TheJediFairy

Inspired by this:

This year was different. Oh, the event itself was still the same. Same lights, same music, same ambiance. But you were different. Your heart simply wasn't in it. In fact, if you had to venture a guess as to where your heart was instead, it was likely still on the doorstep of your ex's home from when they'd dumped you. Ripped out, torn to shreds, and left abandoned. 

There was no salvaging such a thing. But you were also stubborn and had insisted on maintaining the tradition of attending the Christmas Ball anyway.

I can do it with a broken heart, you'd told yourself that morning with a determined furrow in your brow.

I can do it with a broken heart, you'd insisted to your friends in a holo call, who'd all acted skeptical over your wellbeing, for some annoying reason.

I can do it with a broken heart, you'd repeated in your head as you tugged on each item of your outfit, your movements and determination weakening with each one.

"I can do it with a broken heart," you now whispered to yourself, unable to spark any emotion with the words. You stood in the foyer, looking through the grand arches into the ballroom with a numbness you would've never guessed to be possible. It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year played in the background. Oh, the irony.

"Excuse me, ma'am," a strange voice sounded by your shoulder. When you didn't respond, it gave a cough and repeated.

"Ma'am?"

You turned, confused. You were no ma'am.

The stranger appeared to be a clone, which made sense. You hadn't interacted with many, but they did always seem so formal, even since the war had ended. This one was blonde, not so common, and wore a few medals along the lapel of his jacket to show he'd once held some status. He gave you a sympathetic smile and held out a gloved hand to show an earring resting on it.

"I found this just behind you. Is it yours?"

"Oh my goodness, yes. Thank you." You took it with a frown. You hadn't felt it fall off. Too caught up in your own feelings. Or lack thereof.

The clone nodded his head as if in a bow and then moved past you into the ballroom. You watched him get swallowed up by the crowd and sighed. You might as well make your way in now, too. The only other option was to wait outside for the carriage to return in five hours. So really, you had no other option.

The hours crawled by at an agonizing pace, made worse by the unfortunate mishaps you kept finding along the way. You located the first of your friends and begrudgingly returned a hug, only to get your bracelet caught in her hair. Your other friends came and went, swept up in their cheer, which left you defenseless against countless requests to dance from seemingly every man in the room. Each offer hit you just a little harder than the last, painful reminders of your newfound singleness. You numbly fumbled through each apology and tried to pretend you didn't notice the disappointed looks in return.

You knocked your champagne glass, still full, against a velvet-clad shoulder. You smudged your mascara trying to wipe away sudden tears as Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas played. On your sixth trip to hide in the bathroom, you accidentally walked into an occupied stall. Eventually you lost track of your friends altogether and found yourself standing alone in a group of strangers.

"Ma'am," one of the strangers stepped around the group to address you directly. It took you a few dazed blinks to recognize him as the clone from earlier, the one who'd found your earring.

"Sir," was your awkward reply.

"Please. Rex." He reached out to take your hand and place a gentlemanly kiss along your knuckles. "I worked hard to put an end to the war so I wouldn't have to hear that title again."

You gave a half-hearted chuckle. Your mind conjured a few comments you could've made in response, including the most obvious one of introducing yourself in return, but you didn't seem to be able to voice any of them.

The music changed to play a jazzy rendition of I'll Be Home for Christmas. Rex used it to help move past the awkward silence you'd created. He extended his hand once more.

"Would you care to dance?"

If you were being honest, all you really cared to do was crawl into bed and cry yourself to sleep, but a part of you felt like you owed him for your earring. So you obliged.

This Rex was one hell of a dancer, you had to give him that. You'd prepared yourself for a few minutes of stiff swaying but instead found yourself swept up into actual choreography. Lithe footwork, a steady hold of your frame, and exactly on beat. He smiled at you sweetly as he helped you twirl. His eyes twinkled with Christmas lights as he met your gaze. You felt so graceful. So... seen.

Wait, were you actually... maybe... having... a good time? For a moment, one blissful, magical moment, you relished that feeling. This man, this stranger, was dreamy. And he was looking at you the way you were likely looking at him. A blush creeped over your cheeks as he gave you another one of those gentle smiles.

And then the dance came to an end. Rex slowed down your rhythm before coming to a stop. His hand slid from your back and somehow that shattered the illusion. The illusion that you could be happy again. Those warm fuzzy feelings were replaced with panic and despair. How could you have been so foolish as to think you deserved something so lovely and, dare you say, romantic? No. This was wrong. You had to get out of here. 

Rex gave you another nod-bow and you returned the gesture with a hasty curtsey.

"Thank you," you breathed and then immediately turned tail, missing how he made to stop you with a concerned frown. You pushed through the crowd, through the double arches, through the front doors.

The cold immediately nipped at your bare shoulders. You gathered up your skirts and started descending down the cobbled staircase toward the carriage road. Your plan was to fake an emergency and take one of the parked carriages instead of waiting for your own to return. The sooner you could get yourself into bed with a box of tissues, the better.

