“Sharp Eyes”

rain season

“Crossfire” pt.5

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

The glow of neon signs cut jagged shadows into her face as she pushed open the doors to 79’s. The music hit like a punch to the chest—thick, thrumming, alive. She hadn’t meant to end up here.

But when she’d gotten off the transport, alone and empty-handed, with the kid now a ‘Republic asset’ and Palpatine’s cold praise still ringing in her ears, this was the only place her feet knew how to take her.

The clone bar was alive with movement and noise, filled with off-duty troopers trying to forget the war for a few short hours. They laughed, danced, drank like their lives depended on it.

She just wanted to disappear into it all.

The bartender handed her something neon and stupid. She drank it fast, then another. And another. The buzz settled in her limbs like comfort. Like numbness.

He was just a kid. Force-sensitive, and full of light. And I handed him over to Palpatine.

She tried not to think about it. So she drank more.

And then—they walked in.

She saw them before they saw her. Cody, in civvies but still too clean-cut, golden-brown eyes scanning the room like he couldn’t turn off the commander inside him. And Rex, just a few steps behind, his shoulders broad, jaw tight, wearing the weight of command like a second skin.

She blinked slowly, trying to decide if this was real or just the alcohol playing tricks.

It was real.

They saw her. Stopped short. Eyes locked.

And then they came to her—Cody first, Rex just behind.

“You’re alive,” Cody said, voice low, controlled, but his gaze moved across her face like he was checking for wounds.

They were both staring. They weren’t angry—not really. They were trying to hide the storm of questions behind their eyes. She didn’t owe them anything. But that didn’t stop the guilt from slinking down her spine.

“So…” She lifted her drink lazily. “What brings the Republic’s golden boys here tonight? Hoping to find someone to help you forget how screwed everything is?”

“You were gone for months,” Rex said quietly. “And you didn’t answer a single comm.”

Cody added, “You could’ve told us you were alive.”

She glanced between them. “Why? So you two could fight over who gets to scold me first?”

That stung. She saw it in Cody’s jaw, the twitch in Rex’s brow. She hadn’t meant it. Or maybe she had.

The music shifted to something slower, darker. The kind of song that made people sway too close.

Cody surprised her by offering a hand. “Dance with me.”

She laughed, bitter. “Feeling sentimental, Commander?”

He didn’t smile. Just held out his hand again.

She took it.

On the dance floor, Cody kept one hand steady on her hip, the other barely brushing her back. He was tense—like he didn’t trust himself. She moved closer, body brushing his. Just enough to test him.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers.

“You like trouble,” she shot back.

He kissed her.

It wasn’t rough or desperate. It was slow—cautious. Like he’d waited too long and didn’t want to screw it up. She kissed him back, lips brushing his softly, dangerously, until someone bumped into them and she stumbled, heart suddenly pounding.

She pulled away. “I need air.”

She didn’t look back as she weaved through the crowd and pushed out into the alley.

The night air was damp. She pressed her back against the wall, tilted her head up, breathing hard. The buzz in her chest had turned sharp now. Fractured.

“What was that about?” a voice asked behind her.

She turned.

Rex.

Of course.

He stood in the mouth of the alley, arms crossed, eyes dark.

“Jealous?” she asked, half-laughing, half-daring him to admit it.

He stepped closer. “You shouldn’t play with him.”

Her smirk faded. “I’m not playing.”

“You kissed him. After months of silence, you show up drunk and just—”

“What, you mad I didn’t kiss you first?”

He didn’t flinch. “You’re not okay.”

Something cracked in her.

“I’m trying,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to do any of this. The war, the kid, you. I never signed up for this mess.”

They stared at each other in the quiet.

Then Rex crossed the space in three strides and kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. It was fire. Frustration. Longing. Everything unsaid between them. She clutched his shirt, fingers tangled in the fabric. When he pulled away, his breath was ragged.

“I’ve been thinking about you every damn day,” he said.

Her heart slammed in her chest. “Then why didn’t you come find me?”

“Because I didn’t want to find you dead.”

The words dropped like lead.

She stepped back, swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to hurt either of you.”

“You still did.”

She nodded. “I know.”

He left her standing there, alone in the alley, unsure which kiss she regretted more—and which one she wanted again.

⸻

“You kissed her?” Cody’s voice cut the dark like a vibroblade.

Rex didn’t even flinch. “You did too.”

Cody let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. I did. Because I’ve been worrying about her for months. Because I thought she might be dead. Because when I saw her again, I felt like I could finally breathe.”

“She kissed me back.”

“She kissed me back, too,” Cody snapped. “You think this is some kind of pissing contest?”

Rex stepped forward, voice lower now, rawer. “No. I think it’s too late for either of us to play noble.”

There was a pause—long and quiet. Neither of them looked at the other.

“She doesn’t belong to us,” Cody said, jaw clenched.

“No,” Rex agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want her to.”

Cody nodded slowly. “Then we’re both idiots.”

“Yeah,” Rex muttered. “But we’re in it now.”

Silence.

They didn’t say anything else. They couldn’t. There was no answer—no right move. Only damage done and more to come.

⸻

Her head was trying to kill her.

It had to be.

The pounding behind her eyes felt like someone had set off a thermal detonator inside her skull, and her mouth was dry enough to make Tatooine jealous. She rolled over, groaning, pulling the blanket over her face.

And then she noticed it.

Breathing.

Not hers.

She froze.

Lifted the blanket.

And there—laying on top of the covers, one arm behind his head, the other holding a data pad, perfectly at ease—was Kit Fisto.

She bolted upright with a groan, clutching her temples. “Please tell me we didn’t…”

Kit set the datapad aside. “No. You were very vocal about not wanting anyone in your bed unless it was Commander Cody or Captain Rex.” He smirked, just slightly. “You said, and I quote, ‘If I can’t have both, I don’t want either. But I do want both.’”

Kit’s lips pulled into a serene grin. “You passed out the first time halfway through crying about your crops.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I found you stumbling through the lower levels, completely smashed,” he said, voice maddeningly calm. “I walked you home. You insisted I stay because the ‘walls were conspiring against you’ and also because you thought I was ‘probably the only Jedi who doesn’t want to vivisect you.’”

“…Sounds about right,” she muttered.

“You also tried to get me to do a dramatic reading of your bounty logs.”

She groaned again. “Kill me.”

“I would’ve, but then you started crying again.”

“Okay!” She threw the blanket off and swung her legs over the bed. “Thank you for your public service, Master Fisto. You may go now.”

Kit rose with Jedi smoothness, unfazed. “You told me you trusted me, last night.”

She paused.

“And you said you didn’t know if you trusted the others anymore. Not even yourself.”

That sat in the room for a beat too long.

She turned to look at him, eyes bloodshot but suddenly sober. “Did I say why?”

He shook his head. “No. You fell asleep on the floor halfway through telling me about a defective hydrospanner.”

She let out a weak laugh.

Kit stepped toward her, not close, but close enough to offer peace.

“I don’t think you’re the enemy,” he said softly. “But I do think you’re lost. And I think you’re trying to keep the war from turning you into something else.”

She stared at him, the noise of last night crashing down like static. Rex. Cody. The kid. Palpatine. The Council.

