Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mando’a Translations:

Su cuy’gar – Hello / You’re still alive

Rex still scrubs at the hardened blood on his armor as the panel next to the door chirps an alert for the third time in twenty minutes. A summons requires an answer, but Rex can’t bring himself to face General Skywalker. Not yet.

Geonosis. Then Umbara.

Dead enemies. Dead clones. Dead brothers.

Rex scrubs harder.

The panel chirps its fourth alert and Rex wants to scream. Water and blood swirl toward the drain in the floor, the metal of the shower oddly cold against the backs of his thighs. Rotating the shin guard in his hand, Rex surveys the last remaining bit of red, starting the process again, ignoring the chirping coming from the control panel.

General Skywalker will eventually send someone to fetch him. While guilt sits heavy in his stomach, Rex can’t bring himself to answer. He’s never ignored a ping from his general, but all Rex sees is blood and the faces of his broken brothers, lingering like phantoms, their collective weight pushing him down toward the ground until the dirt swallows him up and he becomes a ghost too.

Sighing, Rex stands, and shakes the now clean shin guard free of water droplets. He steps out of the shower. On the refresher floor, spread out like a fan, is his armor. It’s clean but it’s more like a shiny threat. It’ll be tainted again, and again, on and on until all Rex knows is red and the harsh smell of cleaner.

Grabbing a towel off the rack, Rex dries himself not noticing until he pulls the towel away that its gone pink. He stares down at it for a long moment and so many faces flash across his vision. Not just clones, but everyone.

He drops the towel like it burns.

This is what he’s made for. That’s what Rex tells himself every time he starts this ritual. Rex is a good soldier, but he often thinks about what he will do after. This war has to end eventually. What does that look like for him? Will cleaning the blood of dead brothers off his armor become a distant memory?

Maybe, or it might always linger in the darkest corners of his memory, waiting for the perfect opportunity to invite itself into the light, to show its teeth, and greet Rex with a brilliantly white maw.

Then again, what is Rex truly capable of besides war? Surely not marriage, fatherhood, or leisure. He doesn’t even earn a paycheck. Rex has no credits to his name, likely never will, and no one above him has ever once mentioned what will happen to him and all the other clones afterward.

It’s not like Rex hasn’t thought about it, what it might be like to live like everyone else, because when he’s truly alone, he creates a separate life where he can be a good soldier and have whatever else he wants, even when those things are nothing but impossibilities.

Rex shakes out the thin black jumpsuit before slipping in. Then the process begins until every piece is in place and secure. He gazes at himself in the mirror and only sees a stranger, and behind that stranger, a gaunt figure with a hand on his shoulder.

The tone chimes again and Rex tears himself away from the faceless brother staring back.

When he steps out of the refresher and into the captain’s quarters, a red light blinks off and on in the top right corner of the control panel, the color deep and sharp like a fresh wound. All that carnage comes rushing back, knocking into him like a blaster bolt, holding Rex in a momentary nightmare before surrendering him to reality.

Staggering toward the control panel with beads of sweat running down his neck, Rex presses the alert and scans the notifications. Four from General Skywalker, the fifth, and final, from Cody. Rex runs a hand over his face and snatches up his helmet from the bed, tucking it under his arm as he exits into the corridor, leaving the phantom behind.

Keeping his back straight, head high, and gait purposeful, Rex dons the neutral mask of Captain, acknowledging every passing clone with a nod and their name, telling them he’s happy to see them, because he is, and he doesn’t tell his brothers nearly enough. Of those he knows the most, he pauses to speak with them, to check in. It’s calming to him. These men under his command are his purpose.

The doors to the command center of the Venator-class Star Destroyer open with a soft hiss. Inside, clones move about, absorbed in their duties at various terminals. Beyond them, out the front viewport windows, is the blue glow of hyperspace.

“Wondered if you were going to make it.”

Standing at the massive holotable in the center of the room is Commander Cody, a small holographic map of a planet slowly rotating above it.

“Almost came to get you,” he continues, striding up to Rex, clasping his arm in greeting.

“Su cuy’gar, Cody. Good to see you.”

Underneath Rex’s words is an unsaid sentiment they both share. Other than the 501^st, the 212^th is Rex’s second home. Seeing Cody alive—and whole—is a relief. Losing a brother is always difficult, but imagining a future without him seems unfathomable. Rex met Cody during training, and they quickly formed a close bond. Cody is the first brother Rex ever considered a friend.

The clone commander is so much like his general. Cody and General Kenobi are both stoic individuals. Calm, levelheaded, and compassionate, the two men are like mirror-images of each other. Rex and General Skywalker share a deep friendship, but Skywalker stills seems to surprise Rex at every turn.

“Good to see you too, Rex.”

Rex nods in the direction of the floating planet. “Is this why I’ve been summoned?” Rex keeps his tone light, as if minutes ago he wasn’t scrubbing the blood of a dead clone off his armor.

Cody shrugs, sighing. “It’s why we’ve been summoned. General Kenobi told me to come. I’ve been waiting awhile.”

“Waiting for me?”

“And the generals.”

Rex frowns. “It’s not like General Kenobi to be late.”

Cody smirks and lightly elbows Rex in the arm. “No, it isn’t. Unless it involves your general.” They both chuckle, quietly sharing in the collective memory of the hijinks the two Jedi get up to together, mostly thanks to Skywalker.

“Never a dull day with the five-oh-first,” jokes Rex as his gaze falls on the rotating holographic image.

Part of his education on Kamino involved memorizing and identifying different planets. Rex doesn’t recognize this one, and as he looks closer, there isn’t any information on display. Odd, but Rex won’t say anything about it. There’s likely a reason and he’ll find out once the generals arrive.

As if summoning the Jedi duo just by thinking about them, Rex and Cody turn in unison as the doors to the command center whoosh open behind them, revealing Jedi Generals Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, with Commander Tano trailing right behind. When she notices Rex, her smile widens, accompanied by a quick wave. She’s grown so much over the past year that it almost seems impossible to Rex.

Where is the presumptuous fourteen-year-old Padawan that tried to pull rank on him the first time they met? Gone. Mostly. She’s still bold, and sometimes too fearless for her own good, but Rex has nothing but the upmost respect for her.

Cody and Rex incline their heads respectfully toward the Jedi. Kenobi returns the gesture with a subdued smile while Skywalker beams with pride.

“Glad to see you both in one piece!” says Skywalker, spreading his arms wide to indicate both clones. He lowers his arms and then crosses them before glancing in Rex’s direction, gaze softening.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, Rex. For how things unfolded.”

I’m sorry about what happened with Krell.

“You couldn’t have known, Anakin,” says Kenobi. “All we can do now is move on.”

It was on Rex. Every death. Every failure. He didn’t stand up to Krell soon enough. He’s a good soldier. He followed the orders given to him by his superiors, and Rex knew, he knew, that Krell’s orders were wrong, and yet he still listened to them.

“We gave them hell, sir.” Rex does his best to sound reassuring, to try and pivot whatever guilt General Skywalker might feel onto himself.

Krell is not your fault. It’s mine. I followed orders, but at what cost to my brothers?

“Good.” Skywalker’s smile returns but falters ever so slightly as he glances at Commander Tano. “Obi-Wan and I need to speak with Cody and Rex. Alone.”

Her face falls. “But—”

“Alone, Ahsoka,” interrupts Skywalker, raising a hand to silence her. And then, quieter, “I promise to fill you in later.”

“I understand, Master.” She bows to him before departing. Skywalker only turns back around once the doors close behind her.

It’s extremely rare for Commander Tano to not be present during briefings. General Skywalker wants her there, even when Kenobi disagrees, but Skywalker almost always has his way. She is his Padawan, and when it comes to decisions concerning her, his opinion is final.

“Why did you lie to her, Anakin?” Kenobi toys with the end of his beard. “We both know you’re not going to tell her.”

“I didn’t lie. She’ll find out…eventually.”

“Will she not be joining us on this mission?” asks Rex.

Skywalker shakes his head. “There’s not a mission, Rex. At least not yet.”

“We should continue this conversation in the private conference room,” says Kenobi, tilting his chin to the right.

Rex and Cody share a glance.

Skywalker and Kenobi are rarely hesitant to talk openly about matters of war, and this sudden shift gives Rex pause. They asked Ahsoka to leave, and now they want to talk with him and Cody privately? Perhaps it’s Jedi business? Or maybe something happened with Chancellor Palpatine?

Rex immediately tosses both ideas aside as soon as they materialize. If it were Jedi business, Ahsoka would likely still be here. If something happened to the Chancellor, Commander Fox would be involved.

This is something else, and Rex has no clue what it might be.

“Cody, transfer this data over to the conference room. Do it discreetly and through a private channel. I don’t want any record of it.”

“Of course, General.” Cody immediately turns to the holotable and begins pressing buttons. The little rotating hologram blinks out, and then the table dings softly. “It’s transferred, sir.”

“Thank you, Cody.”

As if connected by one brain, the two Jedi turn toward the double doors of the conference room, matching step for step. Rex and Cody fall in behind, pausing right inside the doors as they close. Rex has only been in this room a handful of times, and he always forgets exactly how small it is.

In the middle is another holotable, this one far too big for such a small room. Above it on the wall is a viewscreen. On the far left are shelves and a counter that runs the length of the wall. Beneath the counter are several cooling supply units full of various beverages and foodstuffs.

General Skywalker is already there punching buttons on the automatic brewer. The room fills with the bitter smell of caf.

“Make one for me, Anakin. Rex and Cody too, if they want one.”

The thought of General Skywalker serving Rex caf is ludicrous. Rex opens his mouth to deny the request, but Cody replies first.

“Thank you, sir, but Rex and I can get our own.”

Kenobi seems to accept this without issue, sitting down in one of the four swivel-chairs around the holotable. Skywalker approaches him and holds out one of the steaming mugs. Kenobi takes it with a polite “thank you” before he takes a sip. Skywalker slides into the seat next to him.

Rex and Cody haven’t moved away from the door. This feels too casual, and neither of them is comfortable. Rex certainly isn’t, which means Cody must be sweating.

“Makes yourself a caf and join us,” says Kenobi as he sets his mug down.

Cody clears his throat. “We’re good here, sir.”

“This could take a while, Commander. I think you should make a caf and join us,” says Kenobi, gesturing toward one of the empty chairs.

“Sir, it wouldn’t—”

“Cody.”

“Very good, sir.”

Anakin smiles into his cup as Cody hands his helmet off to Rex. Rex takes it and selects the chair directly across from General Skywalker. When Cody comes back with two mugs, Rex exchanges one for Cody’s helmet. Reluctantly, Cody sits, his back stiff, entirely uncomfortable with how informal this whole thing is.

“Apologies for all this secrecy,” begins Kenobi. “And for keeping you waiting.” He side-eyes Skywalker who pointedly keeps his gaze averted.

“It’s not a problem, General. Rex and I arrived shortly before you did.”

Not entirely true, but Rex isn’t going to correct Cody, especially not in front of the Jedi.

Obi-Wan brings his hand to his chin, a tick of his when he’s either stressed or in deep thought, while Anakin shifts in the chair, the two of them looking extremely irritable. They fall into an awkward silence that only stretches by the second. Rex loathes this type of quiet because it’s usually followed by bad news.

Bad news is the last thing Rex wants.

“It’s your plan,” says Kenobi, finally breaking the silence.

“You said it needed to be done,” counters Skywalker. “And there isn’t a plan, is there? That’s why we’re here.” He gestures across the silent holotable.

Not bad news, but it’s not good news either. Rex still doesn’t want to know. He needs another day at least. One solid night of rest that hopefully won’t be plagued by shadows and phantoms. He already feels the invisible weight, as if one of his dead brothers has their hands on his shoulders.

General Skywalker’s bionic hand forms a fist on the top of the armrest. He’s agitated. So is General Kenobi. They’ve been at odds before, but this is strange. Rex glances at Cody. Cody appears neutral, almost impassive, but Rex knows what to look for. Cody’s jaw twitches and Rex knows he senses their agitation.

Obi-Wan sighs and then reaches out, pressing a button that turns on the holotable. The same holographic image appears from earlier. Slowly, the planet rotates.

He’s rubbing his chin again, pausing longer than necessary. When he doesn’t continue immediately, Anakin lightly nudges him with his elbow.

“It’s a lot to say and there isn’t one good place to begin,” mutters Obi-Wan, waving Anakin off.

“Would you like me to start?”

“But perhaps you should, since you’re the one who came up with the brilliant plan. We all know how those turn out.”

“I already told you there is no plan.”

“My point exactly.” Kenobi takes a sip of his caf and grimaces slightly.

“Did I make it too strong, Master?” asks Anakin in mocking concern.

“Always,” mutters Obi-Wan, setting the mug down again.

His gaze shifts toward Rex and Cody. “Since there is no plan, I think it’s in everyone’s best interest if I lead the conversation.” Obi-Wan glances at Anakin. “You’ve done enough, and while I appreciate it, the issue is far more complicated than what you’ve managed to put together to solve it.”

Irritation flashes across Skywalker’s face.

Rex’s grip on his mug tightens. It’s hot, nearly scorching against his skin, but it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“What Anakin and I are about to discuss with you must never leave this room. Ever. It stays between the four of us, and if others need to know, Anakin or I will take care of it.”

Cody gives his general the faintest nod. Rex and Anakin lock gazes in silent agreement.

“I suppose it’s best if I begin with a bit of context,” starts Obi-Wan, crossing his left leg over his right. “Not everyone who wields the Force is part of the Jedi Order. The two of you are aware of this. You’ve both encountered Count Dooku and Asajj Ventress on multiple occasions, but their power draws from the dark side, and they are but a small faction within the larger picture. There are outliers and outcasts. Some of these individuals were simply too old to join the Order while others left the Order by choice or were asked to leave.”

“Master—” Skywalker leans forward but Kenobi holds up a hand.

“It’s alright, Anakin,” reassures Obi-Wan. Skywalker sinks back into his chair. “I trust Cody and Rex. I know you do as well. They won’t reveal anything we tell them here. This is information they need to know if we’re going to figure out how to move forward.”

Anakin frowns. “You never break from the wants of the Council.”

Kenobi smirks and leans back in his chair. “Don’t forget who my master was.”

Rex doesn’t understand who they’re talking about, but he knows Count Dooku and Asajj Ventress. He’s lost countless brothers at their hands. They are the enemy.

“As I was saying, not all of these outliers follow the same path as Count Dooku or Asajj Ventress. They do not go on to do bad things. Many let their abilities fade away. They lead normal lives. But there are plenty who do not allow their powers to fade. Some remain friends of the Jedi Order and, together, they help us make the galaxy a better place.”

Rex’s understanding of the Jedi is fairly straightforward. They are his superiors. He follows their lead and makes sure everyone under him falls in line. He’s worked alongside many Jedi on countless occasions. He knows they wield the Force even though the specifics are a mystery.

The Jedi and the Order are one and the same to clones.

Those are things Rex accepts, not things he questions.

The idea of Jedi not part of the Order is confusing to him. The only thing he can picture are clones who desert, but that doesn’t feel right. It’s not nearly the same and he doesn’t have anything to compare it to.

But are they Jedi? General Kenobi didn’t call them Jedi. He called them outliers and outcasts, which sounds like deserters—but he also referred to some of them as friends.

Rex brings the mug of caf to his lips, let’s the cooling bitter liquid flow down his throat. It sits heavy in his stomach and Rex immediately regrets drinking it.

“Right now, Anakin and I are more concerned with a specific group of Force-wielders. Even though the Jedi Order disagrees with their choices concerning the Force, the Council respects them and values their opinions when we seek it.”

“You told me you haven’t met her,” Skywalker interjects.

Rex opens his mouth, a question forming on the tip of his tongue, but Kenobi is already speaking. “I haven’t met her, but I have travelled to her secluded community a few times. They are good people, and certainly a group you want on your side.”

Obi-Wan glances into his mug. “Anakin, could you—”

The cup is out of Kenobi’s hand before he finishes. Anakin returns a minute later almost shoving the hot drink into the Jedi’s hand.

“I want to emphasize what I said earlier. Nothing can leave this room, especially what comes next. Is that understood?”

General Kenobi’s tone and demeanor becomes so serious and intense that Rex cannot do anything else but comply.

“Of course, sir.”

“Heard, General.”

Obi-Wan nods. “Amongst this group is a young woman who has…a unique gift, even amongst Jedi. It is why the Order works so closely with them.”

“What Obi-Wan isn’t saying is that this woman can apparently see the future,” says Anakin dismissively. It’s clear to Rex that General Skywalker doesn’t believe a word of it.

“Anakin!” hisses Obi-Wan.

“It’s nonsense, Obi-Wan. Crazy talk.”

General Kenobi frowns deeply. “Opinions differ on the gift of prophecy, and there will likely never be universal agreement. The reliability of such a gift is unstable and cannot always be accurately documented.”

“It’s foolish,” mutters Skywalker under his breath.

Obi-Wan shoots him a look that flattens his smug smile. “We are in this room Anakin because of choices that you made.”

“I acted on the intel, not the vessel that you believe confirmed it,” retorts Skywalker.

“She is the only reason why we are even having this conversation. This is a delicate situation. If we mess up, we could jeopardize the safety of billions and would ruin the Jedi’s reputation. We cannot figure this out alone.”

Rex glances at Cody and notices that he’s gripping the head of the armrest like it’s a clanker’s head and not a chair. With the two Jedi staring each other down, Rex nudges Cody’s arm to draw his attention. Cody glances at Rex, and he must see the worry in Rex’s face because he eases his grip on the chair.

Everyone is stressed. Wired. And it’s not the caf.

Rex doesn’t understand. It sounds like Jedi business, and clones are rarely, if ever, involved, but General Skywalker and General Kenobi are concerned about…something, and they’ve sought out Rex and Cody for help.

“What do you need from us?” Rex is firm when he speaks. He wants to help. He wants to be useful.

It is not General Kenobi who speaks, but Skywalker.

