Stop Asking “is This Good?” And Start Asking “did It Cause Emotional Damage?” That’s How You

stop asking “is this good?” and start asking “did it cause emotional damage?” that’s how you know.

“Crossfire” pt.6

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

The night air was still, too quiet for Coruscant. As if the city itself held its breath. The reader sat on the stone edge of a koi pond in the Jedi Temple gardens, picking at the frayed edge of her sleeve.

She hadn’t come here to pray. Or meditate. She came because she couldn’t breathe in her apartment anymore.

Kit Fisto approached silently, boots barely making a sound against the stones. She didn’t flinch when he spoke.

“You found the quietest corner of the Temple.”

“I didn’t think Jedi gardens were known for wild parties.”

He chuckled, easing down beside her, his presence—warm, calm, steady. It was infuriating how grounded he always was.

“You look better than this morning,” he said.

“I look like someone who kissed two men, woke up next to a Jedi Master, and has no idea what the hell she’s doing with her life.”

Kit’s smile widened. “I wasn’t going to say it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks for getting me home.”

“I didn’t do it for thanks.”

They sat in silence, the pond rippling as a fish darted beneath the surface.

She sighed. “Do I seem like a monster to you?”

“No.”

“Even after everything?”

“I think you’ve been carrying too many secrets for too long. That doesn’t make you a monster. It makes you tired.”

She looked at him. “Do you tell that to all the girls who stumble into your arms drunk off their head?”

“No,” he said. “Only the ones who cry about clone commanders in their sleep.”

Her throat tightened. “Of course I did.”

“You said you love them both.”

She dropped her head into her hands. “Stars, I’m a mess.”

“That’s not news.”

They both laughed, but it faded quickly.

Kit’s voice turned more serious. “You trust the Chancellor. But you fear him.”

“I do,” she whispered. “More than anything.”

Before Kit could respond, another voice echoed softly from behind.

“You’re not the only one.”

She turned sharply to see Mace Windu standing a few steps away, arms crossed, his gaze steady but not unkind.

“Didn’t realize this was going to be a group therapy session,” she muttered.

Windu stepped forward. “Kit told me what you said last night. About your fear. Your confusion. Your… feelings for the clones.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered.

“I’m not here to scold you,” Windu said. “But I need to understand. Why do you keep aligning yourself with the Chancellor if you don’t trust him?”

“Because I don’t know what happens if I don’t,” she admitted. “He knows everything about me. He saved me once—or at least made me think he did. I’ve done things for him I can’t take back. And I’m scared if I stop playing the part, he’ll destroy me.”

Kit’s hand rested gently on her back. Windu’s expression softened—not pity, but something close.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Windu said. “We may not know what you are to him, but you’re not just his anymore. You’re part of something else now. The clones trust you. Some of the Jedi trust you. Don’t waste that.”

She met his eyes. “I don’t know how to be anything but what I’ve been.”

“Then start small,” Kit said. “Be honest.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“Most truths are.”

Windu gave a slight nod, then turned to leave.

Before he did, he added, “You’ve still got a choice. Don’t wait until it’s taken from you.”

She sat there for a while after he left, Kit still beside her.

“Truth hurts,” she murmured.

Kit gave a small smile. “So does love.”

⸻

She didn’t take the main lift. Didn’t want to run into anyone. After her talk with Kit and Windu, she was raw—peeling open layers she’d kept tightly shut for years. Now, every footstep echoed like a secret she hadn’t meant to tell.

She was halfway through the lower halls when a voice pulled her to a stop.

“You always run off when things get real?”

She froze.

Rex.

He stepped out of the shadows near the archway, arms crossed, helmet in hand, dressed down in fatigues. No armor. No rank. Just him. And that was the problem.

“I wasn’t running,” she said quietly.

“You never are,” he replied. “You disappear. You lie. You kiss me, then you kiss Cody, then you run again and act like none of it ever happened.”

She turned toward him, lips parted in protest—but he wasn’t done.

“I don’t care about what happened at 79’s,” he said. “Not like that. I care that I don’t know where I stand with you. And I don’t think you know either.”

