shenanigans in space

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

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

“Rex, no!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Worry stabbed at your heart, “Awake?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not what happened-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 *********************************

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your arm?”

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

“Your head?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rex…” You whimpered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You covered your face, “Fuck, Rex!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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. 

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.