“All Republic intel filters through Jedi channels to some degree. There was a tip that the Republic dismissed but the Order flagged.”

“The intel matched the description of one of this woman’s reoccurring visions,” adds Obi-Wan. “It was brought to the Council’s attention. Whenever we flag Republic intel, we always go through our own channels before reaching out to trusted members of the Galactic Senate.”

“And what came of it?” asks Rex, already knowing the answer.

“Rumor,” answers Anakin.

“At least according to Republic Intelligence,” says Kenobi. “The tip came from an unreliable source.”

“Like from the Separatists?”

“Possibly,” replies Obi-Wan. “They couldn’t confirm who sent it in. It was anonymous. Tips like that are often overlooked or discarded. We would have overlooked it too, but we had additional information.”

“I wouldn’t call her insight ‘information.’”

“Without it we wouldn’t be here, Anakin.” General Kenobi turns back to Rex. “No one wants to act, especially the Republic. Even after we flagged it, the Order had to be careful not to reveal why we were interested. Our searches came back with nothing.”

“But why is that? Why does no one want to act?”

Rex nearly jumps at the sound of Cody’s voice. He’s been quiet throughout most of it.

“I’m glad you asked, Cody. The intel claims that within the Pryx System the farming planet of Cuvun is currently being occupied by Separatist forces and no one knows except the Pryxian government. They’re keeping it a secret.”

A neutral system is a neutral system. Occupation doesn’t matter unless the neutral system wants to join the Republic. This isn’t surprising to Rex, and it isn’t surprising that the Republic didn’t want to investigate it. It happens all the time.

Cody must think the exact same as Rex because he voices this to General Kenobi.

“That’s true,” says Obi-Wan. “Pryx is a neutral system with neutral airspace. But the Republic and the Separatist Alliance have always respected their wishes during the war. Neither side is allowed to enter their airspace without probable cause, and that cause must be cleared with Pryx’s central government.”

Skywalker taps a bionic finger against the rim of his mug. “There are resources at stake. They grow, harvest, and sell a massive amount of raw materials. They specialize in growing rare plants used in the bio-medical fields. These materials travel all over the galaxy. Bought and shared by anyone regardless of where they stand on the war.”

“They sell to our enemies?” Rex bites back a growl on the last word.

“And to us,” points out Kenobi. “The contracts we have are the exact same as the ones the Separatists have. Something both sides have been able to amicably agree upon. The issue is that intel says Separatists are there without it being openly acknowledged by the government of Pryx. On the surface, it’s business as usual.”

It isn’t Jedi business then.

“Not to mention all the added security,” snorts Anakin, finishing off the last of his caf. “Emissaries and ambassadors may go to and from the capital planet, Pryxian, but the other planets within the system are entirely off-limits unless you have security clearance.”

“And the Republic can’t get security clearance?” counters Rex.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “No. Never. But the Separatists don’t receive security clearance either. From what I understand, the only ships travelling to those planets are internal planetary transports. The raw material is brought to Pryxian and distributed from there.”

“So much security for a farming planet?” asks Cody. “Seems odd.”

“It wasn’t always like that,” answers Skywalker. “With the number of resources at stake, they thought it best to halt all non-essential traffic when the war broke out.”

Cody scoots forward in his seat and tucks his helmet behind him. He’s entirely focused now. “Why would the Republic not want to investigate? If they have contracts for raw goods, they have a stake in what happens within the system.”

“They certainly do,” shrugs Obi-Wan. “But the Chancellor won’t act without significant evidence. If the Republic were to be caught snooping around, that might break our contracts, push Pryx to the Separatist side. We can’t afford to lose any more planets to them. The Order doesn’t want to go near it either. If one of us is caught, it could result in the same. No one wants to touch it.”

The pieces are starting to fall into place, but Rex cannot figure out where this young woman fits into all of this.

“Wait,” says Rex. He sets his empty mug on the edge of the holotable. “Wait. Hold on. It doesn’t make sense. This woman, this…Jedi. She saw all this. In a vision?”

The look General Skywalker and General Kenobi share is almost sad. There’s something else, something much larger than simple political or economic ramifications. Obi-Wan brings his hand to his chin again, and Rex knows immediately that there are far more urgent matters than a broken contract.

“The anonymous tip claims that the Separatists are only on Cuvun and that their presence is confined to a small outpost. The Order flagged it because the woman’s reoccurring vision details an egregious amount of pain and devastation.” Kenobi pauses a moment before continuing. “But the tip also says the population there is declining rapidly, but it doesn’t say how or why.”

The room has gone quiet, and Rex cannot stand the silence. The phantom weight on his shoulders returns. It pushes down on him like the pressure is trying to shove him through the cushioned bottom of the chair.

Heavy. So heavy. Rex nearly gives in.

“Rex.” He glances at his general. Blinks. General Skywalker’s face is lined with concern. “You alright?”

“Yes, sir. My mind wandered for a moment trying to make sense of it all.”

Rex is pivoting again. He’s slipping.

General Kenobi draws his hand away from his chin, looking less severe than before. “No one wants to act on this, especially the Republic. Those contracts are too important and there are no cries for help. What is truly happening remains entirely unclear, and frankly, we are spread too thin. We have no one to investigate this properly.”

“I started to,” says Skywalker. He glances at Obi-Wan. “But I didn’t get very far.”

“You needed my help. I’m merely stepping in to help find a solution.”

Anakin sighs. “Obi-Wan and I can at least agree there’s more going on. The Council does as well but they’ve made their position very clear that we’re not allowed to travel there to investigate. No exceptions.”

“And yet you tried anyway.”

“Which is why,” Skywalker leans in, “I didn’t involve Ahsoka.”

“Good,” nods General Kenobi. “You shouldn’t. She is a Padawan and needs to understand that respecting the Council’s wishes is of the upmost importance.”

“We’re not respecting their wishes.”

“There is no ‘we,’ Anakin. You planned on leaving with her and three clone troopers in tow. I stopped you from making such an irrationally brash decision.”

“I took action. We would have handled it and been back without anyone the wiser.”

“That is delusional Anakin, and you know it.”

Rex leans forward slightly, one elbow resting on the head of the armrest. “Who?”

Kenobi stares Skywalker down and gestures toward Rex. “Go on,” he says, clearly amused by Anakin’s sudden sheepishness. “Tell him, Anakin.”

Skywalker settles back in the chair, arms crossing over his chest defensively. “She’s our fortune teller.”

“Fortune teller? Really, Anakin—”

“—And she’s here.”

Cody chokes on his caf. Rex grabs his arm but Cody waves him off.

“She’s onboard?” asks Rex. “Right now?”

Anakin grimaces while Obi-Wan hides a smile behind his hand.

“She is.” Skywalker drags it out.

“And you were about to leave with her and three troopers? Without saying anything to me?”

Anakin’s tone is tinged with irritation. “I don’t answer to you, Rex.”

When the words leave General Skywalker’s mouth, Rex visibly flinches, immediately regretting it. It’s a sting but Rex doesn’t take it personally. He lets it roll off him to disappear into the air because Skywalker is right. He doesn’t answer to Rex. He doesn’t have to tell Rex anything. Ever.

Rex isn’t angry, but he is annoyed, because this is exactly something General Skywalker would do. But if the situation is as delicate as they say it is, then Skywalker needs to stay behind. Rex doesn’t know what happens when a Jedi goes against the Council, but it can’t be anything good.

Rex doesn’t want that for him. More importantly, the 501^st needs its general more than it needs Rex.

“I’ll go,” blurts Rex. “Send me. I’ll do it.” It’s out there, hanging in the air, and Rex cannot take it back.

“See, Anakin,” says Kenobi. “Now you don’t have to go.”

“Master. I think—”

“Captain Rex is more than capable.”

“He is,” agrees Skywalker. “But—”

“But what, Anakin? Share your doubts with us. Certainly it’s not doubt in Rex?”

General Skywalker answers immediately. “No. Never. I trust Rex with my life.”

“I can do it, sir,” says Rex with conviction. “Send me.”

Skywalker nods. “Alright, Rex. I’ll step aside on this one.”

“Wonderful choice, Anakin. Now, we are moving forward with absolute care.” Kenobi sighs loudly as he runs a hand over his face. He glances at Rex. “This will likely be different from anything else you’ve ever done. I’ll understand if you decide to back out by the end, as will Anakin, but we cannot mess this up. It is vital that absolutely no one else outside of this mission becomes involved.”

Rex holds back the frown starting to form on his face. During their time together, General Skywalker has never given Rex the option to opt out of a mission.

“Now, Anakin, will Rex’s absence be an issue?”

“I’ll miss him, but I can manage until his return.”

“I can assist General Skywalker, if that’s alright, sir.”

General Kenobi nods. “I see no harm in it, Cody. We don’t want anyone to be alarmed that their captain is gone.”

Skywalker snorts. “Every single member of the five-oh-first is going to notice Rex’s absence.”

“I’m talking beyond them. They are your men. You make it clear that Rex’s absence is an off-limits discussion topic with anyone other than yourself.”

Obi-Wan leans back in the chair and glances at the rotating hologram. “Anakin do you still have that datastick?” Anakin presents it to him and Kenobi takes it, plugging it into the holotable. He punches a few buttons, and a keyboard pops out. Obi-Wan types out a command and then gently returns the keyboard to its home as the datastick lights up.

“I’m downloading all the necessary information Anakin nearly forgot to take with him. This will be your copy, Rex. It includes ideal landing locations, planetary maps, clearance codes, and anything else you might need. We’ll have to forge some fake identification but that won’t be difficult. I’ll have Cody personally escort it to you once it’s done.”

“Thank you, General.”

The holotable chimes softly and Obi-Wan removes the datastick, handing it back to Anakin to give to Rex. “Concerning the information needed for the Council to move forward, it needs to be concrete. Hard evidence. Something the Jedi can take to the Galactic Senate for immediate approval.”

Kenobi settles in his chair, his face becoming pensive. “There is one more thing. This is a task best suited for myself or Anakin to fulfill but ultimately it will have to fall to you.”

Rex turns the datastick over and over in his hand.

“Sera Fyst is the name of the young woman joining you. She is not part of the Jedi Order, but her people are good, and have done tremendous work in helping us keep peace across the galaxy. We need you to log every step of your journey including any visions Sera may share with you. Every detail matters. Not only will it give you more clarity in your mission, but the Council will find the information valuable.”

Rex knows what to expect with fellow clones, but it’s a blank when it comes to her. She’s Jedi, but not really, and that means absolutely nothing to Rex. That doesn’t tell him what kind of skills she has, or if she can even defend herself if things get hot.

Nothing about this mission feels right.

“It will be done, sir.”

Kenobi nods. “Protect her and come back to us. We’re not looking for a fight.”

Rex nods, pocketing the datastick. “What timeframe are we looking at?”

Skywalker shrugs. “It might take you a few days. Might take you a month. Potentially more. We don’t know what the situation looks like.”

General Skywalker almost left on a mission that could easily take a month? Possibly more? Rex wants to laugh him right out of the room.

“We aren’t sure what communication will look like once you’re down there either,” says Obi-Wan. “You might be able to send out transmissions, but we can’t be sure. We will expect updates but will understand if you don’t. It might not be possible. That’s why the logs are important. The Council can review it all afterward.”

Skywalker leans forward and presses a button on the holotable. Cuvun disappears and in its place is an Omicron-class attack shuttle.

“You’ll be taking one of these. I managed to snag one the Republic wanted to scrap. It’s in the main hangar. Modified, of course.”

“Sera and the three clone troopers Anakin originally selected to go with him are already at the main hangar with the ship. It’s my understanding that the ship still needs a bit of work before it’s flyable,” says Obi-Wan, side-eyeing Anakin.

Skywalker pretends not to notice. “Once it’s done, we can make our way toward Pryx airspace. We’ll drop you off as close as we can without appearing on their radar. From there, you’ll follow the flight course in the ship’s navigation. With the clearance codes, everything should go smoothly.” He grins mischievously at Rex. “Still up for it?”

Rex matches his general’s attitude. “What makes you think I wouldn’t be?”

Skywalker laughs and stands, patting Rex on the shoulder as they all start to make their way to the exit.

As the double doors whoosh open, General Kenobi turns back and inclines his head in goodbye. “May the Force be with you, Rex.”

Cody and Rex watch them go, standing together until the Jedi disappear through the command center doors. When they’re gone, Cody grips Rex’s shoulder, staring him in the face.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks, his tone sincere.

Of everyone Rex can rely on, Cody is the steadiest individual in his life, but there is nothing he can do for Rex right now.

“I’ll be fine, Cody. Promise.”

Cody lightly squeezes his shoulder. “Then let me at least walk you to the hangar.”

They keep a leisurely pace, the two of them catching up as they walk. After passing the mess hall, Rex senses someone following them. He doesn’t look over his shoulder or attempt to locate where the feeling is coming from.

Rex already knows.

“This is where I leave you,” says Cody when they arrive at the hangar.

They depart with a handshake, Rex watching him disappear around the corner. Rex doesn’t enter the hangar. He stands out in the connecting hallway, observing his brothers at work through one of the many large windows. That sense of someone following him is so strong it’s almost suffocating, as if they’re standing directly behind him.

“I know it’s you, Commander Tano.”

Smiling, Rex glances over his shoulder at the surprised Padawan.

“How did you know?”

“Keen senses,” he teases, tapping the side of his head. “I could also see your reflection in the window.”

She groans, striding up to join him, crossing her arms over her chest in the exact same way General Skywalker does. “I’m trying to improve my sneaking skills,” she grumbles.

“Sneaking skills?” laughs Rex.

“You know what I mean, Rex!” He shrugs like he has no idea what she’s talking about. Ahsoka rolls her eyes but it’s good natured. Her amused smile tells Rex everything.

“So,” she says. “Where are we off to next?”

“We are going nowhere. I am leaving and you are staying here.”

“Of course I’m going with you. Why would I not?”

Rex sighs. Clearly General Skywalker hasn’t talked to her yet, and Ahsoka never wants to be left behind. She’s an eager, determined girl who thinks she can do anything. And of course, she can, but she’s still a child.

“If you were supposed to come with me, you’d have been in that room with us. But you weren’t, which means you are staying here with General Skywalker.”

“Rex—”

“No,” says Rex firmly. “And don’t try anything.” Her face falls and Rex knows her feelings are hurt.

He makes a point to face her directly. Gently, Rex places his hands on her shoulders, bending down slightly to speak softly as if to a younger sister. “I am leaving for a while. I know my absence will be felt and my men will need assurance and stability while I’m gone. Will you do that for me? Will you step up and be the leader I know you can be?”

Ahsoka’s gaze goes to the floor. Her mouth twitches. When she glances back up at him her face is nothing but the fierce determined Jedi padawan he knows her to be.

“You can count on me, Rex.”

Rex removes his hands and steps back. “Better find the General. Off with you.”

Commander Tano strides off with purpose in her step. Rex waits until she’s gone before he enters the hangar.

Chapter Text

Mando’a Translations:

Haar’chak! – “Damn it!”

kama – belt-spat; skirt

vod – brother, sister; comrade

Sera’s nostrils burn and her eyes itch. Lukewarm murky water pools around her ankles, the smell musty and old. It’s not rising, but that’s not the biggest issue. The interior of the ship is completely gutted. Most of the metal paneling sits outside the ship on the hangar bay, leaving the electrical and thermal piping exposed to the rusty water. Prolonged exposure might cause irreversible damage, or the water might hit the right coil, electrocuting Sera and the two clones trying to salvage the situation.

“Get the door, Bug! Kriffing hell!” yells Omen. He uses a drip pan as a makeshift bucket, scooping and tossing as much water as he can through an open viewport.

“I’m trying!” Bug’s gloved hands are tight around the rectangular control panel next to the boarding ramp door. It fizzles and pops as he pulls on it, the metal resisting his efforts to wrench it open.

Sera stands awkwardly in the middle of the gutted ship, unsure of what to do. She isn’t strong enough to remove the stuck panel, and using the Force to move the water may cause unintended damage.

Bug groans, and then his fingers snap over the lip of the panel’s edge, the metal smacking back into place as he splashes ass-first into the water.

“Careful!” Omen tosses another panful out the viewport.

“Haar’chak!” Bug spits out a mouthful of brackish water. Sera steps toward him, holding out her hand. He takes it, and she helps him up.

Bug is soaked. He took off his upper pieces of armor while he, Ink, and Omen worked on the ship, leaving the black bodysuit underneath exposed. Water drips off his nose. Bug reaches to brush it away, and then frowns when he realizes his entire arm is soaked.

“How can I help?” asks Sera, glancing around to find something useful.

“There’s a crowbar. Ink used it while removing some of the larger panels on the main control console. Should still be there.”

Sera delicately makes her way to the front of the ship. The water sloshes around her ankles as she navigates a floor she can’t see. As she steps up into the cockpit, the first thing Sera notices is how empty it is. Most of the buttons and panels are gone. It’s a skeleton, not a ship.

In the pilot’s chair, leaning against the backrest, is the crowbar along with various other tools Sera doesn’t recognize. This isn’t her area of expertise. Sera understands plants, not people, and certainly not ships.

“Got it,” she calls over her shoulder.

Sera takes a step backward, pivots, starts to step down. Her right foot, still on the cockpit floor, catches on something solid underneath the dark water. She yelps, stumbles, her elbow smacking into a metal frame. The crowbar nearly slips from her hand.

Strong hands grip her upper arms, catching Sera before she can faceplant into the rusty water.

“Steady there, General,” says Bug. Sera flinches at the name ‘General.’ It’s a natural reflex on Bug’s part to call her by that title even though she hasn’t earned it. Hearing it makes her feel inadequate all over again.

Bug must have noticed her flinch because his eyes narrow in concern. “You alright? Is it the arm, sir?”

Her elbow throbs but it’s nothing she can’t handle. “I’m fine, Bug. Really. Here.” Sera holds up the crowbar.