Unfortunately, your bad luck this evening wasn't quite through. Mid-way down the stairs, your heel caught in a groove.

Snap.

You sucked in a gasp as you caught yourself from tumbling the rest of the way. Perfect, just perfect. You let yourself slowly sink, tears gathering along the way. By the time you sat down and fished out the broken shoe from beneath your skirts, the tears were in a steady stream across your frozen cheeks.

You imagined yourself staying like this until your whole body froze over. Guests would leave and admire the strange but intriguing statue of the lonely girl on the steps. You'd thaw out in the spring and maybe by then all your problems would be forgotten.

Of course, no such thing happened. You were painfully aware of how cold and alone you were, and how those feelings weren't going away. What you were not aware of, at least not at first, was the stranger that had been looking for you. He finally checked outside and found you hunched and shivering on the staircase. His approach was slow, with deliberately audible steps so as not to startle you. And well before he reached you, he was already shrugging off his coat.

You did hear the scuffing of shoes and prayed that whoever it was would take the opposite stairs. When the sounds got closer, you tried to tilt your head away and hoped they wouldn't pay much attention to the weird, sniffling girl hanging outside.

But then a warmth surrounded you from behind. Your head spun in surprise to find Rex carefully placing his coat around your shoulders.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" he asked softly, his breath visible in the cold. He sat next to you but kept a respectful distance.

"I, um," you stared at him, unsure of what to say. Had he really followed you out here?

You felt your lip wobble as you took in the concerned way he was observing you. You couldn't hold such a gaze and turned away to let out a sob.

You felt his hand run along the top of your back, wiping from one side to the next in a gentle rhythm. He didn't say anything; he didn't have to. You felt the care, the promise that whatever was troubling you was nothing to be judged or dismissed. You could feel what you needed to feel and he would simply be there.

"I'm sorry," you whispered through your tears, embarrassed to be acting this way in front of a stranger.

"You don't have to apologize," he quickly reassured. "Is there anything I can do?"

A man of action. You briefly thought of how your ex had been the opposite. How you'd become the nagging girlfriend. How it was probably a good thing you weren't together anymore.

"No," you responded to Rex, wiping your glove across your nose. "Everything about me is broken. A broken heart. A broken shoe. It's all too hopeless for you to concern yourself with."

Rex titled his head in thought. "I confess I don't know anything about fixing broken hearts. But a broken shoe..."

He reached out and motioned for the shoe in your lap. You handed it over and watched with curiosity as he inspected the damage.

"Hmm. Nothing to be done about the heel, I'm afraid," he said with mock regret.

"Is that your official report?"

He gave you a playful smirk. "Oh yes. I'm a cobbler now that I'm out of the GAR."

You couldn't help but laugh. "Wait, are you serious?"

Rex handed the shoe back to you and stood up. He held a hand down to you.

"No. But I do know how to fix your problem of not being able to walk barefoot in this weather. I'm guessing you were headed for your carriage?"

You took his hand, standing up but keeping your bare foot off the cold stone.

"Yes... I mean, I don't have my own carriage. My rental will be back soon, though."

"Ah. Well, you are welcome to use mine. And if you don't mind me being forward, I can carry you to it now if you still wish to leave."

You were still holding onto his hand from when he'd helped you stand. For some reason, you didn't want to let go. Even though you could still feel the frozen trail of tears on your cheeks and had a dozen voices in your head trying to convince you this was wrong. You couldn't accept his kindness. You couldn't be over your breakup this quickly. No man was worth your time ever again.

But somehow, you were back in that moment on the dance floor again. Feeling light and carefree and joyous... Feeling like a princess in the eyes of this kind man. Maybe those voices were wrong. And maybe your heart wasn't as broken as you'd thought.

"Okay," you agreed with a shy smile. You pulled his coat closer so it wouldn't fall as he repositioned himself to pick you up. He looked at you with wide eyes, asking once more if this was okay. You nodded.

In one smooth, confident motion, he gathered you up in his arms, bridal style. You continued to blush as he carried you to the carriages. His cheeks were pink as well, though likely due to the cold and the physical exertion of holding a woman in a large ball gown. But if he was struggling with the task, he certainly didn't show it. It was like you were floating down the steps, across the gravel roadway, between the row of sweater-clad horses. You pretended to be interested in the dark scenery, but secretly stole some glances toward him whenever you thought you could get away with it. Only a few times did you catch his gaze and were treated with one of those sweet little smiles of his.

His driver, a protocol droid, opened the carriage door and Rex set you down gently inside. You were surprised to see the door close behind you and Rex standing on the other side.

"Oh. You're giving me your carriage?"

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

You were about to protest - he was really doing the opposite, truthfully - but he motioned toward his coat that you were still wearing.

"There's a handkerchief in the left breast pocket. You know, for the broken heart. My driver won't bother you, and he can fetch you better shoes when you get home."

