#writersnook11

AI Notice: Any and all use of my work in training AI is expressly prohibited. Do not use my work in training artificial intelligence. Do not feed sections of my work to artificial intelligence or chat bots.

Please Note: I reference measurement a time or two in this. In my mental picture while writing, one unit = one yard/approximate meter.

Yet another note: I used a lot of em-dashes and semicolons in this. Like, a lot. That being said, I can assure you there was ZERO use of AI in writing this. I recently learned how to correctly use em-dashes and semicolons and I guess my brain went buck wild with this fic lol. I’m still not 100% sure if some of them were better off left as commas and plain colons, but if I keep editing this until I think it’s perfect, it’s never going to get posted.

A massive thank you to the Bestest Most Bestest of Best Beta Readers @myclones-hashtagmyclones and @lonewolflupe ! I don't think I would've finished this if it weren't for you guys <3

A note for Lupe: I gotta tell ya, a while back I was really debating whether or not I would continue writing this at all. I lost all motivation to even get to the halfway mark. I went back to the Life Day fic I wrote and your comments and encouragement gave me so much fire to get this one written. That gave me the thought to reach out to you and ask you to beta read. To say that your feedback and input got me through to finishing this project would be putting it lightly. I hope you never stop being a light in the clone community! Kudos! <3

Plip.

Plip.

Plip.

A string of blood hung from your lip; thick, slow, and heavy. Drops spattered to dirty floorboards, one after the other. 

Plip.

Plip.

Plip. 

One after the other.

You tried sucking it back in, pinching your lips together only to jerk them apart again, stinging hot as fire. Through blurred vision you could just make out that a small puddle had formed where your knees met the floor. 

“Take this, please, he’ll love it on you.” 

You blinked rapidly, confused. Padme?

You tried lifting your head, wincing at the pang in your neck. You turned your head as best you could to look behind you—where her voice had come from—but found no one. 

You slackened your neck again, letting your head hang. 

Her dress draped over your legs. Ruined. Bloodied and torn at the hem. 

You tugged your wrists weakly, testing the knots yet again. They held firm to the end of a single-wide metal bed frame, holding your arms apart on either side of you. Your joints ached—knees, shoulders, and elbows—stiff after hours of stillness. Adrenaline had long worn off, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. 

Her laugh rang again, somewhere far away.

You blinked hard, trying to clear the haze in your mind. You’d heard this before. 

“Get going! You’ll be late!” 

Yes. That’s right.

These were echoes of a conversation uttered days before.

A shaky exhale rolled from your lungs, the memory deepening a pit in your heart. So much for a nice anniversary.

 Wind howled against the side of the shack, billowing cold air through a crack in one of two windows. Occasionally a flake or two of snow would make it through, reminding you of the bitterly empty fireplace. Not a single ember remained of the fire your captors stoked hours before they left. 

Bleary with a headache pounding through your skull, you looked around your makeshift prison, trying to figure out anything you could do. You needed to warm up—with absolute certainty—but you longed for a way to fight back; maybe even escape. It was a miracle they’d left you alone long enough to think straight.

The room was impossibly small. You found it hard to imagine anyone making a suitable home of it. At least not one substantial enough to sustain long-term living.

The bed behind you had its headboard in a corner, the length of it directly opposite the shack’s only door. It had no mattress; only a thin, ratty fabric one might call a blanket. Above the length of the bed was a wooden shelf, hanging by a single nail and rotting—much like the wood in the wall itself. 

In the same wall—further on toward the fireplace—was the first window; cracked. Below the window sat a tired oak cabinet. If you stood, it’d perhaps stand to the height of your waist. One drawer sat ajar, but both doors were completely detached. One had been shoved underneath the cabinet, while the other was leaned inside as if there had once been an intention to repair it. 

The wall opposite you—half as long as the wall to your right—hosted the fireplace. A skinny, brick thing, with wide cracks spanning the whole height of it. Its mantle was laden with a thick layer of dust. Its hearth wore ash that had floated down from the fire within hours before, and a few tools lay scattered nearby. 

About 3 units to your left sat a feeble four-legged table and three chairs. Well, two and a half. The third lay on its back, missing one leg and a good bit of its back was broken and splintered apart. Above the table was the second and final window, just to the right of the door. 

The chair leg. 

You turned to look around as best you could, searching for it. You hunched your back, trying to get lower to see beneath the cupboard in front of you. Nothing but its broken door. Lifting your arm, you craned your head to look under the bed behind you. 

There. 

Wedged against the wall was the missing leg, splintered on one end. It was less than a unit away—reachable, if you stretched. While you weren’t sure exactly how you would use it—a weapon, maybe—it was the only thing you had within reach. 

Shifting your weight, you adjusted yourself to sit on your left thigh. Your knees immediately throbbed, aching profusely with your movement. Through clenched teeth you sucked in a breath, willing yourself to continue. You pushed your weight up onto your left knee, stretching your right leg out behind you. Cursing the bindings holding your arms back, you twisted at an awkward angle, stretching your leg under the bed as far as you could. Your left shoulder and several broken ribs screamed in protest, every alarm in you urging you to stop. 

Sharp wood scraped the bottom of your toes. After a quick gasp and pause for breath, you curled your toes around the end of the leg. Splinters dug into the soft flesh of your feet with the added pressure, drawing pinpricks of fresh blood. Gritting your teeth and scrunching your brow, you slowly bent your knee, dragging the chair leg along the wall towards you. 

It clunked to a halt as it struck the bed frame leg, digging further into your foot. You sucked in another breath, shakily pushing your foot away from the end of the chair leg. It shifted slightly, then fell away from your foot. 

You pulled your right arm up and craned your head to take a look. Relieved that it hadn’t shifted far, that it was well within reach, you relaxed your leg and let out a laugh-like huff. How did I get myself into this mess?

You longed to go back and change it; to put the datapads down and deliver them another day. Flashes of Padme’s office flew through your mind; decorated carpet and windows overlooking evening traffic. You’d stopped to admire the view, then glass rained over your head. You remembered flickers of running for cover behind her desk, the guard from the hall being shot down, making a break for the door but being tripped by a boot. The terrified look of a teenaged boy’s face before obeying the order to stun you. 

You winced at the memory, vividly recalling the sting of the bolt. You shook those thoughts away, looking to the chair leg. 

This was a victory. A small one, but you had to count them where you could. You would cling to any shred of hope of getting out, back home to Coruscant—back home to Rex.

Crunching snow snapped you to sobriety. 

You scrambled to pull your leg back from underneath the bed, stomach in your throat. 

Clambering sounded at the door. 

You flung your weight to sit on your right thigh, rushing to hide your bleeding foot beneath your skirt.

The door flung open, striking the wall behind it. A tall, burly shadow plodded into the room. 

He was new.

He carried himself differently. He held an armful of logs, taking four strides to cross the room to the fireplace. You flinched at the sudden and loud thunks of wood dropping to the floor. Despite the startle and hair hanging in your face, you kept your eyes glued to him.

 It was clear he dropped them with intention. Although he hadn’t seen you flinch, he chuckled lowly to himself. The bulk of his shoulders became apparent as he stooped down, his shirt stretching as he moved logs one by one into the firebox. 

A pocket of dread opened in your gut. You leaned closer to the wall, willing yourself to disappear. 

He glanced over his shoulder at you, eyes dull as if utterly unimpressed. “You know, for a senator I thought you’d at least have the manners to sit up when you have company.” 

You glared at the back of his head, watching him haphazardly arrange the logs. His hair was short, like it had been buzzed weeks ago. A jagged scar ran from the nape of his neck, over his ear, and disappeared around the curve of his face. 

“Are you ready to talk today?” He asked, striking a match and lighting one of the logs. This time, he didn’t turn to look at you when he spoke. He reached down, picked up a nearby ash shovel and laid it over small, growing flames. “I hope you are. I won’t be as merciful as my associates have been.” 

You remained silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of your fear. Merciful? Everything they’ve done to me these past few days—that’s what he calls mercy? His “associates” plagued you for days on end with questions you didn’t know the answers to. You paid for it with beating after beating from one of his “associates” in particular. You bore bruise after bruise, a bloody nose and a split lip.

You wondered if you should lie, just to answer their questions and put an end to the beatings, but how could you? You wouldn’t claim things you weren’t sure Padme believed or agreed with. You wouldn’t claim what you couldn’t back up. You knew she’d forgive you given the circumstances, but it wasn’t just that. You just couldn’t bring yourself to affirm your captors’ mistake. It would only reinforce their use of torture. 

Even so, it seemed they’d finally grown impatient. 

The man stood from where he crouched, taking a fire poker in his hand. “Well,” he said plainly, turning to face you, “let’s get to it, then.” 

He reached you in three heavy steps, a knot growing larger and tighter in your stomach with each step. He stood over you for a moment, seemingly satisfied with your vulnerability, and crouched down. Hot breath wafted your face. He raised the metal rod and pressed its sharp point firmly against your cheek. 

“Tell me, Senator,” he practically spat, fire in his eyes and venom on his tongue. “Why did you propose that bill?” 

You knew he saw your fear. Your eyes had to be wide as saucers. As much as you wanted to deny him the pleasure of his advantage over you, as much as you wanted to spit in his eyes and break the hand that held a weapon to you, you were helpless. Horrendously vulnerable and unarmed. 

You were used to carrying a weapon at all times. It was part of your job description—part of your duty as a Senator’s Aide—to protect Padme. You’d taken the classes, gotten the licenses and certifications. None of it prepared you for being on the receiving end of interrogation and torture. 

“Really now, there’s no need to be so tight-lipped.” He pressed it further into your cheek, sharp edges breaking skin now. “Why?” He hissed. 

“I don’t know,” you whispered, hating the tremble in your voice. 

With one quick motion, he sliced from the center of your cheek to your ear. A quiet, rasped yelp slipped past your lips.

“Don’t lie.” He growled. He lightly touched the tip of the poker to your lip, grazing over the break in it from days prior. 

You began physically trembling, vividly recalling the beatings from his buddies. “I don’t know,” you insisted. Tears pricked at the edges of your eyes. 

“Oh,” he tisked, mocking sweetness as he swiped his thumb over the corner of your eye. 

Your lips quivered, an almost begging tone in your voice as you quietly insisted again, “I don’t— I don’t know what you’re asking me.” 

In a flash, he took the metal rod away from your lip and jammed it into the outside of your thigh, just above your knee. 

A jagged, involuntary sound fell past your lips, somewhere between a cry and groan. Pain radiated from the wound, blood pouring in thin streams. It quickly soaked through your dress, forming new small pools beneath you. Your whole body trembled. 

You gasped for breath, blinking harshly in shock at the metal sticking out of your leg. The world around you smeared into grey, brown, and red blobs, the hazy mess multiplying the ache behind your eyes. You scrunched them shut, willing yourself anywhere else but here.  When you opened them again, you were back on Coruscant; back in the Senate halls you knew so well. 

A conversation fell hushed as the door slid open. You took a hesitant step back, your eyes flickering between the three men who turned to see who entered. You rushed an apology for interrupting, but were quickly cut off.

A pair of the clones stepped away from the third, one of the two insisting she hadn’t interrupted; they were just leaving. 

You passed by the two as you crossed to the kitchenette, and could have sworn one gave the third—who stayed where he stood—a thumbs up. 

You waited until the door hissed shut, finally letting out a giggle as a smile broke across your face. 

A rumbled chuckle sounded from Rex, sending a swarm of butterflies through your stomach. You turned back to the kitchenette, pouring and fixing two cups of caf. A new ray of fresh morning light struck the wall ahead of you, pulling your attention to the window. 

Rex had turned to look out the window, his arms crossed squarely across his chest. His shoulders were tense, neck stiff as he stared absently at growing traffic.

You sighed faintly, knowing all too well what his mannerisms meant. This would be your last morning caf together for a while. The war was separating you again. 

You grasped both cups and crossed the room to stand next to him, offering out his cup. 

Rex snapped out of his trance, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he accepted the caf. His eyes met yours, and before you knew it, the soft, forlorn weight in his face carried over into yours too. 

The pair of you held each others gaze for several moments, neither needing to verbally confirm what had happened dozens of times before. Instead, you fell into routine, seeking comfort from its familiarity. Rex lifted his arm and wrapped it around you, his hand finding rest on your waist. You leaned into his side and took a sip from your cup, then laid your head against his shoulder. 

You let out a content breath, sinking into his warmth. Feeling him relax a little, you brought your hand to drag up his back, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades. 

Time marched on, yet was kind enough to slow, if only enough to enjoy a cup of caf together. A moment alone, tucked away in a forgotten lounge. No politics. No battles. Just the two of you, caf, and a view of the Coruscant cityscape. 

You paused briefly, looking from the view to Rex, willing yourself to remember this kind of— 

In a harsh snap you were thrust back to reality. Hot, sharp pain burrowed deep in your leg. It dug in like a claw, dragging you from your wishful thinking. 

The poker shifted slightly. Blood still flowed from the wound, but had stagnated. 

As you struggled not to writhe and make it worse, your captor stood and turned back to the fireplace. He crouched in front of it again, taking the shovel and rolling the handle between his fingers. The fire, now sizable, licked the shovel as it turned like a rotisserie spit. 

You eyed his grip on the tool warily, a fresh wave of adrenaline—and fear—jogging your tongue. “You’re holding me for ransom money, right?” 

He didn’t acknowledge you for a moment, instead maintaining his focus on the shovel as it began turning colors. Finally he grumbled, “I’m holding you for what we’re owed.” 

“They won’t pay a single credit for me,” you rasped, clutching the ropes holding you to the bed frame. “They won’t.” 

He rolled his shoulder, flexing it. “And why is that?” He asked, sounding disinterested and nonchalant. The shovel in his hand now glowed over the fire, beaming red.

“I’m a Senator’s Aide,” your breath came out ragged, shaking. The poker in your thigh began shifting further, leaning to one side as it gave under gravity’s pull. You tugged on the rope, desperate for any kind of support or way to slow its movement. “Not a Senator.”

You could have sworn you saw his form go rigid for a split second. A flicker of hope lightened your heart just barely, but just as quickly as it came, it was extinguished. He stood swiftly, shovel in hand, and crossed the room to kneel in front of you. 

“Quit trying to cover your ass,” he growled, his face turning eerily placid. You bit back a gasp, pushing yourself back into the bedframe as he wrapped his free hand around the poker in your thigh and yanked it free. It clambered to the floor, blood gushing from the wound. “It’s unbecoming—” he threw back your skirt, pressing the shovel head to your wound, “—Senator.”

A scream ripped from your throat. A new kind of pain wreaked havoc on your body. Your arms instinctively pulled on your restraints, trying to pull you away. Flesh sizzled beneath hot metal, and as he pulled it away, several strings of melted skin tore away with it. Your leg shook violently; the wound that once bled sat completely cauterized. A rectangular burn, puckered and blistering red, now took up a good portion of your thigh.

Spots began speckling at the corners of your vision, fizzling inward. With what minuscule energy you had left, you looked up at your captor and were immediately sickened by his grin. 

You couldn’t take this anymore. You would surely die if this treatment endured much longer, and you’d rather die trying to escape than letting them kill you where you sat. 

“Why don’t you ask–” you wheezed for breath, “—your idiot friends—” a cough, “—if they’ve ever seen a picture of Amidala.”

Your whole body shivered weakly, from your toes to your fingertips. 

He remained crouched in front of you for several beats, seemingly debating between taking your suggestion or perhaps torturing you further. Much to your relief, he rose to his feet. Kicking your foot aside, he dropped the shovel by the table and marched to the door, flinging it open. 

“Noka!” He bellowed, marching out into the snow. 

You strained to hear their conversation, laying your head against your arm. The door had swung shut, but not completely. It sat ajar, just enough for cold wind and muddled voices to pass through.  

Where did you find her? Was it Amidala’s office?