Bug releases Sera’s upper arms and reaches for it, pausing as he notices the droplets on the leather. “Gloves are wet,” he mutters as he tugs on one of them, wiggling it up his hand. The first glove is shoved into his utility belt, the second following soon after.

Bug flexes his fingers, the tattoos on his knuckles and the tops of his hands stretching with the muscle. They are a series of lines that interconnect and branch off from each other, disappearing under the long sleeves of his black bodysuit.

“I’ll take that,” he says, gaze softening. The scar that cuts across the lower half of his right cheek puckers slightly when he smiles.

There’s a loud clang as the tip of Omen’s makeshift bucket catches on the edge of the viewport. All that water falls back on him. “Shit!” he exclaims, throwing the drip pan to the floor. It makes a meager splash in the water and then slowly floats away from him.

Bug wedges the tip of the crowbar between the panel and the hull. He twists it back and forth, making a wider gap. The metal groans and starts to give.

“Why is this so kriffing stubborn?” mutters Bug. Omen walks up beside him and grabs hold, the two of them straining. The panel doesn’t budge.

Omen leans in and peers into the small space. He frowns and then grabs a small torch off his toolbelt, clicking a button to turn it on. “Some of the wiring is shot. Looks like it melted a section of the panel. They’re sticking together.” He turns the torch off and returns it to his belt.

“No wonder we’ve been having problems,” mumbles Bug.

“Put the crowbar here.” Omen points to the other corner. “That’s where the damage is. If we can break it up, it might pop off.”

Bug adjusts the crowbar and pushes downward with his bodyweight. The metal shrieks. There’s an awful grinding sound and then the panel pops off, taking a bunch of wiring with it. Bug stumbles when the resistance suddenly disappears. Sera steps in his path to keep him from falling over entirely.

“Thank you, sir.”

Sera smiles. “Returning the favor.”

The boarding ramp jerks as it descends, the mechanism controlling its descent grinding loudly. Halfway to its destination it halts, sticking straight out from the ship like a diving board, leaving a three-foot gap between it and the floor. The water inside the ship slowly starts to spill across and over the sides of the ramp.

Omen, Bug, and Sera stand around the exit as the fourth member of their group, Ink, watches back from the hangar deck. His safety goggles are pushed up and away from his eyes, their absence leaving a perfectly clean outline on his face.

Before Bug or Omen can chew him out, Ink holds up the datapad he’s clutching in his hand. “In my defense,” he begins, pointing to the screen. “The ship’s manifest said that the water tank was empty.”

Sera isn’t sure if she wants to laugh or cry.

Bug leans his left forearm against the opening frame and then promptly rests his forehead on it. His eyes close and he mutters something under his breath that Sera can’t hear. Omen is red in the face, nearly boiling over with rage, even his blackout neck tattoo changes slightly in color. Sera senses it in the Force. Omen is white-hot and burning, his emotion flooding her senses and nearly suffocating her as if she’s inhaled smoke.

Omen steps forward onto the half-descended ramp and jumps down. “And you didn’t think to double check?” he asks, opening his arms wide to indicate all the water that’s creeping across the hangar floor.

“I shouldn’t have to, vod. General Skywalker approved the manifest,” replies Ink, his own irritation growing.

Sera heard the trio use the term vod before, but it’s always been on much friendlier terms. Ink says it mockingly, and in the Force, Sera immediately senses a rising flood from Omen. He’s ready to burst.

“You were careless,” hisses Omen.

Ink places his hands on his hips. “The ship manifest—”

“It doesn’t matter, Ink. You didn’t have to puncture the kriffing water tank!”

“We were replacing it anyway.”

“Your slip up is going to cost us days of repair,” growls Omen. He takes a step toward Ink, the two men almost nose to nose.

Sera can’t handle the noise. It’s a miasma of stimuli, both external and internal. Her own thoughts and emotions fuse with Ink, Bug, and Omen’s, creating a stifling haze that envelopes her. Her nostrils and eyes burn, her throat is tight, and every nerve in her body is telling her to run. But she can’t run. She’s stuck here.

She’s known the trio only a few days, and they’ve always seemed inseparable, but Sera senses danger. Omen will throw a punch if he doesn’t calm down. Bug watches them argue but doesn’t speak up. Sera steps around him and onto the ramp. Without having to ask, he holds his arm out for her to take.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, gripping his forearm tightly as she jumps down to the hangar floor. Bug follows her. Omen’s index finger presses into Ink’s chest, his mouth opening to spit venom, but Sera inserts herself between them by placing a gentle hand against Omen’s chest.

The contact only intensifies the connection Sera has to his emotions. A wave of dizziness floods her brain and her vision blurs slightly. It controls her, heightening to a point of rage that grows teeth and claws. It drags itself up her throat, hungry to split her down the middle in its need to escape.

Just as it crawls into her mouth it disappears like ash in the wind. Sera blinks. Omen’s anger recedes to a low frustrated simmer, embarrassment and hesitation filling its previous space. It tingles her nerves and Sera quickly pulls her hand away from his chest.

Omen’s mouth is a thin line. “My apologies, General. I shouldn’t allow my anger to get the best of me.”

That title again. Sera loathes it. She can handle ‘sir’, but even that frustrates her sometimes. She’s just Sera. That’s it. Omen, Ink, and Bug don’t entirely understand, and she doesn’t hold it against them, but hearing them call her that is a slap in the face to everyone who has earned the rank. Emotions are high and Sera won’t correct him. At least not now.

“It’s fine, Omen.” She gives him her best smile, and this seems to ease the tension a bit. Omen is stepping away from Ink, separating himself to turn back toward the ship and survey the damage.

“I can pull a few astromechs to assist in the cleanup. It’ll cut the time down significantly,” says Ink, shrugging.

Omen grunts and waves him off like he could care less what the clone has to say. Ink frowns at Omen’s back but doesn’t reply. He hooks the datapad on his utility belt and walks over to one of the small terminals scattered throughout the hangar. The screen lights up as Ink taps away at it, muttering to himself.

Bug sits on a crate, his back resting against a round metal piece of the ship. His eyes are closed, arms crossed, and feet firmly planted on the ground. “Wake me up when the mechs get here,” he mumbles to no one in particular.

Sera is the only one that seems to hear him. Ink is still at the terminal and Omen slowly walks around the ship, his gaze darting everywhere, his mouth formed into a deep frown. His boots kick up water as he paces.

Her nerves are fried. Totally shot. Sera takes a deep breath, but it feels like drowning. Her connection with the Force is intense and unpredictable. She has tried countless times to shut herself off from it, to stifle her gift until it disappears, but it always finds a way to the surface. It’s a compressed spring under pressure. Eventually, it breaks.

It always does.

Even now, with fatigue pulling at her, Sera finds no rest. Omen’s anger, Ink’s irritation, and Bug’s exhaustion linger at the edges of her senses. She cannot shake it. It mingles and mixes with her own self-doubt and anxiousness until everything blends into one homogenous glob that sticks to her lungs. Everything is out of balance, tipping like an overfilled glass, and Sera needs to get away, if only for a minute.

She wants to go home, to curl up in her favorite chair, and watch Xilaren tend their garden. She misses Nomi’s singing and Rodric’s terrible jokes that make the younglings scratch their heads in confusion. She misses Tor’s workshop with its wall of lightsaber parts, all neatly organized and available to everyone.

Community is her comfort. Familiarity and family are all she has. It is all she understands.

But do they even miss you? Do they really?

Turning on her heel, Sera bolts for safety, nearly tripping on some of the scattered parts on the bay floor. Their docking bay is at the very end of the hangar, tucked away from everyone else. This choice is to avoid interruptions—not that it’s deterring prying eyes. Plenty of personnel have stopped by to gawk, poke around, or make small talk. Sera avoids all of them on purpose, leaving Bug or Omen to deal with it. They don’t seem to mind, and on several occasions have physically blocked anyone attempting to approach her.

General Skywalker talked with them privately when she arrived, and even though she didn’t know what was said during that conversation, the three clones became more protective of her, the ship, and their reason for being there.

Sera doesn’t stray far. She finds refuge next to a large metal support pillar. From here, Ink, Bug, or Omen can still see her, but the rest of the hangar can’t. It’s not completely private but it’s enough to provide a semblance of personal space.

Closing her eyes, Sera inhales, and calls out to the one thing that is both an anchor and a burden. The Force answers, flooding and overriding her senses. It is in her bones, expanding her lungs, cleansing her soul. It is everywhere and nowhere all at once. An all-consuming entity that requires all her attention.

She hands it over. Lets the Force speak.

Its voice is the gentle vibrations of the Republic cruiser traveling through hyperspace, the heartbeats of the clones as they move about the vessel, and, beyond that, the three Jedi who are bright points of light in the Force’s stream. Sera’s essence brushes against the brightest of the bunch and Master Kenobi answers in quiet acknowledgement.

Sera is instantly calm. She lets the light slip in and warm her until all she knows is the comforting, steady embrace of the Force. Lingering there, Sera meditates, bathing in the soft glow until everything that clings to her begins to slip away. There is no anger. No irritation. No exhaustion. When peace settles over her, Sera opens her eyes, severing the connection. They widen when she realizes she’s not alone.

A clone stands an arm’s length from her. Two frown lines form between his brows and his head tilts slightly as his gaze roams her face. Sera senses his concern before he voices it.

“Are you alright?”

Sera isn’t even listening. She’s too focused on the rest of him. While his facial structure is the same as his brothers’, he has blond hair—not black—shaved close to his scalp. His brown eyes are bright and piercing. They demand attention and Sera cannot break away from his gaze. The lines of his face are a little deeper too. Older. He must be older than his brothers’.

“Oh. Hello.” Her tone is soft, slightly surprised, and Sera inwardly grimaces at the breathiness of it.

His mouth stretches into a warm, genuine smile. “I’m Captain Rex. You must be—”

“Sera. Sera Fyst. Master Kenobi said you were coming.” One of his eyebrows rises ever so slightly and Sera wants to hide in embarrassment.

Her father’s voice creeps in. Why can’t you ever get it together? it hisses. What’s wrong with you? Stop interrupting—

She crushes it. Stomps it out like an irritation. He is not here. He has no power. Yet she still expects Rex to be affronted, it’s how everyone else looks at her when she trips up, but he isn’t. Amused, maybe? He’s still smiling but it’s not as wide as before. It’s soft.

“It’s a pleasure…Master Fyst?” says Rex hesitantly.

Hearing ‘Master’ is worse than ‘General.’ Sera wants to melt right through the floor and suffocate in space. That would be easier.

“Same to you, Captain. And Sera. Just Sera. Please. I don’t hold such a prestigious title,” she says with a nervous laugh.

Rex nods, that earlier smile returning in full force. It’s then that Sera notices a small scar just under his chin. It stretches a bit when he smiles. “Very good, sir.”

She’ll take it.

There’s a heavy thud, like something falling, followed by a masculine voice barking an expletive. It draws Rex’s attention to over her shoulder. Sera follows his line of sight. Omen sits in the water next to the half-descended boarding ramp cradling the side of his face. Ink is fluttering around him trying to peel his hand away only for Omen to smack him every time he reaches out. Bug still reclines on the crates, now with a towel over his eyes, completely unbothered.

Captain Rex grimaces as he surveys the piles of parts. “Is this our ship?”

“Yes?” replies Sera. He turns to her, and she shrugs. “It needs work.”

“I can see that,” he mutters as Omen kicks Ink in the shin, sending the man tumbling to the ground. They start arguing but Sera can’t hear their conversation. “Seems like my men do as well.”

Rex’s disappointment oozes from him like thick tar. Sera needs to salvage this, to defend them. Bug, Ink, and Omen are good men. She knows this because she’s seen it. They’re just tired and frustrated. She doesn’t want Rex to hold it against them.

“We’re behind,” she says quickly, rubbing the back of her neck. “There was an accident and the ship flooded. Everyone’s a bit on edge.”

“It flooded?”

“Only up to our ankles,” says Sera.

Rex releases a loud sigh. Ink and Omen have stopped hitting each other but they still sit in the water. “Excuse me, sir,” says Rex. He strides forward with purpose, helmet tucked under his arm.

From this distance, Sera has a clearer view of his armor. It’s different from clone armor she’s already seen. On his left shoulder is a flared black and blue pauldron. His helmet has a series of tally marks but it’s unclear what’s being counted. Around his waist is a blue kama, a term she learned from Omen when she had asked about a different clone wearing the same thing.

Omen’s gaze is on the floor. He doesn’t see Rex approach. But Ink does. He rockets to his feet so fast he’s almost a blur.

“Captain Rex, sir.” Ink stands at attention and salutes. Omen’s head snaps up and then he too is standing quickly, falling in line. Bug still snoozes on the crates, entirely unaware that his superior officer is in spitting distance.

Sera comes to a halt a few feet back, taking three steps to the right to see Ink and Omen better. They notice her, their gazes shifting in her direction.

“Eyes forward,” commands Rex. This man is a leader. It’s evident in the way he carries himself. Shoulders back, chest forward, head held high.

Ink and Omen immediately comply. Rex glances at the ship, the malfunctioning boarding ramp, the water, and then at Bug who still snoozes. Rex observes the clone for a moment, and then walks up to him, stopping just inches from the tip of his boots. Bug adjusts slightly but doesn’t get up.

“Trooper.” Rex doesn’t raise his voice, but his delivery is sharp.

Bug bolts upright, the towel falling into his lap. His eyes go wide with realization. Rex arches a single eyebrow and Bug moves like his name, zipping over and lining up next to Omen. Rex observes the trio, his gaze revealing nothing. The silence stretches and Sera fidgets with the sleeve of her tunic.

“What happened to General Skywalker’s ship?”

Ink pales, Omen grimaces, and Bug flinches when the words leave Rex’s mouth. Sera senses their anxiety. It creeps into her heart. She starts to stride forward, to defend them and reiterate that the whole thing was an accident. Ink notices and imperceptibly shakes his head. Rex catches his movement. He starts to turn in her direction and Sera freezes, all that sudden energy dissolving.

“It’s my fault, Captain,” blurts Ink, drawing Rex’s attention away from Sera. “I punctured the water tank while cutting through the metal supports.”

Rex walks up to him. “Accident?”

“Yes, sir.”

Rex nods. “Anything damaged?”

“Not that we can tell, sir. We’ll know more once the interior is dry.” Ink visibly swallows. “I requested astromech assistance to speed up the process.”

As if on cue, three R-3 astromechs casually roll up beside Sera. They pause, their domed tops rotating, waiting for instruction. When none comes, one of them cautiously approaches the water. It’s white with a copper accent. Its middle leg straightens, and then its body tips forward, domed head swiveling back and forth as it observes the waterline.

Moments later, a small squeegee emerges from its body. The R-3 unit aligns it and then starts guiding the water toward a drain on the right side of the bay. The other two astromechs follow suit, moving around Sera and the four clones like they aren’t even there.

“When mistakes are made, accountability is important, but even more important is your reaction. On the battlefield you don’t have the luxury of sitting down. Or sleeping.” Rex pointedly glances at Bug. “You adjust, make new plans, and push forward. You may not be on the battlefield now, but that mentality stands wherever you are and whatever you’re doing. Your duty is to the Republic and to your brothers in arms. This mission is more important than your petty squabbles.”

Rex gestures toward the water. “I wasn’t here for all of it, but I saw the end, and I’m not impressed.” His disappointed eyes sweep over the abashed clones. “General Skywalker selected the three of you personally. When I hear that, I expect men who take the initiative and have their brothers’ backs.”

They’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing. Sera’s stomach twists. Inside her is a war. One side wants to step in and the other says it’s not her place.

 As the three clones stand immobile, Sera fidgets with her tunic, bunching the fabric between her hands. “While waiting for the mechs, you could have started cleaning up this mess, and yet you decided not to.” He points to the ship. “I suspect if I went in there right now, I’d see a lot of exposed wire and piping.” Rex pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs deeply. “Choices have consequences. Let’s hope we can salvage this.”

Sera feels their shame as if it were her own. When she felt overwhelmed by the situation, she left the bay. Abandoned the clones. Walked right off. Sera is as much at fault as the rest of them. If Captain Rex is going to tell the clones off, she should be standing beside them as he does it.

Rex is silent, his displeasure thick in the air, and it takes every ounce of focus in Sera to funnel enough idiotic courage into the idea of addressing him directly about it. Straightening her shoulders, she takes one step forward, then another. It’s like she’s moving through tar. Her legs are heavy. Her courage is declining, receding rapidly, and it’s made worse when Rex twists toward her, eyes narrowing. Every word she prepared in her head evaporates under that stare. All she sees are his intense brown eyes and the stern curve of his mouth.

As the seconds tick by, Sera senses a small flicker in the Force. It’s a shift within Rex. A small spark that instantly pulls her in, begging her to explore its heat and life. Before her, Rex is relaxing, the tension in his shoulders easing. Even his mouth and brow soften the longer he looks at her.

Rex’s gaze doesn’t leave her face even as he speaks over his shoulder. “At ease.”

Ink, Bug, and Omen’s stances relax, but they’re still visibly uncomfortable. Rex’s gaze lingers a moment longer before he turns back toward his men. “You’re all new to the five-oh-first and I haven’t had the opportunity to meet you yet. Not properly anyway.”  He smirks. “Telling you off doesn’t count.”

“We’ll do better, sir,” says Omen. “I know I let my frustration get the better of me.”

“Save it for the clankers,” replies Rex warmly, gripping his shoulder. The energy in the room instantly changes as if a great weight has lifted.

Sera no longer feels stuck. She edges in closer and Bug steps back a step to give her room. They share a smile as Rex addresses Omen again. “What’s your name, trooper?”

“I’m see-tee-six—”

 “Your name. Not your number.”

“Sorry, sir. I’m Omen.” He turns to the others. “This is Bug and that’s Ink. We arrived a few days ago. Officially, that is.”

“Straight from Kamino?”

“No, Captain. We originally went to Coruscant for a bit before we officially received our placement.”

“Glad to have you with us.” Rex claps Omen on the shoulder and then nods at Bug and Ink. They’re entirely relaxed now, their attention on their captain. “Who’s my co-pilot?”