Gods, he was so sincere, you almost started crying just from that. You held the lump in your throat and nodded.

"How will I get your coat back to you?"

"You can leave it on the seat."

Duh. You wanted to kick yourself. But then Rex cleared his throat, seeming a lot more nervous than he'd acted all night.

"And um... if you wanted to leave... um, you know... your comm number or, or, some other way I could, you know... reach you. I mean, I know you said your heart was broken, and I really don't mean to ask for anything, I promise. I'd just... What I mean to say is... I'd like to see you again. As a new friend. If that's alright."

Your face was probably a rightful mess at this point, from all the tear stains and frostbite and blushing you couldn't control. And yet, he'd asked to see you again, anyway. As a friend. Of course. There was no harm in having one of those.

"I'd like that," you smiled back.

The carriage pulled forward, though only making it a few feet before it was stopped. Rex came up to the window again with a chuckle.

"Don't forget your earring." He held out the same one that'd fallen before.

You gave an incredulous laugh of your own. Leaning back into your seat as the carriage took off once more, you held both the stubborn earring and the broken shoe in your lap.

Odd, wasn't it? That such unlucky things could happen during a night you hadn't been thrilled about... and yet, because of them, that hole in your chest didn't feel so big anymore. In fact, if you were being totally honest about it, you'd say it was starting to fill up with a little bit of hope.

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It’s just– you had no idea how much work went into a wedding. You even asked Bill for a smaller ceremony, not wanting the hubbub of putting on a large affair to get in the way of your collective happiness, yet you still find yourself getting pulled under by a tidal wave of prep work.

To his credit, Bill has been wonderful. He was the one who had the idea to get married at the Burrow, to rent a large tent and dance under the stars for your reception. Every time you so much as furrow a brow, he’s by your side, talking you through the latest wrinkle in the plans. He never seems to get tired of it, of making sure you’re doing okay. Maybe it’s because he never gets tired of loving you.

After all, that’s why you’re doing this. The setup nightmares, the difficulties with the cake, the food, the guest list– none of that matters, not really. The most important part is that Bill asked you to marry him, and you said yes, and now you get to spend the rest of your lives together. 

You’ve been dreaming of this since the day you met him. You’d been visiting your friend Fleur at Gringotts when she insisted you meet one of her good friends, Bill. You’re not sure what you’d been expecting– some dry banker, maybe, but tolerable, Fleur always befriended the nice ones– but you certainly weren’t prepared when a Curse-Breaker walked in with long, coppery hair tied back from his face to reveal a fanglike earring in one ear. He wore leather. He was cool.

How you managed to keep your head in order during that first meeting, you have no idea. Maybe you didn’t, Fleur certainly teased you to no end about how dazzled you’d been for weeks afterwards. As it turned out, it wasn’t just you who’d been swept away, and the next time you picked up Fleur from work, Bill just so happened to be hanging around, and the two of you struck up a conversation that ended in him asking you out.

It had been perfect from that point forward. There was something about Bill that made you let down your guard. It felt like you had known him for a lifetime by the second date, and before long you knew everything about his family, including his litany of brothers, as well as Bill’s adventures as a Curse-Breaker. In turn, he listened to you, really listened to you, and whatever he heard, he loved. It was inevitable that you would fall in love. It was inevitable that it would lead to this.

Now you’re eight months engaged. In a few days, you’re going to be married, and no matter what happens after that, you’ll have Bill by your side. That means more than you could describe. The only problem is that making this wedding happen has become so difficult that you can’t help but drown in all this work.

You’ve got your friends here to help, Bill’s too, and his family, who you love like your own, but if you were being honest with yourself, you would admit that there’s one catalyst to your stress explosion, and that would be Bill’s mother, Molly Weasley. You’ve met Molly on numerous occasions, and she’s always been kind to you, if a bit overly attached to her son, but you can hardly blame her for that. Bill is her eldest, what mother wouldn’t want to know that he was doing alright?

What was once a protective spirit, however, seems to have strengthened considerably the closer you are to the date of the wedding. Molly has thrust herself into every conversation, every task, and now everyone seems to be asking Molly where she wants flowers or how to decorate the tent instead of you. You know, the one actually getting married.

It should be nice to have someone taking the burden of wedding prep off of your shoulders, but instead, you just feel silenced and inconsequential. Your own voice was drowned out a long time ago by the force of Molly’s storm of affection, and now you’re no better than a bystander. You can’t help but wonder if this is what it’s going to be like after you’re married, too, if you’ll always have Molly jumping in, visiting randomly, offering her advice on your career or Bill’s or anything else that crosses her mind.

Bill can tell that you’re stressed, but you can’t exactly tell him that his mother is the one causing most of your grief. Family is vital to Bill, and you won’t use your wedding as an excuse to get in the way of that. Only, as time wears on, and you find Molly more and more entrenched in what was supposed to be your special day with your husband, it’s harder and harder to turn the other cheek.