Kit stood and poured her a glass of water. “You cried. You yelled. You kissed one of the clones on a dance floor and kissed the other in an alley. And then you tried to fight a waitress because she wouldn’t give you more shots.”

Everything was bleeding together.

“Why didn’t you just leave me in the gutter where I belonged?”

“Because, despite my early concerns, I don’t think you belong in a gutter.”

She sipped the water. “I’m sorry.”

He gave her a nod. “I’ll leave you to sleep it off. But… maybe don’t wait too long to talk to the people you care about. This mess? It only gets worse if you let it rot.”

“I should’ve stayed gone,” she whispered.

Kit didn’t argue. He just nodded once and said, “But you didn’t.”

And then he left.

Leaving her alone in the echo of too many choices—and a very, very bad hangover.

⸻

Silence took over the apartment, broken only by the kettle still screaming on the stove. She didn’t move. Just stared at the ceiling. The weight of the night was heavy. The confusion heavier. Every memory came in splinters—Rex’s hand on her waist, Cody’s voice in her ear, the heat of lips, the taste of regret.

A knock at the door pulled her from the spiral.

She froze.

It knocked again. Three times. Familiar.

She crossed to the door and opened it slowly.

Rex stood there, hands in the pockets of his civvies. No armor. No helmet. Just tired eyes and a quiet storm in his chest.

“…Hey,” she rasped, voice still ruined from alcohol and heartbreak.

He gave her a once-over. “You look like hell.”

“Feel worse.” She stepped aside without another word.

He walked in slowly. Glanced around like he was expecting someone else. “You alone?”

“Kit Fisto left an hour ago. He was just being decent.” She watched his jaw twitch. “Nothing happened.”

He didn’t look at her. Just stared at the empty bottle on the counter. “Everyone’s talking.”

“I know.”

He finally turned. “You kissed me.”

She swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Then you kissed Cody.”

“…Yeah.”

He took a breath, like he’d been holding it for too long. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I didn’t plan to.”

He looked at her then—really looked at her. Like he was searching for something beneath the haze and the jokes and the armor she wore.

“What do you want?” he asked.

She looked down. “I don’t know.”

“You can’t keep hurting us while you figure it out.”

“I’m not trying to,” she whispered.

“Then stop running.”

Silence.

She didn’t know what to say. Not yet.

Rex turned to leave.

But at the door, he paused. “When you figure it out… when you really know—come find me. If it’s not me, I’ll live. But don’t kiss me again unless you’re sure.”

Then he left.

And for the first time in months, she didn’t want to run.

She wanted to stay. And clean the pieces she’d scattered.

⸻

Whispers traveled fast in the Temple.

Faster than transports.

Faster than truth.

By the time Master Kit Fisto stepped into the Council chambers, most of the senior Jedi were already seated—and they were looking at him with measured, expectant expressions.

Even Master Yoda’s ears twitched a little too knowingly.

Mace Windu’s stare was sharp as a lightsaber. “We’ve heard some… interesting accounts of your whereabouts last night.”

Kit didn’t blink. “Then I assume you already know I spent the evening ensuring a very drunk bounty hunter didn’t choke on her own regrets.”

Murmurs among the Masters. Ki-Adi-Mundi’s brow furrowed. “This isn’t the first time she’s been seen involving herself with members of the Republic.”

Luminara’s tone was clipped. “Nor the first time she’s manipulated proximity for influence.”

Obi-Wan folded his arms, but said nothing.

“She didn’t manipulate anything,” Kit said evenly. “She confided in me. The kind of honesty we’ve been demanding from her.”

Mace tilted his head. “And?”

Kit looked at him directly. “She’s in love with both of them—Commander Cody and Captain Rex. But that’s not what concerns her most.”

Now Obi-Wan stirred. “Go on.”

Kit’s voice was low. “She’s terrified of the Chancellor.”

Yoda’s ears perked. “Hmmm. Afraid, she is?”

“She didn’t say it directly. But I could hear it. She’s afraid of what she knows… and what he might do if she doesn’t play along.”

“That doesn’t mean she isn’t dangerous,” Ki-Adi-Mundi warned.

“It means she’s been alone in the middle of a political war, with no clear side to stand on,” Kit replied firmly. “We sent her into the shadows and now condemn her for adapting to them.”

“She took a child from a warzone,” Luminara said. “Lied about how she got him. Hid from the Republic.”

“Because she was ordered to,” Kit said, sharper now. “And when that order changed—to something unthinkable—she defied it. She saved him.”

Silence followed that.

Windu was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Do you believe her loyalty lies with us?”

Kit hesitated. Then nodded. “I believe her loyalty lies with the people she cares about. And right now… that includes two of our most trusted commanders and Captains.”

Obi-Wan finally spoke. “The Chancellor won’t like this.”

“No,” Windu agreed, standing. “But he doesn’t get to dictate how we perceive loyalty. Or love.”

Yoda’s voice, gentle but sure, followed: “The dark side clouds much. But clearer, the truth becomes. Watch her, we will. But trust her, we must begin to consider.”

Kit bowed his head. “Thank you.”

As the Council slowly began to adjourn, Windu approached him quietly.

“You’ve changed your mind about her.”

“I have,” Kit admitted. “Because I stopped looking at her record… and started listening to her heart.”

Windu nodded once. “We’ll see if that heart leads her back to us—or away for good.”

⸻

She had just finished showering off the night—physically, anyway. The emotional fog still clung like smoke in her lungs. Her clothes were clean, the kettle quiet, and the apartment smelled faintly of burned caf.

When the knock came again, softer this time, she already knew who it was.

She opened the door, and there stood Commander Cody. Arms crossed. Still in his armor minus the helmet. His posture was less “soldier on a mission” and more “man at the edge of patience.”

He gave her a once-over. “You look better.”

She gave a tired smile. “You should’ve seen me this morning.”

“I did. In the alley.”

That shut her up.

He stepped inside, letting the door hiss shut behind him. He didn’t bother walking further in—just stood there, facing her like she was on trial. And in a way, she was.

“You kissed me,” he said flatly.

“I did.”

“You kissed Rex.”

She nodded. “I know.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Do you want us to fight over you?”

“No.” Her voice cracked like old glass. “Never.”

Cody tilted his head. “Then what are you doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” He stepped forward. His tone was low—not angry, not accusing—just tired and honest. “You know exactly what you’re doing. You run when it gets too real. You lie when someone gets too close. You play both sides of everything so no one ever gets close enough to hurt you.”

She looked away.

“I don’t care who you choose,” he said, voice gentler now. “Rex, me, no one. I care that you keep lying. You keep manipulating people. You keep running. You say you care about us, but you treat us like we’re temporary. Like we’ll disappear the second things get hard.”

She stepped back, eyes welling up. “I’m trying, Cody. I didn’t mean for it to get this complicated.”

“Everything gets complicated with you.” He uncrossed his arms. “And I can handle complicated. But I won’t be your second choice. And neither will Rex.”

Silence.

Her throat was raw. “You’re not a second choice. You’re… you’re Cody.”

“Then stop treating me like a backup plan.”

That cut deeper than she expected.

He moved toward the door, then paused.

“For what it’s worth… I don’t regret kissing you. I’ve wanted to for a long time. But if it’s not real—don’t do it again.”