“I am, sir,” answers Omen.

“Good,” says Rex. “Ink. Bug. I want you and one of these mechs in the interior of the ship drying and salvaging what you can. Omen, you and I will stay out here and go through all of this.” Rex gestures with one hand at the array of parts and crates scattered across the bay floor. “If we need anything replaced, we need to know now.”

“Sir. Yes, sir.” The three men say in unison.

Ink and Bug immediately head for the ship, Ink stopping to redirect one of the astromechs. It stops herding the water, and using its thrusters, guides itself gently into the interior of the ship. Bug and Ink follow behind, stepping up awkwardly as they slip in the lingering water. Omen unhooks a datapad clipped to his utility belt as he walks up to a pile of metal paneling.

Rex sets his helmet down on a nearby crate and starts to follow him but Sera steps into his path. “Captain,” she says softly. “How can I help?”

He frowns slightly. “Do you not have Jedi stuff to do?”

Sera blinks, stunned, and then she laughs. “What do you mean by ‘Jedi stuff,’ Captain?”

“I thought—” He pauses. “Shouldn’t you be with the generals?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t believe so. They haven’t sent for me.”

“But you’re…Jedi.” He says ‘Jedi’ the same way he called her ‘Master.’ A question. Sera doesn’t fully understand the relationship between the clones and the Jedi Order, but this isn’t the time to ask. Right now, she only wants to be useful.

“Force-wielder,” she corrects. “I’m not part of the Order.”

“Apologies,” he says. “General Kenobi mentioned that, but I’m still struggling to understand how someone like you isn’t part of the Order.”

“Not everyone takes the same path.” Choices were made for her, but that’s not something he needs to know.

Rex nods. “No. Not everyone does. Even us clones aren’t immune.”

Sera leans in and lowers her voice. “Please tell me what I can do, Captain.”

He grimaces slightly. “I’m not used to ordering Jedi—excuse me, Force-wielders, around.”

“This one wants you to.” The tips of Rex’s ears go pink. “Not like that,” she says hurriedly. “I meant—”

“—I know.”

They both stare at the floor.

“How about—” begins Rex.

“—I’ll ask Bug.”

“Very good, sir.”

Sera turns on her heel, hands clasped in front of her, face hot. She strides over to the ship’s opening, coming to a stop next to the half-descended ramp, peering inside. “Bug, you in there?”

There’s a clang and then a curse before Bug steps out from the cockpit. When he notices her, he walks over, crouching next to the opening to speak to her without having to hover. “You called for me?” Bug rubs the back of his head and winces.

“Captain said to talk to you.”

“Did he?”

“…Yes.”

Bug grins mischievously. “And what did he say?”

“To ask you.”

His eyes widen innocently. “To ask me what exactly?”

Sera groans. “Give me something to do, I beg you.”

“Didn’t we establish on your first day here that you don’t know anything about ships?”

Sera places a hand on her hip. “Are you holding that against me?”

“No, sir. Just stating a fact.”

“Bug—”

“I’ll hand you things that need to be dried off. There are tools and small parts that were submerged in the water. Don’t want them to rust. There are towels on top of that crate over there.” Bug indicates the crate with the tip of his chin. “Does that work?”

Sera nods and then grabs one of the towels, tossing it over her shoulder. When she comes back to the ship, Bug starts handing her all sorts of items she doesn’t recognize, and some she does. She carries them away to a dry area, laying out a large tarp to put them on. The two astromechs cleaning the floor are working hard but their squeegees are small. Sera takes care to give them plenty of space.

After several trips, Bug jumps down from the ship. “Nothing else?” asks Sera, a little out of breath.

Bug shakes his head. “Nope. Ink and the droid are fine. I’m grabbing a fan for them but afterwards I’ll come help you.”

He’s gone for only a few minutes, dropping off his load before joining Sera. Sera opts for the floor while Bug sits on a low crate, the two of them examining everything pulled from the interior, inspecting for damage, and drying off what they can. It’s an incredibly slow process. Some of the interior components are small but intricate. Those she hands off to Bug.

He holds up a cylindrical piece of delicate metal and gives it a shake. Sloshing water answers him. “Shit,” he mutters.

“What is it?”

Bug chuckles and holds up the waterlogged part. “This entire ship belongs in a junkyard. Omen and I spent three days fixing it up before you got here. Even then we weren’t hopeful it wouldn’t break apart while in space.” Bug sits up and glances across the bay floor. Sera follows his gaze. Omen and Rex are on the other side of the bay. Rex points at something and Omen shows him the datapad. He nods and then the two move on to something else.

“Omen!” shouts Bug, cupping one side of his mouth. Omen and Rex both turn abruptly. Bug holds the part high over his head. “We need a new one!” Omen shakes his head and begins aggressively stabbing at the datapad’s screen.

Sera and Bug work in relative silence. As time passes, hovercarts pushed by clone troopers start to arrive. Almost all of them have the same shade of blue that Rex wears painted on their armor. They come alone or in pairs, dropping off ship parts, and then loading up the old ones, carting them off. They don’t talk to anyone expect Rex, but Sera catches several that glance her way.

Ink eventually joins them, dropping down beside Sera on the tarp. Her fingers are sore and covered in tiny cuts, the edges irritated and itchy, made worse by the sharp metal her skin keeps catching on. They’re almost done checking and cleaning every piece. Anything unsalvageable is tossed and marked on Omen’s datapad.

The water on the floor is gone, the hangar bay spotless thanks to the astromechs. They move around the ship, using their thrusters as needed, their welding torches sparking as they repair and reinforce the exterior hull.

Bug tosses the last of the tools into the toolbox, securing the lid. “I’m hungry,” he grumbles.

“You’re always hungry,” replies Ink, removing his safety goggles and cleaning them with a towel. He inspects them and frowns.

“We haven’t eaten in hours, Ink. I’m starving. Aren’t you?” Ink shrugs, clearly done with this conversation. Bug sighs and looks at Sera. “Will you talk to Rex? He’ll listen if you ask.”

Ink stops scrubbing at the goggles and points at Bug. “Don’t involve her. You go and ask.” He turns to Sera. “Don’t listen to him.”

Bug takes a knee beside Sera. “You’re Jedi. If you ask, he won’t say no.”

“Because he can’t, Bug,” hisses Ink. “It’ll be like him saying no to General Skywalker.”

“Exactly,” says Bug.

“Of course he can say no to me,” counters Sera. “I’m not in charge.”

Ink leans forward, elbows on knees. “We are programmed to serve the Republic and by extension the Jedi. It is very unlikely he will say no to you.”

“Which is why you should ask him,” smiles Bug. He even bats his eyelashes at her.

Before the water tank incident, they’d already been at it for several hours. She won’t lie and say she’s not tired, because she is. Everything aches now that she’s sitting down. As if on cue, her stomach rumbles loudly.

Bug grins victoriously. He extends a hand and Sera takes it. He helps her to her feet, every muscle in her body resisting. Rex and Omen are no longer standing together. They’re on opposite sides of the far end of the bay. They’re organizing everything, putting various pieces in specific sections, creating an organized grid.

Ink stands and addresses Sera. “Sir, you don’t—ow!” Bug pinches Ink’s arm. “Was that necessary?” Bug shushes him and then gives Sera a thumbs up. Ink rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“Wish me luck,” she mutters.

Captain Rex’s back is to her. She approaches on his right side to not startle him. When she steps into view, his head turns toward her, his entire demeanor changing the moment his gaze settles on her face. He drops whatever’s in his hand like it doesn’t matter. His back and shoulders straighten. All his attention is focused on Sera.

“Captain,” she says, momentarily surprised by this sudden shift. In the Force she senses that flame again, its warmth and comfort kissing at her fingers. Rex is connected to it, she’s sure of it, but diving further requires her to tap into him, and that is an invasion of his privacy.

“Sir.” He pauses, gaze curious. Sera’s stomach rumbles and speaks for her. Rex’s mouth twitches in amusement. “You’re free to leave. You don’t need my permission.”

“I’m not asking for myself but for them.” She gestures with an open palm to the bay behind her. “Before you arrived, we’d already been here for several hours. Doesn’t seem fair for me to take a break if they can’t.”

“That’s kind of you, sir, but—”

“None of you need to stop working. I can bring it back for everyone.” She begins to pull at a thread on the hem of her tunic, but quickly drops her hands when the cuts on her fingertips begin to sting. “If that’s alright?”

All her meals have been delivered to her personal sleeping quarters. She wouldn’t even know where to retrieve them on her own or if they even come from the same place.

“Thank you, sir. But it’s not necessary.” Rex reaches for his datapad, making a few quick taps. “I’ll handle ours. You can take yours whenever and come back when you’re ready.”

“I can’t eat here? With all of you?”

“You want to eat with us?” The surprise in his voice gives Sera pause. Does General Skywalker, or the other Jedi for that matter, not eat with their troops? Do they never co-mingle other than when it’s necessary? Should she follow suit?

Sera mulls it over in her mind and decides almost instantly against it. She doesn’t want to be alone. She’d rather be here than in isolation.

“Yes,” she says, crossing her arms. “Will that be a problem?”

Rex regards her, his eyes narrowing slightly. She almost folds and looks at the floor.

“No, sir,” he finally says after a long pause.

“Good.”

Chapter Text

Mando’a Translations:

Usen'ye! – go away / piss off

Rex hasn’t even taken a bite and Bug is already halfway through his meal. Using his chopsticks like a shovel, Bug inhales the noodles, slurping loudly, sauce coating his lips and chin. Rex grimaces, but he’s impressed the guy hasn’t choked.

“You’ll make yourself sick if you’re not careful,” chides Ink. Bug grunts and scoops more into his mouth until his cheeks stick out. Ink’s upper lip curls in disgust.

The five of them sit in a tight circle. Bug and Omen both recline on the floor opposite each other. Omen is on Rex’s left, Sera his right, and Ink directly across. Around them, the astromechs scuttle about, sifting through the parts that Rex and Omen organized earlier. The interior of the ship is completely dry, the structural integrity of the hull is reinforced, and anything that couldn’t be salvaged has already been replaced.

It's just assembly now.

Rex watches an astromech with dark green accents lift a hollow cylindrical tube. It looks ridiculously large compared to the droid, but it carries the tube away as if it weighs nothing. Assembly will take hours even with astromech assistance. That doesn’t include fueling, running diagnostics, loading flight plans, and initial checks before launch.

Omicron-class attack shuttles are reliable ships—when they work—but this one was already riddled with issues before General Skywalker salvaged it. The Jedi has a habit of hoarding defunct droids and starships. Rex can’t begin to imagine what Skywalker’s personal quarters must look like. It’s probably more of a droid factory than a bedroom.

“So you’re taking her food now?” asks Ink incredulously.

“She doesn’t want it,” retorts Bug. He jabs his chopsticks in Sera’s direction as she digs around in her noodles, picking out small green cubes to toss into Bug’s container.

“Oh, did you want some too, Ink?” she asks politely.

Ink smiles smugly at Bug and holds out his container. “Please.” Bug’s eyes go round with abject horror as Sera deposits a few of the green cubes on top of Ink’s noodles. “Thank you,” he says to Sera while keeping his eyes trained on Bug.

Sera turns to Omen and silently lifts her food in offering. “No thank you, sir,” he laughs softly. When she turns towards Rex, he quickly shakes his head, tucking into his own food. Every bite is delicious, and Rex savors it. Meals like this are rare. Now that he’s no longer on Kamino, most of his dietary intake consists of ration bars or energy cubes. Real food with flavor is a luxury.

Between bites, his gaze keeps drifting to Sera, trying to figure her out.

This Jedi who isn’t a Jedi.

It doesn't make sense to him. Separating her from everything he understands about Jedi is impossible. He has no box to put her in and nothing to connect her to. Rex has never met a Jedi that hasn’t been part of the Order. It’s why he went with ‘Master’ first before ‘General.’ Commander Tano calls both generals by that title, and he’s heard Skywalker address Kenobi in the same manner on countless occasions. Rex knows Sera isn’t a Padawan, but she’s also not GAR. ‘General’ doesn’t seem right either.

He settled for ‘sir,’ and she seemed to accept it. Yet it still doesn’t feel correct.

Rex keeps turning their meeting over and over again in his mind. The way her eyes widened when she first looked at him, how breathy and soft her voice was when she said ‘hello,’ her openness when she introduced herself.

It completely startled him. It flustered him further when she had asked him for something to do. At the time, he was stunned that a Jedi would ever ask a clone to order them around. After that, she asked permission for a break, not only for herself, but for Omen, Ink, and Bug.

It’s clear that Sera doesn’t know how to navigate this dynamic either. Rex makes a mental note to talk with her privately. The two of them need to come up with something they’ll both be comfortable with. He’s not going to spend the entire mission questioning himself about what to call her.

She did say she wanted him to use her name, but Rex can’t bring himself to use her first name to her face. It would be like addressing General Skywalker as Anakin. Jedi, even those not of the Order, deserve a certain level of respect, and Rex just needs to figure out what that line is.

“Do the tattoos go up your arms too?” Sera’s gentle voice pulls Rex’s attention back to the moment. Bug has the sleeve of his black bodysuit rolled up, revealing his wrist and half of his forearm. The thin black lines that curve over and around his fingers travel across the back of his hand and connect to a single black band that’s no wider than the width of Rex’s index finger. From the band are more lines and patterns that disappear beneath his clothes.

“Stops at the shoulder,” says Bug. “Same on this arm.”

“Do the lines represent anything?”

Bug shakes his head. “Nah. Just thought it looked cool. You should ask Omen about his. They’re super meaningful.”

“Really?” Her eyes light up.

Omen snorts. “Don’t listen to him.”

“What about you, Ink?” Sera, a bit abashed, turns her gaze on him and Ink flushes. Omen and Bug start laughing.

“Go on, Ink. Tell her,” teases Bug. Omen beats his fist against his chest, his laugh turning into a cough. Rex places a hand on his shoulder and Omen waves dismissively, clearing his throat as he sits up.

Sera leans forward eagerly, noodles forgotten. Bug peers over her arm to investigate her half-full food container. Rex watches him until Bug glances up and notices Rex. He quickly averts his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t after Sera’s food.

Ink taps his chopsticks on the edge of his food container. “Well, sir, I don’t have any.”

Sera’s brow furrows. Bug and Omen laugh harder, both failing to control themselves. Bug rests his elbows on his knees, hiding his mouth behind his hand. Omen is red in the face, wheezing more than he is laughing.

Rex smiles, knowing exactly where this is headed. He leans forward and points his chopsticks at Ink. “You didn’t choose the name Ink, did you?”

Ink shrugs sheepishly. “No, Captain.”

Omen’s wheezing turns into hiccups. This isn’t the hot-headed clone Rex met earlier.

“I don’t understand,” states Sera.

She wants to join in. Rex sees the unsure upturn of her lips that says she’s trying to follow along but isn’t sure how to navigate the conversation. She keeps fidgeting too, readjusting herself on the crate like she can’t get comfortable.

Rex addresses her. “We clones don’t always name ourselves. Sometimes we earn it for a heroic deed, or like in Ink’s case, an ill-natured tease.”

Sera’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “Ink is a nice name. Why would that be hurtful?”

Ink’s flush only deepens under her concerned gaze.

The way clones grow from a number to a name is as natural as breathing to Rex. He has no logical or rational explanation for it, at least, nothing that Sera might understand. She comes from a different world entirely.

“I got the name from an allergic reaction,” answers Ink, his shoulders lifting slightly. When Sera only stares at him and blinks, he continues. “Went with Omen to get a tattoo and my body rejected it. Blew up like a balloon. I was swollen for a week.”

Omen and Bug start snickering. Sera shoots them a look and they instantly quiet down. Rex hides his grin behind a mouthful of noodles. She isn’t all softness then.

“Is that unusual?” asks Sera after Omen and Bug have stopped laughing. “For a clone to have a reaction like that while others don’t?”

“Genes act funny when you mess with them,” replies Ink with a shrug.

“Take the captain’s hair for example,” adds Bug, gesturing at Rex with his chopsticks.

Sera’s attention pivots to Rex and he’s momentarily struck dumb by how intensely she’s looking at him. It’s not the usual Jedi look, the one where it feels like they’re seeing right down to your atoms, but a curious, almost thoughtful observance. Rex feels…seen, as if Sera is understanding the whole of him in that moment.

Rex coughs on a noodle, flustered. “Like Ink said. Genetics are a funny thing.”

“I see. And do you have tattoos, Captain?”

“No.” Rex shakes his head. “They’re not for me.”

Sera hums softly in acknowledgement. Her gaze turns back toward the trio in a slow sweep that lingers on Rex for a few stretched seconds. Omen is starting to recount every detail of Ink’s unfortune inking. Her attention is now entirely on them, and while Rex listens, he keeps glancing at Sera to see her reactions.

Of all his interactions with Jedi, their demeanors are typically subdued and calm minus a few exceptions. Skywalker immediately comes to mind, but so does Krell. The mere thought of Krell sends a bolt of sourness directly to Rex’s stomach. The shadows start to close in, and when he glances at Sera again, the phantom weight he felt while cleaning his armor returns.

He doesn’t dare look over his shoulder.

Rex stares into his container of half-eaten noodles, swallowing down the rising anxiousness building in his stomach. Some of the noodles shift as if Rex has moved his hand, but he hasn’t. The conversation around him is muffled like he’s underwater, and Omen’s distant laugh sounds more like a scream. At the center, the noodles part, and ghostly, corpse-like fingers emerge, reaching toward him. Faces flash before his vision like a repeating blaster. The fingers stretch, knuckle joints popping. Rex can’t breathe. He’s being sucked into a vacuum that’s no larger than a straw.

“Rex.” The feminine voice is deeply calming. It blossoms within his mind and works itself through his limbs until every tightly coiled muscle starts to relax.