“That’s not fair—”

“No. What’s not fair is you looking at me like you want to stay, then leaving before I can ask you to.”

She looked away. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“I know,” Rex said, stepping closer. “But you’ve got it. All of it. You have me. And Cody. And the damn Jedi Council watching your every move. And that kid you saved, even if he’s gone now. You’ve got hearts in your hands, and you’re squeezing them like you don’t realize they’re breakable.”

She flinched.

“You don’t get to keep pushing us away and pulling us close when it suits you,” he added, softer this time. “Pick something. Anyone. Or don’t. Just stop pretending it doesn’t mean something.”

The silence settled between them, heavy and sharp.

“I’m trying,” she finally whispered. “I’m not used to being wanted. Not like this. I don’t know what to do with it.”

Rex stepped closer. Close enough she could feel the heat from him, the frustration in the way he held his jaw so tight.

“Start by not lying,” he said. “To me. To Cody. To yourself.”

She met his eyes. “If I tell you I’m scared of what happens if I choose one of you…?”

“I’d say you’re human.”

“What if I choose wrong?”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you already know who it is,” he said, and for once, he didn’t say anything more. Didn’t push. Just looked at her like he was waiting for her to catch up.

She blinked, her mouth opening to speak—but footsteps echoed behind them.

Cody.

He stepped into the corridor, freezing at the sight of them. His eyes flicked between them, jaw tightening just a fraction.

Rex didn’t move.

Neither did she.

“You two done?” Cody asked coolly.

“Not even close,” Rex said.

Cody’s gaze locked with hers. “Then maybe it’s time I had a turn.”

The hallway felt too small for the weight in the air.

She looked between them—Rex, steady and wounded, and Cody, cold and unreadable, his arms crossed like a shield.

Cody broke the silence first.

“So,” he said, voice low. “What’s your excuse this time?”

“Cody—” she started.

“No, really. I want to know. You ran off, again. Lied to the Jedi Council. Lied to us. And you show back up at 79’s like nothing happened.” His tone was calm, but there was something brittle underneath. “So what is it this time?”

She exhaled, stepping forward. “I didn’t know what else to do. I had to protect that kid. And if I told anyone—even you—it would’ve put him in more danger.”

“You think I wouldn’t have protected him?” Cody asked, hurt flashing behind his eyes. “You think we wouldn’t have helped you?”

“I couldn’t risk it.”

“You didn’t trust us.”

“I didn’t trust anyone.”

That landed heavier than she expected.

Rex shifted, jaw clenched. “She didn’t even answer my comms, Cody. Not once.”

“I know.”

The silence swelled again—until she took a step closer to both of them.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were small, but real. Fragile, like they might shatter if she tried to backtrack.

Cody’s posture eased, just slightly. “We’re not looking for perfect,” he said quietly. “We’re just tired of being temporary.”

Her heart cracked open—again.

And then—

“Well isn’t this cozy.”

Quinlan Vos strolled around the corner like he was walking into a lounge instead of an emotional standoff.

“Oh great,” Cody muttered under his breath.

Right behind Quinlan came Kenobi, hands folded in front of him like he hadn’t just walked in on the messiest love triangle in the Temple.

“I sensed tension,” Kenobi said lightly. “But I wasn’t expecting it to be this personal.”

“Obi-Wan,” she said with a groan, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This really isn’t your kind of conversation.”

“And yet here I am,” he replied smoothly.

Quinlan leaned against the wall, eyes dancing with mischief. “So who’s it gonna be? Helmet One or Helmet Two?”

Rex looked like he was about to start throwing punches.

Cody sighed. “I will actually kill you, Vos.”

Vos raised his hands. “Hey, no need for violence. Unless it’s a duel for affection. In which case, I’ve got credits on the shiny one.”

“I swear to the stars—” she started.

Kenobi held up a hand, stepping between them. “Enough. We’re not here for… whatever this is. The Council requested an update on the three of you. We came to ensure you’re not tearing each other apart.”

Quinlan smirked. “Looks like she’s doing the emotional tearing, Obi.”