The door opened.

“Cody.”

He stopped.

“I’m scared.”

“I know,” he said softly, not turning around. “So am I. But we don’t get to use that as an excuse forever.”

Then he was gone.

And she stood there, in her too-clean apartment, surrounded by silence and the scent of burned caf, wishing she could burn away the shame just as easily.

Prev part | Next Part

“Red and Loyal” pt.5

Commander Fox x Senator Reader

The return to Coruscant should have felt like a victory.

Instead, it tasted like ashes in your mouth.

You stood before the full Senate chamber — still bruised, still hollow — draped in formal attire that barely hid the exhaustion in your bones.

Commander Cody flanked you silently, your last tether to strength.

Fox was somewhere in the shadows of the Grand Convocation Chamber, helmet tucked under one arm, his gaze burning into you.

You didn’t look at him.

Not yet.

Not yet.

You cleared your throat, and the chatter of the senators died to a low hush.

When you spoke, your voice was steady. Cold. Taught from days of battle and betrayal.

“To the esteemed representatives of the Republic,” you began, inclining your head. “I extend my planet’s gratitude for the forces sent to reclaim our homes from Separatist occupation.”

A murmur of self-congratulation rippled through the stands. You bit the inside of your cheek, holding your fury back.

“However,” you continued, sharp enough that the room froze again, “gratitude does not rebuild cities. It does not heal fields burned by droid armies, nor bring back the lives we lost waiting for help that almost came too late.”

Silence.

Not even Chancellor Palpatine shifted in his high seat.

“My people will need supplies. Infrastructure. Medicine.”

You swept your gaze across them, daring anyone to look away.

“And while we thank you for your soldiers,” — your voice caught, for just a heartbeat — “we will not survive on thanks alone.”

A low ripple of discomfort rolled through the chamber.

You bowed — low, measured, distant — and stepped back from the podium, spine straight even as every movement ached.

Only once you had retreated behind the Senators’ line did your composure slip.

And standing at the edge, waiting like a ghost, was him.

Commander Fox.

Red armor battered, jaw tight, brown eyes pinned on you with a look that you hated — hated — because it wasn’t anger.

It was guilt.

Real and raw.

You walked past him without a word.

But he followed.

In the shadows of the antechamber, where the Senate guards stood discreetly at a distance, you finally turned on him, voice low and cutting.

“You left,” you said.

No title. No honorific. Just that wound laid bare between you.

Fox’s hands clenched at his sides. “I had orders. It wasn’t—”

“It wasn’t your choice?” you bit out, trembling with the force of keeping your voice steady. “And that makes it better? My people died waiting for help that you walked away from.”

He flinched like you’d struck him.

Good. Let him feel it.

Still — Fox didn’t move, didn’t retreat. His voice, when it came, was rough, the words dragged from somewhere deep:

“I wanted to come back.”

“Too late,” you whispered.

You turned away, blinking hard. You wouldn’t cry here. Not where the whole Senate could see you fall apart.

You were stronger than that.

A beat.

Then Fox, softer. “I never stopped thinking about you. Never stopped fighting to come back.”

You swallowed hard, fists curling at your sides.

You didn’t trust yourself to answer.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

But as you stalked away, Fox didn’t try to stop you.

He just watched you go — like a man condemned, armor gleaming under the Senate lights, loyal to the end.

Even if you never forgave him.

⸻

The Senate chamber had emptied out slowly — a sluggish, uneasy tide of robes and whispered conversations.

Fox stood back, helmet tucked under one arm, watching from the shadows like a ghost no one dared acknowledge.

He hadn’t moved since she walked away.

Couldn’t.

Footsteps approached, sharp and familiar.

Fox didn’t look up until a voice spoke beside him.

“She’s tougher than any of them give her credit for,” Cody said.

Quiet. Measured. Like he was offering a fact, not an opinion.

Fox exhaled harshly through his nose, jaw tight.

“I know.”

Of course he knew. It was the knowing that gutted him.

Cody shifted his weight, glancing once toward the now-empty Senate floor. His armor still bore scorch marks from the fighting back on her homeworld. A badge of honor, but also a reminder.

“You did what you had to,” Cody said, voice low.

Orders.

The same damn word that haunted all of them.

Fox barked a soft, humorless laugh. “That’s the problem, vod. I always do what I’m ordered to do.”

He looked down at his hands — scarred, steady, good at killing, bad at saving the people who mattered.

There was a long silence between them, the weight of wars and regrets too heavy for easy words.

Finally, Fox cleared his throat, voice rough.

“Thank you.”

Cody blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in Fox’s tone.

“For getting her out,” Fox said. “For keeping your word. When I couldn’t.”

Cody’s face softened just a fraction.

“Wasn’t just duty,” he said. “You think you’re good at hiding it, Fox, but… we all saw it.”

Fox stiffened, but Cody shook his head before he could snap back.

“No shame in it. She’s worth caring about.”

A pause. Then, dryly, “Even if she scares half the Senate out of their robes.”

Fox huffed a quiet, broken laugh.

The first real sound he’d made in hours that didn’t taste like blood and failure.

Cody clapped a hand on his shoulder — a rare gesture between them, heavy with meaning.

“She’s alive,” Cody said. “That’s what matters. The rest… you’ll figure it out.”

Fox wasn’t so sure. But he nodded anyway.

Because loyalty was stitched into their bones.

And Fox had already decided a long time ago, He’d follow her anywhere.

Even if right now, she wouldn’t let him.

⸻

The office was dim, save for the warm, late-afternoon light spilling through the high windows.

It felt too big, too empty — too official.

You hated it.

You paced once, twice, and stared down at the two glasses you’d set out on the table.

A bottle of something strong and expensive waited between them — a peace offering you weren’t sure you deserved to make.

When the door commed quietly, you startled. You knew who it was.

“Enter,” you said, voice steady.

Commander Fox stepped in, helmet tucked under one arm, armor still worn and sharp.

But his whole posture — the tense set of his shoulders, the way his gaze found the floor first — made him look anything but invincible.

You swallowed thickly.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You should have prepared something eloquent.

You should have had a speech about duty and forgiveness and whatever politicians were supposed to say.

Instead, what came out was simple. Quiet.

“Sit,” you said, nodding toward the two chairs by your desk.

Fox hesitated — just for a second — then crossed the room with heavy steps and lowered himself into the seat across from you.

You caught the faint scrape of armor against metal.

The way he didn’t meet your eyes.

You picked up the bottle and poured, the soft glug of liquid filling the heavy silence.

When you slid one glass toward him, his hand hovered — a brief flicker of indecision — before he finally took it.

A small, reluctant smile pulled at the corner of your mouth.

“You know,” you said, lightly, “I offered you a drink once before. You refused.”

Fox’s mouth twisted — something like guilt, something like apology.

“I thought… it wouldn’t be appropriate,” he said gruffly.

“And… I didn’t deserve it.”

You sipped your own glass, savoring the burn down your throat.

Maybe neither of you deserved anything. Maybe that wasn’t the point anymore.

“You followed orders,” you said finally. “I know that.”

You set the glass down gently. “I… I just—” You shook your head, frustration knotting your chest. “It was easier to blame you than face what actually happened.”