He blinks. Blinks again. The fingers and faces are gone. In their place is Sera’s warm hand resting gently around his wrist. She leans in, her eyes slowly searching his face, the middle of her brow scrunched in concentration. Bug, Ink, and Omen are chattering away, oblivious.

“Where did you go?” She’s speaking so softly that Rex almost doesn’t hear her.

“I’m fine, sir. Excuse me.” Rex abruptly stands and Sera jumps back, tucking her hand into her lap like she’s been stung.

When Rex stands, so do Omen, Ink, and Bug. Bug is less graceful about it, but they all stand at attention, awaiting whatever it is he has to say. Rex holds out his half-eaten container of food toward Bug and gives it a little shake.

“Take it,” says Rex. Bug does so hesitantly. “The astromechs can finish up. We can meet back here once assembly is complete. Get some rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rex tips his head in the direction of the clones. He glances at Sera, her expression unreadable. “Sleep well,” he says. She only nods.

Rex turns on his heel, the looming phantom weight securing itself as a heavy cloak across his shoulders.

Sleep eludes Rex, and when it’s time for him to return to the hangar floor, tiredness finally pulls at his consciousness. He pushes it off, gets up anyway, and splashes cold water on his face. It isn’t enough but there isn’t any other choice. Rex has a duty to uphold.

When Rex arrives at the hangar, he stops short of the terminal. Bug, Ink, Omen, and Sera are already here. Bug and Sera are standing nearby in deep conversation next to a short stack of inventory crates. Someone is banging away at something inside the ship. It’s likely either Omen or Ink since Rex observes that neither are on the hangar floor.

Bug and Sera haven’t noticed Rex. As he approaches, Rex hesitates when their conversation reaches his ears.

“‘Sera’ is fine. You don’t need to be so formal.”

Rex frowns. He already doesn’t like where this might be heading.

“But you’re Jedi,” comes Bug’s voice.

Sera sighs softly. “I’m not Jedi in the same way General Skywalker is. I’m not here to give orders. In fact, I’m supposed to be following Captain Rex’s orders. He’s in charge. He makes the calls.”

“Understood…ma’am?”

“Oh no, that’s almost worse,” she giggles.

Rex steps out to the side of the terminal for a better look. When he does, Rex notices the tips of Bug’s ears grow darker in color as he rubs the back of his neck, laughing along with her. “If not ‘sir,’ or ‘ma’am,’ then what?”

“I would really prefer ‘Sera.’”

“I don’t know if Captain Rex would like us to be so informal with you.”

You’re right, Bug. I am not okay with that.

“You told me to call you ‘Bug.’”

“I did,” he agrees.

“And do I call you ‘Bug,’ or do I call you by your number?”

“I know where you’re going with this.”

Rex knows exactly where this is going, too. Sera might not be Jedi in the same way General Skywalker is, but she deserves a certain level of respect. First names are off the table, especially when it comes to how Ink, Bug, and Omen are to address her.

“How about this,” she begins. “When you’re talking to me, you can call me ‘Sera.’ But for everything else, ‘sir’ will do fine.” She points at him. “But no ‘General’ or ‘Master.’”

Bug laughs. “Alright, Sera.” He whispers her name like it’s a secret.

Absolutely not. No.

Rex seethes, and it’s only made worse when he catches the semi-flirtatious grin on Bug’s face. Squaring his shoulders, Rex makes himself known. Bug immediately blanches and backs away from Sera, turning toward Rex like he wasn’t just leaning into her space. Sera’s features morph into genuine kindness when she sees him. Rex tries not to frown, but he knows he’s failing because Sera’s smile falters slightly.

“Captain,” says Bug hesitantly in greeting. The clone trooper keeps glancing down at the floor and then back up to Rex’s face.

Rex’s frown deepens and then he glances at Sera. “A word, sir.” Rex looks back at Bug and nods his head toward the ship. Bug makes himself scarce.

“You’re upset.” Sera’s head tilts slightly to the left. “And you didn’t sleep.”

Rex doesn’t acknowledge her comment. “My men are not allowed to call you by your first name. There is a level of respect all clones must abide by when addressing Jedi regardless of rank.”

She frowns. “But I’m not Jedi.”

“To them you are. They don’t know the difference. And Bug knows better than to encourage this.”

“’Master’ and ‘General’ don’t apply to me, and using those titles as my term of address is disrespectful to everyone who’s earned it. I am not a Jedi Knight. I am not a Jedi Master. I’m not part of the Order.” Sera’s voice wavers slightly in annoyance.

They’ve had this conversation before, and they’ll likely keep having it if neither of them can come to an agreement.

Rex needs to calm down. He isn’t upset with her. He’s upset with Bug.

“I’m aware,” replies Rex slowly. “But you need to understand where I’m coming from on this. Our training drilled into us the importance of respect. To us, you are Jedi, and must be afforded the same level of respect we’d give to any in the Order.”

“I understand, Captain. Truly. There’s no reason for any of you to be so formal with me. I am a regular person. A citizen. Which means I am below all of you in rank.”

“Fine,” concedes an exasperated Rex. “Then I am ordering you not to tell my men to call you by your first name.”

The corner of Sera’s mouth twitches into a hint of a smile. That seething anger within him instantly dissipates. Rex’s shoulders deflate along with his mood. “If I tell them no, and you tell them the opposite, it undermines me and confuses them.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. Rex knows she means it because her features soften, and she won’t look at him. “That was never my intention.”

Rex itches to brush a stray strand of hair that’s fallen from behind her ear. His eyes begin at the tip of the strand and work up. Sera’s head turns at the last moment and their gazes meet. “Whatever the intention…please don’t do it again.”

Sera nods and averts her gaze. Rex senses an abrupt change between them. She looks…panicky, and Rex doesn’t understand why. He wasn’t that cross with her, was he?

Rex notices the roundness of her eyes and the distance of her gaze. Maybe it’s one of those visions Kenobi and Skywalker talked about? But what can Rex do about that? He’s not even sure what to look for, let alone how to handle it.

Rex forcefully clears his throat and Sera snaps out of it, those round eyes looking up at his face. Her pupils are blown wide and her lip trembles slightly.

“Apologies, Captain,” she says hurriedly. “My mind drifts sometimes.”

Rex frowns. Jedi tend to stare. He’s seen it before with General Skywalker and Commander Tano plenty of times. This didn’t feel like that. Skywalker and Tano always appear serene yet determined. Sera seemed fearful, like he’d ordered her not to look at him.

Rex opens his mouth to reassure her, but Sera is already talking, moving on like it didn’t happen at all. “Where did you go yesterday?”

The abrupt question startles him. “What do you mean, sir?” asks Rex slowly, unsure of where this is heading.

“When we all sat and ate together. You slipped away from us.”

Rex understands that Sera doesn’t mean when he left for his quarters. She’s talking about before that, when the faces of his brothers flashed across his vision and their phantom fingers reached for him.

“I retired for the evening,” replies Rex, stepping around the point.

Her shoulders droop slightly. “I meant before you left. I felt a great wave of rising pain. It was…heavy, like someone was standing behind me and pushing down on my shoulders.” Rex swallows, and Sera continues. “You were lost. Floating.” She shrugs. “I didn’t want to probe into your thoughts at the time.”

Now it’s Rex that averts his gaze.

Sera leans forward so she can look up at him. “Are you all right, Rex?”

Without his title, his name on her lips is too personal, like she’s sliced him open and revealed his secrets. Her description of what she sensed from him is eerily spot-on. Not that Skywalker hasn’t unnerved him on occasion, but never to this degree.

Even though she’s Jedi, Sera is a stranger. He’s never this open with Skywalker.

“I’m here now,” is all he says.

Sera looks disappointed but she doesn’t push it. She glances over her shoulder at the ship and then turns back to him. “If Ink, Bug, and Omen aren’t allowed to call me Sera, does that mean you can?”

Rex cocks an eyebrow. “We’re back to this?”

“Yes,” she says. “And I’d like an answer, Captain.”

“No,” he states flatly, holding back a grin.

Her mouth turns up into a soft smile. “I think you will.”

Rex opens his mouth to tell her he absolutely will not, but he’s interrupted by a loud crash from inside the ship, followed by an even louder curse. Omen comes stomping down the boarding ramp wiping grease from his hands. When he notices Rex and Sera, he straightens.

“Captain Rex.”

“Omen,” acknowledges Rex, tucking his helmet tighter under his arm.

Omen folds the small towel and grips it in one hand. “We’re finishing up a few things on the interior the astromechs didn’t complete. Afterward, we can begin fueling and start our pre-flight checks.”

“Good,” nods Rex. “Come get me when you’re ready.”

“Of course, sir.” Omen disappears back inside the ship.

Rex turns toward Sera, all that earlier frustration gone. He doesn’t want to linger in that conversation, and arguing with her seems counterproductive. She doesn’t understand the protocols, and Rex can’t hold it against her, nor does he have the time to teach her. He’s not upset with her, but at Bug who knows better.

“Have you been briefed yet?” asks Rex. Titles and terms of address are small fish compared to what’s ahead. What Rex needs to find out is how much Sera knows about the mission, and what her place looks like in it.

Sera blinks. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to be more specific.”

“On why we’re here,” says Rex slowly.

She grimaces and Rex’s heart sinks into his stomach. “Seems like I’m becoming a bit of a disappointment,” she says bitterly.

“No. Not at all. I’m just surprised that you’d agree to come on a mission you haven’t been briefed on.”

“I didn’t have the option to say no, Captain.”

The sadness in her tone surprises him. “A Jedi who isn’t allowed to make their own choices?”

“Force-wielder,” she corrects, and that too seems to pain her. “Now, about that briefing?”

She had stepped around Rex’s question entirely. It only makes him suspicious of what the significance might mean for him and his men. General Kenobi told him his main job is to protect her, but how can he do that if the person he’s meant to protect knows nothing about the mission? And to say she didn’t have the option to say no implies she was coerced or forced. But by who? Her people? By the Order?

Rex knows better than to poke around where he isn’t wanted. Sighing, he sets his helmet down next to Ink’s assembly of tools on a nearby crate. Next to the tools is a datapad. Rex reaches for it and turns it on. Sera steps closer, her arm nearly touching his as she looks down at the screen.

Rex’s grip on the datapad tightens. “The cruiser will jump out of hyperspace and land just outside Pryx airspace. We’ll depart from the cruiser and make our way to Cuvun.” The screen shifts to show the exact flightpath. “We have clearance codes to get down to the surface and fake documentation in case our identities are questioned. I’m not all that worried about getting there, but I am worried about this ship,” he finishes, briefly glancing away from the screen toward the vessel.

“Why is that?”

“It wasn’t in good condition when we got it.”

Sera makes a face. “And that was before the water?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “We should have just grabbed something newer for transport, but General Skywalker has a habit of collecting defunct starships.”

“Can you tell me a bit more about it?” asks Sera. “The ship, I mean. I’m not familiar.”

“It’s a decommissioned Omicron-class attack shuttle. The Republic still uses them, but this one had a bunch of issues, as you know. Kept malfunctioning. Instead of fixing it they were going to scrap it. General Skywalker convinced someone to let him keep it. It’s a great ship when it’s in top shape. Reliable and roomy.”

“And this one isn’t?”

“Isn’t what?”

“Reliable.”

“It is,” replies Rex, but not even he’s entirely positive the thing won’t break apart if things get hot.

“Are we expecting to fight?” Sera inquires as if she’s plucked the thought of a battle right from his head.

“There could be a Separatist presence when we make it to the planet. Clearance codes could be old and won’t hold up. Worst-case scenario, there’s a blockade, then we’d have to fight our way down there.”

Sera crosses her arms. “So, we are expecting a fight.”

Rex shakes his head. “Absolutely not. We have everything we need to get to Cuvun and its surface by non-lethal means.” He taps on the screen. “Do you want to look at a map of the planet?”

“No, thank you.”

He nods. “We have civilian clothes that we’ll change into once we land.” Rex looks her up and down. Sera doesn’t look like a Jedi but a farmer from an agricultural planet. Her hooded poncho that stops around mid-thigh is a soft, faded brown, her leggings are off-black as if they’ve been washed one too many times, and her boots are scuffed.

When his gaze returns to her face, Sera cocks an eyebrow like she’s caught him doing something he isn’t supposed to. “You might be okay. You don’t look like a Jedi,” he stammers. Rex internally flinches at how ridiculous he sounds. “No offense, sir.”

“None taken.” Her smile returns a bit and Rex tugs lightly on the front of his armor, suddenly hot.

“There is one more thing.”

“Of course, Captain.”

“It’s my understanding that Bug, Ink, and Omen are unaware of your…condition. It would be good to discuss it now rather than later.”

Sera gives a slight nod for him to continue. Her postures changes, hands twisting the hem of her poncho until the fabric wrinkles.

Sensing her discomfort, Rex locks the datapad and sets it aside. Another loud bang comes from the ship and it’s a reminder that no one else needs to be part of this conversation.

Rex lowers his voice.

“Generals Skywalker and Kenobi told me you have visions. That taking you to Cuvun might trigger more of them and reveal why the Separatists are there. They didn’t explain specifics, but if it’s my job to protect you, I’d like to know what we’re getting ourselves into.”

Sera shifts slightly on her feet. “Are you asking if I know how to defend myself?”

Rex shrugs. “I’d like to know that too.”

Sera lifts the side of her poncho to reveal a lightsaber. The hilt is nothing like the clean metal lines of Skywalker’s saber. This one looks like Sera reached into the ground and pulled it from the earth.

The poncho falls back into place, and Rex bites back a question.

“Fighting isn’t an issue,” says Sera. “I’m good with my blade and I do well with knives. Can’t say I’ve ever been in a warzone. That’s a new one.”

“It’s not a warzone, but it is potentially enemy territory.”

“Then you shouldn’t need to worry about me.”

“And the visions? Do I need to worry about those?”

Sera sighs and glances away from him. “They come and go as they please. There are warning signs just before.”

Rex waits, hoping for more, but Sera glances back at him and doesn’t elaborate. “Will that be all, Captain?”

He nods. “For now.” It’s not what he wants to hear. Her response is just as vague as what Kenobi and Skywalker told him. “Alert me before it happens. Please.”

“I’ll do my best.”

An astromech rolls by, trailed by a fuel droid. “Fueling won’t take long for a ship this size,” says Rex as he watches Bug reach for the fuel line to attach to the ship. Rex didn’t even notice him reappear.

Ink pops his head out from inside the ship. “Captain Rex, we’re ready for flight checks.”

Rex nods and steps back, holding out a hand toward the boarding ramp stairs, allowing Sera to go first. As she ascends, one of the astromechs appears from somewhere in the interior of the ship, bumping into her. She stumbles back and Rex grabs her upper arm, pulling her backward and into his chest as the droid beeps furiously.

“Watch where you’re going,” growls Rex in irritation at the astromech. The droid continues to chatter away angrily in binary. “Back. Up,” commands Rex, but the droid doesn’t budge.

The astromech ignores him and uses its thrusters to navigate itself down to the hanger floor. Rex keeps a firm hold on Sera, positioning her away from the droid by pivoting his body in front of her.

Omen and Ink appear in the doorway.

“Are you all right?” Ink asks Sera.

“I’m fine. Just startled,” she replies.

“Usen’ye!” Omen shouts at the astromech. “Damn droids.”

The astromech rolls away, still chattering loudly, clipping a clone trooper on its way out of the hangar.

“Maybe I was little rude to him,” grimaces Ink.

“Droid don’t have feelings,” snaps Omen, rolling his eyes as he disappears back into the interior of the ship. Ink follows him.

Sera glances at Rex’s hand which is still locked onto her upper arm. “I need to pay more attention to my surroundings.”

Rex reluctantly releases her arm, his hand doing so slowly. When it comes to his side, Rex flexes and clenches his fingers. There’s a lingering warmth that clings to him. “You were paying attention. Don’t apologize for the droid.”

She only nods and steps up onto the ship. Rex follows behind, brushing past her, their shoulders nearly touching as he advances toward the cockpit. Omen sits in the co-pilot’s seat facing the interior of the ship. When he notices Rex, he sits up straighter.

“General Skywalker checked in. Said we’ll be out of hyperspace soon.”

“Good,” replies Rex. “Let’s get seated and start on those flight checks. I want to leave the moment we exit hyperspace.”

Rex takes a seat in the pilot’s chair. Omen and Rex fall into a synchronized dance as Rex calls out different codes and Omen responds accordingly. This is second nature to him, a routine comfort that he always enjoys before a mission. While Rex doesn’t particularly enjoy flying, the lead up to it is a calming ritual. The shadows cannot harm him here.

He and Omen have their quiet conversation while pressing buttons and flipping switches. Behind him, Ink sits at a small console built into the side of the interior hull. There are three screens in total. One has the ships’ specs, another is a topographical view of the planet Cuvun, and the final screen gives detailed information on their timeframe from the point of exiting hyperspace to when they should land on the surface. Omen may be Rex’s co-pilot, but Ink will be the brains of the operation.

Rex pivots slightly in his chair to glance at Sera, even as Omen keeps talking. Bug is on board, standing beside Ink. Ink holds out a datapad to Bug, which he takes, and then turns to Sera. She leans in and watches the screen.

“Captain.” Omen’s voice sharply pulls Rex back to his co-pilot.

Omen blinks, waiting. Shit.

“Repeat that.”

“Fuel reserves.”

Rex glances at the dial. It says there’s nothing there. Frowning, Rex taps on the dial and the prong starts to swivel. “Full.”

Omen starts to rattle off more things on the checklist, but Rex’s attention keeps drifting to the back of the ship.

Sera stands close to Bug, the two of them chatting over that datapad. “How can you read that so quickly?” she asks.

Bug doesn’t even pause, just keeps scrolling as he answers. “All clones come with certain enhancements. We can retain vast amounts of information quickly and repeat it with almost exact precision.”

“That’s impressive,” replies Sera.

Bug glances up from the datapad, pops out a hip, and falls into a relaxed stance. “It’s not just text. Visuals work too. Or verbal instruction. Tell us once and we’ll never forget.”