“Quinlan.”

“Alright, alright,” Vos said, grinning as he backed away. “But if someone gets stabbed over this? I better be invited.”

“Out,” she said, pointing. “Both of you.”

Kenobi gave a soft chuckle and turned to leave, but not before glancing over his shoulder.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, tone more serious now, “sometimes the hardest thing isn’t choosing between two people—it’s choosing yourself. Just don’t take too long. Wars don’t wait for hearts to decide.”

And with that, he disappeared down the corridor, dragging Quinlan along with him like an annoying older brother babysitting a younger one hopped up on spice.

The hallway fell quiet again.

Cody looked at her.

Rex didn’t move.

She let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know how to choose.”

“You don’t have to right now,” Cody said, stepping closer. “But stop pretending we don’t matter to you.”

“You do,” she whispered. “You both do.”

Rex finally spoke. “Then stop running.”

⸻

The air in her apartment was too still.

It felt wrong, being somewhere safe. Somewhere silent. Somewhere without the constant hum of danger or the weight of another lie slung over her shoulders like armor.

She sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, the lights dimmed.

A glass of something strong sat untouched on the nearby table.

Her thoughts weren’t on Rex. Or Cody. Not really. Not even on the awkward, lingering heat of Kit Fisto’s presence that still clung to the corners of her memory like steam on glass.

They kept drifting—to the kid.

To the boy with the too-serious eyes and the hands that fidgeted when he thought she wasn’t looking. Who had followed her across half the galaxy, trusting her with a kind of blind faith she didn’t think she deserved.

To the one she couldn’t kill.

To the one she’d almost raised.

She could still hear his voice, the way he’d called her “boss” like it was a title and a joke all in one. The way he looked when they’d watched the suns set over Kashyyyk, his feet dangling off a root bridge too high for a child to be comfortable on.

“Why do people kill people like me?” he’d asked once.

She didn’t answer then.

She didn’t have an answer now.

She rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of every choice she’d made—every body she’d stepped over, every path she’d walked blindly, every whispered promise to herself that she could control this, steer it, fix it.

And now the boy was back in Republic custody.

Safer, maybe.

But she didn’t believe that—not really.

Palpatine had plans again. She could feel it. The shadows were curling inward, and she knew enough to know his approval was just another kind of leash.

Maybe Windu was right to be wary.

Maybe Kit was a fool for softening.

Maybe she’d always been a weapon. Just one that had gone a little bit rogue.

She stood up, slowly. Restless.

The floor was cold under her feet.

She wandered to the window. Coruscant glowed like a promise she never believed in.

And still… her hand went to her chest, fingers brushing the chain she wore. The one the boy had made her. Twisted wire and beads and a piece of scrap metal etched with a crude smiley face.

He’d given it to her after their first week on the farm.

“For luck,” he’d said.

She should have thrown it away. Burned it.

But she never did.

And as the lights of the city blinked in rhythm with her quiet regret, she found herself whispering into the night.

“I hope they’re being kind to you, kid.”

She wasn’t sure if she was talking to him… or to the ghosts that never stopped following her.

⸻

The transmission came through at dawn. She hadn’t slept.

Palpatine’s voice was calm, syrupy sweet as always. “There’s a matter requiring your unique talents,” he said. “You’ll rendezvous with General Skywalker and his battalion. Details will follow.”

No time to think. No time to refuse.

So she didn’t.

⸻

The hangar was already buzzing when she arrived, helmet under her arm, armor pieced together hastily, mismatched from past missions. The 501st was preparing for deployment, their blue-striped armor shining like blades in the rising sun.

She caught Rex’s gaze across the room. He looked tired. He always did lately.

Anakin stood with a datapad, barking orders. Ahsoka stood near him, arms crossed, lekku twitching with unease the moment the reader approached.

“You’re late,” Skywalker said without looking up.

“I’m here,” she replied coolly.

“Then suit up and get ready. We leave in ten.”

She moved to prep her gear, but Ahsoka intercepted her with a tone too casual to be friendly. “Still working for the Chancellor, huh?”

The reader didn’t answer, just gave her a sideways glance and kept walking.

