharply, his heart hammering in his ears, “I will admit, it did not.”

You hummed, leaned forward, and reached for his face, drawing him up to your own, “Is this alright?” Your breath fanned over his lips, his chin. 

Tech found himself nodding, a little too frantically, and the next moment your lips were on his, and oh, this was very different from reading about kissing. His heart rate spiked, his hands twitched of their own accord, yearning to grab hold of you, and he was suddenly all too aware of his own body. His goggles fogged up. His cock tightened in his bodysuit. 

Then you grasped the nape of his neck and moaned into his mouth, and that was all it took to break his hesitancy. He grasped at your hips, and, utilizing a strength he didn’t usually have need for, he stood up with you in his arms. You wrapped your gorgeous legs around his waist and ground against his zipper. He gasped, and you took advantage, tongue darting inside, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. 

Tech sampled your mouth in turn, rubbing your hips with his thumbs, before slowing and gently pulling away. He stared at you, breathing hard. Your pupils were dilated with want, your lips swollen, and your fingers played with the little hairs at the back of his neck. You were completely and utterly perfect…

And you hadn’t slept in two days. 

You leaned in to kiss him again, but Tech rested his forehead against yours, still catching his breath, “This is not going any farther tonight, darling.”

He wished he had his recorder on. The pout you gave him was positively adorable, “Why?”

“Because you are tired beyond your limits, and I would be horribly remiss to have you exhaust yourself further by trying to perform for me in any way.” Not usually one for making himself feel strong or manly, Tech found he did like the weight of you in his arms, of your hands clinging to him. Depending on him. 

“And,” he interrupted before you tried to argue. “Even though you thwarted my long and meticulous plan to confess my feelings, I still reserve the right to woo you.”

You snorted a little, “Woo me?”

“Yes, mesh’la. I would like to spend some time with you in a romantic capacity before we run away with our urges.” He began walking you both back towards the bunks. 

“B-but! The boys are gone!”

“Which means we will not have to put up with Wrecker’s snoring,” he said simply. He plopped you into his bunk, but hesitated before he took off his first piece of armor, “I can take you back to your bed, if you prefer.”

But you just grinned and shook your head, “Don’t you dare. If I don’t get to break my three year dry spell, I better get to cuddle.”

He raised a brow, logging that bit of information away, but began stripping his armor and tossing it on the floor. He crawled into bed and felt his face warm at how you immediately attached yourself to his side, “I would like to take you out tomorrow.”

You yawned, the stress of everything finally catching up, “Yeah? Where would you like to go?”

“Anywhere,” he stroked your arm. “On a walk, to a nearby town if there is one. Maybe just to see the sunset.”

You hummed contentedly, “That sounds nice,” and you leaned up to kiss his cheek.

Tech, well he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to it…he melted, “How does a woman like you have a three year dry spell?”

You chuckled, “Break it for me and I’ll tell you all about the short string of losers, cheaters, and one particularly scary bounty hunter that had me swearing off men.”

“Hmm… I find myself more and more grateful that I decided to research this topic.”

He frowned, still unenthused by the idea of laying back and letting you do all the work. He would much rather be the one performing, excelling at pleasing you. Plans began to form in his head, of romance, seduction. He didn’t read through hundreds of articles for nothing, and he was determined that you would be pleased. 

“Tech,” you insisted, but your eyes were closed and your words were slurred. “I’m serious, we’re gonna… make your first time about you, whenever it happens. We’ll do whatever you want to do.”

He decided to try something small before bed. Just a taste of what he had in store for you. One article he’d read mentioned the best ways of initiating interest, and one of them was… talking to one’s partner. In a very particular way,  “But… what if what I want mesh’la… is to have you under me, limp, pliable, hoarse from screaming my name?”

You shivered at the deep voice he’d employed, and Tech waited, amused, as you struggled find words. This was more fun than he'd expected. He leaned in again, lips grazing your ear, "No more skipping meals. No more going without sleep."

"Tech-"

"Promise me," oh he delighted in the wicked, taut energy between you. He wanted to stoke it higher, hotter. "Promise me, and maybe tomorrow we can discuss all the ways you want to make my first time memorable."

Your breath hitched, and you let out a sweet little squeak, but you kept ahold of yourself enough to give a bit back to him, "Only if you promise too. That you'll start sleeping properly. I'll sleep next to you every night if you just come to bed."

Tech sucked in air through his teeth, heart pounding against his rib cage, "I will...try, mesh'la."

He kissed your ear, satisfied when he felt you quake again, "Then get some rest, darling. We're both going to need it."

Rex was absolutely exhausted.

Fox wasn’t lying when he said the guard was understaffed. Every day the protest grew closer, and with that came new complications. Complications he usually didn’t have to deal with on the battlefield. 

Like civilians. Not insurgents. Not hostages. Not rebels against the separatists. Real and true civilians with not a drop of combat in their blood (not that they wanted it). And there were so many. The population of Coruscant was out of control, and he made a promise to himself to never, ever settle here. He needed sky. And trees. And occasional, honest silence. Not even his men could conjure such a racket. 

But coordinating route plans through the city, placement of troopers, and escorts for persons of importance weren’t his only concerns. Rex hadn’t been sleeping well. And it was all your fault.

Still not cleared to work by a professional, but almost entirely back to feeling like your former self, you laid around your apartment all day, every day bored. Bored and, well… impassioned.

And you weren’t keeping it to yourself. 

Rex could handle the thorough, suggestive kisses, no matter how hard the thought of your soft lips made him. He could deal with the increasingly short and revealing clothes - it’s hot in here, you’d said - even if he got the ungentlemanly urge to rip them off. He could even stay strong against the way you’d clamber into his lap and grind onto his cock while you watched your nightly shows. He would end every evening achingly erect, too stimulated to sleep, and kicking himself. 

His honor and concern for your health couldn’t be compromised, but the desire to give you exactly what you wanted, what you needed, was all-consuming. Rex wanted to provide for you in every way, and being unable to was eating him up inside. You deserved to be catered and attended  to. Adored. Worshiped. 

You deserved to be fucked. In whatever way you craved. In whatever way you would have him.

And by the force, if he didn’t deserve to get some sleep. It wasn’t just the temptation of you, yearning, delectable you keeping him up at night. He wasn’t sure if it was because of your attack or a result of planning for every eventuality with Fox, but Rex was feeling paranoid. Every morning, on duty, even in the evening with you in his lap, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end. It was like he was back in the field, sleeping in the open, full kit on and one hand curled around his blaster. No matter the trooper on watch or his knowledge of the enemy’s location, it was always impossible to relax. Because of the constant, insistent feeling he was being watched. 

That’s how he’d felt for five days now. Seen. Observed. Under fucking surveillance. 

He admitted it might have been all the cameras and protocols used by the CG. But Rex had been raised by military bases, had been born breathing the air of structure and order. And not once had he ever felt this creeping awareness on his home turf. 

He’d certainly never felt it on yours. And that was the part that really worried him. He’d learned to trust his gut a long time ago, and the fact that all of his alarm bells were going off while you were safe in his arms…while you slept, recovering from an assault on your body and mind…

He wanted to go home. He wanted to see with his own eyes and feel with his naked, ungloved hands that you were alright. 