Yes! She was the only one there! 

Did you make sure it was the Senator? 

Yes!

Noka. 

We made sure.

A garbled noise of surprise.

I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to grab the wrong girl. 

A third voice chimes in. It wasn’t his fault! I stunned her, I should’ve checked!

That makes no difference! 

A thud in the snow. Gasps for breath.

How are we supposed to– You convinced me to let you take the lead here, and yet you— 

Silence. Then, a deep breath. 

I’m getting those credits, one way or another. 

You shriveled inwardly, crunches in the snow growing louder again. The door flew open with a shriek and slammed against the wall, one board now splintering away from the rest. You let your arm take the weight of your head, increasing the pressure of the ropes binding your wrist. Your eyes fluttered closed as his footsteps shook the floor beneath you. 

Coarse fingers snatched your jaw up from its resting place, yanking your face toward his. 

“You look at me and you listen well,” he growled, beads of sweat forming above his brow. Your heart plummeted, new fear hollowing a pit in your bones. “I don’t care who you are. Senator or not, they’re looking for you, and that means you have some value to them.” Spit flew from his teeth as he spoke, drops flinging to your face. “Let me make this clear.” He stood suddenly, pushing your head away from himself as if disgusted. You remained frozen in place, swollen eyes as wide as they could go. “If your friends don’t pay up—” a flash of light, then he leaned in close to your face, “—I will kill you.”

While you didn’t doubt him, you had every reason to suspect he would kill you anyway. He had made it painfully clear that he did not care what happened to you, and you had no reason to believe that would change when he got paid. If he got paid. 

You watched, fear-stricken, as he glowered at you. Beneath the fear, you found it sickening that there were creatures in the galaxy who derived pleasure in feeling this kind of power over another being; and one of them had complete control over you. 

He turned to his brother, eyes still glued to you. “Noka, with me.” He snapped his face to the other, taking a large stride toward the door. “Xin, stay with the girl. And do not fuck this up!” 

The wooden door snapped shut, shaking dust from the walls. Their footsteps faded into silence. 

Your head throbbed under the pressure of your racing thoughts, the struggle to process everything compounding exponentially. Hunger rolled in your stomach, sending cramps through your belly worse than the day before. Your vision blurred again, exhaustion pulling at your bones to tremble, though they did not physically shake anymore. Buzzing beneath the skin, more like. 

The bed frame behind you shifted, jolting your hands where they were bound. Slowly, you turned your head and let your head slump on your shoulder again.

Xin sat on the empty bedframe, hunched over his knees with his head in his hands. He looked over at you, tears in reddened eyes, but you didn’t see it. 

Your eyes had already closed. 

Rex stood at the edge of the Coruscant Guard debriefing room. His hands flexed from fists to open palms at his side, his eyes locked on a holoprojection of three primary targets. A holophoto of you was fixed off to the side, but your face felt out of place. It didn’t belong there, next to the scum of the galaxy. It didn’t belong in Coruscant Guard crime reports.

The voices of his men chatting muddled together in the background. Even now, after three days and only ten hours of sleep combined, Rex was repeatedly going over the data. He combed through traffic cam footage, cross-referenced hangar logs, dug through every piece of evidence he had access to. They’d managed to ID each suspect, but still had no lead on exactly where they’d taken you.

Rex could not afford to lose it. 

He’d already damn near panicked once. He worried when you were late to dinner, of course, but then he couldn’t get ahold of you. Then when alarms rang at the Senate building and he comm'd Fox to find out what happened, Rex came closer than he ever had to losing his composure. Blasterfire and bombs he could deal with. He was born and bred for that. Losing you? Not something he ever thought he’d be faced with. 

There’d been a glimmer of hope on the second morning. A blocked comm frequency called the Senate building, demanding ransom payment for “Senator Amidala”. The poor receptionist who answered immediately transferred it to investigations, but they had no way of cracking that encrypted line in time.

A throat cleared beside him, jolting his attention from the projector. Rex turned, meeting Fox’s solemn expression.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the command center?” Rex asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Fox huffed and nodded. “Yeah, needed a break though. Thought I’d swing by and see if you or General Skywalker have had any epiphanies.”

Rex flattened his mouth into a thin line and shook his head, looking back to the projector. “The General’s with the Senator; they’re conducting interviews with other staff.” 

Another trooper walked over to the projector, switching it from the suspects to an estimated timeline of events. Rex’s jaw clenched at the sight, grinding his teeth. It had been three days. Most people weren’t expected to be found alive after one.

“You okay?” Fox asked with a raised brow. He’d leaned back, giving Rex a quick look up and down. 

“Yeah,” he replied quickly, forcing his jaw and shoulders to relax. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Fox gave him a sidelong glance. “I don’t know. You seem pretty wound up about this Aide.”

Rex shrugged one shoulder, trying to make himself appear a little more at ease. “I just know she means a lot to Senator Amidala. General Skywalker seems pretty adamant to get her back, so that’s our mission.” He glanced at Fox through the corner of his eye, stomach knotting at the doubt etched in his face. “I want to make sure she gets back alive. That’s all.”

Fox crossed his arms, giving him a quizzical look. “Uh-huh… and—” 

The ping of his comm interrupted his thought. Fox grabbed it from his belt, looking it over briefly. His eyebrow furrowed as he stepped back. “I gotta take this,” he muttered, lowering his head to his comm as he stepped toward the door. 

Rex furrowed his brow in return, heartbeat picking up slightly with the hope—or fear—that it had something to do with you. 

“Ey, Captain Rex!”

He turned over his shoulder to see Fives waving him down across the room. He was sat with Echo at a small table, cards laid out in front of them. Rex dropped his arms to his sides and crossed the room, debating whether or not to give them an earful for playing games on duty. 

“Care for a round?” Fives offered, gesturing to the table. 

Echo leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t do it. He’s cheating.”

“Am not!” His brother snorted, picking up the cards to shuffle. “You’re just mad you haven’t won against me.” 

“Look, boys,” Rex grunted, bringing a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Now’s not the best time…” 

“Yeah,” Fives lowered his voice, letting his wrists fall slack against the tabletop. “We know you’re trying to save your girlfriend.” 

Echo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We just figured you could do with taking your mind off things, even for a couple minutes.” 

Rex’s jaw went slack before clenching tightly, his eyes flashing between them while he fought for words. He threw a glance over his shoulder and sat down, leaning in. “Who told you that?” He hissed, eyes still darting around to check if anyone heard.

“Relax, Cap,” Fives muttered. “We wouldn’t tell a soul without your say-so.” 

Rex looked to Echo, who nodded. “We could tell,” he shrugged. “You were here even when Amidala wasn’t.”

“I think you have us to thank for that, by the way,” Fives grinned smugly. “If we didn’t leave you two alone that morning, you’d be hopeless.” 

Rex scrunched his eyes closed, resting his elbow on the armrest as he brought two fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. These two thought they brought you together? Well, at least Fives thought so. He could try to deny it altogether, but by the looks of it, they’d already confirmed it for themselves. Karking ARC training.  

He sighed and sunk deeper into the seat, flopping his arm down to the armrest. “Actually,” Rex breathed, “we’d been seeing each other for about eight months by then.” 

Both brothers jolted in their seats. 

“Eight months?!” Fives blurted, a little too loudly. Echo’s hand shot forward and yanked on his chestplate, bringing him back to the sense of a hushed conversation. 

“Eight months?” Echo repeated, almost whispering. “That means by now you’d be…” His eyes drifted to the side as he calculated, then they widened. “You’ve been dating her for a year?” 

Rex nodded, picking at the corner of his armrest. “We were supposed to be going out for a nice dinner a few nights ago.” 

A heavy weight fell over the twins as they absorbed what happened. Silence hung thick between the three of them. Echo fidgeted with his hands. Fives absently shuffled sets of cards from one hand to the other. Rex settled into a tired thousand-yard stare.

“Do you love her?” 

Rex blinked harshly, jarred by the question. He looked at Echo, who looked back at him like it was the simplest question in the galaxy. 

After several moments of silence, Echo asked it again. “Do you love her?” 

Rex didn’t mean to hesitate. He’d said it to you dozens of times before, that he did love you. Why was it different to say so to his brothers? Why did it make his heart race? 

He met his brother’s gaze and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. 

Fives leaned back, pushing a forceful breath past his lips. “Man, you’ve got it bad.” 

“When did you know?” Echo asked, resting his elbows on his knees again. 

If Rex was honest, he wasn’t sure if he had a solid moment when he knew he loved you. It sort of happened slowly, over months of running into each other here or there. Over months of quiet, getaway caf dates when he was planet-side. Or walking with you to this office or that lounge when you weren’t needed by Senator Amidala. Even if he felt it before he knew it, eventually he just… knew. But one memory in particular stood out, as hesitant as he was to share it. 

Before he could open his mouth, the door slid open and Fox came bursting through, datapad in hand. 

Rex shot to his feet, taking long strides to meet him by the projector. “You have something.” 

“Yup,” Fox answered quickly. He didn’t look at Rex, only focused on syncing his datapad with the projector. “She’s alive, but we need to move fast.” 

“We know where she is?” Rex watched his every movement, every tap on this screen and that. “Coordinates?” 

“Being traced now,” he confirmed. 

In a bright blip the screen above them changed. A myriad of new information appeared; comm frequency, comm device model, system, sector, planet. Rex raced to absorb it all, more information updating by the second as it was entered by clones in the command center. 

“They tried getting payment again,” Fox huffed. 

Rex scoffed, running his eyes over more new data. “Do they seriously not know who they don’t have?”

A dark look suddenly fell across Fox’s face. “No. They figured out she’s not Amidala. They still demanded payment.” He swiped on the datapad a time or two more. “They sent this, too.” 

Rex’s stomach dropped. 

Your once smiling holoprojection had been replaced by what he could only assume was a photo your captors took. You were strung up by rope, tied to the end of a rusting bedframe. Red and bloody blisters outlined the rope on your wrists. Your face was beaten, swollen, cut up, and bruised almost beyond recognition.

“Reckless,” Fox muttered, shaking his head. “Now that they know who she’s not, they’re desperate.”

Putrid, hot anger curled at the edges of his vision. His ears rang, droning out Fox’s next words into muddled vibrations somewhere far away. 

A hand lightly jostled his shoulder, jarring him back to the present moment. Movement bustled about the room, over a dozen more troopers and command officers alike added to the mix. His men rushed to put on scattered pieces of armor, gearing up. 

“C’mon, Rex,” Echo urged, turning him by the shoulder away from the holoprojections. “You heard ‘im.”

Rex looked back to Fox, who nodded once. “Boots off the ground in 10. Skywalker will meet you on the Resolute.” 

He gave a stiff nod in return, turning back to Echo. 

Fives stepped up to join them. His eyes drifted to the projector behind Rex, his face hardening. The three of them exchanged looks briefly, then turned and headed for the hangar. 

Rex remained silent as the three of them hurried through headquarters. He couldn’t get that picture of you out of his head. It sat in the forefront of his mind like a hunk of shrapnel had just torn a piece out of himself. His gaze remained fixed in a foggy, far-off stare. 

As they boarded a gunship to shuttle them up to the venator, a glance passed between the two ARC troopers. After a subtle nod from Echo, Fives broke the silence. 

“So,” he murmured, “You gonna tell us about ‘er?” 

Rex finally looked up at them. Though his blood still boiled, the memory he’d been about to share resurfaced, pushing the photo away—if just for a time. He took a deep breath. And actually, it didn’t take much effort to calm down when it was you he finally got to talk about.

Dishes clattered behind Rex, pulling him from a post-meal haze. He looked over his shoulder, watching you pass a clean plate to the counter. You swayed as you washed the next dish, humming along to a jazzy song floating from the next room. 

Refusing to sit idle anymore, Rex turned and grabbed a small towel from the counter. He ignored your protests and picked up the plate you had just finished, turning it over in his hand as he dried it. A smirk rose on his face as you scoffed, but relented, returning to the dish in your hand. Your humming had ceased, but Rex knew from your grin and occasional glances that he hadn’t overstepped. 

When the final piece of silverware had been washed and dried, you began putting everything away. Rex leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. He watched you carefully stack plates, reaching to store them on their designated shelf. 

He found it odd—if he was being honest—that he didn’t feel out of place. He was a soldier, born and bred for the battlefield. He fully expected to feel awkward and clunky having dinner in your apartment, and while he did feel that way at first, it surprised him how quickly that feeling faded into a comfortable sense of normalcy. Bare feet, quiet music, soft clothes; all things he wasn’t used to, but wanted to get used to. 

You stepped back from the cupboard, satisfied that everything was tidy and away, and turned to face him. He smiled softly, pushing himself off the counter. Rex took the two strides it took to reach you and reached for your hand. He grasped it in his own and took a step back, pulling you along with him toward the living room.

You chuckled, slightly confused at how forward he was being and what he was getting at, but went along with it. You trusted him. 

Rex flipped off the kitchen light as you both crossed the threshold, throwing the living room further into darkness. The only light remaining was a standing lamp by the couch, casting dim, warm light across the room. Even the dark Coruscant skyline was only decorated by speckles of light from residential buildings and dwindling traffic. The song changed, a slow waltz of sorts faintly reminding you of older times.

Rex still held your hand, bringing it up to his shoulder as he placed his other hand on your waist. Butterflies swathed at your heart as you realized what he wanted. You fell right into rhythm with his sway, an endearing smile cresting your lips. 

The shadow of your figures shifted to and fro on the floor. Your skin was soft in his hands, and he suddenly found himself keenly aware of the callouses covering his palms and fingers. He lifted the hand clasped in yours, guiding you through the only turn he knew. Your smile grew wider as you followed through, your chuckle bringing his heart to leap. 

You leaned into his chest, the hand that once rested against his shoulder now splayed on his side. Rex’s free hand moved from your waist to your back, holding you close. You hummed contentedly against him, melting with the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he sighed. 

You swayed like that for almost an entire other song, until you shifted to look up at him. Feeling your head lift from his chest, he opened his eyes to look at you. Your free hand slid up his back as you released your grasp on his, clasping your fingers together behind his neck. He moved to rest his hands on your hips, your sway slowing to a standstill. 

His eyes wandered of their own volition, drifting to your lips before he tore them back up to your eyes. A blush rose to his cheeks. Rex prayed you couldn’t feel his heart racing in his chest. 

You stifled a giggle, moving a hand to cup his face. You ran your thumb over his cheek, enamored by the darkening shade of pink. Your eyes fell to his lips and you eased yourself closer, grazing in a feather-light touch. 

Rex’s breath caught in his throat. 

In a slow, careful move, you tilted your head up and gently pressed a kiss into him. He froze, his body going stiff in your arms. His lips were soft—albeit a little chapped—but he didn’t add any pressure to the kiss. You withdrew only a moment later, flicking your eyes up to his. 

They had fluttered closed, his cheeks a full red now. He opened them again and immediately met your gaze. Rex’s lips parted as he faintly exhaled a held breath. His eyes drifted back down to your lips and you couldn’t help but smile. He leaned his head down, and though he was still careful, he was more confident in capturing your mouth with his. 

Rex’s hands rose from your hips to the middle of your back, pulling you flush against himself to deepen the kiss. You happily tugged him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck so your elbows rested on his shoulders, your wrists going slack. You moved in tandem with each other, finding an ebb and flow with this newness.

Rex released the kiss only to catch his breath and allow you yours. His face slid against yours, pressing his nose into your cheek as his forehead lightly bumped yours. He brought his hands to your shoulders, dragging his fingers up towards your wrists behind his head. He pressed another kiss to your lips as he took your hands in his, moving them—

“Wake up! Time to smell the thorns!”

You heard the crunch before you felt it. Pain crackled through your nose and cheek, warmth trickling down over numb lips. Thunder boomed behind your eyes, worsening as you cracked them open.