“I mean,” Ahsoka continued, following, “after everything that’s happened—you being gone, the Jedi Council questioning your motives, Palpatine conveniently keeping you around while trusting no one else. Doesn’t any of that seem off to you?”

The reader paused, slowly turning toward her. Her voice was quiet, but heavy. “You think I don’t ask myself the same questions?”

“Then maybe it’s time you stop pretending you’re above all of this,” Ahsoka snapped. “You play all sides. You lie. You vanish. And now you’re back like nothing happened.”

The reader took a step forward, gaze locked on the younger woman. “You think I want this? You think this is a game to me? You were raised in this war. Trained for it. You have people who believe in you, a name that means something. I was bought. I was used. You want to give me a reality check, kid? I live in it.”

Ahsoka blinked, momentarily stunned.

“You’re lucky,” the reader added. “You still think there’s a clean side to stand on.”

With that, she brushed past Ahsoka and made her way toward the LAAT gunship.

Rex was already inside, waiting.

She sat across from him, eyes closed, palms resting on her knees as if trying to keep her heart from falling out of her chest.

“You alright?” he asked after a while.

“No,” she said honestly.

He nodded like that answer made perfect sense. Like he wasn’t alright either.

The gunship lifted. The world blurred outside.

Another mission. Another role to play.

But this time, the pawn wasn’t so willing. And she was starting to learn how to bite.

⸻

The LAAT rocked hard as it breached atmosphere, the roar of wind and engines loud enough to drown out thoughts, fears—names she couldn’t stop saying in her head. Cody. Rex. The kid.

But beside her, General Skywalker sat unfazed, legs spread, arms braced loosely on his knees, like he was born for turbulence. He glanced at her mid-bounce and smirked.

“Bet you missed this,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the rumble.

She scoffed, tucking a few loose strands of hair under her helmet. “Missed being shot at? Only thing I miss more is spice mines and low-rent bounty gigs.”

Anakin grinned. “See? I knew you were fun.”

And to her own surprise… she laughed.

He didn’t ask where she’d been, didn’t pry about the Chancellor, didn’t even hint at what everyone else couldn’t shut up about. Just treated her like a soldier. Like a comrade.

When they hit the ground—dust choking the air, blaster fire already echoing in the distance—he took point without hesitation. She fell in beside him, blasters drawn, movements fluid, practiced. They didn’t need to speak to understand one another.

Flank, move, clear. He gave hand signals, and she followed instinctively. His saber lit up the smoke like a beacon, cutting through battle droids as easily as breath.

They moved through a warzone like ghosts—an unlikely but effective pair. She covered his blind spots, he powered through hers. The 501st swept behind them like a blue tide, and for the first time in months, she felt something almost like useful again.

At the edge of the battlefield, they ducked behind a crumbling wall to regroup.

Anakin exhaled. “You know, I get it,” he said suddenly.

She looked at him, brow furrowed under her helmet.

“Running. Hiding. Playing a part so big you forget who you actually are underneath it.”

A long pause. She stared out over the smoke-covered field, unsure of how to respond.

“You ever think about leaving it all behind?” he asked. “Just… disappearing?”

She glanced over at him, lips twitching. “I did disappear.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling. “Yeah. But not the way you wanted to.”

She didn’t respond, but the truth of it burned behind her ribs.

A voice came crackling through comms—Rex, coordinating the rear line. The reader’s pulse skipped without reason. She forced herself to focus.

“Let’s go,” Anakin said, pushing up from cover and drawing his saber again. “Back to the chaos.”

She followed, silently grateful for the moment.

He hadn’t asked about Cody. Or Rex. Or the kid.

He hadn’t made her explain herself.

And for now, that made him the easiest person in the galaxy to be around.

⸻

The adrenaline was still thrumming in her blood as she pulled off her helmet and leaned against a sun-scorched wall. The air smelled like ash and ion discharge, and her armor was coated in dust and dried blood—not all of it hers.

She barely had a second to exhale before Ahsoka appeared like a shadow in the corner of her eye.