Instead, he was sitting through another adjustment to the current crowd control plan for the pro-clone rally, and the anti-protest that was sure to follow. 

“Civilians are likely going to cluster in this sector,” Fox repeated for maybe a third time, gesturing to the holomap. “It’s a clear shot from a lot of domiciles and hot spots. Caf shops and casual shopping. Most of them won’t be protesters. They’ll be rubber-necks just looking to say they were there. There’s a clear sight path to the podium. I want as many troopers there as we can spare, ready to get people out if everything goes to complete shit. Thorn, you and your assignees are to hold the lines between the protesters, anti-protesters, and civilians. You boys are the grid by which we operate. If someone gets violent, you pack ‘em up and return to your post as quickly and cleanly as possible. They go to the drunk tanks to cool down.”

Rex nodded along. He’d had the plan memorized since the first briefing. He just wasn’t used to this level of prep time. Usually, he’d follow a certain Jedi’s first thought and just, well, make it work.  

Fox continued, “Hound, your unit is patrolling the perimeter of the event with the massifs. Do not appear in force. Spread out. Keep the massifs calm. Make no moves unless you hear from either myself or the other commanders.” Hound’s “yes sir” was almost entirely lost, because Fox, clearly exhausted by this point, kept going without pause.

“Thire, you’re to take your unit into the two buildings on either side of the protest site. Keep an eye out. We have very public, very divisive figures in attendance and the last thing I need on my hands is a downed senator. If you see signs of a sniper, if you see a hostile assailant rushing the stage, you sound the alarm and take the shot if you can manage it.” 

Rex then felt his brother’s attention on him, and sat up straighter. Fox’s visor met his own, and he inclined his head, “Captain Rex will be commanding the line between the podium and the crowd while I act as escort to the VIPs. That means that most of my rally unit will be assigned to a different commanding officer while I take a smaller squad to escort public figures to, through, and from the event. It also means that I will be absent for portions of the day, dealing with the struggles of our dear politicians. If any of you, any of you at all have a problem with taking orders from a decorated, battle-hardened commander who just happens not to be of CG origin, too fucking bad. You will follow Rex’s orders as if they come directly from me, understood?”

“Sir, yes sir!” rang through the hall. 

“Damn straight,” Fox growled. “One more thing. Captain Rex will be more noticeable than you lot. He’s a well-known poster boy for the war, thanks to Jedi Master Skywalker, and his armor is bound to attract attention. I’ve requested his help at great sacrifice to his General and the 501st. I’d like to return him in one piece. That means look out for him, Thire, your unit in particular. The anti-protesters will be gunning for a figure like him standing out in the open.”

There were a couple of snickers amongst some of Rex’s more well-known acquaintances, but by and large the sea of red and white helmets regarded him with a mixture of reverence and, dare he say it, protectiveness. He felt like a very well cared for massif. 

Fox dismissed the boys and sat down at the command table, taking off his helmet and rubbing his eyes. Somehow, the circles under them had gotten darker, “Sorry Rex, didn’t mean to make you sound like a damsel in distress.”

“You didn’t,” he chuckled. “I appreciate the manpower and the potential cover fire. You may have given them an overinflated view of my military record, though.”

“Please,” Fox rolled his eyes. “How many times have you been medalled?”

“Five out of seven times it was instigated by Amidala,” Rex snorted. “She gives me all the medals Skywalker isn’t allowed to accept.”

His brother let out a weak, but very genuine chuckle, then sobered up, staring glass-eyed down at the table, “This needs to be over.”

“Yeah,” Rex shook his head. “I’ve…had a bad feeling for most of the week. Like something’s wrong and I just don’t know what.”

Fox nodded, “Something is going to go wrong at the rally. I feel it. But there’s no way to prepare for every eventuality. All I can do is hope not too many people get hurt.”

Rex scanned his brother up and down, the tired eyes, the slumped shoulders, the gray streak in his hair, “You need a vacation.”

That prompted a single, hollow laugh in the back of Fox’s throat, “Sure, I’ll just submit my PTO request to the emperor. Shed the armor, turn off my comms. How’s Naboo this time of year?”

“I’ll have a word with Ularen’s secretary, she can join you.”

Fox sat up stick-straight, “That’s not funny, Rex.”

He shrugged, “I’m not laughing.”

“That’s…I can’t,” Fox shook his head, eyes wide and sad. “She’s not, we’re not-”

“How about this,” Rex leaned forward on his knees. “I promise, when I get back to the Resolute, I’ll get her to comm you.”

But his brother glared back at him, “She won’t do it. She’s…we’re not on the best of terms.”

“All the more reason,” Rex insisted. “She’s on a warship, Fox. You will never forgive yourself if she gets hurt and you didn’t get the chance to tell her whatever you need to tell her. Trust me.”

Fox looked away and stiffly put his helmet back on, coming back to his persona diligent control, “You’re a meddlesome idiot, brother.”

“Look who’s talking.”

*********************************

Your fingers were stroking his cock again. 

“Ah, cyare,” Rex mumbled into your hairline, blinking in the flare of morning light. He reached down and removed your hand from his shorts. “None of that.”

You groaned, leaned forward, and scraped your teeth on his bare chest, “C’mon, Rex. You know I’m well enough.” 

“Not till another, not-motivated-by-sex medic says so,” he gathered you up, pressing sweet kisses to your face, which was looking brighter and healthier by the day. “You’ve got your check-up tomorrow. Not too long now.”

“How do you have this much self-control?” you whined.

“A man can do anything with the right motivation,” he grinned down at you. Stars, you were beautiful. “I’m excited too.”

“Hmm, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he trailed his nose across your cheek, blowing warm air down to your ear. Your breath hitched. “Nothing I want to do more than sink into you, feel you wrapped around me again…except, maybe, lap at your pretty clit until you spill down my chin.”

You let out a tiny high pitched mewl, “That’s not fair, Rex. I’m so horny it hurts, and you’re leaving soon.”

Just like clockwork, his vambrace began beeping from across the room. 

Rex kissed your nose, “You haven’t exactly been making this easy on me either, cyarika.” He reached down to grab at your hips. “The kissing and the stroking and the grinding. But I’ve been very nice, I know how hard this is for both of us. Just be good for me a bit longer, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

You sighed, properly chastised, “Okay. But maybe I could still come to the rally-”

“Not even if you held a blaster to my head,” Rex interrupted firmly. “We’ve talked about this.”

He got up to go and check the message on his vambrace while you huffed, “I don’t like the idea of you out there, dangled like bait for the worst of the anti-clone movement.”

“Fox and I both agreed that it would be best to keep the protesters focused on a trooper instead of the politicians.” Speaking of his brother, Fox was calling him in for the final briefing before they moved out this afternoon. 

“But if I just waited at a caf shop a few blocks away-”

“I’d be out of my mind with worry the entire time,” he started pulling on his armor. “And I wouldn’t be able to do my job.”

You went quiet, which was surprising. The both of you had gone over this repeatedly last night. Rex could understand your anxiety, but he had his skills, he had his plastoid, and he had an entire branch of the GAR convinced that he needed to be protected at all costs. He suspected Fox felt guilty about using him for this, and was hyping up the troopers about his record, his legion, and maybe even the fact that he had someone to come home to. 