Fox looked up at that — really looked — and the pain in his dark eyes was almost too much to bear.

“I wanted to come back,” he said, voice raw. “I wanted to fight. I—” He broke off, jaw working. “I thought about you every damn day I was gone.”

The confession punched the air out of the room.

You stared at him, heart thudding against your ribs.

Fox held your gaze, unflinching now, even as the shame and longing twisted over his face.

“You scare me sometimes,” you admitted, so quietly it was almost a whisper.

“Good,” he said without missing a beat, and for the first time in what felt like forever — you laughed.

Soft. Shaky. Real.

Fox’s lips quirked into something small and hopeful.

He raised his glass slightly, like a soldier making a silent vow.

You clinked yours gently against his, the faint tap of glass-on-glass the only sound in the room.

No forgiveness yet. No easy endings.

But for the first time since your world fell apart, something inside you shifted — a thread pulled tight not with anger, but with something else.

Hope.

Maybe loyalty could heal, too.

And Fox — sitting across from you, battered and unbowed — would wait as long as you needed.

Because he had already chosen you.

Previous Part

“Vertical Evac”

Sev x Reader

The Senate landing pad still stank of charred durasteel when the four commandos in Katarn armor strode out of the dawn mist. Boots hit duracrete in perfect cadence, and every aide around you startled, skittering out of their way like spooked tookas.

The one in the center stopped in front of you.

“Senator,” the vocoder rasped, calm as a metronome, “Delta Squad assumes your protection detail.”

You’d asked for one discreet guard after the Separatist torpedoes punched holes in your shuttle last night. Instead you’d been delivered a miniature shock battalion.

“I requested subtle,” you said dryly, sweeping your gaze over identical T‑visors. “Instead I’ve been issued four portable war crimes.”

A bark of laughter crackled through the comms. The clone on the left—armor scorched black at the shoulders—tapped two fingers to his helmet. “Portable war crime, that’s a new one, Senator. I’m Scorch. Demo expert. You break it, I blow it.”

“Stand down, Scorch,” the leader murmured. “I’m Boss. These are Fixer and Sev.”

The tallest—Sev—inclined his helmet a millimeter. “We’ll try not to stain the carpets.”

You almost smiled.

⸻

Your suite looked less like a workspace and more like a forward operating base. Scorch crawled through the ceiling vents, humming while he tucked micro‑det charges behind every ornate sconce. Fixer was wrist‑deep in the security terminal, ripping out obsolete boards and muttering about “code that predates the Jedi Order.” Boss paced, mapping angles of fire that only a clone commando would notice.

Sev took the window.

He didn’t move, didn’t even sway—just stood with the DC‑17m sniper attachment snug against his shoulder, visor tracking the boulevard five stories below.

You returned from the kitchenette with a tray of caf. “I assume troopers run on caffeine the way senators run on spite.”

Fixer declined with a grunt. Scorch popped down from a vent to snag two cups—one for himself, one he tried to hand to Sev by clinking the rim against the sniper’s elbow. Sev accepted without breaking sight‑line.

“Thanks,” he muttered. The voice behind the filter was low, gravel under ice.

You leaned against the sill beside him. “How long can you stare at traffic before you see stars?”

“Long as it takes.”

“Healthy.”

He gave a quiet huff that might have been a laugh. “Health is secondary. Mission first.”

Your lips twitched. “Let’s keep them aligned, Trooper.”

He finally turned his head. The visor reflected your own weary expression. “Call me Sev.”

“So,” you ventured, “Sev. What’s that actually short for? Your brothers keep calling you ‘Oh‑Seven.’ ”

A low rasp filtered through his vocoder. “Serial: RC‑1207. Clones don’t waste syllables—turns into ‘Zero‑Seven,’ then ‘Sev.’ Vau tried to rename me once—Strill‑bait—but Sev stuck.”

“Efficient,” you mused. “I was hoping for something poetic.”

“Closest thing to poetry we got,” he answered, “was Sergeant Walon Vau reading after‑action reports aloud and marking every missed shot in red. I preferred numbers.”

You huffed a laugh. “Numbers never filibuster.”

“Exactly.” He tipped the caf under his helmet, then added with a shrug you felt more than saw: “Still, seven isn’t a bad omen. Seven Geonosian snipers on my first real op. They’re the stripes.”

Your gaze dipped to the dried‑maroon slashes across his plate. Those kills were in the official record—no campfire exaggeration, just Sev doing Sev. “Better trophy than a Senate commendation,” you said.

“Commendations don’t stop blaster bolts,” he agreed. “Armor paint might. Enemies aim for the bright bit.”

“Note to self—add high‑visibility stripes to every lobbyist I want removed.”

He chuckled, deep and short. “You handle it with speeches, I handle it with DC charges. Same outcome; mine’s louder.”

The ceiling vent banged open and Scorch—all riot‑yellow hazard marks—dropped in upside‑down. “Louder? Did someone say louder? Because I have a three‑det primer that’ll make democracy sing.”

Sev kept his rifle steady, unamused. “You done wiring the vents?”

“Finished! Whole place is a merry little grave waiting to happen.” Scorch swung like a loth‑monkey. “What’s the banter—numerology and murder? Count me in. My favorite number’s forty‑seven—arms, legs, whatever’s left.”

Fixer snapped from the terminal, voice flat. “Scorch, your ‘festive’ cabling is shorting the main feed. Touch another conductor and I’ll teach you binary via blunt‑force trauma.”

“Harsh love, Fix.” Scorch saluted invertedly…and clipped a coil. Screens died, lights cut; the building’s distant alarm groaned awake.

Pen‑light clicked—Sev’s, white beam spearing the dark. “Stay with me, Senator.” He toggled comms. “Boss, primary’s down in the principal’s suite—unknown cause, probably Scorch.”

Boss answered, calm and clipped. “Assume breach until proven Scorch Error. Fixer: backups. Scorch: vent lockdown. Sev, keep the package intact.”

“Copy.” Sev shifted, square in front of you. Above, Scorch’s grin hovered in the torch.

“Bright side,” Scorch quipped, “if hostiles come now, they won’t see the scorch marks!”

“Touch that wire again,” Fixer warned in the dark, “and the next blackout’s permanent—for you.”

The auxiliary kicked in; light flooded back. Scorch fled up the duct, chastened but humming. Boss appeared in the doorway, orange visor band bright.

“Clear. Scorch is off det‑detail,” he declared.

Sev’s low chuckle rumbled. “Discipline, Delta‑style.”

You toasted him with the caf. “To functional anarchy. First amendment: electrified committee chairs.”

He gave a tiny nod. “Second amendment: motion passes with high‑explosive majority.”

A distant “I CAN SUPPLY THOSE” echoed from the shaft.

Side‑by‑side at the window, you both let the city’s neon river roll past, sharing bruised humor and the mutual certainty that, whatever happened next, you’d handle it—whether by votes or by very precise blaster fire.

⸻

Sleep never really came. You were half‑draped across a stack of datapads when every pane of transparisteel in the lounge shattered inward at once—a prismatic roar of sound and stinging air.

A glare‑white projectile streaked through the breach, thunked against the far wall, and bloomed into a spiderweb of crackling ion static. Lights died. Grav‑conduits hiccupped. Gravity itself seemed to wobble.