It all comes to a head one afternoon in the Burrow kitchen. More and more guests have been arriving, so now it’s not just a few assorted Weasley brothers tucked into various chairs around the small room but Hermione Granger and Harry Potter as well, earnestly telling Molly they love her cake recipe or dinner plans whenever she turns the force of her attention upon them.

You had snuck into the kitchen for a moment of peace, hoping that the guise of cleaning up the whirlwind of clutter would get everyone off of your back for a few moments, but Bill had gone to see where you’d disappeared, and then Molly, naturally, had followed, and now this small kitchen feels packed to the gills with people.

You’re standing by the kitchen, one hand gripping the counter like a lifeline while the other holds your wand, trying to put all of your focus on a cleaning spell for a few dirty dishes so you won’t have to listen to Molly’s latest monologue behind you. You’re trying to remind yourself that she means well, but as the minutes wear on and she seems no closer to wrapping up her critique of your idea for the order of bridesmaids and groomsmen down the aisle, it’s getting harder to remember just why you put up with all of this.

Eventually, you break, interrupting her mid stream of consciousness. “Actually, Molly, I’ve talked it over with Bill and we think we’re fine with the current arrangement. You know I’m always glad to hear your point of view, but I really think we’ve got everything settled there.”

Molly blinks at you, surprised. “But, dear, Ginny isn’t tall enough to be with her current pairing. It’ll look askew.”

You force a smile. It’s hard. “I think we’ll manage.”

Molly frowns, her eye catching on the cleaning spell behind you, which is picking up intensity the more you try to keep your calm. “I still think you should re-consider. And, Y/N, I don’t know what you’re doing with that Scourgify charm, but I’ve really found that clockwise scrubbing is better than anticlockwise. You should give the other direction a go–”

“They’re plates, Molly,” you interrupt. “I’m sure we’ll all be alright.”

Molly makes a face. “Well, no need to get snappy, dear. I’m just trying to help. Your way just isn’t as efficient, that’s all.”

See, it’s things like this that makes it so impossible. Molly is a master of the biting comment, the casual put-down. You’re not even sure if she does it intentionally, she’s just so good at making you feel like you’ll never be enough. Even when it comes to washing dishes, apparently, you’ll never meet her standards.

You turn back to the sink just in time to watch your control over the spell slip. The plate skids a little to the left under the force of your magical scrubbing, and breaks in half, the pieces dropping into the mess of bubbles.

Behind you, Molly clicks her tongue impatiently. “See, that’s just what I was talking about. No use.”

And just like that, you’ve had it. “Enough. Enough. I cannot take your comments any longer. Merlin, I’m not trying to be crazy about this, but I can’t help it! I feel like a– oh, what’s the word the Muggles use? A bride vampire?”

“Bridezilla?” Harry pipes in helpfully, before Hermione pinches in the side and he contorts in pain and a forced apology.

You point at him. “That. I don’t want to be that, but apparently that’s all I can do, right? I can only mess things up. That’s a wonderful omen for our marriage, right? Isn’t that why you were checking my birth star signs against Bill’s last night, Molly?”

Bill stares incredulously at his mother. “Mum,” he says, scandalized. “Tell me that isn’t true.”

Molly has the grace to look a little apologetic. “I just wanted to make sure it would all work out. There’s certainly been enough butting heads around here that it seemed a fair thing to make certain.”

You throw up your hands, anger replaced by a singular, burning need to be alone. “Forget it. It’s your show, isn’t it? I just happen to be in the wedding too, but it’s not like that matters. I can’t do anything well enough for you.”

Unable to resist the alluring call of the door anymore, you cross the room in a few strides, practically running out. You can hear Bill pleading with you, but it’s all too much– the stares from Harry and Hermione, the mess of decorations heaped on every surface, and Molly’s undeniable look of satisfaction as you leave, as if she’d called this from the very start. Like she’d always known better than you, and this was just one more proof of it.

The clean air of spring is a welcome balm against your skin after the bubbling heat of the kitchen. Your steps are brisk, carrying you far away from the mess in there. You head past the gardens, past the few irritable gnomes Arthur hadn’t yet managed to hide, aiming for the protective shade of the trees on the outskirts of the yard. 

Once you’re out of sight, you can finally let your shoulders drop. A few bitter tears creep down your cheeks before you can stop them. You’ll have to go back in there sometime, force out an apology and pretend as if no one knows just how useless you are, but maybe you can steal an hour or so before that awful moment comes.

All you want is to be alone, so the sound of footsteps hurrying towards you is just about the last thing you can stand. You start to conjure up an excuse, but the sight of Bill’s devastated face breaks you again.

“Y/N,” he says, and then you’re in his arms. “I didn’t know it was this bad, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have let her talk to you like that. I just about let her have it now, and I promise, she’ll never make you feel like that again.”