He chanced a glance back at you, and felt his heart seize. You were teary, jaw clenched and staring out the window. 

“Hey,” he strode over, breastplate hanging off him loosely. “Hey now, cyare.”

You threw your arms around him, pressing your body against the ridges of his armor, “Be careful, Rex. Please”

He held you, swaying slightly to the rhythm pounding in his chest, “I will, I promise. Give me ten hours. I’ll be home before you know it.”

“I’ll be watching you on the net,” you sniffed.

“I’ll wave if I see a camera.”

*********************************

That’s how he left you, curled up back under the covers and promising you’d take it easy. You were asleep again almost immediately. 

The briefing was quick, and loading into the transports went by even faster. Fox wanted everyone in position before the first of the protesters gathered. 

The troopers spread through the open space like they’d done it a thousand times. Rex only had to mind his own placement at the north corner of the stage and admire their precision. Fox had trained them well. 

Protesters with homemade accessories (like buttons), colorful signs, and makeshift masks to look like GAR helmets started filtering in. Most of them looked like the pro-clone crowd. 

An hour later, some anti-protesters arrived. The grounds became considerably louder, the air charged with electricity. Rex ordered a screaming man who approached the stage to be taken to the drunk tanks. 

News crews pulled their speeders up, unloading all of their expensive equipment. They looked considerably calmer than Rex felt. 

The space filled up faster than he could have anticipated. Every time he scanned the area, the burgeoning pile of bodies seemed to have multiplied. But the lines of troopers were holding well. 

Another hour passed before the speakers arrived. Fox sent a ping to each commanding officer, and a moment later Bail Organa, Padme Amidala, several representatives, a net star, a reclusive philanthropist, and - Rex’s eyebrows raised - Shor Ryesim filled onto the stage. He guessed Shor wasn’t lying when he said he was the organizer of the event.

Organa’s speech opened the rally. It was well-written, level, and reassuring. Rex never understood what special quality made someone a good public speaker, but he was sure he didn’t possess it. Bail apparently had it in spades. Even the anti-clone folks calmed down a little. 

The speakers began to blend together as Rex continued to scan the crowd. The representatives were supportive, if a little dull. He couldn’t blame them, how hard must it be to follow Organa? The net star came off vapid and brief, but at least he was using his position for something meaningful. The philanthropist looked almost embarrassed to be present. And Amidala…well, she was Amidala. Direct and spirited, passionate and definitive. She kept turning in his direction throughout the speech, and Rex fought the urge to give her the recognition she deserved. As far as the public knew, he was not familiar with her in the slightest. 

The crowd began to pick up on her energy. Loud clashes of voices rose up. Rex caught a few troopers keeping brawlers apart. The anti-crowd began hurling insults and, in one case, a rock in her direction. It missed by a hair.

“Don’t bother with the drunk tank for that one!” Rex commanded. Amidala and the other politicians were ushered off the stage. And of course this was all streamed across the net. Skywalker was going to kill him.

“Are they calling it?” He commed Fox. “The crowd is rising.” And he wasn’t exaggerating. The pros were clamoring for the anti’s arrest. Insults and accusations flew.

“Hold on,” came his brother’s answer. “No, the organizer wants to give his speech, finish up with what they came to do. I’m taking the others out of here.”

Rex felt a stab of annoyance. Fucking Shor…

“Hold steady, boys,” he said to his troopers. “We’ve got one more speaker, then they’re gonna send ‘em home.”

Ryesim took to the podium with very little ceremony. He shouted into the mics, trying to maintain the attention of his audience. 

“Friends! Friends!” he called. “If you’ll lend me just a bit of your patience! Remember, this event is for changing minds, not causing violence!”

Rex rolled his eyes and ordered two more brawlers led away. 

“However, we must be willing to fight to defend what is good and just!”

What the fuck is he doing? Rex called for his troopers to be on high alert. Shor was apparently abandoning the idea of de-escalation.

“Enough violence has been committed in the name of slowing progress!” Shor yelled, smacking the top of the podium. “We are here to demand the full rights of clones be recognized! We, as full citizens of this great Republic, have a responsibility to understand the plight of those less fortunate than us! To put ourselves in the way of those who would harm our clone compatriots, who are no less valuable, no less deserving than we are. Citizens of Coruscant, we are under threat! A war has started, much like the one clones heroically pursue across the galaxy! Too many clone supporters have been met with barbarity on the streets where they walk every day!”

The screen behind the podium alighted, showing the image of a young man, nose clearly broken, with glass sticking out of his cheek. 

“Take Kiran Serril!” Shor shouted, spit flying from his mouth. “Brutalized in his own home for a sticker on his door supporting clone citizenship!”

The mob screamed in unison. The lines of troopers between pro and anti groups were starting to break down. 

“Fox,” Rex growled. “We need to end this. Now.”

Fox’s response came immediately, “Copy. I’ll comm the others. I’ve just put the VIPs in their transports. I’m on my way back.”

Shor was still screaming, riling the throng up with yet another disturbing image, “Ellebet Diranae is an elderly retiree, but that did not stop thugs from following her home and giving her a concussion for daring to read a pro-clone pamphlet in her local caf joint!”

All Rex could see were angry faces, brutal intent. He was done waiting.

“Form a wall boys!” he yelled, and his troopers started pushing the protesters back from the stage without hesitation. The ones keeping the two factions apart began getting serious, and the line down the middle reformed. “Blasters at stun only! Order them to disperse! Hound, get in here now, start getting those on the fringes to go home! Leave the massifs in the transports, they’ll just incite panic!”

He was so busy he didn’t hear Shor’s next introduction, didn’t see the transition to another exploitive image. Only when the crowd began falling back did Rex begin to register words again.

“- worst of all, this heroic, kind woman is a medic! She saves lives for a living! She lives in Coruscant, like all of you, not too far from here! I’ve known her since childhood, and they demolished her for the crime of wearing pins on a backpack!”

Rex’s hot, racing blood suddenly turned to ice. Slowly, or maybe it only seemed that way in the chaos, he turned back to look at the new picture on the netscreen.

No.

*********************************

You were having trouble breathing.

Wheezing, you raised a hand to touch your netscreen, running a finger down the little stage made of data and pixels. You hovered over Rex, who had his back turned to the mile-high image behind the podium. He was frantically trying to get the crowd under control. 

Shor was shaking his fist, shouting like a lunatic. You wanted to squash him.

You caught the moment Rex turned and saw the screen behind him, could practically feel the moment he registered what had happened.

Shor had shown your face, battered as all hell. With multiple pictures, plastered on a surface taller than your building. From multiple angles, so the damage couldn’t be ignored. 

Shor had screamed your name to the entire city, the entire planet. With that, someone could find your address. Find your place of work. 

You’d be on the news in a matter of hours. You and those other poor souls Shor undoubtedly didn’t get permission to showcase. You sobbed. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

As you watched, Rex prowled towards the Twi’Lek, who didn’t even notice a murderous clone in his periphery. Fox appeared on the other side of the stage, and rushed to intercept. You weren’t sure he would make it in time. 

Rex ripped the microphone clear off its stand, the podium screeching in protest. That move gave Fox the time he needed to get in between the two and slam Shor to the surface of the podium. He put his other hand on Rex’s wrist, and even though it was hidden behind the rest of his body, you knew Fox was stopping your boyfriend from drawing his blaster. 