Ink spins around in his chair and places his hands on his knees. “Ignore him. He’s flirting.” He points a finger in Bug’s direction. “Stop. This isn’t Seventy-Nines.”

Bug winks at Sera and Rex doesn’t care if it’s friendly or not. Bug’s the instigator, the troublemaker, the one who’s always pulling pranks and causing a bit of mayhem. Omen told him so. So why is Rex taking Bug’s interactions with Sera so personally?

Sera glances up from the datapad and her gaze locks with his. Rex is completely turned around in his seat now. He watches her and Bug, head tilted in Omen’s direction as the solider talks. Not that he’s saying anything, simply listening, and mostly keeping an eye on Bug.

When Bug taps Sera on her forearm with his knuckles, snagging her attention, Rex’s jaw clenches.

“Captain?”

“What,” growls Rex. He immediately grimaces at the look on Omen’s face.

“You okay?”

Rex ignores the question. “Are we ready to go?”

Omen cocks his head. “We’re ready, sir.”

Rex glances away from Omen and to the back of the ship. He addresses Sera. “You should probably be seated when we exit hyperspace. Don’t want you falling over when we take off.” He gestures to one of the flight chairs built into the other side of the hull across from Ink’s console.

She nods but frowns. Bug doesn’t move and that seems to bother her. “Where will you sit?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m the floater. Might need to run to the guns or fix an issue. Whatever happens. You though, are more important. I’m not looking to get on the Jedi’s bad side. Or Rex’s.”

Rex wants to tell Bug to stop flirting with her but calling him out in front of everyone will only embarrass Sera. He keeps it to himself, grouchy and irritated. If this is how it’s going to be the whole mission, Rex is going to lose it.

“You’re just as valuable as I am.”

“That’s my job. No need to worry. Unless you want to.” She rolls her eyes as Bug makes little finger-guns.

Rex is absolutely talking to Bug about this later.

Sera glances over her shoulder at Rex as Ink and Bug start talking statistics. He takes a deep breath and nods his head toward one of the flight chairs. Sera seems to take the hint because she promptly sits down. Her feet barely skim the floor.

Once she’s seated, Rex turns back to the cockpit controls. Rex presses a button in the center-most section of the console. The familiar hiss and whirl of the boarding ramp closing reaches his ears.

A staticky voice comes from a speaker near a numbered keypad. “Rex.” It’s General Skywalker. “We’re falling out of hyperspace shortly.”

“Heard, General.” Rex reaches up and presses a switch in the ceiling. “Men, strap in. Once we receive the all-clear, we’re off. Get this ship idling.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

Omen flips a switch, and the steady hum of the engines follows. It’s a low, familiar rumble that lightly vibrates through the body of the ship.

Rex leans forward slightly and presses the transmission button next to the speaker. “We’re ready, General.”

Skywalker’s voice responds a few seconds later. “On my count, Rex.”

Omen gently pulls a lever back. The engines thrum louder.

“In five,” comes Skywalker’s voice through the speaker. “Four…three…two…one.”

In sync with Skywalker’s voice, Rex and Omen pull back on the controls. Out the front viewport, Rex sees the cruiser’s flight deck. Troopers jog or walk across various platforms like tiny bugs. Mixed in are droids, and non-clone personnel. The Omicron shuttle swivels gently and steadily ascends as the main hanger doors open to deep space.

“You’re on your own now. May the force be with you, Rex. And good luck.”

“See you soon, General.”

Chapter Text

Mando’a Translations:

Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la – "Not gone, merely marching far away." (Tribute to a dead comrade.)

After clearing the Republic cruiser, Rex takes control of the steering. They’re just outside Pryx airspace in neutral space lanes. A Republic cruiser appearing for a bit before going back into hyperspace won’t raise any red flags. Large ships do it all the time, especially during long journeys to avoid overheating the hyperdrive.

For a few hours, it’s just the vastness of space. Ink watches the monitors for pirates and potential Separatist ships. Out here, close to an active system, pirates like to lurk for prey. They typically don’t engage this close, but they will mark potential targets.

Pryx, the capital planet of the Pryx star system, starts as a small dot in the distance. It’s almost indistinguishable amongst the many stars. Rex watches that small dot as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Not staring at it means he’ll have to look elsewhere, and elsewhere is where Sera is.

“Captain, were you at Geonosis?” asks Omen quietly. The clone’s voice draws Rex’s attention away from the distant planet.

Rex glances in his direction. “Yes. For both battles. Why?”

Omen shrugs. “We’ve never seen battle before, sir. Not real battle anyway.”

The realities of war are an ugly thing. Even though Omen, Ink, and Bug have been prepared through training, just like all the other clones, that doesn’t mean they fully understand. Training for battle does not prepare you for it. In training, someone might take a hit, but they’ll live. In battle, you take a hit and might not get up again.

“Are you wanting to know about Geonosis specifically?” asks Rex, his grip on the controls tightening.

He doesn’t particularly want to relive any of it, but the clone is curious, and Rex can indulge him a little in the quiet lull before they arrive. The one thing Rex won’t talk about is Umbara. The betrayal of Krell is too fresh, and a Jedi turncoat won’t do much for morale.

Omen shakes his head. “Doesn’t need to be. I just want the truth, Captain. That’s all.”

Rex stares ahead, arranging his thoughts before he begins. “Following orders and executing a mission isn’t worth anything if you don’t look after your brothers. We’re not droids. We’re human, and we make our own decisions.” Rex glances over at Omen. “You have to live with every decision you make. Your life, the lives of your brothers, and the lives of everyone in the Republic depend on it.”

Omen’s face is grim but resolute. “I’ll always have my brothers’ backs.”

Rex grins. “Even when you’re kicking them in the shin?”

Omen snorts and the two of them laugh softly. “Yeah,” replies Omen. “Even then.”

 “How long have the three of you been together?” asks Rex, gesturing with his head toward the back of the ship.

Omen’s smile remains. “Since forever. Other clones joked about us being grown in the same tube. I don’t think we’ve ever been apart.”

This happens with brothers who work closely together over long stretches. It was like that with Rex and Cody until they received their own assignments.

Rex nods. “It might not always be like that, but to have it is a good thing. When things get tough, you need people in your corner.”

Omen nods curtly as Ink’s voice calls out to them. “Captain Rex, I’m detecting several untagged starships in our vicinity.”

Rex turns slightly in his seat. “Anything we need to worry about?”

“Not at the moment, but I don’t think we should linger.”

“Omen, let’s up our speed. Ink, keep an eye on those ships and chart an alternate path to Pryx if you can. I don’t want any nasty surprises.”

“Understood, sir.”

Omen pulls back on the thrusters and the thrumming of the engines increases, the ship quickly gaining speed.

As they cruise closer, Pryx’s city-surface lights up the viewport. It’s like looking at the surface of Coruscant, but on a much smaller scale.

“That’s Pryx,” calls Rex over his shoulder. “The capital planet.”

“Is that Cuvun there in the distance?” asks Sera. To the right of Pryx is a hazy blue dot.

“It is,” replies Rex, flipping a switch above his head. “In order to reach it, we’ll have to use clearance codes. We can go through the airspace around Pryx. But once we start moving deeper into the system, they’ll be tracking us. They’ll want to know what our business is.”

“And what do our clearance codes say exactly?”

Omen answers before Rex has the chance. “It’ll make it seem like we have farming business down on the surface.”

“We’re bluffing our way in?” Sera seems surprised.

“We sure are,” chuckles Omen. “Hopefully we don’t have to say anything in addition to sending the codes.” Omen glances at Rex when he says it.

The ship veers slightly to the right as Rex guides it away from Pryx traffic lanes and into space beyond. There are fewer ships this way. Rex is momentarily mesmerized as Cuvun’s surface begins to fill the viewport in a vibrant swirl of green, blue, brown, and dusty red.

But lingering beyond Cuvun’s atmosphere is a massive ship surrounded by several smaller ones.

An alarm beeps. Rex punches a button and looks down at a screen.

“Shit,” he mutters.

“The intel was right,” says Bug as he leans between Rex and Omen for a better view.

“Looks like it,” growls Rex.

“What’s wrong?” comes Sera from behind them.

“The readings say they’re Separatist ships, but the markings and coloring are all wrong,” observes Rex, answering Sera’s question even though he’s speaking out loud to his brothers.

“That’s a Providence-class Dreadnought, Captain,” notes Ink. “With Pryx colors and the sigil of the ruling family.”

“Do you think the Separatists are selling ships to Pryx?” asks Omen. “They can spare it?”

Rex sighs. “There’s no way the Separatists would be willing to sell dreadnoughts in the middle of a war. They need those ships to fight us.”

“They might be on loan,” interjects Ink.

Bug leans back and crosses his arms. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“Let’s go in carefully,” says Rex. “It’s possible that these are repurposed ships, just like the one we’re in now.”

Rex doesn’t believe his own words because it’s simply not true. The Separatists have no reason to sell refurbished ships to neutral planets unless they expect something in return.

Omen eases the ship closer, keeping them at a steady, non-threatening speed toward the awaiting dreadnought.

A soft beeping accompanied by a blinking blue light comes from the console. The dreadnought is hailing them. Everyone freezes.

Rex’s finger hovers over the button to answer. “No one says a word.” He presses down.

“Omicron shuttle this is the Cuvun division of Pryx traffic control. Do you have security clearance?” It’s a man’s voice.

“We do.” Rex keeps his voice steady. “Sending you clearance codes now.” Rex glances at Omen who starts punching more buttons. He’s initiating the fuel reserves. When they come online, they can divert more power to the engines to give them a burst of speed.

The ship drifts closer to the blockade. The hailing ship remains silent. Unease creeps up Rex’s throat and starts to wrap around his lungs and heart. Clearance codes don’t take this long.

Something is wrong.

“Rex.” Sera’s voice is shaky, and she didn’t call him ‘captain’ like she always does.

He twists in his seat to look at her. Sera’s eyes are wide and she’s gripping the harness across her body tightly.

Rex doesn’t need to ask to know that she is sensing something in the Force. He turns to Omen. “Are the fuel reserves online?”

“They are.”

“Start increasing our speed.”

Omen hits a few more buttons and then eases forward on the thrusters.

“Omicron shuttle, our sensors indicate an increase in acceleration. Please retain your previous cruising speed as we process your clearance codes,” comes the crackly masculine voice through the speaker.

Omen looks to Rex for direction. Rex shakes his head. Omen pushes a bit more on the thrusters.

“Omicron shuttle that was not a request. Reduce your cruising speed.”

“Keep going, Omen.”

“Omicron shut—”

Rex smashes his hand over the intercom button and silences the voice. “They’re delaying. They would have cleared us by now.”

“What do you want us to do, Captain?” asks Omen.

“Put on your helmets. Omen, when I tell you, accelerate. We’re going to make a run for it.” Rex turns to the rest of them. “From this point on you will do exactly what I tell you to do. No exceptions. We aren’t going to have a lot of time. We need to be quick, and we need to be precise.”

“Understood,” replies Ink.

“We’re up for it,” affirms Bug.

Sera only nods.

A sharp beeping comes from the console.

Ink glances at one of his monitors. “They have a lock on us.”

“Bug, get on the gun!” shouts Rex as he secures his helmet. “Now!” Bug darts to the back of the ship toward the tailgun turret.

Rex curses under his breath as he engages the forward-facing cannons. “How much time do you need Ink? Can you chart us a safe path to the surface?”

“I need a minute,” he answers, typing away on his keyboard. “Maybe two.”

Rex activates the communication function in his helmet. “Bug, you on the gun?”

“Yes, sir,” comes Bug’s garbled reply.

He nods at Omen. “Punch it.”

Omen’s grip tightens on the steering. The ship jerks and stutters as the fuel reserves funnel towards the main engines. There is a brief pause, as if they’re just hanging without power, and then the ship blasts forward, slamming everyone against the backs of their chairs.

With Omen on the controls, the ship turns and weaves, avoiding explosions that shake and rock the hull. Rex is thankful he can entirely focus on the chaos outside the viewport. The clone is an excellent pilot. For a moment, Rex doesn’t see Omen in the co-pilot seat but General Skywalker.

Small silver orbs pop out from the sides of the dreadnought. “Shit,” mutters Rex as he notices them advancing.

“Hostiles incoming,” shouts Ink as an explosion rocks the ship. “Five of them. Vulture droids.”

“Hear that, Bug?” asks Rex into his comm.

An enthusiastic cheer from Bug answers him through the feed.

“Four hostiles,” calls out Ink.

Cuvun’s surface fills the viewport, a massive swirl of color that no longer looks beautiful to Rex.

“They’re still on our tail, Rex!” shouts Omen as he jerks the ship into a downward dive.

“I—” A thunderous boom rocks the ship and Rex bites his tongue.

Red lights appear all over the console. An alarm blares from the small speaker.

“What did they hit?” shouts Rex.

Ink answers. “Our left sublight engine.”

“I’ll take controls. Omen, see if you can get us stabilized.”

Omen bolts from his chair and heads deeper into the ship.

“Running diagnostics and rerouting power now,” shouts Omen.

Another blast. It rocks Rex to the side. “We need to land! Are those coordinates ready, Ink?”

A small screen in the cockpit lights up. “Sending them to you now.”

Rex connects the steering to the flight path. It won’t do the work, but it’ll help him stay course as best he can while they’re being shot at.

“We’re gonna land hard. Hold on to something.”

Outside the viewport there are nothing but trees. Endless amounts of trees that appear closer and closer by the second. The ship rattles and shakes, clacking Rex’s teeth together, and rattling his brain.

Another boom. Another forceful jolt of the spacecraft.

“All hostiles down!”

“Brace for impact!”

“Second engine is gone! I repeat, engine is gone and leaking fuel!”

“Omen! Sit down! Now!”

“The ground is coming up too fast!”

“Omen!”

“The ship won’t hold! The ship—”

An alarm blares in the distance. And…something else. A staticky snapping.

Rex groans, eyelids blinking slowly, chasing away whatever dark tendrils slither in the edges of his vision. A foggy haze covers his mind, dampening light, and muting sound as if he is floating underwater.

Rex struggles to remove his helmet. When it finally comes off, he immediately regrets it. Dark, acrid smoke rushes in, sending Rex into a coughing fit that only abates once he puts his helmet back on and activates the pressurization. Clean, fresh air rushes into his lungs.

Rex tugs on the harness holding him in place. The harness buckle is partially melted and fused to the strap. With no way to unclip it, Rex reaches for his knife, bringing the blade up to make two quick cuts. There is instant relief and Rex can breathe easier.

Rex starts to stand and promptly stumbles to the side. The cockpit is spinning. Rex steadies himself on the controls, using it like a crutch to support his weight. Beneath his hands is disaster. The viewport is shattered, the cockpit controls spark in multiple places, and a small fire burns in the space where a screen has popped out. Its wires melted.

“Omen.” Rex calls out for his co-pilot, but his voice is scratchy and weak from the smoke.

There is no response.

Rex turns to the right, only for his vision to tilt with him, sending him crashing into the console. Squeezing his eyelids shut, Rex breathes dip, and counts to ten. When he opens his eyes, everything is steady again.

A head injury is not what he needs right now.

Lifting his gaze, Rex glances in the direction of the co-pilot’s seat.

“Omen!”

Rex dives across the middle console, reaching for his brother. When Rex touches him, Omen slumps forward. It’s then that Rex notices the blood, dark and horrible, against the white armor. Lodged in Omen’s chest is a tree branch. It pierces the hull, cuts through the cockpit controls, and into Omen’s ribcage where it impales him to the chair.

Omen is gone and is just one more brother whose name Rex will fail to forget. Their names and faces stick to him, dig their nails in, and crawl inside his marrow until Rex cannot discern what is living and what is memory.

Glancing over the top of Omen’s head, Rex sees nothing but a mangled mess. The ship must have broken in half or been crushed during the impact. Other than the section Rex stands in, the rest of the ship is a tangle of bent metal and hanging wires. The place Sera should be is a pile of rubble.

Cold fear grips his heart.

Moving as quickly as he can, Rex maneuvers himself over several large branches and metal beams. A panel from the top of the ship covers where Sera should be. Rex grips the edge, lifts with his legs, straining under the weight. He groans, nearly screaming as he lifts. The metal panel creaks and scrapes against the other debris with an awful shrieking that makes Rex’s ears ring.

With one final tug, Rex shifts the panel over enough to reveal a hole to the rest of the ship. There is little light, and the light there is comes from sparking wires or tiny cracks in the hull. It’s not nearly enough to see by. Bending at the waist, Rex steps through, and almost trips on a broken chair.

Sera is not in it.

Rex reaches up and activates the flashlight on his helmet, illuminating the empty seat.

The fabric covering is shredded and the bottom pole that bolts it to the floor is sheared clean through. Crouching, Rex sweeps the light up and down the chair, looking for clues. He finds nothing. There’s no trace of her.

Panic wants to creep in. His adrenaline is spiking, careening toward a cliff’s edge, and Rex needs to find Sera before he starts crashing. Rex doesn’t feel any pain, but the body has a funny way of shutting off those sensors in times of stress.

Rex stands and guides the flashlight over the rest of the debris. More sparking wires. More bent metal. The ship is mocking him, taunting him with his failure. It isn’t until Rex makes a full rotation that the light catches on an object that shines back at him.

Rex approaches. White armor glints behind a pile of metal. He starts tossing the smaller pieces aside, creating enough of a gap to look in.

It’s Ink. Half of his helmet is gone, revealing lifeless eyes that stare up at nothing.

Dead clones. Dead brothers.

The possibility of Sera and Bug being alive thins. What will he do then? Abandon the mission? A sick, sinking feeling fills Rex’s belly as if he’s swallowed rocks.

Another pile of debris blocks the back half of the shuttle, and the very idea of moving it makes Rex’s bones ache. Whatever was pushing down the pain is dissipating now. Two of the fingers in his right hand aren’t responding, and standing sends sharp shooting pain up his legs.