“You’re not going to disappear again, are you?” Ahsoka asked flatly.

The reader blinked, slow and tired. “Not planning on it.”

Ahsoka folded her arms, her lekku twitching ever so slightly. “I don’t get it. You show up, cause chaos—emotionally and otherwise—leave, then come back like nothing happened.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“No,” Ahsoka agreed, “but you owe someone one. Cody? Rex? The Council? The Chancellor? You burned every side of the board and expect to keep playing the game.”

The reader narrowed her eyes, pushing off the wall. “I don’t expect anything.”

“I can’t tell if you’re loyal or just really good at pretending.”

Before she could snap something cutting back, a calm voice intervened behind them.

“That’s enough, Snips.”

Anakin strode into view, hands on his belt, expression unreadable. Ahsoka glanced between the two of them, jaw tight, but ultimately nodded and walked off with a muttered, “Fine. But she’s not off the hook.”

Once she was gone, the reader exhaled through her nose. “She’s got a mean right hook. Bet she’s even worse when she’s got words.”

“She’s protective,” Anakin said with a shrug. “But she’s not wrong. Just… a little blunt.”

They stood in silence for a while, watching the twilight settle in soft purples and oranges across the broken landscape. She looked over at him, surprised to see him still there, just… waiting.

“No lecture?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“No cryptic Jedi wisdom?”

“I’m fresh out,” he said with a smirk. “You want some unsolicited advice instead?”

She gave him a dry look. “Why not. Go for it.”

Anakin leaned against the same wall she had been using as support. “You’re a mess.”

“Thanks.”

“But so is everyone. That’s the secret no one talks about. We’re all running on fumes, bad decisions, and half-formed ideas of what we think is right.”

She let out a breath of a laugh. “And here I thought you Jedi were supposed to be the poster boy of moral certainty.”

He shrugged. “Not me. Never was.”

Silence again. This time, more comfortable.

“I liked fighting with you today,” she admitted, surprising herself more than him.

He smiled. “I like fighting with you too.”

She studied his profile. “You’re not like the others.”

“That’s probably both a compliment and an insult.”

“Take it however you want.”

They both chuckled softly.

“Thanks for not asking about the Chancellor. Or the others. Or—”

“You don’t have to talk about it unless you want to,” Anakin said simply. “Not with me.”

She looked down at her hands, cut up and shaking slightly. “I don’t even know what I’d say.”

“Then don’t say anything yet,” he said. “Just… be here. For once.”

Her chest ached at the simplicity of it. She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

And for a moment, just a moment, she was someone without secrets.

⸻

Prev Chapter | Next Chapter

Captain Rex x Sith Assassin!Reader

Enemies to lovers. Slow burn. Tension, action, and banter-heavy.

⸻

Red lights flashed down the corridors as you rand through the Resolute. Alarms howled like wounded animals. Klaxons screamed warnings that had come too late.

You moved like a shadow, your twin blades igniting in a blur of crimson, slicing through the bulkhead doors as if the metal were paper. The heat of your lightsabers glowed against the durasteel corridor walls, the hum a deadly harmony beside the shriek of chaos.

Asajj Ventress moved beside you with elegant brutality, deflecting blaster fire, her snarling grin twisted with pleasure.

“The bridge is ahead,” she hissed.

“I know.” You moved low, quick. Efficient. No wasted energy.

Unlike Ventress, you weren’t here for blood. You were here for one thing.

Skywalker.

Your boots echoed against the floor as the pair of you tore through the security wing. Clone troopers scrambled to set up a defensive line, but Ventress was already leaping through the air, spinning and slashing with savage glee. You ducked left, deflecting two stun blasts aimed at your side and pressing through the chaos.

Your comm crackled with Dooku’s voice: “Your objective is Skywalker. Eliminate him if possible. Delay him if not.”

Simple. Clean.

But Jedi never made things easy.

A roar of deflected fire and steel clashed ahead—the bridge was sealed tight, but Skywalker was already on the move. You could feel it. That sickening shine in the Force. Hot-headed. Reckless.

Perfect.