A moment while they stood, staring each other down through their visors. Finally, Rex stepped back, and Fox cuffed Shor. With his other hand, the commander looked to be talking into his comms. Your brutalized face disappeared from behind them. 

You had been overjoyed when Rex had come back from his briefing much earlier than you expected, a knowing grin barely hidden on his lips, and asked if he could impose on you a little longer. You’d hobbled over - your damn ankle had still been giving you trouble - and thrown your arms around him. He chastised you for aggravating your ribs, but he couldn’t hide the giddy tone in his voice.

Having him in your house for the past week had been heaven, but your heart had become the latest on an impressive list of broken body parts when he walked out the door to do his duty. Now, with his promise to stay, that part of you had been miraculously healed. 

“You’re only allowed to stick around if you sleep in the bed with me,” you said firmly. “That couch must have been murder on your back this week.”

Rex chuckled, “You’ve clearly never slept on a GAR cot, cyare. My back has survived much worse than your couch can dish out.”

But still you insisted, “I’m serious Rex. I’m healing nicely-”

“You’re still wincing every time you stand up, and stumbling when-”

“Healing nicely,” you repeated. “And unless you want to head back to that cot, I suggest you park your armor in my room, and come keep me company while I make lunch.”

Your tone didn’t really allow for argument, but Rex still sighed at your stubbornness and took his sweet time answering, “Fine, cyarika. But if it becomes an issue even one time, if I so much as steal the covers and give you a chill, I’m moving back to the couch.”

You snorted, “Good luck getting the blankets away from me, captain. You’ve never faced a battle like this before.”

You turned to head to the kitchen, to start on the simple stew Rex had bought ingredients for - a stew that you suspected was becoming one of his favorite dishes. But gloved hands and plastoid covered arms seized you gently from behind, and your bare feet left the floor. You squealed as Rex supported your knees and back before heading away from the kitchen.

“You won the fight to get me in bed, don’t push it, cyare,” his knowing eyes smiled down at you. “Give me ten minutes for a shower, then I’m cooking.”

“Oh c’mon!” you griped as he deposited you on the couch. He placed you on the cushions as delicately as a leaf might land on a lake. “Rex, I’m doing so much better-hey!”

Staunchly ignoring you, Rex began wrapping you in your favorite fluffy blanket, flung to the floor in your rush to greet him. He disregarded your squawks of protest as he leaned you forward and put another pillow behind your head, tucked your feet, and turned on the netscreen, flipping to one of your favorite channels. He handed you the controller and smoothed down your hair. 

One of your least favorite things about your job as a medic - it made you a terrible patient. You knew it, your doctors knew it, and your family and friends definitely knew it. But knowing it didn’t automatically banish the icky feeling you got when someone treated you like an invalid. Your hackles rose, and you glared up at your boyfriend.

“Listen here, captain-mph!” you were silenced by the truly glorious feeling of Rex’s lips pressing firmly to yours. Warmth gathered in your belly, and sparks shot off behind your closed eyes. It was the first time since the attack that he’d allowed himself to kiss you with any firmness at all, preferring to kiss your hands and wrists, perhaps your unscathed cheek, for the entire week. 

You were a little dazed as he pulled away, a small bit of triumph in his eyes. It had been too long, dammit. You were brought back down from the clouds, however, by his low, firm voice.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that the dishes from last night have been done,” he fixed you with a disapproving eye, one that had caught and punished many more serious shenanigans than secret chores. You sank back into the cushions a little. “Or the fact that the oven’s been scrubbed to hell, or that the floor’s been swept. You didn’t even try to hide the laundry you folded.”

He gestured towards the basket at the end of the couch, and you crossed your arms, stuck out your lip. You weren’t proud of pouting, but you were kind of running out of options.

“You are the only man in the galaxy who would possibly notice that the oven had been scrubbed.”

“You were supposed to relax,” his absurdly calm demeanor was not helping.

“I’m bored, Rex,” you whined. “And I feel bad, watching you run around my apartment, doing all my chores. I was trying to be helpful.”

He sighed, and leaned back over you with a hand perched on the couch behind your head. He tilted your chin up and looked resolutely into your eyes. You could feel the warmth of him through his glove.

His warm words poured over you like honey, his tone not exactly forceful, but definitely unyielding, “I do your chores because I love you, cyare. Because you are ner karta, my heart, walking around in the world, and right now, my heart is recovering from a terrible experience. So I’m doing what I can to help my heart heal, to protect it and make sure it’s strong and healthy again.”

He kissed your forehead, a whisper of touch against your stitched up wound, “I’ve got two more days of leave, and then I’ll be taking my post with the CG. You’ll be alone again for most of the day when I do. Give me these two days, please.”

Well. How the hell were you supposed to argue with that? You pulled your petulant lip back in, and nodded.

“Thank you,” he breathed, relieved. He pressed one more kiss to your yearning mouth before going to take his shower.

You slumped back into your pile of pillows, glaring at the brace on your arm. You’d ended your round of the tough painkillers the day before, and today, you were more alert than you had been since the assault. Sweet and darling as your boyfriend might be, you were now realizing the trouble you were in with him being around full time, fussing over you.  

You could also admit, at least to yourself, that maybe you were being contrary with him because you were getting a little…pent up.

And judging from his lovely (not to mention attractive) speech about protecting his heart, you didn’t think Rex was going to be willing to help you with this problem anytime soon.

**********

Lunch had gone off without a hitch, and Rex was happily dozing with you on the couch, so full he might have fallen asleep if not for the knock at the door. 

You had fallen asleep, and you shot up with a surprised mumble, “Mmm… Rex, s’Tia…”

He smiled. You were adorable. Then he turned to the door and called, “Come in, Alentia!”

She poked her pretty face through the door first, and smirked when she saw you on the couch, your loyal soldier sitting protectively at your side, “I brought a guest, is that okay?”

Rex turned to you, and watched as you glanced down at your comfortable, well worn attire and fussed with your messy bun. He heard you whisper to yourself, “Fuck it, it’s my house,” before calling, “Sure, that’s fine! Just hope they’re not expecting much!”

“Oh, I’d never!” came a friendly voice from behind the door. You smiled and rolled your eyes good naturedly, and Alentia opened the door fully, bringing with her a male Twi’lek carrying a bag of groceries. The family resemblance was uncanny. 

Rex prepared himself for the shock, maybe even the fear at seeing a clone in a domestic dwelling, but the Twi didn’t look the least bit surprised. In fact, he barely glanced toward Rex. Alentia took their bag of goodies to the kitchen, and her companion made his way over to the couch, where he crouched down next to you in a quick, agile movement. He looked you up and down, running his hands across your brow. You batted his hands away, annoyed and flustered, but he continued flitting around your face, down your neck, tilting your chin, assessing the damage so long Rex almost got up and pulled him away.

Instead, you smacked one of his hands, "Okay that's enough! Let me breathe!"

The frustration in your voice didn't seem to bother him, “Force, honey. Tia said you were looking better. How banged up were you before?”

You paused, squinting at him, before relaxing your shoulders and pushing his face back with your hand. He nearly toppled over, “Still prettier than you.”