You cling to him. “I’m sorry, Bill. I was trying to be good, I just couldn’t–”

“No,” he interrupts, “you’re not the one who needs to be apologizing. It’s our wedding day, and I’ve let my mum come in between us. I can’t believe I didn’t catch it sooner, I knew you were upset, I just didn’t know why. I don’t want you to be stressed, sweetheart, I just want you to be my wife. If you want, we can elope right now and run away, never be seen again. I don’t need a big ceremony, I just want you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek and you melt. “I just want you too, Bill. That’s why I’m here.”

Bill pulls away slightly so he can see your face, and his heart seems to break in two when he spots the tear tracks on your face. Carefully, he wipes them away with his thumb. “No one in the world gets to make you feel poorly about yourself, Y/N. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. My own mum. I mean, she’s always been a bit overbearing, but the last few weeks have been mental, even I noticed that.”

You laugh shakily. “No, I don’t want you to have to badmouth your mother just because of me.”

He grins. “It’s not badmouthing if it’s true. Trust me, I know. Why do you think I ran off to Egypt for so long? I needed space. I was sort of considering staying out there forever, but I’m certainly glad I came back. Meeting you was better than any adventure in the world.”

You smile, this time for real. “Sap.”

“It’s true,” he laughs. “I was smitten after the first meeting, I promised. Fred and George were merciless, they kept teasing me because I wouldn’t stop talking about you. Even Mum had a laugh or two at my expense.”

You snort. “Molly was in on it?” You find that hard to believe. Although she’s always polite, you’ve never gotten the feeling that Molly was your biggest supporter.

Bill’s eyes widen earnestly. “I swear. You were, like, the golden standard for any of my brother’s girlfriends. It drove Percy crazy back when he started dating Penelope Clearwater because Mum wouldn’t stop comparing her to you. Any time Percy said something about Penelope, Mum was always chiming in, asking if she had half the career achievements you did.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Molly said that about me?”

Bill’s smile is soft. “You’ve always been her favorite. She was terrified I’d scare you off. I’ve never seen her more relieved than when I managed to pull off a successful proposal. I know you think she’s taking on all of this responsibility for me, but I don’t think you know how worried she is about making sure you like it. She’s asked me about a hundred times about your favorite flowers, your favorite colors, what foods you prefer, all of it. She just wants you to be happy, even if she came off a little stronger than she realized.”

“But all the comments,” you whisper. “She was always correcting what I was doing.”

“She does that with everyone,” Bill says, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, it just means you’re family, well and truly. Years ago, I even saw her try to tell Fred and George how to properly escape the notice of their Prefects, as if they hadn’t figured out their first week as first years.”

You laugh, and Bill noticeably relaxes. “See?” He says. “You’re alright, I promise. I’ve told Mum to think more carefully about how she talks to you, and I’ll make sure she does. You’re going to be my wife, Y/N. There isn’t a thing in this world I wouldn’t do to make sure you’re okay.”

You smile and lean forward to kiss him. “I know. I love you.”

“Love you too,” he says, and kisses you back.

requested by @chippedchina-teacup, i hope you enjoy!

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Rex was absolutely exhausted.

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

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

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

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

And you weren’t keeping it to yourself. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged, “I’m not laughing.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Look who’s talking.”

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

Your fingers were stroking his cock again. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm, yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll wave if I see a camera.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rex felt a stab of annoyance. Fucking Shor…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

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

You were having trouble breathing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought it’d cheer her up!”

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

“But-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not to my knowledge.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rex threw a grateful smile her way.

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

“Glad to see you noticed.”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence. Blissful, resounding silence, until… 

“Rex?” came your voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…but…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is she even in danger?”

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

“She and him have that in common.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you did something for mine.”

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

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

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

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

In hindsight, you wished your awakening was a little more gentle, a little more romantic. Mostly, you were just sore and bitchy and ready to fall back into the release of sleep. 

Ow-ow-fuckity-ow, I need water-I need the bathroom-I need my MEDS, cocksucking-motherhumping-OW!

It was the middle of the night, this you could tell from behind your still-closed eyelids. Your large window would be letting in a LOT more light otherwise. It was quiet for Coruscant, the traffic noises and ever present hum of neon seemed to have dampened for the moment. Or it could be the brain damage you reminded yourself. Pretty good concussion you’re sporting there, kid. You and that durasteel wall became very fast friends, didn’t you?

Clearly, you needed more sleep. But to do that, you needed your meds. And to take your meds, you needed to get to some water. Your bathroom wasn’t far, but you hadn’t stood up by yourself yet. Not that that mattered right now. You certainly weren’t going to wake up Tia at this hour, after all she’d done. It sounded like she was sleeping in the chair again, even after you had told her to go home and get some real rest. At least she was in a deep slumber, heavy breaths and a slight snore coming from that corner of the room. 

You sighed, and wrenched your weighty eyelids open. It took a moment to focus, having been asleep for so long. You stared at your ceiling, then looked to the left, where your bathroom lay, then to the right, trying to get your eyes moving a little. Tia sure was snoring up a storm tonight…

You inhaled sharply, irritating your broken ribs. Hissing, you stared, stunned, at the reclined figure in your grandmother’s chair. 