Fingers grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your chin up to look him in the face. Noka glowered at you and met your squinted eyes. “Where’s Xin?” He growled.

You blinked weakly, your brain struggling to catch up with reality. “Whad?” You whispered, tongue feeling fat in your mouth. 

Noka’s frown somehow deepened. He crouched down next to you, jolting your head around as he did so. Hair in hand, he twisted your head to look around the room, his face right next to yours. When your head felt like it could turn no more, Noka pushed further. Tight pain screamed in your neck, coming out in a garbled cry as you tried twisting your shoulders to help. He pushed until you were twisted so far you could see the corner behind the bedframe, your right shoulder burning under the stretch. 

He held you there, bringing his mouth within an inch of your face, his breath hot on your cheek as he spoke. “Do you see him here? I sure don’t. So you’re going to tell me where he went.”

You were shaking now, unable to buy any relief to the position he’d stretched you into. You could hardly think straight, let alone answer even more questions you didn’t know the answer to. You were confused beyond measure.

“I dunno,” you rasped. 

He sucked in a deep breath, releasing your hair only to grip your skull and give it a strong squeeze. “I don’t believe you.” 

You whimpered under the pressure, your arm and neck begging for release. 

In a flash, he tossed your head aside and stood, moving to the door. Relief flooded your neck and shoulder, tingling with a rush of bloodflow. 

Noka stood in the open doorway, cold air filling the room. He mounted his hands on his hips, eyes scanning the treeline briefly before he turned on a dime, returning his attention to you. His gaze locked with yours, a shadow passing behind his eyes. A cold shot of fear pulsed in your chest. 

He crossed the room to you in the blink of an eye, snatching a dagger from his belt. His movement was so quick you couldn’t help but flinch as he reached you. 

Noka squeezed his hand around your wrist, bringing his dagger to meet it. After a few seconds sawing at the rope, it snapped away. Your hand fell gracelessly to the floor beside you as he switched to your other hand, working at its respective restraint. 

Your eyes widened.

He flung your left hand down just as ungraciously as your right and stepped back. “Stand up,” Noka commanded, chest heaving. “We’re moving.”

A surge of adrenaline coursed through you. This was your window.

“I said, stand up,” He commanded again, an edge in his tone. He scowled at you, waiting. 

Your thoughts flickered down to the chair leg you found earlier. You only needed a moment.  

Seeing your hesitation to move, Noka took it as disobedience and turned around. Your eyes found the shovel at his feet—the one used to burn you. With his back turned, you quickly reached for the chair leg as quietly as you could, wrapping your fingers around it. You squeezed it once—twice, testing your grip on it. 

In a rush, you clambered to your feet and launched yourself towards Noka. He, bent over to pick up the shovel, hardly had time to react. You swung the wooden peg down on his head as hard as you could possibly muster, a deep thwunk ricocheting from the hit. 

Noka collapsed in a heap on the floor. Just as quickly, you crumpled against the table as blood rushed to your head. It wobbled under your weight, dragging against the wall as you slid to the floor. Your vision speckled inward as you laid yourself down. Pins and needles ran the length of your arms and legs, tingling violently.

How long had it been since you moved from that spot? Two days? 

No… It was three now. This was the morning of the fourth. 

After several moments your vision began returning to normal. Or at least as normal as it could be. You pulled yourself up to sitting, being mindful of how quickly you moved. You leaned forward and attempted to hoist yourself to your feet using one of the chairs that remained intact.

A groan next to you sent your heart to your throat. 

“You—” Noka grunted, hand finding the side of his head, “—You kriffing bitch—” 

Another course of adrenaline shot through your veins as he sat up. 

Throwing caution to the wind, you hurled yourself toward the door. Your feet caught against each other and you stumbled, breaking your fall with palms pressed into rough floorboards. You regained your balance, pushing back up to run.

Behind you Noka’s feet shuffled himself upright, his footfall clumsy as he teetered to one side. 

Nausea bubbled up in your throat. You staggered outside into the snow, frantically trying to figure out a way to escape or defend yourself. You couldn’t let this chance go to waste. At this point you knew you’d die if he caught up to you.  

Bitterly cold air met your skin, snow burning your feet. All that surrounded you was treeline. You turned left, right, around, behind the house; everywhere was forest, and you had no sense in the slightest of where you were. You couldn’t survive this cold if you got lost. So you looked for the next best option: another weapon. 

“Get back here!” Noka’s voice howled from just inside the shack. A moment later he stumbled into the doorway, bracing himself against it. He raised an arm toward you, a trail of blood creeping past his ear and down his neck.

The hairs on your arms stood on end. Whether from the cold or adrenaline, you couldn’t be sure. You pushed yourself to move further away from the house, scanning everything around you for a weapon.

About 10 units away sat an axe, right next to a pile of split wood. 

You lunged toward it, taking as big of strides as you could manage. Your feet screamed against the cold, head pounding. 

Heavy footsteps thumped against the earth behind you. You pushed your legs to move faster, praying you would not slip. 

Pure fear and survival instinct dug their claws into your stomach. 

Your feet landed on a stretch of frozen mud, leading you to the base of the log pile. 

Hands grabbed your hips. They locked you in place, eliciting a scream from you before you knew you made a sound. The earth tilted, weight on your hips pulling you down. He slipped. Air slammed out of your lungs. You pushed your arms into the ground, pulling yourself forward as hard as you could muster.

 You didn’t think, just jerked, twisted, kicked, anything to get away. You clawed at the icy mud in front of you. Digging, scraping, reaching. Your fingers brushed against wood. His nails dug into your thighs, grip tight on your dress as you inched closer to the axe. He tugged back, you dug in. 

Your fingers grasped the handle. Despite being unaware of what direction its head faced, you twisted and blindly swung. 

Red splattered against snow, his grip immediately loose and weight heavy on your feet. 

Relief flooded your nerves as you gasped for breath. Your body began shaking uncontrollably. This, you were sure, was not from the cold. 

You pried your legs out from under Noka and pushed yourself to your feet, staggering slightly. You gritted your teeth and scrunched your eyes at the scene before you. 

Noka was laid out on his belly, arms stretched above him and the axe still wedged in the side of his head. You gave it a tug, but it didn’t budge. 

Your sigh quivered. It’d have to stay there.

Pain bloomed in your ankles, pulling your attention to just how cold they were. Your eyes shifted to Noka’s boots. You almost wrinkled your face in disgust at the idea of wearing a dead-man’s shoes—literally—but with how cold your feet were, you weren’t sure you cared anymore. 

 You knelt down by his feet, tucking your toes into the torn hem of your skirt as best you could. Your fingers worked clumsily at the laces, pulling the first boot off after several firm tugs. You shifted your weight to sit on your thigh, nose scrunching at the smell drifting from his still-warm boot. 

As you reached to put it on, movement at the treeline caught your eye. You froze in place, watching the man from earlier—the burly one—step over a fallen log on the other side of the shack. 

Your heart plummeted. You dropped yourself to lay flat next to Noka’s body. Boots forgotten, you waited in abject terror, praying he would not see you—or Noka. His steps crunched against snow, heavy as he plodded towards the shack. 

The moment his footsteps struck wood, you pulled yourself up and hurled yourself toward the side of the shack. You hugged the wall, bare skin scraping against the brick of the fireplace. Explicatives flew from inside, his steps now clambering back outside. You crouched low, rounding a corner to the back. 

Moments later he roared Noka’s name. Peeking around the corner, you watched him march over to Noka’s body, kicking it over so he was belly-up. Even from where you hid, you could see his chest heaving. He whipped his head around, brows deep-set over wide, pinpoint eyes. You ducked your head back behind the shack as he turned his head toward it. 

All at once your breath caught in your throat, the realization striking.

You left footprints in the snow.

His steps restarted, gradually growing louder. 

You scrambled away from the corner, moving along the wall to the opposite end of the shack. As you crossed in front of the window, something sharp dug into your foot and you dropped to your knees. Looking where you stepped, you spotted a shard of glass, now bloodied. 

“You!” 

Your eyes flew to the corner where you just were. His nostrils flared, axe in hand. His steps seemed to shake the earth as he started toward you again.

You didn’t even think. You wrapped a hand around the glass shard, pulling it with you as you stumbled to your feet, pitching forward into a run. Every instinct in you to survive reared up, clawing over a mountain of fear. A primal scream tore from your throat, feet slipping against snow and ice as you turned to run. You rounded the corner just in time to see the axe fly past you into the treeline. He shouted in frustration, growling as he chased after you. 

You barreled around the other corner of the shack, back in front of it. You whipped around to face him, still backing up, glass brandished in a shaking hand. 

He skidded to a halt ahead of you, taking a wide stance. Your own chest heaved, sending puffs of steam into the air. Your hands clenched into fists, glass cutting into your palms. Thin trickles of blood slid down the side of your hand. 

Faint, familiar thrumming of a LAAT engine echoed through the trees, sending a surge of adrenaline and hope through your blood. Two gunships crossed high overhead—no doubt trying to nail down your location. 

Burly lunged toward you in a flash. You darted to the side, flinging your glass-wielding hand in an attempt to slash him. It only grazed his arm, sending a few flecks of blood to the snow. He swore and lunged again. You jumped back, barely dodging his fist. 

A gasp flew past your lips as your bare heel struck a patch of ice. You stumbled, trying to regain your balance. 

Burly instantly launched himself at your hips, tackling you into a snowdrift.

The glass shard flew from your hand. Snow piled down on top of you, packing against your exposed skin. The cold should have shocked you, but you felt nothing but panic. 

Rescue was so close. Rex was so close. You just had to buy yourself some time. 

You rammed a palm against his cheek as you leaned back, kicking your feet beneath him to push yourself away. He clawed into your clothes, dragging himself past mounds of snow further on top of you. 

You gasped again as your leg caught on something sharp, buried under heaps of snow. Your burn wound ripped open, fresh blood flooding your leg with warmth.

He scrambled up and grabbed your arms, holding them away from himself with a near bone-breaking grip as he plopped down on your hips, straddling you. 

You managed to wrench one wrist away, slamming your open palm against the side of his face. He fought your every move, every writhe of your body and flail of your arms landing on rage-fueled immovable muscle. 

After several moments of struggling against him, he growled and gritted his teeth. He threw your arm out of his grip, elbowed your free hand out of the way, and leaned forward to wrap his hands around your throat, clamping down. 

Your lungs tried to inhale and your instincts shrieked. You writhed beneath him, twisting as much as you could. Still he remained.

You clawed at his face, dragging your nails down his cheek. Your other hand flew out to the side, desperately searching for whatever sharp thing cut your leg, instead grabbing a fistfull of snow and throwing it in his face. 

Darkness curled at the edges of your vision. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his, bloodshot and wild with rage. Blood gathered beneath your skin, your face growing hotter by the second as your lungs burned for air. Your mind flew to Rex, how close his men were—maybe himself. You wanted so badly just to see him one more time; just to say three little words one more time. 

They’d never make it in time. 

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The sight seemed only to fuel Burly.

“That’s right, cry little girl,” he growled, saliva bubbling from teeth dug into his lips. Sweat hung over his brow, his face red with the effort as his hands squeezed ever tighter around your throat. “Cry me a fucking river.” 

All at once crimson burst from the side of his head, painting the snow beside you and spattering to your face. His grip around your throat released slightly, allowing minute amounts of air back to your lungs. You inhaled instantly, only to be crushed by his dead weight collapsing on top of you. Gasping for breath, your hands pressed faintly on his chest, smacking and beating in a futile effort to get him off. 

“He’s down! He’s down!” 

White and blue armor flashed above your captor, heaving him off of you. Your lungs drank freely, cold air stinging your throat. Pain slammed your head and sent your ears ringing. Darkness swamped your vision, bringing it to a near-pinpoint. 

Gloved hands pulled at your shoulders, lifting your upper half from the snowdrift. Your head lolled back, unable to support it yourself. A hand found the back of your head. A voice, loud and desperate, called your name. You knew who it belonged to.

Just as the words crested your tongue, darkness consumed you, dragging you into a dreamless pit. 

“KIX!”

Rhythmic beats of the engine filled the cabin, voices filtering through like they were spoken through a sputtering comm.  

Hot pain buried in your leg. Two hands clamped and bore down on top of it. 

“Keep that pressure…”

Scissors snipped against cloth.

Plastic rubbed on your cheeks and nose, the cold hiss of oxygen tickling your face. 

“Talk to her….hear you.”

Tight pressure squeezed around your thigh, high up towards your hip.

“...needs fluids…wide open…”

A sting at the crook of your elbow.

“—eetheart, we’ve got you….” 

Warmth wrapped around your toes and feet, one at a time.

“...on the bird… –oing home…”

Warmth wrapped around your fingers and hands, one at a time. 

“...–auma team on standby, ETA three minutes.”

“BP’s 80 ove—she’s crashing!” 

“Kriff! Stay awa…… Hey! —ay with us! Don’t you dare…..”

Dull pain crackled behind your eyes. 

Brightness peeked beneath your eyelashes, urging them open.

Plain white ceiling tiles stared back at you. You blinked harshly, trying to adjust your eyes to the fluorescent lights beaming down. Air hissed in your nose, a breathing tube resting between your nose and lip. 

Every bone in your body ached, every joint stiff. You could feel the odd tug of stretched skin on your leg, and on your chest beneath your gown. Bacta patches, you assumed.

Soft, warm skin brushed against your hand. You shifted your gaze downward, straining to see. 

Rex sat in a four-legged chair pulled up close to your bed. The top half of his armor was missing, only his blacks covering his chest and arms. He’d clasped your hand between both of his, pressed against his forehead. His elbows rested on the mattress, head bowed. 

You inhaled deeply and turned your head to get a better view of him, but the second your movement shuffled the pillowcase beneath your head, his face snapped up. A red mark sat on his forehead where his hands had been.

Your name slipped past his lips in a hushed breath as he sat up, relief flooding his body and settling his nerves. He moved one of his hands to cradle the side of your head, cringing internally at the bruises still littering your face and neck. 

They didn’t belong there. Not the bruises disappearing under the neckline of your gown. Not the stitches holding the cut on your cheek together. Not the IVs. Not the bacta patches. None of this should’ve ever happened to you, and it tore him apart to think of how it happened. 

Rex brushed his thumb along your hair, bringing your knuckles to his lips to plant a soft kiss there. Dark bags hung under his eyes, deeper than they’d ever been, even after long campaigns. 

“Hey,” he whispered, your knuckles grazing the corner of his mouth. 

You cracked your lips to respond, but no sound came out. You shut it again and cleared your throat, wincing as you did so. 

“Hey,” you finally got out, your voice a quiet croak. 

Rex released your hand and moved to the side, quickly returning with a small plastic cup in hand. “Here,” he said quietly, bringing the cup to your lips, “take a drink.” 

With the help of his hand at the nape of your neck, you tilted your head just enough to sip from the water he offered. The relief to your dry mouth and scratchy throat was immediate. You closed your eyes and hummed your gratitude. 

As he withdrew with the cup, you could suddenly smell the unmistakable aroma of flowers past the hiss of oxygen in your nose. You would know—you’d accepted many bouquets on Padme’s behalf. 

You opened your eyes again and turned your head to the side, watching Rex set down the cup beside at least three different vases of flowers; maybe four or five. 

You must have looked confused. Rex turned back toward you, then glanced between you and the flowers. 

“Oh, uh,” he stammered, “some of these are from Senator Amidala. She brought them in herself but you were still under…” 

Rex stepped closer to the flowers, moving to shuffle the vases around and show you each bundle as he named their senders. “These are from General Skywalker, I think. I brought these ones, but they’re technically from the Five-Oh-First. The Chancellor sent these…” 

The hiss of a door sounded, making the heartrate monitor behind you pick up its pace. You turned your head the other way in time to see another two clones walk past the partition. You hadn’t met them before. 