He laughed and took a seat in a neighboring chair, “So, you wanna tell me what happened? Tia’s been remiss with details.”

“I’ll give you an abbreviated version,” you conceded warily. “After we stop being rude and make introductions.”

Your voice was firm, and Rex watched as you pointedly stared the Twi down. You gestured back to him with your hand, “This is Rex, my boyfriend. Rex, this is Shor Ryesim, Tia’s much older brother.”

Shor placed a hand over his heart, acting wounded, “Ouch, kiddo. 8 years is not that much older.” Then he leaned forward and held out his hand, “Nice to meet you, Rex.”

“Likewise,” Rex nodded curtly and shook the offered appendage. He didn’t know why, but there was something about Shor that he didn’t quite trust. He had an urge to retrieve his armor from the other room. 

“Oh!” Shor lit up and began digging in his pockets. “Got something for you, sweetheart. Just off the presses this morning.” 

He held out his hand, and cradled in it, was a pristine white button with a clone helmet on it. HUMAN RIGHTS ARE NOT OPTIONAL flashed in red. You flinched, looking a bit ill.

In a flash, Rex had reached over and snatched the pin, before grabbing your hand, “You alright cyare?”

Shor put his hands up and waved them back and forth, “Whoa, man, what's your deal? I was just trying to help replenish the collection! You know what those pins meant to her.”

“They’re why she was attacked in the first place!” Rex felt his voice rise. Anger boiled in his stomach. How could this prick be so insensitive?

Alentia came hurrying back into the living room. Her eyes zeroed in on the pin in Rex’s hand. She threw her arms up in the air, “Stars, Shor! I told you to leave it at home!”

“I thought it’d cheer her up!”

“It’s not an appropriate gift after what she went through!”

“But-”

“It’s fine,” your quiet voice cut through the noise of the bickering siblings. Rex’s heart stuttered when he saw your blank, shuttered eyes. You smiled, and it didn’t reach past the corners of your lips. “It’s not a big deal, seriously. Thank you for thinking of me. Rex, would you go put it on my desk please?”

He hesitated, but got up off the couch at the sight of your trembling jaw. He went as swiftly as he could to your bedroom, tossing the offending piece of political jargon onto the desk and heading back. 

In the living room, you were recounting what had happened to you with that same empty expression. Shor was looking properly sheepish, and Alentia had a hand around your shoulder, having taken Rex’s place on the couch. He chose to stand and watch from the far side of the room, close enough to reach you if you needed him. 

“...And then, some troopers must have heard the commotion, because they stunned the idiots and took them away,” you finished your watered-down version of the attack.

Shor stood up, clearly outraged, “This is appalling! Our government refuses to acknowledge those fighting for us as full citizens, and now full citizens are getting attacked in the streets for their commitment to justice!” He started pacing around the room. “You’re not the only one, kiddo. We keep hearing reports of citizens being assaulted for being suspected of clone sympathy. There’s too many of them for it to be a coincidence.”

“Shor is the head of a pro-clone citizen’s movement,” you supplied Rex, though not with the enthusiasm he’d have expected. “They petition the senate and hold protests and boycotts to try and pressure those who can affect change.”

Rex turned to the pacing Twi’lek. “And you don’t think this attack was random?”

“You think they targeted her on purpose? Like, they’d been following her for a while?” Alentia was appalled.

“Possibly,” came his answer. “Her backpack would have been something they could monitor, identify her by. She was stationed at the same clinic for a week. It wouldn’t have been difficult.” Shor shook his head, “There's a rumor that there’s a lot of appeals to young people by the anti-clone crowd. They put them through initiation, have them go rough someone up on the street, before they officially become part of the group.”

“They…” you whispered, shaken. “They beat the hell out of me as part of some sick initiation?”

Rex’s blood ran cold, “Has anyone informed the CG of this rumor?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

He grit his teeth. Fox had to know about this, had to be made aware before the-

“Are either of you, by chance, attending the protest against the rally they announced for next week?” Shor asked, before brusquely reaching out and grasping your arm. You winced at the sudden contact, and Rex lunged forward a step. “Because, sweetheart, if you were to speak at the podium I’ve set up, about your experience, about what these bastards put you through…”

But you started shaking your head furiously, alarmed, sliding away and shrinking in on yourself with each passing word.

That’s it, Rex thought. The time for company was over. He moved to kneel by you, and Alentia gave up her seat without a word. She at least seemed to be thinking of your well-being. He grasped Shor’s wrist with bruising pressure and removed his grip from your arm.

“No,” Rex answered for you both, and if he’d crossed a line with that he’d apologize for it later. He didn’t bother looking back at Shor’s reaction. “She won’t be well enough to go out for anything next week, and I’ll have orders to fulfill. My leave ends soon.”

You were staring up at Rex, glassy eyes vague and dazed. He put his hand to the back of your head and gently laid you back to recline on the couch again.

“She needs rest,” he informed their company. “I’m sorry to be abrupt about it, but do you think you could both head home? Thank you for the groceries.”

Alentia nodded immediately, “Of course. I’ll come check on you both tomorrow, and we can talk about your schedule. I don’t like the idea of her being alone all day yet.”

Rex threw a grateful smile her way.

“I’m right here, you guys. You don’t have to plan babysitting shifts,” you said, but your raspy tone and the grip you had on your blanket contradicted your point. 

“I’ll be in the area, planning the protest,” Shor shrugged. “I can look after her for a while too.”

Rex was sure his face was turning red, but Alentia answered before he could, “I think we’ve got it covered.”

“Of course.”

Alentia gathered their things up to go, but her brother, who it seems could not take a fucking hint, tapped on Rex’s shoulder.

“Can I speak to you a moment?” he asked, and though Rex felt he would rather eat a seppie’s blaster bolt, he wanted this weirdly persistent person out of your apartment. At least by talking to him, Rex would be close enough to toss him out on his sorry ass.

He followed Shor to your entryway, where he turned and spoke in a hushed tone, “Look, I know she’s been through a lot, and clearly, you’re not my biggest fan-”

“Glad to see you noticed.”

“Yeah, well,” the Twi shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s a weird, macho, threatened-by-other-guys thing-”

“For me to be threatened,” Rex growled low in his voice. “You’d have to be threatening. I just don’t like seeing the woman I love made to feel uncomfortable.”

But this Twi’lek, it seemed, was impervious to the point, “Fighting for a just cause is uncomfortable! She could do so much good if we just got her up on that stage-”

“No.”

“Look, I know she’s wounded. That’s actually a positive thing for us, if she gives a speech. The optics would be-”

Rex saw red, “I don’t give a damn about the optics or the rally or anything else! I care about her!”

Shor just looked confused, “But surely, as a clone, you want to see change here. Payment for the war you never chose, but were forced to fight in. Reparations for the hundreds of men you’ve seen killed…men who bore your face-”

“Enough,” Rex snarled, and he seized Shor’s arm. “I am not your prop, anymore than she is, and I will never force her into a situation where she feels unsafe. My brothers and I were born and bred for war, to fight for a Republic that does not recognize us. We don’t need people like you to tell us that. Our lives are not a slogan you can slap on a pin. Yes, we hope for change, for a future. But there is one thing you will never understand, not in the core of your being: We will never put any of that before our brothers, our family. We will never choose a movement over the people we love.”