Ventress cackled as she carved her way through a unit of troopers. “Skywalker’s mine, little assassin.”

You didn’t bother replying. She was always talking. Always posturing.

But Skywalker—he came for you.

He landed in front of you like a meteor, lightsaber igniting in that garish Jedi blue. His padawan flanked him, smaller but no less lethal.

“Stop right there!” Ahsoka barked.

“You should run, youngling,” you said calmly, blades still humming in your grip. “You’re not my target.”

“Good,” Anakin growled. “Because I’m yours.”

Your blades clashed.

He was every bit as unhinged and unpredictable as the reports had claimed. Each swing was raw power. Unfocused. A battering ram of fury and precision. But you weren’t trained for brute force—you danced. You flowed. And you matched him blow for blow.

Behind you, Ventress laughed, engaging Ahsoka. “Don’t get killed, darling!” she called to you.

You didn’t have time to respond. Skywalker was pressing harder now, rage simmering just beneath his skin.

“Who sent you?” he snarled.

“Ask your Council,” you hissed, pushing his blade aside with a sharp twist and driving a kick into his side. “Maybe they already knew.”

His anger was your shield, your rhythm. You circled him like a predator, redirecting each strike. But he was wearing you down. Sweat beaded on your brow. Your ribs ached from a graze. The hum of the ship told you more clones were closing in.

This wasn’t going to plan.

Suddenly, Ventress snarled. “We’re pulling out!”

“What?” you snapped, narrowly dodging a swing that would’ve taken your shoulder.

“The ship is crawling with clones! We’re surrounded!”

You turned—but it was already too late.

A stun blast hit your back like a hammer, and you crumpled to the floor with a gasp. Your vision sparked, flickering red and white.

Through the haze, you saw Ventress leap into the air, somersaulting toward an escape hatch. “Try not to die, sweetling!” she called before vanishing into the smoke.

Coward.

You tried to rise—only to find yourself staring down the barrel of several blaster rifles. White and blue armor surrounded you.

And in front of them stood a clone captain.

Helmet off. Jaw clenched. Eyes sharp.

He didn’t look at you like a person.

He looked at you like the monster under the bed had crawled into the daylight.

You smirked through the pain.

“Captain,” you rasped, voice dry and tinged with blood. “Nice to finally meet face-to-face.”

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t shoot you either.

⸻

The cell was cold. Not the biting kind of cold, but that artificial kind—clinical, heartless, and designed to make you uncomfortable without leaving bruises.

You sat calmly, arms cuffed to the table in front of you, ankles bound beneath. Bruised. Bleeding. But your chin was high and your mouth curved in something far too close to a smirk.

Across from you stood Anakin Skywalker, pacing like a caged animal.

“Why were you here?” he demanded. Again.

You gave a long, slow blink. “Nice to see you’re up and walking. That kick to the ribs must’ve hurt.”

He stopped pacing, turned on you.

“Who sent you?”

“You already know the answer to that,” you replied sweetly. “But you’re not interested in truth, are you? Only revenge.”

He bristled. You leaned forward, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“You’re predictable, Skywalker. So much fire, so little control. I don’t even need the Force to see through you.”

He slammed his hand down on the table. You didn’t flinch.

“I will get answers out of you.”

You tilted your head, voice dropping like silk.

“Is that a threat? Or a promise?”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t play games with Sith.”

“Oh, but I do love when Jedi pretend they don’t have teeth. You came at me like a storm, Skywalker. That was personal. So… who did you lose?”

He stared at you for a long, tense beat.

Then he turned sharply and stormed toward the door.

“Rex!” he barked, voice echoing. The clone captain was already waiting outside.

Anakin didn’t look back. “She’s done talking. Make sure she doesn’t try anything.”

The door hissed shut behind him, leaving you in quiet, satisfied amusement.

⸻

Captain Rex entered the room like a soldier born from the word discipline itself. Helmet off. Blaster at his side.

You watched him with interest. The curve of his jaw. The quiet rage simmering beneath the armor. Fascinating.

“Still scowling,” you murmured, leaning forward. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you missed me.”

Rex didn’t move.