Rex. 

Your heart swelled for a moment, before sinking back into your chest. He’d come home, safe and sound…and you weren’t conscious to greet him. What’s worse, you weren’t awake to tell him the sorry-honey-I-got-into-a-little-trouble story yourself, and who knows what conclusions that brilliant man had reached on his own…

He had taken off his armor from the waist-up, his blacks showing off the lovely curve of his shoulders, the muscle of his arms. He leaned back, arms crossed, a slight frown marring his otherwise peaceful face. You wanted to go over there and see if you could wipe it from his features entirely.

Pain started to blossom behind your eyes, reminding you of your current task. Meds. Sleep. Talk to Rex in the morning. With more confidence than you really felt, you pulled back your covers and sat up straight. That hurt way more than you expected it to, a sharp pain blossoming up from your side. The bathroom was looking farther and farther away, but you were determined, and so you slowly swiveled your bruised and scraped legs, your swollen ankle sliding towards the edge of the mattress. Gritting your teeth to avoid waking your sleeping beauty in the corner, you gingerly placed your bare feet on the floor and prepared to push off the bed. One…two…three…

“And where do you think you’re going?”

You squeaked, falling fully back into the blankets, before clutching at your screaming ribs. “Sonuvabitch!”

Rex crossed the distance  between you in two perfect strides. He kneeled before you, hands flitting here and there, trying to find some place to steady you that wasn’t bruised or battered. “Careful, cyare,” he whispered.

You breathed through the pain, deep inhales as you went to grab his wrist, “Didn’t know…you were home.”

If he had any reaction to the referral of your apartment as home, he didn’t comment. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“Bathroom…meds…water.”

“Then you should have woken me,” he chastised, before you were swept up, gently as if you were made of glass, into his strong arms. 

“Rex!” you hissed, but surprisingly, your ribs didn’t twinge, your head didn’t spin. 

It took only a few steps to get to the bathroom. He hesitated at the toilet, before asking, “Can you stand by yourself?”

You shrugged, “You interrupted my first try.”

He nodded, brown eyes gentle. “Bear with me then, cyare. I’m going to help you with your pants and get you sat down, then I’m going to turn around, alright?”

“Oh…okay.”

He did just as he said he would, without fuss or complaint. His eyes and his hands didn’t linger, and the whole affair was much less awkward than you thought it would be. You were redressed and back in his arms in a matter of minutes. 

You carried the pill bottle and the water he had procured while Rex took you back to bed. Your heart thumped as you approached the mattress. How many times had he carried you to bed, under entirely different circumstances?

“Will you sleep in the bed with me?” you asked, your voice small.

“Not tonight. I don’t want to accidentally bump anything,” was his simple answer.

“Then move the chair closer? Please?”

He did, after he had you settled. And as tired as you had felt before, you couldn’t seem to wrench your eyes away from him to go back to sleep. His face was calm, far too calm for the situation. The light in his eyes seemed strained and fractured. But you knew what kind of man you had chosen, and he was too good, too chivalrous to bring up his inner turmoil while you were injured and bedridden.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t awake when you got back,” You met his eyes, but he turned away almost as soon as you did. His bare hands were trembling.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” his voice was raw, and showed more emotion than he probably intended.

“Still,” you insisted. “I always want to be the first to see you when you come home.”

There was that word again, home. You weren’t sure why you were feeling so bold tonight, but perhaps near-death experiences just did that for you. Perhaps that was how Rex got to be so brave.

You glanced at your side table, and smiled. Your lip twinged, “You brought me flowers again. Zeira’s?”

Rex seemed to start out of a daze. He glanced at the flowers as if he’d forgotten all about them, “Oh… yes.”

“Rex,” you called firmly. “Look at me. Talk to me.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes closed, “I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you want me to tell you about it?

“No-” he started, then cut himself off. He pressed his lips together hard, and breathed. His eyes fell back open, searching yours, and you closed a hand around his shaking one. He nodded, “I want to know what happened. From you. But only if you want to. Only if you can.”

You gave him a small smile, nodded, and sighed, “I’ll get this out of the way first: Partway through it, I provoked them. On purpose. Half of these bruises wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t taunted them, if I’d just stayed quiet and let them go on their way. I think they were mainly drunk and immature and really hated my button collection, because they focused on that way more than they did on me, at least at first. But I…I wanted them to get caught. I used the comm line you gave me, to Fox, and I knew the corries were on their way. I wanted these little shits waiting for them. So, for your sake, I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I played fast and loose with my safety, my body, so the CG could catch them.”

Rex gazed at you, stunned, incomprehension in his eyes, “You Fives’d them.” He muttered, and he brought his other hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Force save me, you ran your mouth and took on the punishment to distract the enemy till backup arrived!”

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” you shrugged. “And I am sorry that you had to see me like this because of it. That wasn’t…all I wanted was for the corries to get there and take them away, so I could get back to you.”