“Contact, east aspect—breach charges and ion!” Boss’s voice snapped from the darkness, all business. He’d been on silent watch in the corridor.

Sev materialised out of the gloom between you and the ruined window, rifle already hot. “Droid jump‑squad—minimum six. Senator, with me.”

You barely had time to register the whirring hiss of BX‑series commando droids vaulting the balcony rail before Sev’s gauntlet closed around your forearm.

Boss kicked the apartment’s panic door open with enough force to shear its hinges, emergency chemlights flickering along his orange‑striped armour.

“Fixer, Scorch—status?” he barked into squad‑comms while shoving a palm‑sized beacon into your hand. An amber arrow blinked on its surface: PROX‑CODE DELTA.

“Dining area’s a toaster, Boss. I’m boxed—two droids.”

“Vent shafts compromised—make that three,” Scorch added, laughing like it was Life Day.

“Hold and delay,” Boss ordered. “We’re exfil Alpha with the principal.”

Sev herded you down the service hall, DC‑17m coughing scarlet bolts that popped droid skulls as they rounded corners. A ricochet sizzled past your ear; you felt the heat, smelled scorched upholstery.

“Keep your head ducked,” he growled. “That helmet budget of yours is still pending.”

You shot back, breathless, “Filed under agricultural subsidies—nobody reads those.”

“Smart.” He clipped a spare vibroblade from his thigh and pressed it into your palm. “If it comes to close‑quarters—stab the gap at the jaw hinge.”

“Charming bedside manner, Sev.”

“Better than a funeral eulogy.”

The maintenance lift doors yawned open—just in time to reveal the empty shaft beyond. Gravity stabilisers flickered; wind howled up the vertical tunnel.

Boss lobbed a glow‑stick; it spiralled downward, showing two hundred metres of nothing before emergency nets. “Main lift’s offline. We rappel.”

A cable launcher thunked against the upper frame. Sev snapped the line to your belt, then to his own. “Clip in and step off on my count. Boss goes first.”

Blaster‑fire rattled down the corridor—Fixer’s voice on comms: “Third droid down, corridor secure.”

“Copy, Fix,” Boss replied. Then to you, calm and steady: “Three… two… one.” He vanished over the edge.

Sev guided you after him. The world flipped; you were suddenly running down a wall of permacrete, black void on either side, cable humming overhead. You focused on Boss’s glowing armour below, and on Sev’s hand firm between your shoulder blades.

Halfway down, a BX droid leaned out a blown‑open access door and fired upward. The cable near your hip sparked.

Sev twisted mid‑descent, rifle spitting crimson. The droid’s chest plate caved; it pinwheeled into darkness.

“Cable integrity?” Boss called.

“Nominal,” Sev grunted. To you: “Still with me?”

“Not filing that helmet request after all,” you gasped.

“Good. Would’ve been a waste of paperwork.”

Boots hit deck plating beside Boss. An auxiliary hangar gaped before you—service speeders, loading cranes, and, at the far end, a battered LAAT/i gunship painted civilian grey.

Boss punched the hatch codes. “Borrowing that. Scorch, Fixer—vector to my beacon.”

Scorch: “Roger—bringing the fireworks!”

Fixer: “And the repair bill.”

Sev swept the bay, visor pinging heat‑sigs. “Two more droids on the gantry.”

“I’ll drive,” you said, surprising yourself.

Sev angled his helmet. “Can you?”

“Committee on Combat Logistics. I made sure senators kept their pilot’s certs current.”

Boss tossed you the cockpit datakey. “Then fly it like you filibuster—fast and ruthless.”

⸻

The gunship thundered out of the sub‑level exit just as Scorch vaulted aboard, demo‑satchel first, Fixer broken‑armed behind him. Sev slammed the side hatch; Boss took the troop bay guns.

City lights blurred past. Sirens dopplered below. Somewhere behind, your shattered apartment flickered with fresh explosions—Scorch’s parting gift.

Sev crouched beside the cockpit, shoulder braced against the bulkhead. “Secondary safe‑house is eighteen klicks. We’ll clear traffic for you.”

You tightened your grip on the yoke. “Appreciate it. Next housing allowance better cover blast windows.”

“That, or we install the windows we like—three metres thick, transparisteel.” His tone was almost light. “Adds character.”

You glanced back, met his visor. “And here I thought I was the expensive one in this arrangement.”

“Worth every credit, Senator,” he said—and for the first time you heard a smile in RC‑1207’s gravelled voice.

Outside, the dawn line crept over Coruscant’s horizon—crimson, like Sev’s war‑paint—while Delta Squad regrouped in the hold, bruised but intact. The war would send more droids, more nights like this, but for now you flew toward the rising light, the commando’s words lingering like an unspoken promise.

⸻

The scarlet bloom of predawn still clung to Sev’s visor as Delta Squad escorted you across the durasteel bridgeway toward the Sienar Senatorial Cutter waiting in docking cradle G‑43.

You’d only decided an hour ago—papers signed, aide‑team recalled—that it was time to go home: to the domed foundries of your world, to the committees that actually listened. Coruscant could keep its marble tombs.

Fixer had already swept the cutter’s nav‑core; Scorch grumbled that the fuel cells were “too clean, suspiciously sober.” Boss, always by the datapad, had plotted the twenty‑six‑hour jump. Sev walked at your left flank, rifle slung but senses wired tight.

“I still think the Senate Medical Board could clear you in two days,” he said through the vocoder, voice low.

“And I think if I stay two days more, the war will veto me permanently.” You managed a wry smile. “Besides, your safe‑house couch is murderous on the lumbar.”

“Could requisition a better couch.”

“You’d blow it up for target practice.”

“Fair.”

A claxon whooped overhead, routine pre‑launch. Hangar crews gave thumbs‑up as they sealed the cutter’s boarding ramp, crimson Republic insignia catching the light.

Scorch jogged back from the refuel pylon, yellow armor bright against the grey deck. “All green—ship’s thirstier than a cadet, but she’s topped.”

Boss nodded. “Mount up. We launch in eleven.”

You rested a hand on the cool hull, exhaled. Going home. For the first time in weeks, the knot behind your ribs loosened.

A muffled whump—more vibration than sound—rippled underfoot. You frowned; Sev’s helmet snapped toward the cutter. An instant later a second, deeper concussion rolled across the ring. Cries echoed; deck crew scattered.

Sev’s shout hit like blaster fire: “DOWN!”

He tackled you behind a cargo skid just as the Senatorial Cutter blossomed into white‑hot shrapnel. The blast‑wave hammered the gangway, ripping durasteel like foil. Chunks of hull screamed overhead, flaming arcs against the pale sky.

Boss’s orders barked through squad‑comms—“Perimeter! Trawl for secondaries!”—even as Fixer dragged a stunned tech from the collapsing ramp. Scorch ran straight into the haze, thermal scanner up, searching for unexploded ordnance.

Your ears rang. Liquid fire licked the wreck thirty meters away; atmosphere pull whipped the flames sideways until emergency force‑screens slammed down.

Sev’s weight still covered you, armour shielding against stray shards. Heat washed over the two of you; the copper tang of scorched electronics filled your lungs.