He wrenched Shor over to the door to your apartment, and turned the latch, “I appreciate your wanting to see us as human, I thank you for trying to win us freedoms we don’t have,” he said, before pushing him out the door. “But do not think you understand what it is to be a clone.”

Shor stared at him, gobsmacked, outraged, as people like him always were. 

Rex didn’t care, “I am a soldier,” he held his head high, squared his shoulders. “A veteran of a hundred battles, a leader of thousands of good men. And if you ever grab my girl without her permission again, I’ll show you exactly how I climbed the ranks so quickly.”

The door shut before the Twi’lek could say another word.

Silence. Blissful, resounding silence, until… 

“Rex?” came your voice.

He turned, and there you were, some color returning to your face, your eyebrows drawn and worried, “I’m alright,” he said.

You nodded, “I know. But he shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

“He shouldn’t have said those things to you either,” Rex ran a hand over his head. “I should have stopped him from touching you. I’m sorry.”

You shrugged, “You didn’t know what our relationship dynamic was, I get it. He’s always been like that, ever since Tia and I were teenagers. Brash, wordy, convinced of his own righteousness. It makes him a decent force for change, and at least he’s focusing that energy in the right direction, but as a friend…”

“He’s shit,” Rex didn’t care enough about the guy to sugarcoat.

You nodded, “Weirdly, he doesn’t get touchy with me unless I’m dating someone, which till now wasn’t often. Tia thinks it's some hazing dominance thing with other guys. She doesn’t understand it. As she says, ‘It’s not a Twi’lek thing, it's not a Ryesim thing, it’s a Shor thing.’”

A thought suddenly struck him, “Is Tia going to be alright with him?”

You chuckled, “Oh yeah, he’s getting the stuffing torn out of him right now, I guarantee you. Tia gets pissed whenever he acts like a jackass, which is a lot of the time. Their mom guilts her into letting him visit her sometimes. Then Shor fucks up, runs away to joins a cause, and comes back sometime later, pretending he’s grown up.”

And Rex thought he had a complicated family life. You tapped the cushions with your foot, “Come sit with me, trooper.”

He did, and you laid your legs over his lap. He took a deep breath, “So…I take it you’ve been to some of his pro-clone protests?”

You quirked a brow, “Course I have. I can’t go to a lot of events because of my work schedule, but sometimes Tia and I go together, to show our support.”

“I…” he furrowed his brow. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

You threaded your fingers through his, “I know. But this matters. You matter. Your brothers matter. I promise to be more careful, but I cannot promise to stop fighting for you. Not when I know how far you’d go for me.”

He nodded and sighed, conflicted, “I don’t want him over here again.”

“I think he may have gotten that message,” you giggled. “I thought he was going to throw up when you grabbed him.”

“It’s not funny,” he said, even as he smiled.

“You’re right,” you said, and your voice took on a dark, coquettish tone. “It’s hot.”

He turned to stare at you, “That’s not funny either.”

“I’m serious,” you pressed, your hand releasing his and trailing up his arm then down again to his thigh. “I’m an evolved woman, but seeing my big, strong boyfriend defend my honor against that asshole? I thought I was worried about keeping my hands off you before, but now…”

“We can’t,” Rex insisted, but it came out hoarse and cracked. He felt the blush on his cheeks, the pressure growing against the zipper. Shit. “I’m not going to risk hurting you.”

You hummed, “You won’t hurt me, Rex. It would actually make me feel a lot better.” You shifted to climb on top of his lap, intent clear in your eyes. The little shorts you were wearing started to ride up, giving him a view he hadn’t seen since he left for his last deployment. You bit your lip, and Rex couldn’t stop the little noise that had built up in his throat. He had to move fast. His hands grabbed at the blanket, wrapping you snuggly and pressing you against him. 

“We have to wait, ner karta,” oh, your ass was wiggling in his lap. He was sure you could feel the hard cock twitching beneath you. “Hold still.”

You grinned, “Will you make it worth my while if I wait?”

Stars…as if there was anything he wouldn’t do for you. Rex gripped the back of your head, brought you down for another one of his firm yet controlled kisses. You let out a little groan as he pulled back. 

He barely recognized his own voice, gruff and full of promise, but the fierce look on his face apparently had you transfixed, “I’ll make it so good for you, cyarika. If you can just be patient for me, if you can wait until you’re strong enough, I’ll lay you down on that bed and I won’t let you leave until I make up for all the time we’ve lost.”

Rex gently, softly laid an open-mouthed kiss under your ear, and you gasped. You squirmed against his lap, but he gathered you up and settled back on the couch, focusing on the screen before him.

He knew though, you recognized a challenge when you saw one. Your breathless voice reached his ears, and his heart rattled against his chest.

Rex could not figure out for the life of him why briefings had to be so early. 

Not that this one was unexpected, the 501st had been planet-side for a week. The boys appreciated the leave, and The Resolute was in need of a distinct number of special repairs after their last run-in with the Separatists. 

General Skywalker (who, to be perfectly honest, was more the cause of the repairs than the seppies were) and General Koon gave the briefing, and even though Rex knew it was coming, his heart still sank at the thought of leaving you.

You had made remarkable improvements in the last week, now able to limp around your apartment like a champ, at least for short amounts of time. Your doctor was very pleased, but had expressly forbid you from going back to work before two more weeks of recuperation and at least one more physical. You were most irate.

For his part, Rex had been spending all his time at your apartment, helping you around your home, learning how to use kitchen utensils and a cookbook (he only burned something beyond recognition twice), and running errands to the shops in your area. You had somehow gotten ahold of some civvie wear for him, and he was barely noticed on the streets. Alentia was grateful to be able to go back to her own job, and Rex couldn’t remember enjoying a leave more. 

He’d never experienced domesticity before. He’d never cooked for anyone or run down to a corner store for snacks, or spent a week curled up on a sofa. You were going to have to record the soap opera you’d gotten him into. He didn’t think he could miss it if Sirin and Jera actually got together.

In a week, all by yourself and barely able to move, you’d shifted his world beneath his feet. You’d made him think maybe he could have something simple and sweet after the war. Maybe something that made it all worth it in the first place. He’d caught himself staring into jewelry stores with a full heart and entirely empty pockets several times, wrenching himself away with reminders that it was too soon, and his position was too precarious, and right now he could offer you too little.

And for now, well, he supposed that little daydream was over. These briefings usually ended with a mission plan laid out and orders to give the boys. A ship out date, a plan of attack, and a certain trooper named Fives to find and drag out of 79’s were all looming in his very immediate future.

He didn’t want to go. For the first time since he’d donned it, his armor felt far too heavy. 

Standing at silent attention next to Commander Tano, he caught Commander Wolffe’s (non-cybernetic) eye. His brother raised an eyebrow and jerked his head at the battle plans the generals were pouring over. 

Okay, so maybe he’d been a little more quiet than usual. 

“...should be enough to establish an outpost,” Skywalker finished up. He raised his head and glanced at all the senior staff. “Does anyone here have anything to add?”

The room was silent. Perhaps it was the early hour, or perhaps they all knew that Anakin Skywalker would do whatever he damn well pleased, comments or no. Admiral Ularen stifled a yawn, and the general nodded.