He stopped pinching the bridge of his nose and scanned your face, his sharp soldier’s eyes filled with longing, “How…how did they get you in the first place? Did they follow you home or…?”

You gripped his hand as hard as you could with the brace on your arm, bolstering yourself against the memories, “They didn’t follow me, at least not that night. But it seemed like they might have seen me go into the hospital and were waiting for me to come out. It happened so…so fast, that it’s hard to think that they weren’t, I dunno, lurking.”

Your gaze had dropped to your lap as you told this part, but you knew he was horrified. You could feel the indignation, fear, and fury rolling off of him in slow, barely-controlled waves. But now that you’d started telling the story, you couldn’t stop. This was more than you’d told Fox during his interview, more than you’d told Tia any time she’d gently prompted. You had to finish, had to get it all out.

“They pulled me into the alley first, knocked my face against the wall. Said some shit to me I don’t remember. Took my backpack. One of them bent my arm backwards, and then…then it gets hazier. I’d pressed the button on my comm at that point. They just kept yelling at me and well, it pissed me off. These stupid little boys who couldn’t have been much older than teenagers were attacking a grown woman on the way home from work at a clinic, and who the hell were they to pull this kind of shit? And, well, you know how I get when I’m pissed,” you chuckled a little and grinned at your boyfriend, but he didn’t so much as crack a smile in return. 

“Anyway, I called them stupid little limpdick fuckers, or something equally ridiculous. Insulted their mothers for raising them, maybe. And before I knew it, the one holding my arm whirled me  around and backhanded me across the face.”

Rex took in a sharp breath, and you reached your hand out to touch his cheek, stroking it with your thumb. At your coaxing, his pinched-shut eyes opened, and you saw the tears lurking in their corners. He ever so gently reached out and held your wrist, turning his head to kiss your fingers, your palm. Little worshipful things against your scratched skin. The pressure at your wrist increased for just a moment, like he was finally losing control of himself, before those well-built walls snapped down into place. He held your hand to the side of his face, to his jaw, mirroring the bruise on your own, “Keep going,” he pleaded, eyes filled with something so hard and brittle it might break.

The words came fast and unbidden now as you gazed into his eyes, unable or unwilling to look away, “I reeled back and fell. As soon as I hit the ground they gave me two swift kicks to the ribs. I felt them break, but the pain didn’t register until later. I was so mad. I think one of them punched me in the face at one point, and that’s how I got two black eyes, the bastards. But mostly it was pushing me into walls and shoving me back onto the ground. I twisted my ankle pretty badly, and my hip took one hell of a check from the corner of a dumpster, but most of the bad damage was done already. They were running out of steam by then, maybe sobering up, and the corries arrived a few minutes later. I got two days in the hospital, and now I’m on two weeks of near-total bed rest which, honestly, is probably what I’m most irritated about.”

You breathed in and out, trying to steady yourself. You didn’t know what else to say, really. Your boyfriend was probably running your story over in his head, trying to find a reason, a why, but at this point, you didn’t really care to know. Assholes did asshole things, and while you weren’t happy with it, while you would have trouble sleeping for who knows how long, you had decided you were satisfied with the pile of charges Fox had gleefully dropped on your attackers’ heads. That, you figured, was enough. 

But Rex looked hollow, broken, haunted. Glassy-eyed and horror struck. And you weren’t totally sure how to make it better.

“Hey,” you called. “You’re far away, trooper. Come back to me.”

That laser-sharp intelligence snapped into place, and Rex went back to scrutinizing your face, searching, wondering, worrying.

 “Ner cyare,” He murmured. “You’re leaving something out.”

“What do you-”

“I talked to Fox. He has a theory.”

You wrinkled your face, “I heard Fox’s theory at the hospital. So they attacked me because they didn’t like my backpack-”

“It was because of me,” you’d never heard his voice this empty, this listless.

“Stop that, it was not because of you-”

But Rex had finally snapped. His anger, his worry, his sheer terror all came boiling up to the surface. “They attacked you because you showed support for clones!” he bared his teeth, dropped your hand. “You had a few buttons on a backpack, and you were almost killed for it! What if one of them had a blaster? What if they weren’t stupid kids, but actually part of the anti-clone movement, and they wanted to make a statement? What if they decided that a clone had touched you, so everyone else was allowed to as well?”

He stood, and started pacing back and forth. His hand reached for his holstered blaster, thumbing at the handle while he raged through your tiny bedroom. “Three pounds of shit in a two pound sack beat you to hell because you implied you might support clone rights. Can you imagine what could happen to you if someone actually found out that you were with a clone? That a filthy meat droid had laid his hands on you?!”