He leaned close, voice pitched for your ears only. “Senator, you all right?”

Heart hammering, you forced a nod. “Yes.” The word came thin. “Our ship—”

“Gone,” he said, absolute. “Someone timed a shaped charge for pre‑board.”

You felt the knot snap tight again—rage this time, not fear. “That hangar was Level Three clearance. Only Republic personnel.”

“Or someone wearing their code cylinder.” Sev’s visor reflected the inferno. “Saboteur’s still out there.”

Fire‑suppression foam oozed from ceiling vents; med‑droids hissed down the smoke‑curtains. Boss herded survivors past you, every gesture clipped, professional.

“Saboteur planted thermal baradium in the starboard fuel neck,” Fixer reported, one gauntlet cradling his bandaged arm. “Timed off the pressure equaliser—no remote signal.”

Scorch skidded up, visor flecked with soot. “Found partial detonator casing. Separatist‑pattern, but tractable.”

Boss looked to you. “Senator, the ring isn’t secure. I recommend immediate extraction to Defender‑class corvette Vigilant—Command has a cabin we can hard‑seal.”

You opened your mouth—I still have to reach my planet—but Sev cut across gently, “Your world can wait eight more hours. You can’t if there’s a second bomber.”

You met his visor, saw your own shaken reflection. A breath in, out. “Corvette it is.”

The Vigilant detached from the ring on emergency vector, hyperdrives spooling. Through the small viewport the docking cradle burned, a smear of smoke against the stratosphere.

You sat on a cot, jacket singed, palms trembling. Sev posted at the door, Boss conferring with the bridge. Fixer typed one‑handed at a forensic padd; Scorch fussed, pulling charred slivers from his pauldrons.

“You know the irony,” Scorch called across the room, irrepressible even now. “Hangars scare me more than battlefields. Too many things that go ‘boom’ when they’re supposed to behave.”

Fixer grunted. “Statistically still safer than letting you cook ration bars.”

You managed a weak laugh, rubbing temples. “Gentlemen, please—one trauma at a time.”

Sev stepped forward, offered a flask of electrolyte water. “Sip slowly.”

You obeyed, then asked, “Anyone else hurt?”

“Minor burns only,” Boss answered, approaching. “But the Separatists just escalated. Cutter’s manifest leaked thirty minutes ago—only a very short list knew you’d leave today.”

“Which means,” Sev finished, “there’s a mole in Republic logistics.”

Silence pressed in, broken by the corvette’s hyperdrive howl—the stars outside stretched to lines.

You set the flask aside, straightened. “So we find them.”

Boss inclined his helmet. “That’s the plan.”

Sev’s voice dropped, meant only for you. “And until we do, no transports. No public schedules. We move when we control every variable.”

A beat. Then you asked, quietly fierce, “Does that include better couches?”

The sniper’s helmet tipped, the faintest nod. “And blast windows thick enough for a rancor.”

Despite everything—the smoke, the dead crew, the gut‑deep dread—you felt a spark of something steadier than fear. Delta had you. And you weren’t done fighting.

Outside, hyperspace opened like a blue fracture, swallowing the Vigilant—but not the promise Sev had made, soft as a sniper’s breath: They’d failed to kill you twice. Third time would never come.

⸻

The Vigilant slipped into hyperspace hours ago, but sleep never boarded with the rest of you.

When the muted corridor lights dimmed for ship‑night, you found yourself drifting—restless—until the muffled clank of a familiar gait guided your steps.

Most racks were dark, humming behind containment fields, yet one bench lamp burned low. Sev sat there, helmet off, the harsh light carving shadows along the scar that split his right temple. He was field‑stripping the DC‑17m with the same care a jeweler gives crystal.

You halted at the threshold. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

Crimson eyes flicked up—tired, alert, softening when they found you. “Blaster lubricant’s cheaper than sedatives.”

You ventured closer, palms tucked in your sleeves to hide the tremor still living there. “I wanted to thank you. You put yourself between me and—” You gestured at empty air that smelled faintly of ionized smoke. “Everything.”

He reassembled the last actuator, set the rifle aside. “That’s the job.”

“I know when duty ends and choice begins.” You lowered onto the next bench. “Saving me was duty. Staying here polishing gun parts at three a.m.—that’s choice.”

For a moment the only sound was the distant thrum of hyperdrive coils. Sev’s gaze dropped to your hands. “You’re still shaking.”

“Adrenaline’s a stubborn tenant.”

He reached into a med‑pouch, produced a flat stim patch. “Cortical calmative. Won’t knock you out—just tells the nerves the shooting’s done.”

You accepted it, hesitated. “Could put it on my own neck, but I imagine you’re more precise.”

His expression did something rare—softened into a hint of a smile. He peeled the backing, brushed your hair aside with surprising gentleness, and pressed the patch below your ear. Heat bloomed, then a slow coolness spread through muscle and marrow alike.

“Better?” he asked, thumb lingering against your pulse as if counting the beats to be sure.

“Getting there.” You studied the scar on his temple—white against tan skin, the kind Kamino med‑droids never fully erased. “Geonosis?”

He nodded once. “Turret ricochet. Left a mark. Reminds me to keep my head down.”

“You kept mine down today.”

A silence stretched, warm instead of awkward, until he said, low: “When the cutter blew, time slowed. Thought—if that’s the last thing I do, it’s enough.”

Your breath hitched. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” His hand dropped to the bench between you, open‑palmed—an invitation without expectation.

You laid your fingers across his. Armor‑calloused knuckles felt like forged durasteel, but the grip he returned was careful, almost reverent.

“I’m glad,” you whispered, “that ‘enough’ didn’t end there.”

His lips curved—a small, earnest thing. “Me too, cyar’ika.” The Mandalorian endearment slipped out before he caught it; color touched his cheeks. “Sorry”.

“Don’t be.” You squeezed his hand. “I speak fluent subtext.”

From the passageway came Scorch’s distant voice complaining about ration bars; somewhere Fixer muttered diagnostics. But inside the armory a hush settled—two steady heartbeats, the scent of cleaning solvent, the promise of unexploded tomorrows.

Sev reclaimed his rifle, but his other hand never left yours. “Stay a while. The patch works better with company.”

You leaned your shoulder to his, felt the tremor finally subside, and decided the armory was, for tonight, the safest place in the galaxy.

breaking news: mr sad and miserable is being sad and miserable again

Captain Rex x Villager Reader

⸻

The mission went sideways—like most things involving General Skywalker.

The Republic cruiser got hit mid-orbit, forcing the 501st into a crash-landing they barely walked away from. Engines fried. Comms fried. Morale? Hanging on by a few snide remarks from Jesse and a sarcastic comment from Kix.

They hiked miles through jungle and shoreline until they stumbled across it: a sleepy little village tucked in a crescent of cliffs and coral. Sun-bleached stone homes. Palm trees bending in the breeze. Children with wide eyes and old souls.

And then... her.

The village welcomed them with food, drink, and curious smiles. The chief offered shelter. But Rex? Rex couldn't stop staring at the figure twirling barefoot on the sand.

You.

Clothes soaked to the knees, hair tangled with shells, a song on your lips and hands raised to the sky like you were conducting the clouds.