The first’s head was clean shaven, with lightning-like tattoos following the curve of his head. He wore the same white and blue armor you’d become so familiar with, but this clone wore the red medic symbol on both shoulders. The second wore white and red armor and had the standard cut. While he had no visible tattoos or scars, his brow sat deeply furrowed over his eyes. 

The first stopped at the foot of your bed, eyes going wide for a moment. 

“She’s awake!” He blinked in surprise, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He approached your bedside, opposite to Rex, and began tapping at the holoscreen there. 

“Kix– yeah, just woke up,” Rex nodded, moving his chair away from the bed. 

“Well,” Kix started, his grin faltering  slightly, “her vitals look good, but there’s going to be lasting damage.”

This got your attention. Despite the headache, you sharpened up. “What does that mean?” You rasped, your voice still raw. 

He shifted his gaze to you, and for a moment, his eyes flickered between you and Rex. “By the time we got to you, your hands and feet were in the early stages of frostbite. We didn’t need to amputate, but you’ll likely have some neuropathy in your toes for the rest of your life.” 

You looked back to the ceiling. Your heart picked up its pace for a moment as you struggled to wrap your head around what he said. Neuropathy. 

Rex’s focus hadn’t shifted from Kix. “Anything else?”

Kix shook his head. “Nothing worse than that. The burn on your leg will scar. With steady bacta treatments, all broken bones should be healed in a couple weeks.” He turned back to the holoscreen at your bedside, tapping a few more times before looking to you. “How about we try sitting up?” 

As you nodded, the second clone you didn’t know cleared his throat, gesturing Rex off to the side.

Rex followed him to the edge of the partition and stopped at an angle. Through the corner of his eye, he watched Kix help you learn the bedside controls. 

“Look,” Fox started, eyeballing Rex as he tore his eyes from you to fix his attention on him. “I’ve gone ahead and requested leave on your behalf.” 

Rex’s eyes widened, jaw falling agape for a split second before he clamped his mouth shut again. “Fox, you know I can’t–”

He froze mid-sentence. Fox’s knowing look struck him with the same feeling he got when General Skywalker was set on a plan. He wasn’t getting out of this. 

Rex relented, giving him a side-eyed yet well-meaning glare that he hoped said we’ll be talking about this later. 

Fox gave him a sly smirk, shaking his head as he sent a firm hand to the back of his shoulder. 

Rex’s face morphed into a glower, his mood shifting noticeably. “I want to know who the hell those guys were. Why would they do this? I have a hard time believing they were so stupid and amateurish, and they were still able to kidnap someone from the Senator’s office.” 

Fox crossed his arms over his chest, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Kenobi and Skywalker are investigating now. I’ll let you know when I know more.”

They exchanged a dim look and a handshake at the forearm. 

Though Rex was still infuriated by the lack of concrete answers, he was beyond relieved and grateful you were back safe. Alive. 

The door hissed again as Fox left, passing by a medical droid on his way. It floated in toward Kix, carrying a small tray with a single bowl. 

Rex stepped back past the partition. Kix was hanging a new bag of fluids, reconnecting it to your dripline. The droid lowered itself to your level, where you and your bed were now angled so you could sit up slightly. You furrowed your brow, pulled back your lip, and leaned away from it as it dipped a spoon into the bowl, hovering closer to you while it held out the spoon.

Rex crossed the space in a few swift strides, carefully yet firmly taking the spoon from the droid’s mechanical three-pronged hand. It blared an irritated buzz at him, but he ignored it, shooting a glare at its lens as he took the bowl from its tray, too. It blared again, raising its tray as if ready to smack Rex with it.

Kix chuckled faintly at his brother’s treatment of the droid. “Come on, Trudy, let him have it.” 

The droid—Trudy—whirled around to face Kix. It turned back to Rex, then Kix again, and seemingly decided Rex wasn’t worth the trouble. You watched it turn around and float back to the end of your bed, where it stopped and turned to face you again. It remained hovering there.

Rex flashed a concerned look at Kix, who only scoffed a short laugh. “This is T-R-D 316-J, otherwise known as Trudy. She tends to get territorial over her patients.” 

Kix typed in a final few notes and put the holoscreen to sleep before approaching the end of the bed. “I’m heading out to take care of some reports. Give me a call if anything changes.” He raised a hand in front of the droid and gestured to the door. It hesitated, then complied. 

Before he followed it, Kix shot a glance over his shoulder, watching Rex pull his chair back to the side of your bed. 

Rex glanced over his shoulder, meeting his brother’s gaze as he sat down. Kix gave him a curt nod, a soft grin returning to his face, before turning to exit the room. 

For a few moments, silence passed between you and Rex. 

You glanced down at the bowl in his hands, scrunching your nose at the smell.

He glanced at it in turn, mixing it with the spoon. “Broth, I’m guessing.” 

You scrunched your face further, shaking your head. Your stomach cramped, only serving to further distance you from an appetite. 

Rex brought a spoonful up to his face, giving it a sniff before bringing it to his lips, tasting it. He raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Not bad, actually.”

You shook your head again and brought your hand to itch at the breathing tube under your nose. 

He sighed and lowered the bowl to rest on the mattress. “You need to eat.” 

“Not hungry,” you mumbled, avoiding looking at the broth. 

“Maybe,” he reasoned, “but you still need to eat something. You haven’t eaten anything in almost a week.” 

You hesitated, your gaze resting on the contents of the bowl warily. 

“Just try a little bit,” Rex prodded. “Please?” 

Now you couldn’t say no. His pleading eyes, the quirk in his brow; a recipe for disaster. 

Despite the cramping in your stomach and feeling queasy at the thought of food, you reluctantly nodded. 

Rex picked the bowl up off the bed and stirred it once more. He lifted the spoon to his mouth, blew on the contents until it wasn’t steaming, and brought it to your lips. 

You slowly accepted the broth, its warmth spreading through your mouth and throat as you swallowed. Although you were far from the snow here, it chased every ounce of reminiscent cold from your bones and stiffness from your joints. And it didn’t make you feel sick.

Rex raised his eyebrows, as if to ask if you wanted more. 

You gave a small nod, watching how his face relaxed a little, a victorious glint taking to his eyes. 

After the next couple of bites, your stomach’s cramping shifted into growling, and you suddenly found yourself ravenous. 

Rex fed you spoonful after spoonful, slowly and patiently, until it was empty. He set it off to the side, satisfied that you had eaten more than he hoped you would. 

It was your yawn, next, that led him to the lightswitch by the door. The room darkened, only lit now by a lamp in the corner. 

You called his name, suddenly overwhelmed by a knot in your chest. 

When he came back, you’d balled your fists in the blanket, eyes wide. 

“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” 

If it were possible, Rex was sure his heart shattering would’ve been audible. 

He walked back over to his chair, leaning to press a kiss to your forehead as he sat down. “No,” he said softly, taking your hand in his again. “I’m not going anywhere for quite a while.” 

You nodded, trying not to let your lip quiver as you tried to calm your racing heart. Your fingers flexed and clenched in the blanket, hands shaking. 

His eyes softened upon meeting yours, his eyebrow settling into a slight furrow. Rex flipped your hand over in his and massaged your palm with his thumb. “Why don’t you get some sleep now, yeah?” 

You shook your head, tears bubbling up in your eyes. You wanted to say something. You wanted to ask him if he’d be there when you woke up, if this was all just a dream. What if it was all a sick joke and you were really still back in that shack?

A tear slid free, stinging as it crossed over the stitches in your cheek. 

Rex’s chest clenched. He knew that look. 

He’d seen it a hundred times, but he’d never forget a single one. This was different, though. He never thought he’d see it in you.

There were things the Kaminoans taught clones. How to dress a wound, how to drag a brother out of the line of fire, how to send an emergency signal or even scale a mountain. But there was no manual for this. They didn’t teach him how to win a battle that was in your mind; the woman he loved.

So he opted for the only thing he could really think of.

Rex’s chair squeaked against the floor as he pushed it back to stand. He leaned over you, pulling you into as best an embrace as he could manage. 

Your voice cracked when a sob finally broke out. You raised both hands to wrap around his neck, IVs dangling in the way. 

He said nothing for a while. You trembled as you cried, and he knew all too well what that meant. You survived more than most soldiers he’d served with, yet you were still fighting back tears so he wouldn’t have to see you this way. 

If you were one of his men, Rex would have given you some kind of talk, something to motivate you to keep fighting the good fight. But you were no soldier, you weren’t literally bred for the battlefield. Sure, you were trained for lighter combat—that was part of being an Aide. But you required gentleness, and he hoped he had enough of it in him. 

Eventually your shaking stilled and cries softened. Rex moved to pull back, but your fist in his shirt stopped him halfway. He looked at you to find tearstreaks running down your face, a droplet or two still clinging to your chin. Your eyes were red and puffy, and you looked up at him so pleadingly.

“Stay?” You whispered. 

Rex leaned back a little further, assessing the size of the bed. “I don’t think there’s room, sweetheart, but I won’t leave–” 

Rex hadn’t finished his sentence before you were throwing the blanket back, scooting over to make room. Your scooting hadn’t done much, it would still be a tight squeeze, but who was Rex to say no? If he was being honest, he didn’t want to say no, regardless. 

He sat on the mattress and toed off his boots. Being careful—so careful—of the various tubes and leads attached to your body, he shifted slowly to lay back next to you. 

His arm curled around you and you shuffled to lay more on your side, leaning into him. His chest rose and fell beneath your head, his heartbeat steady under your ear. Tension slowly eased from your muscles and you exhaled a long, shaky sigh. 

Rex pressed a kiss to the top of your head, rubbing your back slowly. The smell of woodsmoke still clung to your hair. You melted further into him and he gave you the lightest squeeze, just enough to remind you that he wasn’t going anywhere. Your fingers gently curled into his shirt as if you were anchoring yourself in his presence. 

Within minutes, your breathing evened out and your heart-rate slowed and steadied. Your monitor’s steady beeping, along with the constant ticking of a clock, were all that dulled the silence. 

With you lying next to him, his own exhaustion started to catch up to him. His eyelids grew heavier as the minutes ticked by, but all he could think about was the upcoming days. The Guard’s ongoing investigation, your continued treatment and the challenges you would face, your safety and eventual return to work. He knew he couldn’t be by your side for all of it. The war was bound to call him back, and Fox couldn’t delay that forever. 

Rex looked down at your sleeping form. His eyes grazed over the steady rise and fall of your chest, the fingermarks around your neck, the welts around your wrists, the bruises he knew hid beneath your gown, and the burn hiding under the blanket. 

He adjusted slightly, nestling you closer to remind himself that you were here. You were alive. He fought to stay awake, to keep himself alert should you need him or should someone walk in. But as his exhaustion pressed in and his eyelids betrayed him, he swore an oath to himself. 

For as long as he lived, Maker help him, he would never let such a thing happen to you again. For as long as he lived, Maker help him, he would never let you fight this battle alone. 

And there it is. Six months of brutal indecision, periodic writer's block, and grappling with self-doubt, and this is finally up! Kinda feels surreal, not gonna lie.

Please tell me what you think!! I spent so long on this, I will quite literally jump for joy at the simplest comment!

Footsteps crunched in the grass behind you. Turning your head over your shoulder, you found Rex approaching from the hill, a drink in each hand. You smiled warmly as he passed you a lemonade, watching him brush off his bare feet before he stepped on the blanket. He leaned and laid a hand flat behind you, grunting softly as he lowered himself to sit. Once seated and sure his drink wouldn’t topple from his hand, you scooted in. He adjusted his support arm slightly, shifting to make your lean into his side more comfortable. 

You let out a content sigh, bringing your drink to your lips. You relished in its refreshing tang; a relief on a warm day. A cool breeze rustled through the trees every once in a while, helping the sun’s rays feel more pleasant than glaring. Its light dappled through leaves and branches, decorating your blanket and the grass around it with filtered light and dancing shadows. The sight made your heart wish it could sing. 

Rex moved to take a sip of his drink, bringing your attention back to him. You shifted your head, leaning it against his shoulder at an angle where you could look up at him. Maker, he was beautiful. Relaxed, leaned back in civvies—it suited him. The war was over. He could relax and breathe like this more often, now. 

He must’ve felt your staring. His face remained pointed to the river, but his eyes drifted to the lower corner, finding and meeting your gaze with a slight smirk. He made a lighthearted quip about liking what you see. Your chuckle and shameless confirmation drew a laugh out of him. He turned his head, his lips pressing a tender kiss your forehead. Your eyes drifted closed at the contact, letting out a warm hum. 

They opened at a touch on your chin. Rex’s fingers pulled your face up towards his, his own eyes drifting shut as he leaned down, his lips ghosting against your own. You let your eyes shut again as he pressed into a slow, languid kiss. There was no haste, no rush to claim each other. It was full of ease; an odd sense of security neither of you had felt before. 

He pulled away and rested his nose against the side of yours, both of you taking a moment to breathe. Your eyelashes fluttered against his cheek as you tilted your head. You pulled away ever so slightly, finding a better view of his eyes. 

In them you found a certain kind of sadness. The sadness of a man who saw hundreds of men fall. Hundreds of his brothers who would never know a day like this, when the war was over and all there was left to do was hope and dream and plan and do. He’d never known that before, and had to admit he never thought of what that might even be like. Yet here he was, finally knowing peace. With his brothers—with you. 

A shine rose to his eyes as he looked right back into yours. Your brow gave a small furrow as if to check he was alright, but he only smiled softly and nodded almost imperceptibly. You passed your drink to the other hand, raising your palm to cup his jaw and cheek. If your cold hand shocked him he made no indication of it, just exhaled and turned his head to gently brush his cheek against your palm. 

After a few moments he took your hand in his, lowering it away from his face as he dipped his head to meet your lips again. It was still slow, but this time a little less delicate. This was more reverent, like he was savoring what the freedom to openly hold and kiss you felt like. 

A wolf-whistle, followed by whoops and hollers jarred you from the moment. You pulled back quickly, surprised and a little hot in the cheeks with embarrassment. Rex didn’t move, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth while a furrow dug into his brow. You brought your hand to your growing smile, fingers resting where his lips were moments before. 

Rex finally turned his head to face his brothers, who now laughed freely, throwing pokes of fun and gibes as they walked down the hill past you. All of them were dressed in their swim trunks, several with towels thrown over a shoulder, and some with a ball or floatie in tow. 

He turned back to you, a mischievous, revenge-hungry smirk on his face. He apologized, relenting that duty called. You quirked a brow with a sly grin, reminding him the war was over. He shrugged as he downed the rest of his drink in several gulps, then corrected that it was his brotherly duty. You laughed, playfully scoffing at how you could’ve forgotten. Rex set his cup to the side and stood, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to one corner of the blanket. You grinned and smacked his calf lightly with the back of your fingers, telling him to show them what’s what. He took a few steps toward the river, throwing a faux salute over his shoulder at you. 

Several cheers rang out as he approached the riverbank. Rex stopped in place at the water’s edge and planted both fists on his hips, taking a commanding stance. The group went quiet as he spoke, each freezing mid-move in the water. After several moments of what you could only assume was him speaking, every head turned to Fives. He blinked and gaped at Rex, then began sputtering his defense. Rex stepped forward, advancing down into the water towards the accused. Their brothers’ laughter kicked up again, “oohs” of anticipation echoing up the hill. Fives began frantically wading away from Rex, but his brothers worked against him, holding him back with wide smiles. 

When he was close enough, Rex all but tackled Fives into the water. Their brothers roared with laughter and shouts of encouragement, some for Rex and some for Fives. They popped back up out of the water, Fives’ begs for mercy breaking through his sputtering laughter. Rex, however, didn’t give him an ounce of mercy this time. 

Amidst a flurry of flying limbs and splashing water, you couldn’t tell who was winning or not. Not that it would make much of a difference. With the way Rex made for his brother, you knew he’d come out on top.