You flinched back, only a little. This was the first time Rex had ever raised his voice in front of you. But, ever the tough medic, your ire rose just as quickly, “Don’t you dare call yourself-”

“And why shouldn’t I?” he seethed, all guilt and fury. “It’s not inaccurate, cyare. I’m genetically engineered republic property that’ll probably be decommissioned as soon as the war is over. You can’t tell your family you’re seeing me. We can’t even go out to most public places. I own nothing, I am nothing-”

“You are mine!” you growled, surprising you both with your ferocity. You clutched your side, which was aching in time with your heart. Rex froze, but you barreled on. He needed to hear this, and you might waste away into nothing if he convinced himself to walk out that door. “My friend, my lover, my favorite person in the entire galaxy! The Republic can’t have you, and shriveled little dicksacs on the street can’t take me from you, and you sure as hell don’t get to call it quits because of some nonsensical martyr complex!”

“I’m not-”

“Can it, soldier,” you noticed how he stood up a little straighter at your tone, and stuffed down your sense of pride for now. You were done with this. He was being ridiculous, and it was hurting both your hearts. And your cracked ribs. You took a deep breath.

“I know you, Mister Upright and Noble Captain! I know how you operate!” tears started forming in your eyes now. “And you are not going to make us both miserable by leaving me for the sake of my safety! This isn’t some net melodrama, and the only way you get to deprive me of the best thing in my life is if I’m making you unhappy! Got it?”

Rex looked like he’d been hit upside the head. Clearly at a loss for words, whatever retort he’d been preparing was lost in the collection of babble spilling from his lips, “I…best thing…no, I can’t be…best thing… you could find someone-”

“You are the best thing in my life. I’m not finding someone else,” you recited firmly, raising your chin.

Rex placed his head in his hands, slumping heavily back into his chair. The fight had clearly left him for now. He shuddered as you reached out to him.

“I’m sorry, Rex, if this is hard, if my choices cause you too much stress on top of what you’re already forced to deal with,” you stroked his short shaved blonde hair. “But I choose you, and whatever else comes along with it. It’s clear to me now, that I need to be more careful, and I can adjust. But… if it’s too much, if the worry and the guilt isn’t worth it for you-”

He suddenly grabbed both of your hands again, bringing your knuckles to his lips. He let them sit there while he gazed into your eyes and mumbled, “It’s worth it. You’re worth it. But you have to understand, I’m not worth all-”

“Oooh, so close,” you shook your head. “But you do not get the reassuring your girlfriend points today. Try again without the self deprecation, please.”

He stared at you, and you swore there were moons and suns and planets in those eyes. All the things he’d seen, all the places he’d traveled. Rex looked unbearably tired. But he slowly sighed and nodded, kissing your knuckles again, “Alright…alright cyare. You’re worth it. You’re always worth it.”

“Full-stop? No caveats?”

“No caveats, ma’am.”

One of your tears finally slipped out of your eye and down your sensitive cheek, “Thank you.”

“But I never want to see something like this happen to you again,” he gestured to your bandage, your bruises. “I don’t think you understand what happened to my heart when I saw you lying there. It collapsed on itself, cyare, like a dying star. I won’t live through that a second time.”

Your eyes shone at his sweetness, his sincerity, and you couldn’t stop your cheeks from heating up, “Got it. No more provocative buttons.”

“No more shitty job posts,” his jaw was set.

“But-”

“No buts, ner karta,” he shook his head. “I can compromise on some of the weird ones, but the seedy district clinics, with no security cameras and medics with suspended licenses-”

“Hey! We’re licensed!”

“Cyare.”

You sighed, “Fine. We’ll go through my usual assignments together, cut the worst ones from the rotation.”

Rex smiled, “Thank you. That means more than you will ever know.”

You grinned back, “I’m just happy you’re not leaving me.”

“That would be…very difficult,” he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.

Your tone took on a teasing lilt, “Please,” you rolled your eyes. You took on a very poor imitation of his voice. “You could always find someone-”

“I was going to tell you I love you tonight.”

Your mouth fell open, and despite all the other confessions you’d given each other, you gazed up at your trooper with newfound awe. His eyes seemed…settled, certain for the first time since you woke up. He quirked up the corner of that gorgeous mouth in the half smile that first charmed you, all those months ago. 

He gestured to your nightstand, “That’s what the flowers were for.”

“Rex,” you breathed. “You’ve got to know by now. It’s been written all over my face for the longest time. I love you.” You hooked your good arm around his neck and pulled him forward, “I love you. I love you.”

The kiss was gentler than you would have liked, but you knew why. Rex was allowing you both this moment, but you could see from the way he inspected your jaw once he pulled away that you would not be getting anything more intense than a brush of the lips for a while. Sweet man, damn him. 

He helped you finally take your pain pills, and you were halfway unconscious by the time he laid you back on the pillows. That didn’t stop you from continuing the conversation.

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“I will.”

“Try to get some sleep. Take the couch if the chair gets uncomfortable.”

“Alright, ner karta.”

“And if you ever call yourself a filthy meat droid again-”

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

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

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

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

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

Fox: I take it you’re back on-planet.

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

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

Rex: The Senate building?!

Fox: I’ll see you soon. Over and out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fox-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

While they…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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