"Who's that?" Jesse muttered, nudging Rex.

One of the villagers chuckled. "That's her. Our ocean spirit. The crazy one."

"She always like this?" Kix asked.

"Always. She talks to the stars. Dances with the tide. Claims the Force whispers in her dreams."

"Right," Rex said flatly, trying very hard not to watch you pirouette through the foam.

⸻

You noticed him the second he stepped into the village.

Not because of the armor—everyone else had that.

But because of the weight on his shoulders. The silence behind his eyes.

He was loud in his stillness. Something broken beneath all that discipline. And you... well, you liked broken things. They had better stories.

So naturally, you made it your mission to get under his skin.

The first time, you startled him by hanging upside down from a tree branch as he walked by. "You're a soldier, but you move like someone who wants peace," you said, grinning. "What a strange contradiction."

He blinked up at you. "What?"

You dropped beside him, barefoot and beaming. "You've got stars in your chest, Captain. Ever let 'em out?"

He stared.

Then turned to Jesse and muttered, "She's weirder up close."

⸻

You danced along the edges of his days.

Offered him woven seashell charms ("For luck."). Sang to him in the mornings ("For clarity."). Told him stories about planets that didn't exist, and beasts made of shadow and seafoam.

At first, he humored you. Called you "eccentric." Maybe a little unhinged.

But over time, when the others laughed—when Anakin smirked and Jesse nudged him—Rex stopped joining in. He started listening. Watching.

You'd talk to the ocean and hum lullabies to fish. You'd draw in the sand and claim it was from a vision. You'd call him "Captain Sunshine" and pretend not to notice how his lips twitched every time.

But the turning point?

It came the night you found him staring at the stars, quiet and heavy.

You sat beside him without asking.

"There's something about you," you said softly. "Like the Force wrapped a storm in armor."

Rex didn't speak. But his hand was still when you placed yours over it.

"You think I'm mad," you whispered, "but the truth is—I've just seen too much. And maybe... maybe I see you too."

He looked at you then.

Really looked.

And for the first time, he didn't see "the village crazy."

He saw you.

⸻

From then on, he started lingering.

He'd listen to your stories.

He'd walk with you on the shore.

He'd steal glances when you danced in the moonlight—shirt soaked, hair wild, joy uncontained.

His men noticed.

So did Skywalker.

"You know she's probably kissed a krayt dragon or something, right?" Anakin teased one evening.

"She said it kissed her," Jesse corrected.

Rex only grunted. But later that night, when you sat beside him by the fire and handed him a shell—"It's for courage," you said—he didn't laugh.

He kept it.

Right there, tucked beneath his chest plate, next to his heart.

⸻

The moonlight filtered through the palm trees, casting silver streaks across the soft sand. The air was warm, a gentle breeze ruffling your hair as you sat with Rex on the quiet beach. His armor, normally so rigid and sharp, lay discarded in a pile beside him. His shoulders were relaxed—more than they had been in days.

For the first time, there was no mission. No enemy. Just the two of you, the waves, and the stars.

You were humming a tune that had no words—just the melody carried by the wind. You always sang when you felt alive. And tonight, you felt alive. There was something in the air, something that shifted between the two of you.

You glanced over at Rex, who had his gaze fixed on the horizon, his arms resting loosely on his knees.

"You know," you began, your voice quieter than usual, "I've been thinking."

He turned his head slightly to look at you, but didn't say anything. You could feel the weight of his attention on you, even without him speaking.

"You're always so serious," you continued, your eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. "I think it's time I gave you a new name. Something that suits you better than 'Captain Sunshine.'"

He raised an eyebrow, but there was a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I told you to stop calling me that."

You grinned, leaning your head on your knees. "But it fits! You're always so bright, even when you try to be grumpy."

"I'm not grumpy," he muttered.

"Sure you're not," you teased. "How about 'Captain Gloomy' then?"

He laughed, a rare, deep sound that made your heart skip. But it was only for a moment before he grew quiet again.

"You know, I don't mind the nickname," Rex said, his voice softer now, more vulnerable than usual. "I just..." He cleared his throat, then looked at you, his blue eyes soft under the moonlight. "I don't want you thinking I'm some sort of walking joke."

Your smile faded, replaced with a warmth that bubbled in your chest. You reached over and took his hand, resting it in your own.

"Rex," you said, your voice low and sincere. "I don't think you're a joke. And I don't call you 'Captain Sunshine' to make fun of you. It's because you shine, even when you don't know it. You've been through so much, but you still manage to have a light in you. It's... rare."

For a long moment, he didn't speak. Then he squeezed your hand, a silent acknowledgment of something unspoken. Something neither of you were ready to say yet.

But for the first time in weeks, Rex didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he leaned in, just enough for you to feel the warmth of his presence.

"Stop calling me 'Captain Sunshine,'" he said quietly, his voice thick with something you couldn't quite place. "Call me Rex."

You blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of it. Rex. He wanted you to call him by his name. Not by rank. Not by some distant title. Just Rex.

And you smiled.

"Okay... Rex."

⸻

The next morning, the peaceful rhythm of village life was shattered.

You were on the shore, as usual—your feet in the water, your hands lifting to the sky as you hummed to the wind. But something was different today. The ocean felt... wrong. The waves rolled with a strange intensity, crashing against the rocks with too much force.

You stood still, listening to the sound of the water. The whispers came to you, as they often did. But this time, they were louder. Urgent.

Something's coming. Something dark.

A chill ran down your spine. You felt it deep in your bones. It wasn't the Force, not really. You couldn't wield it the way the Jedi could. But you felt it—this impending darkness. The kind of thing that stirred in your gut and made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You rushed into the village, seeking out the chief. You found him in the square, talking to some of the villagers.

"Chief!" You grabbed his arm, your breath quickening. "The ocean is angry. Something is coming. You need to prepare."

The chief looked at you, brow furrowed. "You're rambling again. The ocean is just the ocean."

"But the water—" you began, your hands trembling. "The waves—there's something wrong! It's not just the ocean. It's everything."

He shook his head. "You've always been a little... eccentric. The villagers are afraid of you, but we've never had a problem. Don't stir up fear."

Your chest tightened. No one believed you. Again.

You turned away from him, running towards Rex, Skywalker, and the others, desperate to make them understand.

But even as you spoke to Rex, the worry clear in your voice, he shook his head, not fully understanding. "You're being cryptic again, [Y/N]. We can't just go around acting on every... feeling you have. We need to focus on finding a way off this planet."

"You don't understand," you said, grabbing his arm. "You have to listen to me, Rex. The Force... something's coming. I can feel it. We're not safe here."

Rex's gaze softened for a moment, but there was a stubbornness in him that wouldn't let go. "You're not crazy, but we can't just assume the worst. We're in a safe place."

As if on cue, the first explosion rocked the village.

⸻

The Separatists came from the cliffs, their droid army descending in waves.

The village, so peaceful just hours before, was now a battlefield. The village chief scrambled to rally the villagers, but it was clear they weren't prepared for what was happening. Panic spread like wildfire. Children screamed. Elders tried to hide.

Rex and the 501st were quick to action, weapons drawn, taking position around the village. But the fight was chaotic. Too chaotic. And despite his skill, Rex couldn't shake the feeling that you had been right.