“Alright, you all have your orders, we depart in two days. Dismissed.”

Rex grabbed at his datapad and made sure that the briefing had downloaded to it. He’d review the details later, after he broke the news to you. 

He had just turned to leave when General Skywalker’s voice sounded out again, “Captain Rex, would you stay behind a moment?”

On instinct, Rex turned on his heel and stood at attention, “Of course, sir.”

Anakin smiled, “At ease. Could you follow me, please?”

They left The Resolute’s bridge for the officer’s break room just down the hall. It was seldom used, though sometimes Rex and a few others would finish paperwork in the dead of night right next to the caf machine. 

When the door opened, Rex’s blood froze. Commander Fox sat at the table, sipping dark caf out of a disposable cup. He looked perfectly at ease. 

Anakin had already pulled out a chair, “Have a seat, Rex.”

As he did so, Rex stared daggers at his brother. There was only one possible explanation for his presence here, and if his hunch was correct, if Fox had done what he suspected, it was all over. His relationship with you, his position, his rank, his hope for a future. All because of fucking-

“Commander Fox is wanting to steal you for a few weeks,” Skywalker said cheerily. 

…What?

Rex turned his head to stare at his brother, then back at his general, “I…pardon me, sir?”

Anakin shrugged, “As he’s been explaining it to me, anti-clone sentiment has been growing on Coruscant. The Guard has been keeping track of several attacks on civilians that may be linked to the movement, and a rally is apparently being held sometime in the next couple weeks.”

Rex’s stomach started to untangle itself. He was apparently not in trouble. But all of this still didn’t explain why Fox would want to steal him. What Fox was even doing here.

“The Commander tells me that the Guard is spread too thin. Between the threat of the rally and continuing to protect the senate, the chancellor, and the streets, he doesn’t have enough officers of experience and rank to coordinate the guard. Since the 501st is the only legion planet-side right now, and since you have real conflict experience, not to mention an excellent reputation for doing more with less,” Anakin smirked at that. “Fox has asked if I’d be willing to leave you here, under his command, until we return from our newest mission.”

Rex tried to keep the utter shock off of his face. He turned to Fox, who was smiling pleasantly, nonchalantly. His thoughts turned to you for just a moment, sitting on your couch, saddened by the knowledge that he’d come back and tell you he was shipping out. Then he remembered he was sitting next to his commanding officer, a loveable shithead with the talent for reading thoughts and feelings, and he shook the image away.

“What about my men?” He turned to his general. “It’s not…it wouldn’t be right to leave them without someone they can turn to.”

Anakin snorted, “What am I, invisible? The 501st will be fine for a single mission, Rex. Commander Tano and Jesse will act as their immediate superiors, while Commander Wolffe, General Koon, and I will supervise the coordination of all the troopers.”

“I…but…”

“We aren’t forcing you, captain. You can join the mission as planned or you can stay here and assist Fox with the Guard.”

Rex was reeling. He could stay on Coruscant. With you. He could stay until you were better, until you could walk entirely under your own power and cook for yourself and…

He cleared his throat, “What…” he began, turning to Fox this time. “What exactly would this assignment entail?”

His brother tried to hide his smirk, but Rex saw it for what it was.

“Nothing you haven’t done before,” Fox gestured with his hands. “Help me coordinate troopers and prioritize special persons of interest who may be under threat. The victims of the previous attacks, the chancellor, senators like Organa or Amidala.”

Rex very deliberately did not look back at Skywalker as heard that last name. The pieces had fallen into place, “I see.” He paused for just a moment. “Well, if this is the best way I can be of service to the Republic, then I accept my assignment.”

Skywalker clapped his hands together, “Excellent! I’ll leave you two to hash out the details. I have some other business to attend to.” He placed his hand on Rex’s shoulder as he turned to leave. “Good luck, captain. I know you’ll make the most of this mission.”

Rex tensed, but Anakin left the room without another word. As soon as the door was sealed, Fox let out a low chuckle.

“Other business he says,” he folded his arms. “Like Amidala isn’t just getting home from a midnight session as we speak.”

Rex narrowed his eyes at his brother, “What the hell, Fox? Why would you go all the way to Skywalker spouting some story about how you can’t handle the Guard-”

“Thought you’d be excited,” the commander shrugged. “You get to stay in the same city as your girl, go home to her when your shift’s over, make sure she’s okay for a little while longer. And…I wasn’t lying. The Guard is spread too thin, and the chancellor won’t give me any more troopers for the moment. I know what you can do, Rex. I’ve seen the mission reports. I saw a win-win, and I took a stab at it.”

Rex shook his head, “You told him Amidala was under threat, didn’t you?”

“Sure, I’m not above a little emotional manipulation to ensure my men don’t get swarmed. I work with politicians every day, Rex. I’ve picked up a few things.”

“Is she even in danger?”

“Of course she is,” Fox rubbed his eyes. “When is that woman not in danger? She stands for more controversial causes than every other senator combined. No sense of self-preservation, that one.”

“She and him have that in common.”

They laughed together, and the rest of the tension in the room dissipated. Rex looked at his brother, grey hair starting to sprout up amongst the black, and wondered if he looked as equally tired.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and Fox smiled.

“Bout time. I only got you out of shipping off to the battlefield.”

They stared at each other a moment longer, and Rex felt a rush of gratitude for his brothers, for the only family he’d ever known, “You didn’t have to do it, by the way.”

Fox broke eye contact and stared down at the floor. When he spoke, his voice came out smaller than Rex had ever heard it, “At least this way, one of us can…” he paused, shook his head, and met his brother’s eyes again. “At least this way I can live vicariously through you.”

Rex exhaled, slowly, “You’ve never acknowledged it before. That there was something between you and Ularen’s-”

“She was my secretary, before Ularen’s last one had a mental breakdown,” Fox’s jaw had gone tense. “I…ran into her a few days ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Rex thought he had problems, but he couldn’t imagine…

Fox just stood, and fiddled with his belt, “It doesn’t matter anymore. There was nothing I could do for my…situation-”

“So you did something for mine.”

For just a faction of a second, Fox looked like he might cry. But he simply squared his shoulders, and nodded once stiffly, “Take the rest of your leave, report to guard headquarters after your troopers ship out. I’ll give you a full briefing then.”

Before Rex could respond, his brother had his helmet back on and was already out the door.

He stood there for a minute… two… three… ensconced in the surprise of his new reality. Then he slowly brought his comm up, and typed a message to Jesse.

Rex: I’ve been assigned to a different mission. You’re up. Start looking for Fives NOW.

“I can’t believe you dragged me here! Do you really think this was the best place to talk?” Rex hissed. He was rocking back and forth on his heels, swiveling his helmet this way and that at any approaching figures. There were a lot of them, and he was not supposed to be here. Strictly speaking.

Fox, on the other hand, was completely at ease guarding one of the many entrances to the Senate chamber. He stood at perfect attention, helmet impeccably poised, still managing to look bored.

“Please,” he responded, not even looking Rex’s way. “Do you know how many clones these politicians see every day? Do you know how many of them are too worried about their own crooked dealings to even notice us?”