Sure enough, moments later Rex was proved victorious. Fives’ head was locked securely under his arm on the unfortunate receiving end of a head-rattling noogie. 

Rex released Fives, earning a round of cheers and applause from his brothers. You laughed along with them, clapping despite knowing he couldn’t quite hear you. He stood among everyone for a few minutes more, catching and tossing the ball when it was passed to him. He made a final pass to Kix, then turned and started climbing out of the river, his eyes finding you on the gentle slope of the hillside. 

As he approached you, you realized he had another mischievous glint in his eyes. You shifted where you sat, suddenly finding a nervous giggle ready to bubble up out of you. 

Rex rolled his shoulders as he came to the edge of the blanket and gestured for you to stand up. You vigorously shook your head, smiling despite knowing exactly what he wanted to do. He quirked an eyebrow, asking you if this was your idea of insubordination. You giggled and bit back that you weren’t his subordinate anyway. His grin widened as he quipped that he'd see about that. 

You yelped out a laugh as Rex leaned over the blanket, his still dripping-wet arms outstretched toward you while you scooted yourself away. He put a knee to the blanket, stretching further to plant his hands on your waist, drawing even more laughter from you. 

You squealed in surprise as he tossed you over his shoulder, kicking your feet and wiggling while you laughed your protests. Every step to the riverbank, you demanded he put you down, but his chest only rumbled with a chuckled denial of your “request”. 

He reached the river and finally lowered you off his shoulder, gently planting your feet to the bank. You tried to make a break for it but he was quicker, wrapping his arms around your waist, hugging you to himself. 

Still holding you firmly in his arms, he turned his back to the water and leaned back, letting himself fall in and taking you with him. Water rushed over you both, the cold sending a swarm of chills through your whole body. 

You gasped and yelped at the cold, breathlessly laughing in shock. Rex’s chest shook with laughter behind you. He loosened his grip, letting you float a few inches from his body. You turned under the water, giggling as you raised a hand to splash and scold him. He laughed again and blinked rapidly under the spray, admitting that was deserved. 

Whether you knew it or not, being able to spend the day with you and his brothers, to openly hold you and kiss you and play in a river—all without a thought of the war—was starting to heal something in him he couldn’t quite put a name to. 

This was the start of something completely new. The war was over. He and his brothers could choose their own paths. And while there would surely be challenges ahead (namely with politics and clone rights), if his future looked anything like this, Rex knew it would be well worth any struggle yet to come.

Heavy wind rattled the window above the headboard, whistling against the side of the house. 

You scrunched your eyes with a heavy exhale. It felt like you’d only just drifted off. You pulled the covers tightly over your shoulders, willing yourself to relax. A series of hefty kicks struck the top of your belly, magnifying your inability to fall back to sleep. 

Between rolls of thunder, a repetitive banging sounded from outside. Not loud, but dull and insistent. 

You opened your eyes, staring at the wall as you strained to hear what it could be. From the depth of the pitch, it sounded like it could’ve been the back door. Maybe the screen door you and Echo hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet. You furrowed your brow. If it were the back or screen door, it would be marginally louder. Realization hit you moments before the next clap of thunder. 

The shed. You meant to replace the latch a few days prior. 

Now the storm was testing your willpower. Judgement of your competence. 

You groaned and squeezed your eyes shut again, wishing Echo were home. Normally, you would leap at the opportunity to get up and do anything outside of your routine. But someone had kept you from consistent sleep for the past week, and with your due date closing in, you just wanted to sleep. 

Part of you was torn. You wanted so badly to simply roll over and go back to sleep, maybe call the neighbors to ask if they could check, but you shoved the idea away as soon as it came. Why wake them? It was just the shed door.

If it weren’t the middle of the night, you’d be beyond grateful for something to keep yourself occupied. You just wished you were able to do more without help these days.

Another round of thunder rumbled overhead. Pulling the covers back, you used your arms to walk yourself up to sitting. You paused, catching your breath with a hand on your belly. You heaved yourself to your feet and turned to look out the window.

Rain pelted against the glass, trees bending in the wind. You sighed, knowing no amount of clothing coverage would keep you completely dry in this. You opted not to change out of your pajamas, and instead pulled on a simple raincoat. Its zipper had broken months ago, but it was better than nothing. Your eyes found your boots, mocking you from the floor. 

Bending over seemed impossible, particularly at this hour. Skipping the boots, you pushed your feet into an old pair of sandals and headed for the stairs. 

Flipping the switch for the lights, you groaned again. 

No power.

As you carefully descended to the living room, you glanced through the front window. Where you could normally see out to the ocean was only a wall of rain, coming down sideways in sheets. You had to hurry if you didn’t want a good many materials in the shed ending up ruined. 

Your gaze fell on the stepladder in the living room. A brief memory flashed across your mind; how you had almost fallen off the same ladder several weeks prior. You’d stretched too far on the top step, its sudden wobble sending your heart to your throat and paint to the ceiling. 

You paused for a moment, wondering again if you should ask a neighbor for help. Just as quickly, you shook off the thought. There was no way you were waking anyone this late at night for a task as simple as closing a door.

Crossing through the kitchen, you opened the back door. Wind caught it almost instantly, pushing it open to slam against the wall. You gasped, rushing to grab the door and push it closed again. 

You paused for another moment, gathering yourself and wrapping your head around just how strong the wind was tonight. You pulled the hood of your raincoat over your head and tugged it a little tighter around you, cursing yourself for not getting one with a better zipper. You were truly going to get soaked. 

Glancing down at your sandals, you second guessed your decision. The yard had to be nothing but mud. Cleaning your feet would be far easier than cleaning shoes. Kicking them off by the lightswitch, you grabbed the flashlight on the counter and braced yourself.

The moment you opened the door, wind sought to pull it from your hand again. You squeezed the handle, grabbing the edge of the door as you turned and backed out. As it clicked shut, a flash of lightning startled you. You quickly flipped around, pressing your back to the door. Cold rain immediately pelted your skin, soaking every part of you not covered by your jacket. Thunder finally echoed above, several strong kicks in your belly reminding you to be quick. 

You placed your free hand over your baby. “Don’t worry,” you murmured, more to yourself than your child, “we won’t be out here any longer than we have to.”

Clicking on the flashlight, you shined it down the path toward the shed. Sure enough, the door swung freely, periodically slamming against the outer wall. Rain had certainly gotten inside. You hoped it hadn’t been too long. 

Looking at your feet, you cautiously stepped down onto stairs slick with water. You moved your free hand to grasp the railing, inching your way to the bottom. Though it was only three steps, you didn’t want to risk toppling over in this weather. 

You cringed as you reached the bottom of the steps. Puddles and mud caked the yard, a once clear path to the shed now completely unrecognizable. Stepping down to the grass, water and mud squelched between your toes. Clutching the flashlight in one hand and your raincoat in the other, you began the tediously careful—and gross—trek to the shed. 

I should’ve put the damn boots on.

Around you the storm roared. Somewhere behind wind, rain, and thunder, ocean waves thrashed against each other, compounding the noise of it all. 

A gust of wind tore through the yard, ripping the hood from your head. You tightened your grip on your coat and leaned into the gale, hair soaked within seconds. Loose strands whipped at your face, your cheeks stinging beneath bullets of water. You pressed on all the same. 

Cracking wood snapped your attention to the tree beside your home. You froze in place as you watched a large branch splinter away from its trunk, crashing down on the fence bridging your yard and the neighbor’s. Its weight crushed the fence in an instant. Debris flew into the grass and loose leaves scattered in the wind. 

You gaped at the sight. Suddenly chilled, you turned back to your objective, squinting against the rain as you pressed forward with an added urgency. 

Reaching the shed, you paused to assess the damage. The first couple paces inside were soaked, including the spare wood Echo wanted to put towards building a back porch. You sucked your teeth, shaking your head. 

You grasped the edge of the shed door, pulling it along as you walked it closed. Mud squished up around your feet, suction resisting your movement as you took each step. 

Another impossibly strong gust of wind pushed into you. It grabbed ahold of the door, catching it like a sail, and yanked it from your grasp. The edge cracked into your shoulder, just enough to jolt you from your balance. Fighting to regain your footing, your heel slipped and the world tilted sideways. The flashlight flew from your hand as your hip struck the earth—hard. 

With the breath knocked from your lungs, you laid still, mouth agape in shock. You groaned briefly, dull pain blooming along your hip and side. Your hand darted to your belly, relief quickly settling your nerves as you felt your baby shift and wiggle. 

Your throat tightened, all at once furious with yourself. 

All you wanted to do was shut a door. 

Eyes irritatingly full, you lifted a hand to wipe a splatter of mud from your face. Your frustration only grew when you felt that your hand—accompanied by continuous rain—had smeared even more dirt across your cheek. 

A familiar voice called your name through the downpour. 

Your stomach dropped, heat rising in your cheeks. The tears that had welled up immediately threatened to fall. 

This is not good. 

You pushed yourself up to sit on your hip. Heavy, fast footsteps smacked through rain-sodden grass behind you. 

“Kriff– Are you okay?!” Echo shouted over the rain—his voice sharp, alarmed. 

“I’m fine!” You responded starkly, attempting to wipe mud from your arm on your coat.

He was knelt in front of you in an instant, hovering for a moment as if afraid to touch you. Then one hand wiped wet hair from your face, his scomp link finding your shoulder. 

“Why are you– What happened?” He breathed, eyes darting all over you.

You avoided his gaze. “I slipped. I’m fine.”

He looked at you again and hesitated, ultimately raising his comm. “Tech, come in.”

“I’m fine, Echo,” You insisted, pushing one hand deeper in the mud in an effort to hoist yourself up. 

“What is it?” 

“I need you here ASAP.” Echo reached for your other arm, intending to help you up, but you pulled your arm away. 

“I said I’m fine,” you hissed, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. Rain continued to pour, splashing more speckles of mud from the ground on your face and in your hair.

“Should I fetch the midwife?”

Echo nearly recoiled at your reaction. “You’re not fine,” he blinked, shocked you were denying the gravity of what he might have been seconds shy of witnessing. Bending down again to hook his arm under yours, he raised the comm back to his mouth. “She fell,” he said, eyes assessing you again. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

You resisted the urge to scoff. You knew it was a good idea to check on the baby. You just didn’t want to be the one being babied. You didn’t want to be scolded for trying.

“I’m okay, Echo. You don’t need to call Tech.” You grumbled, relenting to his efforts.

Echo’s eyes grew. “It’s the middle of the night, you’re soaked, lying in the mud in a storm like this—” he pulled you to your feet, hand and scomp on either side of your arms. His voice grew increasingly distressed with each word. “Kriff, you’re freezing, and shaking— What are you doing out here?!” 

You gritted your teeth. As soon as you stood squarely, you pulled away from him again, throwing an arm at the shed. “Rain was getting in the shed! I had it handled!” 

“‘Had it handled?’” Echo blinked incredulously. He stepped behind you, pulling the shed door shut and wedging a rake through the handle to keep it secure. The sound of it sliding into place grated in your ears, mocking your defeat. 

“I slipped!” You argued, wiping more mud from yourself. “I was fine!” 

He turned back to you, eyebrows furrowed. “You call that—” he gestured to where you had laid moments before, “—‘fine’? You fell at eight months pregnant!” 

“It was only an open door!” You shouted, a crack of thunder hiding the crack in your voice. A tear bubbled over, rolling down your cheek. You hoped the rain disguised it. “I wasn’t about to ask for help with closing it!” 

“Yeah, well,” Echo crossed his arms over his chest, “You scared the hell out of me.” 

You turned your face away, biting the inside of your cheek. That makes two of us.

Echo clamped his mouth shut, pressing his lips into a thin line. This wasn’t how he thought you’d react to something like this. He knew you well enough to know you’d always be worried about your child, but this was something entirely different. Something felt off. 

He said nothing else, but instead took a few steps toward you. He pressed his hand to the small of your back, gesturing to the house. 

Echo’s hand seemed to burn on your back. You turned, watching your step as you trudged back to the stairs. Internally, you shrank in on yourself. Your stomach twisted at the thought of the conversation sure to happen inside. 

You weren’t necessarily ashamed—no—but you couldn’t deny that perhaps, in the pursuit of sustaining your own independence, you got reckless. 

Now you felt selfish. Prideful. 

And your pride stung. 

A few hot tears slid down your cheeks. You ignored them, letting the heavy rain wash them away. They weren’t tears of pain, though your hip ached sorely and it took some effort not to let it affect your gait. Rather, they were of embarrassment. You wanted nothing more than to be as capable as you were before your pregnancy progressed. 

First you couldn’t paint the living room without nearly falling off a stepladder and splashing paint on the ceiling. Then you couldn’t put furniture together without straining your back. 

Now you couldn’t so much as close a door without incident. 

Even now, knowing Echo’s hovering hand was really only a matter of slippery stairs, you felt immensely small. Fragile. Vulnerable. 

You were no stranger to vulnerability, and especially not with Echo. You did marry the man. But feeling that your usefulness was restricted by the growing child inside you—at least for the next several weeks, still—was something you weren’t used to. 

The back door swung open, aided by the ever present wind. You took a few steps inside, Echo pushing the door closed behind him. Mud and rainwater began pooling on the tile around your feet, dripping from your clothes, fingertips, and hair. 

Echo stepped toward the table in the middle of the room, pulling out a chair. “Come on,” he urged softly, “I’ll get towels.” 

You shook your head. “I need to shower anyway, don’t waste the clean ones.” 

He paused a moment, then moved to the stairs. “Tech’s checking you out first, and you’re freezing.” 

You stood still for a moment, listening to his footfall fade down the hall. Slowly, realizing how cold you really were, you began trying to peel off your mud-coated rain jacket. It clung to your arms and shirt, refusing to budge however you pulled and twisted. You grunted with the effort, forbidding yourself from failing at this, too. 

A hand on your shoulder stopped you. Turning to look over your shoulder, Echo met your gaze. Though he said nothing, his eyes had softened and spoke every bit of “let me help you” that you knew you wouldn’t have accepted otherwise. 

You released your grip on the jacket, raising one arm towards your husband. He grabbed ahold of the cuff, pulling firmly as you tugged your arm toward yourself. After a moment of resistance, it released. Echo dropped the cuff and moved to the hood, holding it up while you got your other arm out. 

With the jacket gone, fresh air met your wet pajamas and sent a chill down your spine. Goosebumps popped up all down your arms and legs, shivers settling in. 

Echo turned with the jacket in hand, moving to temporarily discard it in the kitchen sink. You ran a hand over the fabric that clung to your belly, watching him step over your muddy footprints. 

A quick series of knocks sounded at the front door. You took a step towards it before Echo stopped you with his scomp. Neither of you spoke, but he gave you one of his gentle, stern looks. He wrapped a towel around your shoulders, pointedly looking between you and the dining chair, then turned and disappeared around the corner. 

Normally you might sass him; give him a run for his money on who was the deciding voice. But shivers and exhaustion won, ultimately convincing you to take a seat as he told. You took a corner of the towel and wiped droplets from your forehead. The front door opened—rainfall echoing from the next room—then hissed shut. You patted your hairline, hoping to stem the flow of water from your hair into your eyes. 

Several moments later Echo returned, his brother following shortly behind. 

“Hi Tech,” you muttered, reluctant to meet his gaze. “Sorry to bother you so late.”

“It is no inconvenience,” he quickly waved your worry off, kneeling in front of you with scanner in hand. “I had not gone home yet.” 

Echo stood a pace away beside you, watching Tech conduct his scans. You spared a glance at him. His eyebrows were furrowed, seemingly stuck in that squared position. He had his arms crossed, the bulk of his weight leaned against the kitchen counter behind him. 

“Turn please,” Tech said, interrupting your observations. He gestured his scanner to the side you fell on. 