“I don’t have time for your games.”

“No?” You arched a brow, voice smooth. “I thought I might be growing on you.”

“You’re lucky to still be breathing.”

You chuckled lowly, the sound almost intimate. “So I’ve been told. And yet… here I am. Alive. Tied down. At your mercy.”

Rex narrowed his eyes, but you saw it—the flicker. Just a twitch. Something unreadable passing through him.

“I’m not interested in whatever this is,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Your voice dropped to a velvet hush. “Because you keep coming back.”

Rex stepped forward, setting your stun-cuffed hands more firmly on the table.

“I’m only here because the General told me to keep you contained.”

You leaned in as far as the cuffs would allow. Close enough for him to feel the whisper of your breath against his cheek.

“And here I thought you were starting to enjoy our chats.”

He looked down at you—fierce, unreadable.

Then his voice dropped, cold and quiet.

“I’ve lost too many good men to people like you.”

Your smirk softened. Just a bit.

“I told you already,” you said, quieter now. “I didn’t kill your brothers. Not one.”

“Convenient.”

“True.”

The silence stretched between you like a taut wire. Dangerous. Tense.

“I’m not who you think I am, Captain,” you said finally. “But I won’t pretend I’m innocent.”

He didn’t reply. Just turned, walking toward the door.

You watched him, something unreadable flickering in your gaze.

“You can lock the cell, Rex,” you called after him. “But you’ll be back.”

He paused in the doorway, head tilted.

“Mark my words, Captain… you’ll come back. Even if you don’t know why.”

The door hissed closed behind him.

But you knew.

You always knew.

⸻

Captain Rex hadn’t come back.

Not once.

And it was driving you crazy.

Not because you missed him—no, that would be ridiculous. But there was something about the way he looked at you. That loathing. That fire. That control. You’d tasted the edge of his patience, danced along the blade of his restraint. You wanted to see what would happen if it snapped.

But instead, all you got were cold meals, cold walls, and clones who wouldn’t meet your eye.

Something had changed.

The cruiser was quieter than usual. Too quiet.

You sat in your cell, half-meditating, half-stalking the Force for answers—when the lights flickered. Once. Twice.

Then the alarms started.

Again.

You stood.

Outside your cell, down the corridor, came the distinct snarl of sabers cutting metal.

Then the scream of a clone dying.

You felt it before you saw her—Asajj Ventress.

So dramatic.

She moved like smoke—feral and graceful and cruel. Cutting down everything in her path.

“(Y/N), darling,” she sang, dragging her saber across the bulkhead. “Dooku thinks you’ve said too much.”

You arched a brow. “I’ve been locked up for two days.”

She grinned wickedly through the security glass. “He’s not much for trust.”

You stepped back as the wall next to your cell exploded inwards, shrapnel slicing through the air. A second later, the blast door behind Ventress burst open—and Rex charged through with a small squad, blasters raised.

“Don’t let her escape!” he barked. “Ventress is here—get the prisoner secured!”

Ventress hissed. “So much fuss.”

She threw out her hand, sending two clones flying down the hallway. Blaster fire lit up the corridor. You ducked as sparks rained from the ceiling.

Chaos.

And in chaos… came opportunity.

Your bindings were fried in the blast. Ventress might’ve been here to kill you—but she’d cracked open the door for your escape.

And you intended to walk through it.

You sprinted through the smoke just as Rex spotted you.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Stop—!”

But you were already lunging at him.

The fight was brutal.

He was stronger than you remembered. Faster. Smart. He fought with precision, training, and raw determination.

But you were sharper.

He aimed a blow to your ribs—you twisted, elbowed his jaw, then landed a swift kick that knocked him to the floor. He groaned, dazed.

You stood over him, panting, blood dripping from a cut above your brow. He looked up at you, chest heaving.

Disgust and fury warred in his eyes.

You knelt down beside him, fingers brushing the edge of his pauldron, and whispered:

“You really are hard to resist, Captain.”

Before he could speak, you leaned in—lips brushing his cheek in a slow, mocking kiss.

He flinched like you’d slapped him.