Fox, to his credit, had answered Rex’s furious comm on their private channel right away. Almost as if he’d been waiting for it. The conversation had been typically short, but filled with a little bit more frustration than usual:

Rex: Why the hell didn’t you contact me?!

Fox: I take it you’re back on-planet.

Rex: YES I am on-fucking-planet! Do you have any idea of what I am going through right now?! Have you SEEN her?!

Fox: Come to the Senate building in an hour. Thire will be outside. He’ll direct you to me.

Rex: The Senate building?!

Fox: I’ll see you soon. Over and out.

He’d found his brother as instructed, and as it turned out, the Senate would be debating on several issues well into the night. Aides were running around, refreshments were being brought in, and nobody seemed to give a single care about the trooper loitering around in blue armor instead of red.

There was a lull in the bustling around them, and Fox finally tilted his head slightly toward his brother, “How is she?”

Rex let out a long breath. The long hours, lack of sleep, and pure fucking adrenaline of the day were starting to fray him around the edges, “I can’t stay long, Fox. She hasn’t woken up since I got back. Her friend says it's the medication…I never thought I’d see her like that. She was so still and their fingerprints are still there, on her skin, on her neck, and I can’t…” He placed his hands on his hips, tilting his chin up and counting his breaths. 

Finally, he turned back to Fox, “Why didn’t you comm me?” Some of his previous ire began bleeding back into his voice.

Fox let out a sigh of his own, shoulders falling just the barest amount, “I tried, Rex. Multiple times. You were in hyperspace for a long while. Private comms just weren’t getting through. And I have to watch all my communications, going in or out. They screen the guard heavily for any breaches of conduct. I could only send one out about once per day, between shifts.”

Rex took one, two, three seconds and decided that he didn’t have the energy to yell at Fox for the shitty regulations they were both bound to. He crossed his arms and went to lean against the wall. It felt more like an exhausted slump instead. “Fine.”

“I got her out of there as fast as I could, I swear. Three troopers hit her location 8 minutes after she activated the distress signal.”

“I…I sure appreciate that, Fox. I do.”

“And,” Fox paused as a harried looking aide rushed by. “We’ve got those bastards booked with every charge we can stick to them. They aren’t getting out, not for a long time.”

Rex’s lip curled beneath his helmet. The last of his energy was rising up within him, fueled by worry and pure fucking anger, “I want to chat with them.”

“No.” And there was that note of finality in Fox’s voice. One Rex so often heard in his own. 

“Fox-”

“I said no, Rex. Don’t ask again. I am your brother, and I’m not letting you do something that’ll get you decommissioned.”

A low growl made its way past Rex’s clenched teeth, “And what would you do if it was your girl, brother? What if it were me letting you know that Ularen’s secretary was beaten senseless-”

“If I had a girl,” Fox turned fully towards him. “I would do anything to be there for her while she healed from something like that. I wouldn’t be running around giving the Republic an excuse to put me down.”

They stood, chest to chest, staring daggers at each other through their helmets. Finally, Fox raised his gloved hand and placed it on Rex’s shoulder, “Go. Be there when she wakes up. Take care of her while you can, and give her the guard’s best wishes. The boys who got to the scene are pretty worried about her.”

Rex hesitated, but despite his urge to put his fist through the senate’s beautiful, gilded walls, he gave a jerky nod and stepped back. But before he could turn away, Fox spoke up again.

“But…there’s something else you should know, and whatever you do, I don’t want you to blame yourself.”

Rex tilted his head, confused, “Blame myself? For what?”

Now it was Fox who was hesitating, “Judging on the crime scene and the language the creepy little fucks were spewing when we brought them in… we think the assault might have been…clone-related.”

Rex’s heart dropped into his stomach, “Clone-related.” It wasn’t a question, but he hoped desperately that this conversation wasn’t going where he thought it was. 

“She had a backpack, right? With a bunch of colorful, pro-clone messaging on it?”

Rex swallowed the lump in his throat. He would not cry. He would not scream. He would not grab his brother by the plastoid and throw him against the wall. “Spit it out, Fox.”

Fox fiddled with his utility belt, one of the only nervous tells he ever exhibited. “I took her statement at the hospital myself, once she woke up for the first time. I wanted to be there for her, for you, as much as I could. But she refused to confirm our suspicions. It was like she was trying to protect us, me and the boys, from the truth of it. So she may not admit it to you either. But Rex, that backpack, it was in shreds. They had a knife, and they slashed the hell out of it. They stomped on each button. And then they started going at her.”

Rex didn’t say anything. How could he? What response could he possibly have to, “Oh your girlfriend was targeted by bloodthirsty criminals because she dares to know you?”

“They weren’t exactly subtle in lock-up either,” Fox continued, as he fiddled more furiously with his belt. He pulled something crumpled from it and handed it over. “They were overheard by several guards talking about ‘that meat-droid whore.’”

Rex sucked in air through his teeth, eyes wide, at the awful words. Words that were spewed at you while they…

While they…

And a terrible thought he hadn’t considered before reared up in his mind. A sickening, visceral thought that had bile climbing up his throat. That meat droid whore, they’d said.

“Did they…” he swallowed, mouth dry, breath short. His knees were dangerously close to giving way. “Fox.. did they…”

But his brother grabbed both of his shoulders, practically keeping him upright on his own, “No, no they didn’t.” Fox ground out, slowly, firmly. “Rex, look at me. It was the first thing the medics checked for, the first thing I asked about for her statement. The shitcans destroyed her backpack, hurled verbal abuse, and beat her. That’s the extent of it, and it’s a bad extent, but nothing else happened beyond that.”

Rex, completely numb behind his helmet, nodded vaguely, stupidly. He flexed his dominant blaster hand, sore from clenching into a trembling fist. He was almost entirely out of strength, of will. Seeing you prone in bed had knocked most of it out of him. And now that he knew it was because of his presence in your life, because of your relationship…

He needed food other than the ration bar he inhaled that morning. He needed sleep, more than three consecutive hours of it. He needed you, pretty eyes open and soft voice drifting to his ear like a warm breeze. He felt like he might crumple into nothing inside his armor, might fall to the floor in the senate building and leave it to Fox to explain why…

“She needs you, Rex,” Fox’s voice reached him through the fog. He looked up into his brother’s helmet, so synonymous with his face by now that Rex felt he could read it like it was. He wondered if Fox could read his just the same.

He shook himself, ridding his brain of these sharp, drifting thoughts. There would be time for self hatred and despair. There always was. Right now, he owed it to you to be present. To care for you while you couldn’t care for yourself. 

The nature of your relationship, of its effect on your health, of its longevity, could all wait until later.

He straightened to attention, and Fox seemed to relax, “Thank you, brother. Thank you for getting her out of there.”

Fox nodded, “Of course. Anything you need, you just let me know.”

Rex turned to go, but threw back over his shoulder, “Oh, and Miss Secretary is doing well.”

A beat, a stiffening of shoulders, “I didn’t ask.”

Rex shook his head and started walking. That was one conundrum he didn’t have the energy for today.

He was halfway down the stairs to the senate building when he remembered the crumpled item in his hand. He glanced down, opening his palm, and nearly lost whatever control he had just regained. Stinging tears sprung up in the corner of his eyes.

Glaring up at him, cracked and damaged beyond repair, was the image of a helmet and a bright, cheeky slogan.