You cleared your throat, shifting in the chair to angle yourself. Lifting the hem of your shirt, you revealed a large purple splotch already peeking from beneath your waistband. Tech paused half a second, but gave no other visible or audible reaction. Echo shifted at the sight of the bruise, bringing his hand to massage his chin and run his fingers across his mouth. Tech passed a glance at his brother through the corner of his eye, but returned to his analysis just as quickly. 

Several minutes passed in trepid silence, rainfall on the roof serving as the only buffer. 

Tech finally stood up, tapping at his datapad briefly before he spoke. “All is well with both mother and child.” 

The room let out the smallest of exhales. Relief loosened your muscles just enough for exhaustion to make itself glaringly known. 

Echo pushed himself away from the kitchen counter and let out a short sigh. “Thanks Tech.”

Tech lowered his datapad and reached to adjust his goggles. “I suppose I should ask how this happened?” 

The air between you and Echo stiffened again. You met his gaze briefly, but looked away almost immediately. You shuffled your feet against the tile beneath your chair, squeezing the towel in your grip. “It’s a long story,” you muttered, glancing up at Tech. “I’ll tell you another time.” 

He paused, as if considering whether to push further, but ultimately said nothing else of the question at hand. He gave a curt nod, then looked to his brother as he turned towards the front door. “Do not hesitate to contact me if things change.” 

“We won’t,” Echo assured, remaining where he stood.

You waited in tense silence for the sound of the door. When it clicked shut, you finally looked at your husband. His arms were crossed again, giving you the look he usually saved for Omega when he knew she was hiding something. 

You let out a heavy breath. “Don’t start.”

“You’re not getting away from this.”

“What’s there to get away from? Tech said the baby’s fine, I’m fine. I’m not made of glass, Echo.”

“No one said you were.” He stayed put as he watched you stand, clinging to the towel around you. “But that never should have happened.”

You took a deep breath, willing him to let go of the matter and let it disappear. “I’m tired,” you stated. “I just want to shower and go back to bed.”

“Did you hear what I just said?” Echo stepped in your path, blocking the way to the stairs. “We’re talking about this now.”

You tried avoiding looking directly at him, averting your eyes just about anywhere else. He shifted his gaze along your face, noting the redness beneath your eyes. 

Echo brought his hand to your jawline, pulling you to face him. Tears welled in your eyes and despite his frustration and worry, his heart softened. He ran his thumb along your cheek. “This isn’t like you,” he said, quieter now. “What’s going on?”

You took his hand in yours, pulling it away from your face. “I’m just–” you paused, looking to the ceiling as you fought against the knot in your chest and struggled to find the right words. A frog leapt to your throat as you looked down at the floor. In a whisper, you admitted, “I’m tired of being like this.” 

Echo’s brow furrowed further, confused. “Like what?” 

“I can’t do anything by myself anymore,” you let out a shaky breath. “If I want to do something even remotely taxing, it’s, “you should be sitting down,” or, “go ask Wrecker to do that,” and even the neighbors jump in.” 

You were quick to wipe away a stray tear, which only served to smear crusted dirt across your face. You paid it no mind, hardly thinking of anything less than everything you’d kept bottled up for the past several months. 

“I can’t go on missions anymore. I can’t come with you guys and stay on the ship. I can’t so much as take a flight out to orbit.” Your body slowly grew more tense as you spoke, coiling tighter in your chest. “So I do what I can here. But then I can’t move the nursery furniture. I can’t carry in groceries. I can’t do anything without someone saying something about it.” 

Echo stood still, letting you speak freely as his heart crumbled a bit. All this time he thought they were just taking care of you, that he and his brothers were doing the right thing letting you rest. He hadn’t realized they were essentially withholding you from what you needed. He suddenly felt a wave of anger. Or was it sadness? Something close to regret. 

“I could have waited until morning, or for you to get home, or called a neighbor. Maybe I should have. But I’m so tired of letting other people do for me what I used to do without thinking.” You ran a hand through your hair, pressing your palm to your forehead. “But then I feel crazy because there’s times I really do need help, but asking for it feels like I’m making myself a work-around in everyone’s day! I feel like I’m losing it, Echo!” You scrunched your eyes shut, bringing your palms to press against your eyes as if you could scrub it all away. 

“It’s like I don’t have any control anymore! It’s like I’ve been replaced by an entirely new person, and she’s clumsy, and she’s lazy, and I hate her.” You dropped your hands to your hips, bracing your back, and scoffed. You felt like a fool. “And now I couldn’t even close a door.”

“Hey,” Echo’s voice neared a grumble, “that’s my wife you’re talking about.”  

You gave him a soft side-eyed glare. 

The corner of his mouth quirked up on one side in response. 

You shuffled backward, sitting yourself down again. You exhaled slowly, quietly. You hadn’t meant for everything to come pouring out like that—if at all. And if you did ever plan on mentioning how incapable you felt, you certainly would have preferred it to be in much more controlled circumstances than this. 

Regardless, you couldn’t deny how much lighter you felt. Not joy, not comfort. Not even close. But still lighter. Like you had room to breathe where immense pressure had been. It wasn’t completely gone, though. There was still a bit of water in the dam, but at least you weren’t hiding the dam. 

Echo watched you wring the corners of the towel. He knew he wasn’t as present as he wanted to be—as you needed him to be. So when he was away and suggested going to the neighbors or his brothers for help, he thought he was just trying to be a good husband to you. But here you were, in tears after months of suffering in silence, after months of tolerating it all, all because you knew everyone was only trying to help. 

Slowly, Echo stepped over to the table and knelt in front of you. He took one of your hands in his, running his thumb over your knuckles. 

He let your words hang in the air, heavy with your admission. When he finally spoke, his voice came out hushed, like he might wake someone in another room. “You’re not crazy,” he murmured. “You’re not incapable. And you’re sure as hell not a burden.”

You brought your eyes to his. They were unwavering; solid and grounding.

He continued. “You have been doing something incredible. Growing our baby changes how your body works and feels, but that doesn’t mean it’s weak. It doesn’t mean you’re weak.” Echo’s thumb stilled. His hand moved to lace his fingers with yours, his thumb now drawing circles in your palm. “The people around us get involved because they care, not because they think you’re helpless.”

Your throat tightened. You opened your mouth to argue, but he shook his head before you could utter a word. Where you might’ve been unsure whether to believe him or assume he was only being reassuring, you didn’t doubt he believed what he said. He said everything so factually, like there was no debating it.

 He shifted his weight, bringing your hand to his mouth as he pressed a tender kiss to your knuckles. “You may be limited with what you can do for now, but that won’t last forever. You don’t have to prove anything. Trust me, I know what you’re capable of,” Echo grinned, flicking his eyes up to meet yours. “Now, maybe I’ve overdone it a little–”

“A little?” You snorted. You shifted slightly in your seat.

“I wanted to make sure you had help when you needed it while I was off-world,” he defended with a bashful smirk. 

You smacked his arm lightly, resting your palm on his shoulder. The hint of a grin tugged at your lips. 

“What?” He scoffed out a laugh. “I was being resourceful, right?” 

You nodded, but then your grin faded. His words had undoubtedly done the trick and reassured you, but you still felt the sting of your pride for failing at something so easy. 

Echo saw the sudden shift. He reached his hand to yours on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Your gaze drifted to your lap as you softly admitted, “I felt like I proved myself wrong, like maybe I really couldn’t do anything without help, even something that simple.”

Echo shook his head, moving his hand to your chin and pulling your face back to meet his. “Hey, don’t belittle yourself like that. That’s one hell of a storm you went out in.”

You let out a resigned chuckle. “Yeah, and look where my courage got me.” You glanced down to your mud-soaked clothes, a faint curve rising at the edge of your mouth again. 

A short, hearty laugh bubbled up out of him. “You do look like you wrestled a Mudhorn.” 

Your smile grew slightly as he stood to his feet. “And lost.”

He laughed again and locked his fingers between yours, gently tugging you to your feet. 

Hand stretched behind him, Echo led you to the stairs, still dark due to the lack of power. He let you take the lead as you climbed to the second floor, ever watchful of your step though the mud on your feet had long crusted over. 

You headed straight for the bathroom, and instead of grappling with your self-esteem, this time you welcomed Echo’s help from the start. You raised your arms above your head and let him peel off your mud-crusted tunic, watching as he tossed it—and your used towel—to the corner. 

As you wiggled off your bottoms and kicked them to the same corner, Echo turned the shower faucet on. It sputtered to life, quickly growing to a low roar. Its sound paled in comparison to the storm still alive outside. 

While you waited for the water to warm, you tried combing your fingers through your hair. After a few too many knots yanked on the most sensitive parts of your scalp, you gave up, flopping your arms to your side with an exaggerated huff. Echo stepped away from the shower, letting out a chuckle under his breath. He bent down and opened the cupboard beneath the sink, taking out a battery-powered lantern and setting it on the counter. He clicked it on, casting the room in a soft light. 

The water soon warmed, puffs of steam rolling from its steady stream. Echo left the bathroom, leaving you to start washing off the effects of the storm. Faintly, just beneath the sound of the shower, you could hear the clatter of his armor in the bedroom.

You relished the hot water flowing over your head and down your back. It loosened the tension pent up from the storm, your muscles relaxing the longer you stood beneath it. Your toes tingled as warmth returned. Streaks of muddy water flowed past your feet to the drain.

With the storm still rumbling outside, you wanted to be in and out. You washed your hair quickly—not as thoroughly as you wanted, but enough to get the splatters of mud out. You lathered your ends with more conditioner than you’d ever used, determined to eliminate wind-whipped knots. 

While the conditioner rested, you grabbed a washcloth and lathered it well. You scrubbed everywhere you possibly could—your face, arms, belly, and sides—but with limited range of motion, you soon realized you wouldn’t be able to get it all on your own. 

Your mind jumped to Echo in the next room, but a brief flicker of frustration stopped you before you could call his name. You quickly kicked the feeling away. He’d already proved he didn’t think you were helpless. Why would that change now? You were grateful he was there for you. This is what you both signed up for, after all. He wouldn’t think less of you for needing help in the mundane. 

You called his name and heard the closet door close. Moments later Echo appeared in the doorway, armor shed in exchange for a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. A warm look settled in his eyes.

Without you asking or him speaking, he crossed the bathroom and pushed the shower curtain aside, taking the washcloth from your hand. You turned your back to him, pulled your hair out of the way, and he began gently scrubbing. When he was done he gestured for you to give him your foot. Knowing full well you couldn’t bend that far anymore, you obliged. One by one, he washed your feet and ankles. Though you couldn’t see over your belly to your toes, more muddy streaks washed down the drain. 

When he stood back up you leaned in and thanked him with a quick peck to the cheek. You expected him to leave and head back to the bedroom while you finished washing your hair, but he didn’t move. He grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and stepped over the mouth of the shower, straight into the waterflow with you.

You gasped and started laughing, shocked, as he wrapped his arms around you, his pajamas quickly soaked.

“Echo, your clothes!” You laughed as he pulled you against him.

He pressed his lips firmly into yours, smiling into your muffled giggles. “I’ll add them to the pile,” he mumbled, drawing another fit of laughter from you.

You leaned into the moment, enjoying the spontaneity and giggling when he pulled back to pepper your face with kisses. 

After a while you smacked his chest lightly, pushing him back. He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, drying himself off quickly. You turned back to the water to rinse out your hair, throwing a blushing smile at him as he threw off his pants and headed back to the bedroom to change again. 

Confident your hair was free of conditioner and as many knots as you could comb out with your fingers, you turned the faucet off and stepped out. You wrapped yourself in a towel, blissfully warm from laying on the radiator, and padded out to the bedroom.

It was dim, lit only by another lantern usually stored in the closet. Echo sat on the edge of the bed, datapad in hand. He looked up as you entered, tapped a few more times on the device, then set it aside and stood. On your side of the bed, a fresh pair of pajamas had been laid out: an oversized shirt (one of the few that would fit over your belly) and a pair of his old blacks’ bottoms. And underwear, of course.

Despite having been married for several years, Echo’s actions melted your heart. There was nothing too small for this man to show you he loved you. 

Your lips curved as you glanced at him. A sheepish smile was his only response.

As you changed, the weight of your exhaustion really began to hit. Your bones felt heavy, your blinks became slow and lazy, and the warmth of fresh clothes only slowed your movements that much more. 

Echo had climbed into bed by the time you finished putting them on. You slid under the covers, his arms immediately finding purchase around you. He pulled you close, his flesh arm nestling above your belly and below your bust. You sunk into him, his warmth and closeness softening every sharp edge of the day. 

For a while, neither of you spoke. Bone-tired yourself, you thought he’d drifted off. Then, as your eyelids began to feel puffy, words rose softly behind you.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to see it.” 

Your brow furrowed, but he continued before you could stop him. 

“I should’ve been here more often. I didn’t know I was robbing you of your independence, I thought… I thought it was right. I thought you needed rest, and that the best way I could give you that was to… you know… yeah.”  

You turned your head over your shoulder and rolled your body just enough to face him a bit more. Guilt was etched across his face. It creased between his eyebrows and hung in the bags under his eyes. You tisked, rolling over to face him directly. 

“Echo…” you said softly, “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. You had a job to do, brothers to save. I have never and will never blame you for being away for that.” 

You brought a hand to his cheek, swiping your thumb over his skin. He pressed his lips into a thin line, giving a small, barely perceptible nod.

“I should have told you how I felt,” you murmured, trailing his jawline absently. “I just– I wish I could do what I used to. At least without being a work-around for everyone else.” 

Echo turned his head, planting a kiss into your palm. “Well, you don’t feel like a burden to me, or anyone else, so please try not to think that of yourself.” You felt his hand drift across your belly, moving back and forth slowly. His hand stilled as your baby wiggled. “And it won’t be much longer now.”

You sighed, your eyes drifting shut dreamily. “Little one can’t come soon enough. I feel like a beached whale.”

A few beats of silence passed. You began to drift off, then Echo broke the silence.

“We’ve got a pretty simple job coming up… I’ll see what I can do.”

“Hmm— Really?” You perked up, a little more awake again, but didn’t stir from your comfort. “You mean it?”

“Maybe,” he rumbled, wanting to be careful not to get your hopes too high. “I’ll see. You’d probably have to stay with the ship. We’ll see what Tech says.”

“Honey, anything is better than being stuck here for any longer than a few months at a time,” you murmured, your voice becoming raspy with drowsiness. “I’d be happy to take a flight out to the closest moon, for crying out loud.”

His chest rumbled with a chuckle. “Well, I’ll ask Tech what he thinks.” He tightened his arm around you gently, tugging your back closer to his chest. “Now go to sleep. It’ll be dawn before we know it.”

What is it about my brain that refuses to write fluff by itself? Why does it always need to be paired with angst? 😭

The bunk frame above you twists in a kaleidoscope of durasteel and mattress. The disorientation takes you by surprise, compounding a slow ache in the front of your head. You squeeze your eyes shut and pinch the bridge of your nose. The Kaminoan’s vaccine is really doing a number on you. That, or you’re simply more worn out than you thought. 

You shrug your thin blanket over your shoulders, hoping it might do something for your chills. Venator barracks are always cold; usually you don’t mind. Closing your eyes, you lump chills in with exhaustion and hunker down. You’re asleep in minutes. 

- - - - -     - - - - -     - - - - -     - - - - - 

You wake on your back, drenched in sweat. Fever and shivers flood your body from head to toe. Every joint aches intensely, as though they’re trying to squeeze themselves down to a smaller size, but every heartbeat pulses them larger. Your bones weigh heavier than lead. Pain thunders behind your eyes, churning in a slow, sickening spin. You imagine your brain might explode through the front of your skull. 

You should hate how weak you feel. You should hate how you feel the uncomfortable need to ask for help—a real, vulnerable cry for help. But you don’t. You can barely form a clear thought.