Even though the task seems impossible, a small part of Rex hopes that Sera is under there, waiting for him, alive and breathing. He’ll take anything as long as he can have her.

She is his priority.

She is his mission.

Rex starts to shift through the mess, moving smaller pieces of metal, and pushing aside wires. A few are live, and Rex uses an abundance of caution to not accidentally shock himself. When a hole in the debris appears, Rex works faster until there’s a large enough opening. When he bends down to peer in, hope blooms, chasing away the threat of failure.

Sera is there.

All Rex can see is a small portion of her face and a tangle of her hair. The rest of her is covered by Bug’s body. He must have thrown himself over her, likely protecting her from falling metal.

Rex growls in frustration. He wants to toss the debris aside, but quick, jerky movements might bring the whole thing down and that’s the last thing he needs. Time is rapidly disappearing, and Rex doesn’t know if Sera is even alive.

Sliding his gloved hands under a sliced metal beam, he lifts with his legs and pushes through the pain even when his broken fingers bend against the break. Rex’s legs are on fire, but he doesn’t stop, not until part of the beam catches on something. The resistance almost knocks him to the floor.

Rex recovers quickly and pulls on the beam, screaming in frustration and physical agony. He doesn’t care that the bones in his fingers pop and scrape against each other or that his vision is starting to blur again. He tugs harder and the metal cuts through his gloves. Blood wells in the wound but the beam gives, pulling an avalanche of metal with it.

With a creaking, deafening groan, the pile slides into the cockpit and impales itself in the console controls. Sparks fly and then catch on the tree branch punctured through the viewport. The bark must be dry because the fire spreads quickly.

Rex hooks his hands under Bug’s armpits and pulls him off Sera. Bug flops to the ground. There isn’t time for Rex to say a few words. He is witness to Bug’s passing, and that will be enough until he can honor him.

Rex kneels beside Sera and cradles her face in his hands. “Sera.” He presses two fingers to the pulse point in her neck and feels nothing.

“Sera!” Rex doesn’t expect his voice to break on her name. She said he would say her name, but Sera had uttered those words with a smile.

He hardly knows anything about her, but if she’s dead, if there is no one else left alive, then that means Rex is alone. He is alone on an unknown planet with no communication, and no supplies.

He is alone with himself.

Alone, with his phantoms.

Rex lifts her up, pulls her into his lap, cradles her body against his. He tries again, pressing down harder on where her pulse should be.

Nothing. Then—fluttering?

Rex concentrates. Starts to count.

Again, he feels it. It’s faint, but there.

Smoke curls around her face and Rex knows they need to go. He wants to monitor her breathing, look her over for injuries, but there isn’t any time. They’ll be burned alive if Rex doesn’t find a way out.

Rex rolls Sera into his arms, fingers throbbing as he finds a better grip. She’s limp and unresponsive to his touch. Moving toward the exterior door, Rex kicks a piece of metal out of his way and steps in a shiny, glossy liquid.

Fuel.

It’s all over the back of the shuttle from the leaking engines. Eventually it’ll meet the fire, and Rex wants to be far away when it blows. His boots splash in the collecting liquid as he heads for the boarding door. It’s open, but only enough for him to squeeze through at an angle. The frame is split, and the boarding stairs are partially descended, but it’ll do.

Turning his body to the side, Rex tucks Sera’s head and arms against him as he wedges himself through the opening. Metal catches on his armor, tears through a piece of the bodysuit beneath it, and slices through Rex’s skin with a sting as he throws himself through the gap.

Rex slides in the grass, the fuel on the bottoms of his boots making them slick. The trees around him stand tall with age. A few lack their tops, jutting into the sky with broken trunks and sheared branches. Rex listens but only hears the crackling of the growing fire. Separatists might not be far behind, and Rex can’t fight them off while trying to protect an unconscious Sera.

He shifts Sera in his arms and her head falls against his chest. She whimpers softly and it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

Rex heads west from the crash site, maneuvering through the trees as quickly as he can. Exhaustion is creeping in but Rex refuses to stop to rest. He and Sera need to get as far away as possible. If Separatists find the ship, they’ll likely sweep for survivors. In the moment Rex considers this, a distant explosion rattles the ground and sends birds scattering into the sky. A plume of fire and black smoke shoots high above the tree line.

The fire must have ignited the fuel. With luck, the blaze will burn up the ship and everything in it, leaving the Separatists with nothing when they arrive. It might also dampen efforts to look for survivors. If the fire burns hot enough, it just might save them from discovery.

Rex continues, pushing through the pain. It’s almost unbearable. His ankle is on fire. It’s not broken because he can stand without wanting to cry, but there might be a fracture or a bruising of the bones. His upper back and sides ache as well, and all the fingers on his right hand can’t bend.

Lifting metal beams likely didn’t help any of it either. They have no supplies other than what’s already on them which means Rex’s injuries will become a problem. He doesn’t even know about Sera. She is still unconscious, and that worries him more than possible broken bones. Head injuries like that can easily kill a healthy human. The longer it takes for someone to regain consciousness, the worse the injury, and the only noise Sera has made is a soft whimper.

These thoughts eat away at him, even as he tries to block them out. Rex counts the trees and scans the sky for ships, but the pain is making itself known again. With the pain comes exhaustion, and the two fuse together. The trees grow faces and the ground whispers. Shadows walk between tree trunks in the near distance. Walking instep beside Rex is his phantom companion.

Rex doesn’t turn his head to see if this one has a face.

All of this sits with him. It festers. The only thought keeping Rex moving forward is the repetition of Sera’s name. When he starts to slip, he repeats her name in his mind. If that doesn’t work, he whispers it to himself. Her name is a shield that keeps the shadows at bay.

He doesn’t know how long he walks. All Rex knows is that the sky slowly turns from bright blue to purplish red before morphing into night. It feels like hours. It feels like only minutes. There are no clouds and Cuvun’s twin moons shine whole and bright. And still Rex walks.

He walks until the trees start to thin. He walks until the ground begins to slope and curve. He walks until the forest opens to a large valley surrounded by mountains on two sides. No signs of life. No signs of civilization. No sign of Separatist ships. Rex isn’t sure if he should consider any of that a blessing. He turns toward one of the mountain ranges and heads for the high ground. By the time he reaches the foot of the mountain, Rex is close to collapsing.

Gently, Rex lowers Sera to the ground. She hasn’t regained consciousness yet, and that worries him. Her breathing is better and stronger than before. Still shallow, but now Rex can clearly see the rise and fall of her chest. Kneeling next to her, Rex checks her pulse again. The steady rhythm greets him and Rex sighs with relief.

It’s a good sign.

Remaining on his knees, Rex activates his heads-up display in his helmet. All his readings come up glitchy. Some are not there at all while others glitch on and off his screen.

“Shit,” growls Rex. He smacks the side of his helmet. The display distorts suddenly then steadies, a grid-like pattern appearing across the landscape.

Not only is Rex physically injured but his helmet is damaged. It’s one more thing Rex needs to worry about on a very long list. He slowly pans over the side of the mountain, the grid analyzing the rock. Rex hears a small beep in his left ear, and then an outline forms in red on the side of the mountain.

A cave entrance.

He’ll have to be careful. According to the reports he read, Cuvun has no predator species. As a farming planet, most of the natural wildlife was killed off or moved off-world. That doesn’t mean everything was accounted for.

Rex slides his arms under her and rolls her into his chest. His limbs cry out in protest as he starts to stand. Falling to his knees was the easy part because this is hell. The heads-up display charts him a path up the mountain to the entrance of the cave. It’s slow going because Rex needs to backtrack a few times to avoid steeper inclines.

When Rex makes it, he doesn’t find a cave. It’s more like a deep gash that sits about twenty feet into the rock. The ceiling is roughly a foot above Rex’s head, and the entrance itself is maybe ten feet wide. If they stay to the back, it’s unlikely that eyes on the ground or in the sky will see them.

Rex heads for the far wall, resting his back against the rock. He sinks slowly to the ground with Sera still in his arms. When he’s sitting with his legs stretched out before him, he adjusts Sera until she’s sitting in his lap. He wraps his arms around her and tucks her close against his chest. Sera relaxes into him, her head falling into the crook of his neck, her forehead pressing against the edge of his helmet.

The closeness of another person is comforting in the dark. She is tangible and alive which means the mission is not dead.

Rex closes his eyes and rests his head against the cave wall. Now that he’s not focused on getting to safety, Rex is alone with his thoughts. They lean toward the brothers he just met and barely knew.

“Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la,” whispers Rex into the air. He repeats it over and over until calmness settles into his bones. This will have to be enough for his fallen brothers.

Rex says it one more time, and then whispers their names.

“Ink. Bug. Omen.”

Again, Rex repeats their names. He continues until they’re branded into his memory. Their names bleed into each other until Rex starts naming more of his fallen brothers.

“Ringo.”

“Oz.”

“Hardcase.”

“Hevy.”

It’s a long list, and Rex doesn’t stop until he recalls everyone.

When the final name leaves his lips. Rex shakily removes his helmet. He can’t curl his fingers around it well and it clatters to the rocky floor. Sera doesn’t stir, and Rex doesn’t care if he’s damaged the helmet further.

With the arm not wrapped around Sera, Rex digs around for the long-range comm that General Skywalker gave him. It’s a slim chance Skywalker will be close enough to ping, but Rex can try anyway.

The moment Rex’s hand touches it, he knows something is wrong. He holds it up before his face. It’s bent in the middle creating a ‘v’ shape.

“Kriff,” grunts Rex as he tosses it to the side.

The pain in his body is rapidly returning, and there is still one more thing he needs to do. Rex can’t rely on the helmet to record his report, but he can speak into the vambrace on his left arm. He’ll have to be quick and precise since it’ll only take a recording of a minute or so unlike his helmet.

Rex sighs and brings his left arm up to the broken fingers on his right hand. Wincing through the pain, Rex activates the recorder and starts talking in clipped, short sentences.

“Separatist blockade around Cuvun. Clearance codes failed. Crash landed in a forested area. Ink, Bug, and Omen are K-I-A.” Rex swallows. “Sera is alive.”

His vambrace alerts him that his time is up and Rex slumps against the wall, his breathing growing ragged. Without something to focus on, the pain comes roaring back, and Rex surrenders to the darkness.

Chapter Text

Mando’a Translations:

Haar'chak – “Damn it!”

Wilderness. Dust. Sweat.

They sit heavy on her eyelids, and that’s perfectly fine. Sera doesn’t want to wake up.

She floats in memory and fractures of light, dwelling in scattered broken pieces. These pieces can form a picture, but only if Sera tries to find their common threads.

Tall grass. The tops of trees. A strong hand holding her upper arm. Metal. So much metal. An expanse of white interrupted by lines of blue. A small scar just under the chin.

Sera knows that scar, and who it belongs to. It belongs to the clone captain with a kind smile. Sera tucks those pieces close, guides them together until they form a clear image of his face framed by soft glowing light.

Rex.

“Sera.”

Did his image just speak? She leans closer, watching his mouth, wondering if she’s misheard. There is something wrong with the glow around him. A human-shaped shadow lingers behind Rex as if it’s hiding. Strange. Sera focuses on it, and its dark tendrils snap out, warding her off.

“Sera.”

Startled, she pulls back. That is Rex’s voice, but she knows for certain his mouth didn’t move. Reaching out, Sera touches the curve of his jaw, but the tips of her fingers pass through it, reminding her that this image of Rex isn’t real. She sees her nails behind his lips as if looking through a hologram.

But why is this image of Rex warm? There is heat under her fingers and her palm meets soft resistance when she extends her hand further. If this is a dream, it’s an odd one. Maybe the Force is talking to her? It does that sometimes in her sleep.

Sera blinks. Blinks again. The edges around Rex’s face aren’t so blurry. Behind him, the glow is receding, fading into a dusty red that is rocky in texture. His shadowy companion is gone. The heat and weight against her hand intensifies, becoming tangible in her palm. Her gaze falls on her fingers, which are not behind Rex’s mouth, but over it, the tips of her nails grazing his bottom lip as he tilts his head.

Not a dream.

“Rex.” Her voice is a raspy whisper, and when she smiles, the corners of her lips burn.

“General.” Rex sounds calm, yet there is ash on his face and Sera senses a persistent pain within him. It’s an entanglement of physical, emotional, and mental distress that has no beginning or end.

It shatters her heart because it feels like grief.

“I think I like it better when you call me ‘Sera,’” she murmurs as she flattens her palm to rest against his cheek.

Rex is warm. The heat of him radiates down her arm and sticks in her chest. Sera runs her tongue over her front teeth and tastes blood. The back of her head throbs and a lingering ache sits in her muscles.

Color blooms in the edges of his cheekbones. “I’ve—I’ve never called you that.” Rex’s gloved hand slides over hers, trapping her palm against his skin. He exhales and turns into her touch. Sera hears the hesitation and understands it for what it is: a lie.

Sera’s gaze drifts to the rest of him as the last of the haziness slips from the corners of her vision. The first thing she notices is Rex’s chest armor, which is no longer white, but scuffed. Tucked between their bodies is her right arm. Sera reclines in his lap, knees bent and draped over his thighs with booted feet on the ground. Rex’s arm is behind her back supporting her weight. His palm presses against her waist but there’s something wrong with his fingers. A few of them are bent unnaturally.

Sera looks up and meets dark eyes. Rex watches her intensely. A part of her heats under that gaze even though she knows his inspection is nothing more than genuine concern. But why is he holding her like this? He could have put her on the ground or propped her against the wall. Anywhere else.

Why does the very idea of him cradling her in his arms thrill her?

Embarrassment draws Sera’s gaze away from Rex’s face. “Then it must have been a dream,” she murmurs. Sera doesn’t believe her own words. That ‘Sera’ she heard in Rex’s voice was so clear that it couldn’t have been imagined.

Rex slowly guides her hand from his face, their joined palms falling to her lap. Rex does not release her, and Sera cannot find it in herself to let go. “You were unconscious,” states Rex, his brow softening.

Sera swallows and her saliva sticks in her throat. “For how long?”

Rex grimaces. “Since the ship crashed. How are you feeling?”

Since the ship crashed.

Everything rushes back in that moment. The flashes of light, the shaking of the hull, the pounding of her heart, and the darkness afterward.

Sera twists in Rex’s lap, pulling away from his warmth, seeking the faces of the clones she’s come to care for these last few days. They were so kind, patient, and eager to get to know her. Sera doesn’t see them. She doesn’t see anyone. Just rock, and beyond that, trees and sky.

“Where are they?” Sera turns back to Rex, seeking an answer that’ll ease her rapidly growing anxiety. “Where is Omen? And Ink?” Rex stays silent. Her voice breaks. “Bug?”

All of Rex’s concern for her washes away, replaced by a storm of sudden anguish before Rex reels in his emotions. Sera senses it unfold, and it is as if Rex’s emotions are her own. Rex is hurting, and his pain is loud in the Force. Even louder is the silence that comes when Sera seeks out Bug, Ink, and Omen’s tethers, their unique markers that Sera memorized when she first met them.

Nothing.

The silence in the Force isn’t really silence at all. Even silence has a sound. This is an absence. An open wound. A hole where there shouldn’t be.

She’s heard so many people say that the clones are nothing but tools. Faceless. Nameless. Invisible. But all those people are wrong. When she first stepped on the Republic cruiser, she felt the collective diversity of every clone aboard. They were beautiful in the Force. Her mind was full of light, color, and sound.

“I don’t feel them anymore.” Sera’s voice splinters as tears threaten to fall from her eyes. “Rex. Why can’t I feel them?”

Rex bows his head, eyes averted to a spot in the rocky floor. “I couldn’t save them.”

A wave of blame radiates from him and slams into Sera. The dark water Rex drowns in fills her lungs and Sera is suffocating. She cannot turn it off. She cannot throw up her walls.

“You’re in pain,” she chokes, because it’s the only thing she can say. Anything more is too much.

“My brothers are gone.”

“I’m so sorry.”

The two of them sit in silence for a long moment, neither finding the strength to break it. Sera leans into Rex, rests her head on his shoulder, gives his hand a little squeeze. Rex looks down at their joined hands and still, he does not let go. Sera will not draw away from him if comfort is what Rex needs.

It’s not just the pain of loss, but the pain of injury that slides between Rex’s emotions. It lurks beneath like a serpent hiding in rocks.

“Tell me where you’re hurt.” Sera states it as a demand and not a question.

Rex shakes his head. “It’s not important.”

“It is important, Captain,” insists Sera.

“You were unconscious,” counters Rex. “A brain injury is far more important than my broken fingers.”

“I am fine. It’s nothing.”

This back-and-forth will get them nowhere. Sera shifts in Rex’s lap and tries hard not to focus on his strong muscles. His thighs are warm and thick beneath her. She sits up and pivots slightly, facing him. A small twinge in her neck makes her flinch. Even though her body aches, it is a low and distant pain, something Sera can easily push aside.

Rex frowns deeply. “How do you know?”

“The Force,” she replies, rolling her neck slightly to ease the tension in her muscles. “I simply connect with it, and it tells me all I need to know.”

“That’s convenient,” replies Rex sarcastically. Even injured, he still has a sense of humor.

“It is actually,” she smiles, pulling back on their joined hands. Rex doesn’t release her but draws her back into him.

Rex sighs. His good thumb brushes over the back of her hand. Sera isn’t sure Rex realizes what he’s done—but she does—and it warms her cheeks. “You don’t need to worry over me,” he says softly.

“Let me help you,” insists Sera, giving his hand a small squeeze. Sera tries again. This time Rex surrenders to her, but he doesn’t look at her. Tentatively, Sera lightly catches the underside of his chin where his scar is. She gently lifts, coaxing his gaze toward her face. “Please, Rex. I want to.”

Rex’s lips part and Sera suddenly realizes how intimate this position is. She is in Rex’s lap, her hand on his face, their mouths mere inches apart. He must also realize their close proximity because he draws away suddenly, muttering a soft “fine” as he tries to find a comfortable position, only managing to let his arms fall awkwardly to his sides.