That something was wrong. That something was coming.

And when he looked back to find you, his heart dropped. You weren't by the water anymore. You were in the center of it all—trying to calm the villagers, trying to do something, but you were alone.

You weren't a Jedi, but your connection to the planet and the Force—it had always been there. But now, it was stronger than ever.

But the village was under attack, and Rex—he would do anything to keep you safe. Anything.

⸻

The ground trembled beneath your feet as the first explosion reverberated across the beach, sending the villagers scattering in panic. You had felt it before, but now it was undeniable—the feeling that something was horribly wrong. The droid army had descended without warning, their cold, mechanical clanking filling the air as they stormed through the village.

Rex's sharp voice cut through the chaos. "Form up! Secure the perimeter!" His orders were precise, but even he couldn't ignore the panic that was building. The Separatists had come out of nowhere—this was no mere skirmish. This was an invasion.

You were in the thick of it, dodging through the scrambling villagers, trying to usher the children into the village huts. Your heart pounded in your chest, every instinct telling you to run—run far away—but you couldn't. Not when you felt the waves of darkness closing in.

The Force was alive in you now—alive and screaming. You had never experienced anything like this before. There was something wrong about the way the droids moved. It was as if they had a plan—a deeper purpose. And in the center of it all, you could feel a dark presence, one that made your chest tighten with fear.

You tried to keep your cool, but it was hard. It was hard when you saw Rex, the man you had come to care for, pushing through the village with his brothers, cutting down droids left and right. You wanted to warn him, to tell him to stop, to listen to the warning bells ringing in your soul.

But you were just the village "crazy." What could you say? Who would listen?

⸻

Rex was fighting alongside the rest of the 501st, but his eyes never strayed far from you. He knew you weren't helpless—he knew that. But seeing you caught in the middle of the battle, guiding the villagers to safety, made his heart race in a way he couldn't explain. His usual stoic focus slipped, his movements sharper, more desperate as the battle intensified.

"[Y/N]!" he called out, pushing through a group of battle droids to reach you. "Get to cover!"

You didn't move, your eyes scanning the battlefield, your hands raised as if trying to push the tides themselves back. Your breath was shallow, your mind working overtime to sense the next wave of danger. You felt the air shift—they were coming. But they weren't the droids.

A blinding flash of blaster fire exploded nearby, and Rex's hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you behind a nearby hut for cover.

"Stay down!" he shouted, crouching beside you, his voice fierce, desperate. He was holding onto you tightly—too tightly, almost as if he thought letting go would mean losing you.

You caught your breath, staring at him, your hand still on his arm as if grounding yourself. The connection was stronger than ever, but there was nothing you could do but feel.

"I—Rex..." You struggled to find words. "There's something else. Not just droids. Something darker."

He shook his head, his face set with determination. "You're not going through this alone. We're getting you out of here."

But it was too late.

The battle intensified. More droids came flooding into the village, backed by a squad of heavily armored battle droids. You felt it—the pull of the darkness, tightening its grip around your chest. The very air seemed to grow thick with danger.

The droids were growing stronger by the minute. The battle outside was escalating, and the villagers had nowhere to run. You felt the heavy presence of Skywalker's power drawing closer, but you couldn't bring yourself to move. Rex had his orders. He was focused on defending the villagers, but in the pit of your stomach, you knew—if something wasn't done, this battle would turn into something much worse.

But then, everything stopped.

The unmistakable sound of blaster fire and screeching engines tore through the air. Anakin Skywalker.

"Didn't think you'd get rid of me that easily, Rex!" Skywalker's voice crackled through the comms. The roar of his ship's engines echoed as he barreled through the droid lines, his starfighter tearing through the air, blasting droids out of the sky with precision.

"I knew you'd show up," Rex muttered, a grin creeping onto his face despite the chaos. "Where have you been?"

"Just finishing off a few stragglers!" Skywalker's voice came back with a mischievous chuckle, as his ship soared overhead, dropping bombs and causing explosions in its wake. He was pulling the droid forces back.

The Separatists were retreating, forced to deal with the new wave of attacks from the air and ground.

Rex glanced back at you, his blue eyes full of concern. "We need to move now. They're still coming."

With Skywalker's timely intervention, the tide of battle had shifted. The 501st took advantage of the confusion caused by Skywalker's precision strikes, their assault growing fiercer. It wasn't just the droids that were retreating—Skywalker's presence had thrown them off balance, leaving the droid army scrambling for cover.

The villagers, assisted by the 501st, rallied together to get the wounded to safety. The battle raged on, but the droids were systematically wiped out. It wasn't a clean victory, but it was a victory nonetheless.

Finally, after the dust settled, you stood on the beach, your eyes still searching the horizon. You could feel the last traces of Skywalker's energy dissipating, his presence fading from the air. The village was safe—for now—but the cost had been heavy.

The 501st was preparing to leave. Skywalker had repaired his starfighter—patched up and fueled as best as he could with what limited resources the village had. His unorthodox heroics had cleared the sky, and now, it was time to go.

Rex stood beside you, silent for a moment, his hand resting on the hilt of his blaster. "We've got to go," he said, his voice soft.

You nodded, your heart heavy. You knew this was coming—the goodbye.

You looked up at him, trying to find the words. But there was only one thing you could say.

"You're going back to the fight," you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion.

Rex nodded, his gaze shifting downward for a moment before meeting yours again. "It's my job. It's what I'm good at."

You smiled softly, even though it hurt. "I know." Your fingers brushed his, and for a fleeting moment, the world stood still between you two.

Rex hesitated. There was something in his eyes now, something deeper than the soldier he had always been. He took a step closer, his hand reaching for yours. "Come with us. There's always a place for you with the 501st."

You shook your head gently, your heart aching with the decision. "No, Rex. You belong out there, with them. This is where I need to be. This is my home."

He looked at you for a long time, his gaze tender and filled with an unspoken understanding. "I'll never forget you, [Y/N]."

"I know," you whispered.

You pulled away, taking a deep breath. "Goodbye, Rex."

And as he turned to leave, you couldn't help but feel that your connection—this strange, beautiful bond between you—would remain. Even across the stars.

Rex glanced back one last time, his helmet under his arm, his eyes full of regret and something else—something you couldn't name. But then he was gone, heading to the shuttle with his brothers, disappearing into the sky.

And you stood on the shore, watching the stars shimmer in the distance, knowing that, just maybe, you would always feel that pull toward him. Across time, across galaxies, and even the darkness that threatened to divide them.

The Force, it seemed, had a way of bringing souls together—if only for a little while.

Made for amazing friend and supporter @meneliltare as a tiny gift for a monthly Buymeacoffee donation❤️ Thank you so much for your help and for being a source of support, inspiration, and smiles for me! For bringing Barduil light and stability in my life🫂 This picture was inspired by our "zoo" conversation, hope you don't mind))

Yeah you could say I’m doing numbers on tumblr. And that numbers? One

Dominoes fall, but no one ever tells you what happens to the last one. Lyrics from: Wait for Me - Hadestown (2:47-3:11) ...with a little lyric change at the end. Beep beep, emotional damage truck coming through! Also this is the result of my WIP featured on my Last Line Challenge.