With significant strain you manage to roll to your side, blinking slowly at your neighboring bunk. The movement alone makes your skin feel like a weighted blanket that’s far too heavy; like your fever is trying to pin you down. Rows upon rows of bunks stretch the span of the barracks, full of sleeping clones shrouded in darkness. You make a feeble attempt to swat at Echo’s arm on the edge of the bunk above you, but your trembling hand drops back down by your chest before it can even reach his mattress. 

Your attention hazily shifts to Fives, fast asleep below you. You try to whisper his name, but your voice catches in your throat. You try again, coarse and maybe too hushed. He doesn’t budge. Your eyes flutter shut as you try to take a breath deeper than the quick, shallow ones your body’s been shuddering through. A flicker of desperation quickens your heart. You try again.

“Fives,” you murmur, shivering despite the fire in your blood.

Silence.

You swallow, throat dry, and croak weakly, “Fives.”

He groans in response, an irritated kind of hmm.

When you don’t respond, he grunts again, lifting his head just enough to look around. Did he dream that? 

He sits up slightly, leaning his weight against one arm as he rubs his eyes with the other. Fives leans outside of the bunk, peering up towards where he assumes you sleep soundly. Then he hears it.

Short, faint hitches in your breath.

Confused and alarmed, Fives clambers out of bed and stands up. His stomach drops. Hair clings to your sweat-slicked face. Your skin is sickly pale and clammy, but your cheeks are flushed with heat. Your lips—which would normally give him butterflies—are pale and tinged faintly blue. 

Fives quickly whispers your name and puts his hand to your forehead. Fever pulses under your skin. Your eyes flutter open, but they’re glassy and unfocussed. Dread coils in his gut as he notes a tremor in your fingers. He says your name again, a little louder, and moves his hand to your cheek. He tries to hold your attention, to stir you, jostling your shoulders. Your head lolls to one side as your eyes close again. 

“Echo!” Fives whispers a shout to his brother, tugging your shoulders closer to the edge of the bed. Damp sheets cling to your blacks, your body frighteningly limp. 

When Echo doesn’t stir and you don’t either, adrenaline jumps in his veins. “Echo!” He shouts louder, unintentionally waking other clones around him. 

Echo bolts upright, his head popping over the side of his bed. 

“Go get Kix!” Fives barks, panic setting a wild look in his eyes. “Now!” 

Echo’s sights land on you and he’s on his feet in seconds. Even in the darkness he can see something is very wrong. In an instant he disappears past another set of bunks. 

Fives pulls you over the edge of the mattress, his balance faltering as your body collapses against his. He catches himself, hooking his elbow under your armpit to readjust you. 

Murmurs of his brothers rise through the room as Fives moves, heart pounding in his chest. He’s never seen you like this. 

“Kriff… what’s all the noise for?” 

“Shut up and go back to sleep–” 

“Medic! Where the hell is Kix?!” 

“Huh– what?” 

“Someone turn the damn lights on!” 

The growing buzz is lost on Fives. He crouches and shrugs your weight to the side, hooking his arm under your knees and hugging your shoulders to his chest. Your breath catches in a shallow gasp, but there’s no pushback. No objection, no sly remark. The absence of a fight sinks straight through his nerves like a stone. 

He rises to his feet quickly, pushing past several brothers that have since gathered to see what’s happening. 

“Medic!” Fives yells, taking a faster pace towards the barracks door. Your head bobs lightly against his chest as he runs, but you make not a single sound of discomfort. The silence bothers him more than any amount of complaining ever would.

He’s halfway to the medbay when Echo and Kix round the next corner ahead of him, gurney in tow. A few other medics follow behind them, ready to assess your condition and get started. They roll it to a halt beside Fives and he immediately lifts you onto it, carefully resting your head on its thin cushion. One hand lingers, cradling the curve of your head just above your ear. 

A hand pushes back against Fives’ chest, forcing him away from the gurney. The moment he clears it, you’re being whisked away, Kix barking orders to his fellow medics. 

Fives takes another step back, his eyeline following them until they—and you—round a corner out of his sight. His chest rises and falls in quick breaths, adrenaline having yet cleared his system. 

Echo’s hand moves from his brother’s chest to his shoulder. “She’ll be fine,” he assures him, still watchful of the wild, panicked look in Fives’ eyes.

A moment of silence passes between them, residual shock evident in their stillness. 

“How– how did she get so sick so fast?” Fives breathes. He looks to his brother, eyebrows in a deep furrow.

Echo shakes his head. “I don’t know. But Kix is with her, he’ll figure it out.” 

They stand in uneasy silence, each brothers’ gaze fixed on the end of the hall where they’d last seen you. Fives breaks from his trance and steps toward the medbay, Echo’s hand falling from his shoulder. 

As he follows after you, Echo notes the stiffness in his stride, though it remains ever determined. It seems unusual, compared to his normally confident, somewhat cocky gait. 

He mutters under his breath as if Fives can hear him—as if he can comfort him from where he stands. 

“She’ll be fine.”

Note: This is just a quick fic I wrote to get the idea down. It doesn't include nearly as much detail as I usually prefer to do, and my little imagination scenario ended where I ended it here. I also may come back and touch up the end. If you'd like to see a continuation of it please let me know! Otherwise I probably won't write one.

Disclaimer: I should note I’m not 100% sure of the amount of time that passed between Fives’ death (canonically) and Order 66. In writing this I took a creative liberty in saying it was several months, please forgive me if that’s wrong. But also, this is fanfiction, so *shrug*, anything goes sometimes. I think a timeline issue in this case is a minor thing, but I at least wanted to be upfront about my doubt. I also don't know if the GAR troops were paid, but in this case they were, albeit extremely minimally.

Gift Note: Happy Holidays! Lupe, I hope you like it! I went a bit crazy with the angst but I hope the fluff makes it worth it. I read your About Me and stuck a nugget or two in there for you specifically. It's not perfect by any means, I'd edit this for months if I could. Also, I'm not sure if you use Spotify, but during the writing process I made a mood playlist/soundtrack and I'd be glad to share it with you if you're interested! Anyway happy reading, let me know what you think! <3

AI Notice: My consent to any and all use of my work in training AI is expressly withdrawn. Do not use my work in training artificial intelligence.

It had taken a matter of weeks for your world to turn upside down.

You longed for those hushed whispers of comfort, his rumbled assurance that he’d be back before you knew it. You desperately craved his arms around your waist again, holding you close and hanging on like you’d never let go, both of you warm and safe. 

Part of you didn’t believe it. How could you? He called you only hours beforehand, a rushed warning of something you couldn’t quite understand. 

Be ready to leave the second I get home, all those plans we made to move? We’re doing it now—

Fives wait—

Listen to me, okay? There’s something big happening, I can’t explain it all yet, I don’t have much time—

Fives you’re scaring me, what are you talking about? What’s happening?

Don’t be afraid, sweetheart, I’ll be home soon and we’ll get far away from here, just like we said we would.

Yeah, but that was after the war— is it over? Will it be over soon? Is that what you’re saying? 

No— I— I can’t tell you or I’d be putting you in danger.

What? You better tell me what the hell is going on, right now.

I can’t—

Fives!

A beat of silence. 

Dammit… Listen, you can’t repeat this to anyone, and I mean anyone, okay? Not Rex, not Fox, not Commander Tano, no one. Not until I give you the all clear. Got it? 

Okay, I hear you… 

The Kaminoans put something in every clone. Every clone. And it can control us. It’s an implant in our brains. Tup’s malfunctioned, that’s why—

Control you? What? Fives I’m confused—

This goes deeper than I ever thought possible. I don’t know what to— Kriff. I have to go—

Fives be safe! I can’t—

I love you baby, see you soon.

You were beyond confused and scared, but Fives was one of the best troopers in the GAR and you knew better than to doubt him. You trusted him more than anyone in the galaxy. You did as he told, if not to comfort yourself then him. 

You were waiting in the living room of your tiny Coruscant apartment, bags packed by the couch, when the Guard knocked on your door.

How could you believe them? 

This wasn’t in the plan. 

His funeral wasn’t like any you’d ever attended. It was lumped in with hundreds of his brothers fallen in combat, more like a memorial than anything. You went through the motions numbly, half-heartedly acting the part of a grief-stricken loved one because you still couldn’t bring yourself to believe it. Something in the way Fives had told you about behavioral implants, the war being fabricated; you didn’t trust many people anymore, even clones. It didn’t help that no one could meet your eye; not Rex, not Kix or any of the 501st. Maybe they felt responsible somehow. Survivor’s guilt, perhaps. You simply couldn’t believe Fives was dead. 

Weeks went by. Everyone looked at you with such sympathy. Rex even called to check in or visited when he was able, however rare that turned out to be. 

When months went by and there was still no word from Fives, you started to believe them. Maybe he was truly gone. He wouldn’t leave you this long without at least a word of comfort, even an acknowledgment or letter.

You returned to work, pouring yourself into it, saving money and filling your days as best you could while you hoped and waited to be wrong. Sometimes you’d pass by clones on shore leave, laughing and making merry. You’d see glimpses of him in his brothers, hear him in their voices. Those days you couldn’t help but wonder if any of them had known him, if they’d had a chance to hear him out. You often thought about his last days, especially the few hours after he comm’d you. Was he afraid? Angry? How deep did this go? You wanted to ask Rex, General Skywalker, anyone and everyone who was near him in his final days. Before you had the chance to speak to them again, everything Fives said to you in that call coalesced. 

The fall of the Jedi Temple, eliminated by Republic clones, and the emergence of the Empire. Headlines that shook you to the core. 

You knew good and well the Jedi would never turn against the Republic, Fives had told you too much about them. You also knew just as well that the clones would never turn their backs on the Jedi without a second thought. No creature in the galaxy could meet a more loyal band of brothers. Behavioral implants suddenly made a frightening amount of sense. 

You didn’t like what this implied about the Republic, what it had been under the surface all along. When the Chancellor seemingly declared himself Emperor, you knew where the galaxy would head. You’d read too much about such governments. All too soon, free thoughts even as simple as questioning a new policy would be deemed threats to democracy, threats to the Empire. Any and all of which would be punished, if not eliminated entirely. 

You thought back to your final call with Fives, how he’d said telling you those things would put you in danger. If his last words to you ended up a warning without him ever knowing truly what would transpire, you wanted to make sure it wasn’t in vain. It had to be worth something, even if that only meant your escape from a corrupt regime. 

The night of Emperor Palpatine’s inaugural address would be your last spent on Coruscant. 

The instinct to run away was a powerful one, one you had never felt so tangibly. You spent the larger part of the night packing and repacking your bags, trying to dwindle your life down to the bare necessities for starting over. When you finally slept, you tossed and turned, waking in the morning feeling like you’d have been better off not sleeping at all. 

With one bag over your shoulders and one in hand, you turned to give that dingy, budget apartment a last once over. At first, you looked to make sure you didn’t miss anything you wanted to take. You’d never be coming back, after all. But then you were watching Fives sneak up on you while you were making dinner, food flinging to the ceiling as you shrieked. Then you were falling all over him, giggles and exclamations of surprise filling the room. You watched how his hands fit perfectly on your hips, sliding up your waist to your back to envelope you in a tight hug, your kisses peppering his face. Your lips fell on his, humming contentedly and standing there together in bliss. Then dinner started burning and you had to practically tear his arms off to get to the stove, a wide grin never leaving his face. 

A tear slid down your cheek, one you brushed away with the palm of your free hand. You couldn’t bear the thought of a whole life without him. 

You pushed that memory to the back of your mind, turning on your heel and locking the door behind you. At the front office you turned in your key, bidding farewell to the only office manager you actually didn’t mind. She asked if there was anything she could do, but you shook your head and assured her there were just too many memories in that apartment now. She gave you a knowing nod and you told her about the rest of your belongings, that she could sell or donate or throw away the rest. She asked if she should leave it as is for a while, in case you changed your mind. You shook your head again. 

You’d never be coming back, after all. 

Clouds of dust billowed as you dropped your bags in the doorway, making you cough. Carefully, you made your way through the foyer into the living room, then into the kitchen, stepping over rotted floorboards and soft spots. You assessed needed repairs as you went, cringing as the list grew. 

It was worse than when you and Fives bought it. Granted, there were already numerous issues when you put down an offer. That was the main reason you were able to get it so ridiculously cheap. It wasn’t like they paid clones well. Now you’d just spend an arm and a leg repairing everything, and hopefully get it finished before winter. 

You ran a hand across the window over the kitchen sink, barely brushing enough dirt away to see the barn clearly. You stepped back and made your way to the mudroom, walking out back to take a look at the yard. Fenced in (if you could call what remained a fence), the barn stood several hundred units behind the house. It was weathered and worn by time and lack of tending, standing nearly twice the size of the main house. Its hayloft was in desperate need of new supports and the whole thing in need of new siding. 

You sighed, turning on your heel to head back inside. Crossing through the mudroom again, you looked to the stairs leading to the second floor. Sheets of wallpaper, fallen from upstairs, laid across the steps. As you climbed the stairs, you leaned over and crumpled up what was in your way, having to tear some the rest of the way from the wall. 

The second level was not in much better shape than the first. Of the two small bedrooms and one large, only about ten units of wallspace still held wallpaper. The refresher needed serious TLC to the plumbing, the sink running brown for the first ten minutes of waterflow. When it finally ran clear, it only ran cold. 

You pinched your lips together and let out an exasperated sigh. After retrieving your bags from the front door, you marched upstairs and began getting settled as best you could. At least you brought one of Fives’ old bedrolls.

You spent your first few weeks getting the most pressing repairs in the house finished. Plumbing, replacement floorboards on the ground floor, and leaks in the roof patched up just in time for the rainy season. You got your hands on some budget furniture to fill the emptiness, met with neighbors though they were a mile away, and familiarized yourself with the village even further down the road. As much as you could, you kept your days busy. 

Nights, however, were always lonely. That’s when the longing settled back in. Missing him, his company and warmth, the life in his smile that filled your soul with purpose. Laying alone in the bed meant for you two was more draining than you expected. You thought getting away from Coruscant would be more of a fresh start than this. You’d hoped your grief wouldn’t follow you this closely. 

You often found yourself just… angry. 

Who was responsible for taking away millions of clones’ free will? Who was responsible for taking away the future you and Fives had dreamt up? What political scumbag took away your goodbye? 

You established a routine. Breakfast, wash up, chores. Stop into town if needed. Lunch. Work on the house and the land. Wash up again, start on dinner. Sit on the porch with your meal, watch the sun go down, and go to bed. 

It wasn’t elaborate or set in stone. You’d alter any of it when needed, but you knew you needed consistency. You wanted it, even. Anything to take your mind off Fives and the Empire. 

Month by month, your old house tucked in the woods became more of a home. It wasn’t so empty, dusty, or broken anymore. No more leaks, peeling walls, or rough spots in the floors. Good, kind neighbors pitched in to help where they could, mainly with the heaviest lifting. The Apande’s down the road helped put in—forget just supports—an entire new hayloft. With things shaping up, you were able to find peace in many things you hadn’t been able to living on Coruscant. 

Each morning you could listen to the world around you waking up. Birds would start singing just as sunlight struck the treetops. Light filtered in through thin, floating curtains, shadows of branches and leaves dancing across your wall. In the summer you’d sit on the porch steps, counting fireflies and listening to crickets. When autumn came you reaped your first harvest in the garden, albeit small, and felt immense pride in what your hard work produced. When the first snow of the season fell you couldn’t help but stare at it in awe. You must have sat on the porch for an hour, watching flakes twirl around each other, hot mug in hand. 