“I’ll need to touch you. Is that okay?” Rex visibly swallows and nods. “Stay still for me. It won’t hurt,” Sera murmurs. “I promise.”

She slides her hands under the armor near his neck, finding the bodysuit underneath. The closer to the physical body, the better. It creates a deeper connection. Rex is warm under her hands, a heater that makes the rest of the galaxy seem cold. When she touches him, she shivers, as if her body is shaking away the chill. She closes her eyes, focuses on Rex’s breathing, how his chest moves, and the tightness of the muscles in his neck. She slowly opens herself up to him within the Force in small pieces at a time.

His presence within the Force is unique, just like every other living thing. It is more than a feeling. Identity in the Force can prickle all the senses. Sometimes it has a smell, a taste, and a temperature. The Force is memory.

Sera narrows her focus to just Rex, blocking out the grass, trees, and the planet beyond. In the Force, Rex is heat, hot and fiery, a testament to his life as a soldier. But it is also warm and comforting and speaks to the strong bonds he forms with the people he cares about most. There is rainwater on the tip of her tongue and a vibration of sound that feels like the thrum of a ship. Sera pushes in further, careful not to dive into his mind, to not dive into his thoughts.

Her father’s voice filters into Sera’s concentration. Our minds are our own. Remember that.

Sera trains her mind to the physical, focuses on Rex’s heart and nerves. Sera opens herself up and a flood of information hits her all at once. Broken fingers, a few minor scrapes, bruising, a swollen twisted ankle, and tenderness in the head. Sera senses other things too, like the strong, thrumming beat of his heart, and…

Sera’s eyes snap open and she draws back a bit in surprise. Rex’s cheeks are flushed as if he’s just run a mile, and the heartbeat beneath her hand is pumping faster than before. Rex’s lips are slightly parted, and he watches her from beneath his lashes. Her eyes cannot help but drop to his mouth.

This sort of closeness with another being is rare for Sera even amongst members of her own community. They avoid her hugs or any platonic touch. They fear what she can do. They always keep her at a distance. Sera cannot recall the last time someone simply held her.

Rex moves first. His good hand reaches up and captures her wrist. He waits a moment, a moment that feels entirely too long, before drawing her hand away from his chest. Realizing that she too has lingered, Sera quickly pulls back, and tucks her hands against her chest. She rotates in his lap, intending to sit on the ground. When she starts to slide off his thighs to plant herself beside him, Rex holds on to her with his good hand, grabbing the top of her poncho.

“I want to look at your injuries. That’s all,” says Sera quickly, placing her hand on his bicep in gentle reassurance.

Rex frowns, his gaze sweeping over her face. “What about you?” The concern in Rex’s voice warms her everywhere.

“I’ll be fine, Captain. I promise. My injuries are mild compared to yours.”

Rex’s hold tightens. “That is not reassuring. I am responsible for you.”

Sera softens her features. Rex is worried…about her. She reads it in the Force, the message loud and clear. “While I was unconscious all those hours, the Force was slowly healing what it could.”

“It can do that?” asks Rex skeptically.

Sera shrugs. “In a way.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re being entirely honest with me.”

“I’m not sure what you know about Jedi meditation, but it is important to us. We meditate all the time, connect to the Force to understand it and ourselves more clearly.” Sera bites her bottom lip, considering her next words. “A deep enough meditation can heal the body physically.” She doesn’t elaborate. Sera knows the rules around how the Order controls Jedi information, even if she herself doesn’t follow them. Rex is no Jedi, but he is under the command of one. She’s not comfortable overstepping.

Rex shakes his head. “I’ve seen General Skywalker and Commander Tano meditate. It was nothing like that. You were unconscious. I thought you were—” He grimaces and revokes the last word, but Sera can guess what it is.

Dead. I thought you were dead.

“I vaguely remember being conscious when the ship crashed. I might have shut off my mind on purpose. Or maybe I didn’t. I don’t recall. But now, I don’t feel…hurt. As if nothing happened at all.” The words tumble out of her like a raging river. Sera is rambling, wanting to tell Rex exactly what she needs to say to comfort him, but not to overstep the boundaries set between clones and their Jedi generals.

Rex eases his hold on Sera’s poncho. “I’m not entirely satisfied with that answer,” he says slowly. “But I’ll accept it.”

Sera sighs and leans in. “May I take a look now?”

Rex smiles sheepishly. “I certainly don’t have the ability.”

“Is that a yes?”

Rex laughs. “Yes. You have my permission.”

Sera slides out of Rex’s lap and kneels next to him. His helmet is propped against the wall. Even though Sera knows what’s injured, she needs to prioritize what needs to be handled first. The broken fingers are of deep concern but she’s more worried about the ankle. Broken fingers can be splint but a swollen ankle isn’t something that’ll get Rex far if he needs to move quickly.

Sera taps her bottom lip in concentration. “I’m concerned about your ankle.”

“I don’t think it’s broken,” says Rex as he tries to rotate the joint. He is unsuccessful.

“No. It isn’t. Not fractured, either. But you’ve already been walking on it while carrying my weight. If you keep going like this, you might cause damage that won’t be repairable unless we can get you to a bacta tank.”

Rex snorts. “Finding a bacta tank seems unlikely.”

“I can splint a fracture or break. But a tearing of the muscle? No. That’ll require an immense amount of care.”

“If that were the case,” sighs Rex. “I’d tell you to go on without me.”

“Captain, you’d have to be impaled and close to death for me to even consider abandoning you. And even then, I wouldn’t.”

Rex’s face softens. Sera ducks her head and pretends she doesn’t see. Reaching out, Sera brings her fingers to the injured ankle. When her fingertips make contact, Rex flinches. It’s not a hard recoil, but a slight twitch. Sera knows it’s more painful than he’s letting on.

“It would be more effective if your boot and shin armor were off. The closer I am to the physical body the better.” Rex starts to lean forward. Sera stops him by placing a hand to his shoulder. “I will do it. Sit back.”

Rex opens his mouth to protest but she holds up a hand. Instead of arguing, Rex leans back against the rock wall. The boot is far easier to remove than the armor. When she struggles with it, Rex tries to assist, but Sera doesn’t budge.

“You can verbally instruct me but I don’t want you moving around.”

“Yes, ma’am,” mutters Rex with a playful grin.

Once the boot and armor are removed, she’s left with only the black bodysuit. As gently as she can, Sera wraps both hands around his ankle. Rex’s muscles flex under her hand and stiffen slightly before relaxing into her touch.

“Good?” she asks.

“Good,” he nods.

Sera closes her eyes and pushes into the Force until all she feels is Rex. When she does, she shifts his essence, focuses in on the pieces of him, until the only thing she senses is the space beneath her hands. For her, it’s only moments within the Force. When she opens her eyes again, the sun has shifted in the sky.

Sera massages the ankle joint. “How does it feel?”

Rex lifts and rotates the ankle. Movement is limited. “Much better than before. Thank you.” Sera nods and reaches for his ankle again, testing the tenderness. This time, Rex doesn’t flinch.

That’s a good sign, but there is only so much Sera can do. Sera cannot use the Force to work miracles. She can manipulate it to assist in the healing process, but she could also end up harming herself if she isn’t careful. Sera sometimes struggles with finding the line between the right amount and too much. The last thing either of them need right now is for her to overexert herself.

Rex reaches into a small, hidden pocket under his belt. “I’ll need help with my fingers,” he says, holding out a bit of gauze.

“Of course, but…is that all we have?”

Rex nods solemnly. “Unfortunately. What we have on us is it.” Rex removes his glove and Sera gently takes his mangled hand between hers.

It’s not the worse she’s ever seen, and Sera is silently grateful the bones aren’t crushed, but some of the breaks are severely out of alignment. Bone is easier to fix when it matches up. She’ll have to make some painful adjustments.

As they sit there, Sera senses Rex’s physical and emotional pain bleeding into each other again. Easing the grief in Rex’s heart would only require Sera to slip into his mind, but doing so is an intrusion even if the action is meant in kindness. She will need to find another way.

His thoughts dwell on his fallen brothers, but there is something more, something darker that lays across Rex like a blanket made of midnight. It is a weight that Sera feels, like her shoulders are being pressed downward by invisible hands. Does Rex always sense those hands upon him? Does he always feel that weight?

Sera sobers at the thought and makes a decision.

“I can tell you what they felt like in the Force,” says Sera as she rotates Rex’s palm toward the cave ceiling. “Bug, Ink, and Omen that is.”

Rex’s gaze draws to her face and she pretends that she doesn’t notice. “General Skywalker hasn’t ever really explained the Force to me. But I also haven’t asked him. It didn’t seem right, like I was digging around in places I shouldn’t.”

Sera inspects the lines of his palm. “Would you like me to tell you?”

“About the Force?”

“About your brothers.” She glances up from Rex’s hand and locks gazes with him. The sun is low enough in the sky that its light cuts across Rex’s face, illuminating the brown of his irises. She immediately looks away, unsure of why her heart is thundering in her chest. “Do you care where I start?”

Rex considers for a moment and then answers. “Start with Omen.”

Sera smiles softly as she traces a finger down the inside of his palm, looking for muscular reaction. “When I first met Omen, he was under the ship, drilling away at something while Bug talked his ear off. He and Ink went to a place called Seventy-Nines. You ever heard of it?”

“I have,” chuckles Rex. “It’s a clone bar. The only safe place we have outside the barracks. We go for drinks and…” His mouth twitches with a hint of a smile.

“Women?” asks Sera cautiously, remembering the details of the conversation Ink and Omen were having at the time.

His smile widens. “Yes. There are some who go for that, but it’s mostly a place where we can put aside our burdens. No Republic. No rank. Nothing.”

“Well,” continues Sera, rotating his hand to check the other side. “Omen was flustered when he noticed me.”

Rex laughs. “I can only imagine.”

Satisfied that Rex doesn’t appear to have any nerve damage, Sera begins to gently massage the fingers, feeling out the breaks so that she can realign them.

 “Omen shook my hand,” she continues. “And I felt enduring strength, like a giant, immovable mountain. I saw intertwining shades of red. They moved like a flickering flame. I smelled burning wood. Tasted salt.”

Rex frowns. “You felt all that? From a handshake?”

“The Force manifests differently for everyone. For some it’s just a feeling. For me, it’s all my senses. I get pieces. Images. Flashes of sound, taste, and smell.”

“Is it overwhelming?” Sera notes the genuine concern and curiosity in Rex’s tone. Whenever she has spoken about her relationship with the Force, Sera is usually met with odd stares or peppered with intrusive questions. It’s why she rarely talks about it with anyone.

Yes. It’s debilitating sometimes is what she wants to say.

“It can be. It happens all at once. Like a flash of light,” she replies instead, finding a spot just above the knuckle that needs realignment. “Hold still for me, Captain.”

Rex takes the adjustment like it’s nothing more than a quick pinch. Sera rotates Rex’s wrist at the same moment his thumb strokes the back of her hand. It’s not an accidental brush. Sera quickly glances up at Rex but he’s not looking at her. His head rests against the rock, eyes closed, face slightly turned to the cave ceiling.

“Tell me about Bug next,” he says softly.

“Bug was a thunderstorm,” laughs Sera. “Bright and blinding with a touch of danger. It was like being on a speeder bike with no destination and going as fast it could go. Just pure adrenaline.”

Rex’s grin is infectious. “Sounds like him.” He breathes deeply. “What about Ink?”

Sera locates another break. “I need you to hold still for me again.” Sera corrects it and then continues. “Ink was colorful. Lots of light and sound. Like Coruscant at night. Busy, but different from Bug. Bug was bottled chaos. Ink was controlled and steady like a well-programmed computer or the traffic lanes in the Upper City.”

“You’ve been to Coruscant?”

“Only once,” replies Sera. “To the Jedi Temple. Most aren’t allowed inside, but there were…special circumstances.” Rex doesn’t ask what those ‘special circumstances’ might be. Sera is thankful for that. She’s not sure how she’d even begin to explain.

Rex opens his eyes, heavy-lidded and soft, and tilts just enough to meet her gaze. “And what do I feel like in the Force?”

Sera swallows. Rex is many things, and they all turn her insides into goo, confusing her body, brain, and heart.

“I’m more concerned about your physical pain,” says Sera, stepping around his question. “Whatever pain you feel in your heart is softer now. Not so loud. But your body isn’t okay.”

Rex cocks an eyebrow, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Is it that bad that you don’t want to tell me?”

“Not at all. I just…”

Rex’s smile faulters slightly, giving way to concern. “How are you feeling? You avoided the question earlier.”

Sera frowns, considers. “Weary.”

Confusion forms in the center of Rex’s brow. “Weary. Is that a…Jedi thing?”

Sera snorts and then quickly covers her mouth. Rex immediately smiles. It’s nice, his smile. There is a hint of relief in it but also a familiarity that she likes. She itches to reach out and touch him again, to feel the warmth of his skin against her palm.

As suddenly as those thoughts appear, new ones rush up to take their place. Rex is a soldier. A clone. Off-limits. A piece of Republic property. Rex is like her in a way. He is an object. It’s not so very different from her own experience.

When has Sera been anything but a commodity in her father’s eyes? Her gift is a prize. The Jedi want it. The rich and powerful want it. And if anyone wants a piece, it is her father that has the final say. Sera has no control over her life.

Why is she even here? Why did she agree when her father approached her that evening with a private message from Master Obi-Wan Kenobi? Because she didn’t have a choice. Because she isn’t allowed to say no. Her father might have control over her, but even he rarely says no to the Jedi Order when they call.

Sera pushes all thoughts of her father and the Jedi Order out of her head. Lingering in these hurt feelings won’t do anything but distract her from Rex. He needs her attention, and this mangled hand of his still needs a few more adjustments.

“I am not a Jedi, Captain. We’ve been over this.” Sera doesn’t mean for her tone to be so flat, but it tumbles out that way. She sounds irritated with Rex, but she isn’t. Not at all.

Sera delicately traces the bones beneath his skin and corrects two final breaks before reaching for the gauze. She has nothing to properly splint his hand with. Sera will need to be strategic with the wrappings to give support to his fingers before she can properly attend to them.

“It’s difficult for me to see the difference. You wield the Force and carry a lightsaber just like General Skywalker. The only difference I see is that they are part of the Jedi Order, and you are not.”

“That’s true, Captain,” agrees Sera. “But it’s far more complicated.”

“Then explain it to me.” When Sera doesn’t look at him, Rex reaches out with his good hand and turns her face toward him. “Please.” She hears the soft plea. Rex wants to understand so badly, and it breaks her heart.

How do the Jedi Knights do it? How do they stand side-by-side with their soldiers understanding nothing but death? How do they look at the faces of the clones they command and not feel guilty? When did they stop being peacekeepers?

Sera feels guilty for not being direct with Rex. Masters Skywalker and Kenobi did not explain to her what she could and could not specifically reveal. They asked her to refrain from mentioning anything that might reveal Jedi Order secrets, but Sera doesn’t know what that means.

Sera knows that it isn’t fair to keep Rex in the dark. It’s just the two of them now and Sera wouldn’t want to be left hanging. But describing the Force—explaining it completely and openly—is terrifying. Whenever she’s been vulnerable, it’s almost always backfired and blown up in her face.

She wants to tell him. In the Force, Rex is peace, comfort, and safety.

But those things aren’t for you. Her father’s voice in her mind is a brand, and Sera moves out of Rex’s touch instantly as if it’s Rex that burns. He drops his hand, concern deepening. The separation is painful, and Sera hates it.

She starts to wrap the gauze around his fingers. “Explaining it all would take time, and I don’t think we have that luxury.”

Rex only nods. He doesn’t push. “We’ve lingered too long. It would be good if we moved on. The Separatists might be searching for us, and we shouldn’t stay in one place.”

“All done.” Sera releases Rex’s hand and he brings it up to his face for inspection.

“Thank you,” he murmurs; and then, more loudly, “We need shelter, food, water, and a plan.” Rex sighs and punches a few buttons on his vambrace. A small hologram of the planet flickers into life and then goes out.

“Haar'chak,” growls Rex, smacking the side of the vambrace. The hologram reappears and then a tiny dot blinks on and off on the surface.

“This is where we are.” Rex zooms in and shifts the image around. Then he zooms out and moves the map. “Looks like we managed to land on the only part of the planet that’s unoccupied. Lucky us. Civilization isn’t far.”

“City?” asks Sera as a dull throb appears behind her right eye.

“No. Mostly farming settlements. Lots of flat land. Cover will be difficult,” replies Rex, completely oblivious to Sera’s sudden change in demeanor.

“How far?”

“Too far.” Rex adjusts the map. As he does so, the dull throb becomes a sharp pain. She blinks but it doesn’t disappear. She’s having a vision. A big one.

“No no no no no,” she whimpers. “Not now. Please.” Sera staggers to the side as the intensity builds and blossoms.

“General?” Rex lowers his arm, the hologram blinking off as he reaches out to grab her shoulder.

The world is tilting, and Sera is going to fall with it. A bright flash bursts behind her eyes as her hand shoots out to steady herself against the wall.

Rex’s voice is distant. Far. Too far. It hits then. Powerful. Intense. And—pain. So much pain that she wants to vomit. It’s like her stomach is being ripped from her through her mouth. Sera is choking, sobbing, crying out for help but it’s not her voice. It’s thousands—no—millions using her throat as their microphone. Sera sees their faces, knows their scents, understands their memories. All of it beats at her like a rock, as if they’re trying to crack open her skull and see inside.

Where is Rex? She needs him to be her anchor.

Sera searches for him in the chaos but it’s too much. These people, these millions of suffering people, are opening their jaws unnaturally wide to consume her. Sera tries to fight them off, but as their hands reach for her and dig into her skin, all she sees are their exhausted, bloody faces. They drag her into their collective agony and in their eyes their pupils are not black but reflections of Cuvun, the planet rotating inside their irises like mini holograms.

This vision is worse than all the others, and she buckles under the pressure as their teeth sink into her flesh.