Each of those peaceful moments were supposed to be spent with Fives. You often imagined him sitting next to you, wondering what he’d say or do, if he’d try to catch fireflies and how many he’d beat you by. You wondered if he’d experienced snow before, if he’d have the same light in his eyes that you did when he first saw it fall. Over time it became less of a bitter ache for what could have been, and more of a sweet gratitude for his memory, for having the ability to imagine him there at all. In turning that broken down house into a home, you could grieve and start to come to terms with the future you’d never have. But as time approached your first Life Day without Fives, it was like the whole grieving process restarted. 

You never had the chance to celebrate together. He was always deployed. You never complained, he was where he was needed, but you were always a little downcast. You’d rather him be home with you than at risk of being shot by some Separatist droid.

You delayed decorating longer than you ever had. By the time you went to town to get a tree, nearly the entire lot had been sold. You thought about trekking into the woods surrounding your home to find one, but they were almost guaranteed to be too tall or wide to fit through either door. So, you brought home the best one you were able to scrounge up out of the last pickings. It was a bit scrawny, with thin spots here and there, but it was soft and sturdy and could—without a doubt—fit through your door. 

You cried when you finally got it settled in the living room. He would’ve loved the smell. He would’ve gotten sap all over himself, cursing how it stuck to everything and was so hard to wash off, but loved it all the same. He would’ve loved the crackling of wood in the fireplace, how different it was from the hustle and bustle of traffic on Coruscant or blaster-fire in the field. You could see him thundering into the mudroom, arms full of logs for the fire, stomping as much snow off his boots as he could. He’d look up at you, nose red from the cold, and smile that smile that made your face flush, heart flutter, and stomach do backflips. 

You’d gotten good at building fires. The house didn’t have an electric heating system. Pipes of water ran through the floors, warmed by the furnace in the kitchen. You’d often come back from trips to the village and find it completely cold. You considered yourself lucky; one of your neighbors taught you to split wood. Most of the time he provided it himself, on account of his darling wife (who swore up and down she’d teach you to bake the spiced apple pie her grandchildren loved). All you had to do was carry it to the house from the barn. Granted, it was a trek through almost knee-high snow to get it, but you’d rather that than freezing. 

You still hadn’t decorated your tree by Life Day’s Eve. You didn’t have the heart to, so the boxes sat in a corner. You avoided walking through the living room altogether. The very thought of the tree got shoved to the back of your mind, having almost intentionally forgotten the whole reason you bought it in the first place. You could heal your Life Day heart another year. 

Instead, you filled your time helping your sweetheart neighbors in preparing for their guests. She asked for your help the week before, assuring you it’d be then that she’d teach you to make that blessed pie. You stood in the kitchen with her from dawn to dusk, measuring and mixing and getting covered in flour. By sunset, a full day’s meals and feast awaited the next morning’s oven. 

She thanked you profusely for your time and help, insisting you join them for Life Day festivities. You assured her that you were grateful for the invitation, but didn’t want to intrude on her family gathering. She persisted again, citing her fear that you two made too much food, and you relented to join them for dinner. She smiled gleefully, ushering you out the door. 

The walk home wasn’t quite as lonely as you expected. Sure, your shoulders were weighed down a good bit that Fives wouldn’t be there, but you felt a little lighter. 

Snow crunched beneath your feet. You shivered in a particularly cold gust of wind, hugging your coat tighter on yourself to shield against it. The house is going to be freezing. 

As you made the turn onto your drive, you immediately headed for the barn to get more wood for the furnace. Approaching the pile, you huffed a few breaths on your hands to warm them and heaved several logs into your arms. You followed the path back to the house and into the mudroom, dropping your haul to the floor before shaking snow from your coat and boots. 

You leaned over to untie your boot laces when it struck you.

The house was warm. 

You wrinkled your brow in confusion. Had you put that much wood in the furnace before you left? Surely not, you were gone all day, it’d still be burnt out. It should’ve been cold. 

Footsteps sounded from the living room, shooting a cold lightning bolt of fear down your spine. You fought the urge to freeze, flattening yourself against the wall adjacent to the living room door. Heart pounding, you peeked around the frame. The light was on. When you saw no one, you darted into the kitchen, careful to keep your footfall light. 

You went straight for the furnace, grabbing the firewood poker from its rack. Your knuckles whitened, poker gripped tightly against you. 

You rounded the corner of the dining room, holding your makeshift weapon in front of you. Still you saw no one. You frowned, wondering if you’d been mistaken. 

You stepped through the foyer, hands shaking with adrenaline. No footsteps and no shadows. 

Cautiously, you peeked around the corner to the living room. Still you saw no source of the footsteps you could’ve sworn you heard. 

A floorboard creaked behind you, sending your heart into your throat as you gasped and whipped around. 

Fives, wrapped in grungy blacks and holey socks, raised his hands in defense. 

The room spun and you faltered backward, your grip on the fire poker loosening as it clattered to the floor. You raised both hands to your head, gripping your own hair and trying to make sense of what you were seeing. 

He took a step toward you. “Hey,” he rasped. 

You held a hand out in a gesture to stop, falling to your knees. 

He stopped and stood his ground, fighting an overwhelming instinct to run to you and swaddle you in his arms. 

Countless tears slid down your cheeks, hands shaking for an entirely different reason this time. You pressed your palms into your eyes and rubbed them. Blinking hard, you looked back to him. “How? How are you here? Alive?” 

Fives took a tentative half-step toward you, kneeling down closer to your level. “It’s a long story,” he said softly. “I had to protect you from—” 

You launched yourself at him, knocking him to the floor as your arms swung around his middle. His arms were quick to wrap around you, hugging you close like he would soon wake up and you’d be long gone. 

Your body shook with sobs, forehead pressed into his chest and fists balling up in the back of his shirt. He held you, rubbing your back and planting gentle kisses atop your head, until your shaking stilled and breathing grew more even. 

Even after you calmed down, you stayed where you were, both of you relishing the familiarity of each other after so long. You tilted your head to look at him, still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that he was even alive. 

“I’m so sorry I’ve been gone so long. There’s so much to tell you,” Fives broke the silence quietly, meeting your gaze. 

You sighed, reaching up to hold his cheek in the palm of your hand. He leaned into your touch, cupping your hand in his. “You can start with how you’re alive,” you spoke, voice trembling. “I mourned you, Fives. I– I really thought I’d never see you again.” 

Fives brought his hand to your face, wiping away a fresh tear with his thumb. “I know, Rex kept me updated as best he could.” He averted his gaze, shifting into a thousand yard stare. 

A thousand more questions ran through your mind, but you said nothing, letting him find the words. 

After several beats passed, he inhaled and exhaled deeply. “I was trying to find anyone who would listen and believe me, but… well, that’s an even longer story. I was sure the Chancellor would listen, but I was wrong. He was part of it.” Fives paused again, a pained look passing across his face. “I got shot. And I was dead, for a bit, but Kix got me back. Rex thought it was best to keep it quiet, after everything.” 

Your breath hitched, fresh tears welling up. “Even from me?” 

Fives turned his head back to you, hand returning to your cheek. “I hated to, but it was the best option to protect you from the same people who wanted me dead. Anyone who knew what I knew was in danger.” He pressed his lips to your forehead. “Once I healed, I spent every waking moment making sure they wouldn’t come after you.”

Your lips trembled and you pressed your face back into his chest, another embrace swallowing you both. You flattened both hands to his back, breathing in his memory-laden smell. 

“After the Empire took over and things started settling down, I went back to the apartment,” Fives mumbled. “Shira never rented it back out, everything was how you left it.” 

You pulled away and sniffled. “Really?”

He nodded. “I guess she hoped you’d come back.” He shifted and reached behind him, fishing a folded slip of paper from his back pocket. “I wish I could thank her, I was able to grab this.” 

Fives held the paper out to you. You took it between two fingers and unfolded it, revealing a real, printed photo of you and the entire Domino squad, back when you and Fives had first gotten together. You had the holo-copy, but left the printed one behind for the sake of space and anonymity in your travels. 

You were rendered speechless, absently thumbing the edge of the photo. “I can’t… I can’t believe it.” 

Fives grinned. “Of all the things that happened today, the picture is what you can’t believe?” 

You chuckled and smacked his arm, a smile breaking across your face. 

Fives’ grin broadened.  

“Why come here now?” You asked, looking back up at him from the photo. “You said you went back when things started settling down. It’s been over 6 months, has it really been that chaotic?” 

Fives shook his head. “Things settled in pretty quickly, at least on Coruscant. Rex survived. I was able to meet with him, and we started helping our brothers that didn’t want to serve the Empire.” 

You hummed in response, turning back to the photo in your hands. He watched your eyes go from each member of the squad to the next, remembering them solemnly.

He whispered your name, drawing your attention back to him. Tears shone in his eyes. “I thought you left, really left.” His voice cracked, a drop sliding down his cheek. “I thought maybe you’d gone off to start a new life.” 

Your jaw fell slightly agape as you sat rooted to the spot, a bit astonished. You set the photo to the side and sat up, shuffling yourself to look him in the eyes.  “Fives, you are my life. If I had to spend the rest of my days alone, hoping and waiting for you to come back to me, I would.” It was your turn to wipe the tears from his cheeks. Your heart ached at the longsuffering now evident in his eyes. “It was always in the plan to live in this house together. I came here to escape the Empire and to try to heal, not move on from you altogether. I don’t think I could ever manage that.” 

Fives’ breath quivered. He cupped the nape of your neck in both hands, pulling you closer to rest his forehead against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut as you rested a palm on one of his hands. He tilted his head almost imperceptibly, breath mingling with yours. Your noses brushed against each other, lips tingling at the closeness. Slowly, tenderly, as if he was afraid of hurting you, he inched his lips closer until they met with yours. 

You had kissed him hundreds of times, but none of them came close to the warmth and relief and comfort that settled in your bones with that kiss. You were quick to lose your breath, pulling away gasping for air yet longing for another. 

Fives hovered inches away, catching his breath as you did. His eyes drifted open, gaze soft and dazed. 

You brought a hand to his chin, running a finger over his lower lip. “I’ve missed kissing you,” you sighed. 

He chuckled and grasped your hand, massaging your palm with his thumb. “You have no idea.” 

You both froze as an unmistakable rumble erupted from Fives. You burst into a fit of laughter, a sheepish grin tugging at Fives’ mouth. 

“Hungry?” You laughed, standing to your feet and offering out your hands for him. 

“As a rancor,” He confirmed, taking your hands and standing without tugging them. 

You spent the following couple hours cooking a quick meal together, including the pie your neighbor taught you, which filled the house with the warm scent of cinnamon. You paused occasionally for a kiss or a brief cry. The amount of joy and relief surging through your mind, body, and soul sometimes became overwhelming. Fives was dead, yet, there he stood. In your house that could now truly become a home. Your bed would no longer be half empty. Your table would be one plate fuller. All this, and you could hardly believe it was true. 

“Why is it naked?” 

Fives’ question jarred you from your thoughts. You looked to him, standing in the living room staring at the Life Day Tree. 

“Oh.” You stood from the table and moved to stand next to him. “Well, it didn’t feel right decorating it without you here.” You answered plainly. 

He turned his gaze to meet yours. “But we’d never decorated one together before, why not this one?”

You looked at your feet, slightly embarrassed at the scrawny condition of the tree, though Fives didn't question that. “Because we were supposed to do everything here together. I fought through everything else, but this… I don’t know— it just didn’t feel right.”

Fives grabbed ahold of your hand, giving it a squeeze. “Well I’m here now.” 

You smiled softly, giving his hand a return squeeze. “Yeah, you’re here now.” 

Fives turned in place, looking around the room. “I like what you’ve done with the place.” He released your hand and took a few paces. “Did you do all of it by yourself?”

You shook your head. “No, some neighbors helped, and a couple things were too far out of my scope so I hired help from in town.” You shuffled to the door frame, leaning against it. “It was a lot, but it was all I could do to keep from losing my mind.” 

Fives stopped and stood in place, looking at you with eyes so full of regret you wondered if he held an entire galaxy’s worth of guilt. 

You pushed yourself off the frame and crossed the room in large strides, wrapping your arms around him. “Don’t think like that,” you whispered, “You’re here now.” 

He sighed and draped his arms around you, accepting your reassurance. “How do you always know,” he relented. 

Fives jolted suddenly, interrupting the embrace to point at a box in the corner, something shiny glimmering between the edges of cardboard. “What’s that?”

You turned to look at what he was referring to and opened your mouth to answer, but Fives beat you to it, crossing the room and opening the lid. He looked back to you, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Can we?” 

You sighed and tried to bite back a smile, ultimately failing. “Fives, it’s late, can we do it in the morning?” 

“Come on,” he droned playfully, “What’s the use of having it dressed up for one day?” 

Crossing your arms in mock indecision, you brought a hand to tap a finger on your chin. “But if we leave it up for a month, it’s the same, isn’t it?” 

Fives picked up a bundle of lights, unspooling it. “No,” he deadpanned. 

You scoffed out a laugh, marching over to join him. 

The remainder of the evening was spent dolling up your dinky little Life Day tree. You taught Fives how to put lights on without leaving dark spots, how to attach hooks to ornaments and space them out, and how to top it. By the time it was finished, you were so exhausted from the day you were starting to see double. 

You and Fives plopped yourselves down on the sofa, cheap as it was, and leaned back to admire your handiwork. 

“Not bad, for a Life Day Tree shiny,” you smirked lazily. 

Fives gasped, looking at you as if offended. “You take that back!” 

You raised your hands weakly in defense. “I said not bad!” 

He grinned and threw an arm around the back of the sofa. You scooted over to lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder. 

You both sat in silence for a while, a delicate kind of reverence settling over you. You both knew the magnitude of this Life Day in particular. You had each given each other a new meaning for the day. You, giving him a reason to fight on and live. And him, giving you a reason to celebrate life; the fact that he was still alive and with you, namely. 

Eventually, Fives opened his mouth to break the silence with a question, but froze when he glanced at you. You were passed clean out, mouth slightly ajar. Fives chuckled softly, enamored by the way the light of the tree danced across your skin. 

Carefully, he slid his arm behind your shoulders and the other below your knees. As he stood and scooped you in his arms, you stirred, mumbling that you could walk before promptly falling back asleep. 

Fives carried you through the living room, the mudroom, and upstairs to the bedroom, leaning to gently settle you on the bed. One by one, he unlaced and tugged your boots off, followed by your socks, then tucked you under the blankets. After placing a featherlight kiss to your head, he turned and headed back downstairs. 

Fives made sure the doors and windows were closed and locked, refilled the furnace, and made his way back to the foyer. He reached into his coat pocket, retrieved what he needed, and stepped back into the living room. 

He approached the Life Day Tree, pausing to absorb the beauty you added to his life, the joy you brought him in a single evening. After every separation you both endured during the war, then the worst separation of all, and you still loved him more than he felt worthy of. You were steadfast, funny, generous and kind, the most enchanting and incredible woman he’d ever met. And you chose him to love. Of all people in the galaxy, a soldier back from the dead.

More confident in his decision than ever, he crouched down and placed a small, square box under the tree. He leaned over to unplug the lights for the night and stepped back. 

Once back upstairs, he removed his hole-infested socks and climbed in bed next to you. He turned on his side, a quiet yet overwhelming contentment filling him as he refreshed his memory of every detail in your face. He itched to kiss you, to hold you close every hour of the night, but he dared not disturb your peace. 

Minutes ticked by and his eyes grew increasingly heavy. Fives fought sleep, afraid he might wake up and find the whole evening with you was a dream. Eventually he could fight it no longer, his eyes fluttering shut, falling into a more restful sleep than he’d had all year.

End Notes: Phew! That was a bit longer than I meant it to be! To be completely honest there was still a bit more I wanted to add, namely a few tidbits of Life Day itself, but I kinda love this ending and don't want to push it. I also ran out of steam lol. Not too shabby for my first Star Wars fic, I think. First fic since I was in high school, actually.

I hope you enjoyed, and Happy Life Day!