You smirked, breath warm at his ear.

“Tell Skywalker I’ll be seeing him soon.”

And with that, you were gone—vanishing into the smoke and fire.

Rex slammed his fist into the floor, jaw tight.

“Damn it.”

⸻

The shuttle descended through the clouds like a dagger slicing through silk.

You stood in the shadows of the ship’s hold, arms crossed, silent as Ventress piloted the last stretch home. Her usual smugness was absent. She hadn’t spoken since the escape. A rare show of restraint—for her.

You’d barely had time to process it all. The cell. The explosion. The fight with Rex.

The kiss.

You could still feel the heat of his skin under your lips. Could still see the fury in his eyes when you left him there, bruised and stunned.

Why you’d done it, you weren’t sure.

Maybe it was to mock him.

Or maybe it was something else.

You pushed the thought away.

The ship landed with a soft thrum. Dooku was already waiting.

He sat on his elevated seat, shrouded in darkness, back straight, fingers steepled. Regal. Cold.

The air buzzed with tension as you stepped before him, Ventress half a pace behind.

He stared at you for a long moment, then finally spoke.

“So,” he said, voice deep, smooth, laced with disapproval. “You return.”

“Alive,” you replied, offering a slight bow.

“For now.”

Ventress stepped forward. “Skywalker and his men nearly had her. I had to extract her myself.”

You snorted. “You also tried to gut me in the process.”

Dooku’s gaze slid to you, unmoved. “Your mission was simple: eliminate Skywalker.”

“I almost had him,” you said. “He’s just… more unhinged than I remembered.”

Dooku’s eyes narrowed. “And yet you engaged no clones. Left them alive. Odd, for an assassin.”

You met his stare. “They weren’t the target.”

“They were in your way.”

You were quiet.

Dooku stood, descending the steps like a judge preparing a sentence.

“You toyed with them.”

The words sliced like ice.

“You played a game you were not ordered to play. Especially with that clone—Captain Rex.”

You tensed.

Ventress glanced at you from the corner of her eye, smiling faintly.

Dooku continued. “Your emotions are tainted. Distracted. You lingered in the Force, and I felt the fracture.”

Your voice was soft but steady. “I completed the mission.”

“You failed the objective.”

His voice rose like thunder.

“You kissed the enemy.”

You blinked once. Slowly.

“I did,” you said.

Ventress gave a small, wicked chuckle. Dooku, however, was not amused.

He stepped closer.

“If you’ve grown soft… if you’ve begun to let sentiment guide you…”

“I haven’t.”

He leaned in, towering.

“You walk a knife’s edge, assassin. The dark side does not abide confusion.”

You tilted your head, voice low. “And yet it thrives on conflict.”

He studied you in silence. Measured. Calculating.

“Then make no mistake,” he said at last. “If you wish to remain useful… stop playing with your food.”

He turned, walking back to the shadows of his seat.

“Next time, you kill him.”

You didn’t answer.

Because you weren’t sure you could.

⸻

The holomap flickered blue, glowing across the surface of the table. Separatist movements. Naval placements. An entire campaign laid bare in lines and symbols.

Rex wasn’t looking at any of it.

He stood at attention, eyes fixed forward, jaw clenched.

But his thoughts were elsewhere.

Back in that hallway.

Back in the smoke.

Back to her lips brushing his cheek like a brand.

It made no sense. She was an assassin. A killer. She should’ve slit his throat when she had the chance.

Instead, she kissed him.

And now she was out there.

Alive.

And he hated that he kept thinking about her.

Across the room, Skywalker watched him with his arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“…You’ve barely spoken since the attack,” Anakin said at last, breaking the silence.

Rex blinked out of his haze. “Sir?”

“I said,” Anakin repeated, stepping forward, “you’ve been quiet.”

Rex shifted. “Just processing.”

“Hm.”

Skywalker studied him with that Jedi look—the one that peeled you apart without touching you.

“She messed with your head,” he said casually.

Rex stiffened. “No, sir.”

“She kissed you, didn’t she?”

That made him flinch. Just slightly. Just enough.

Anakin grinned, triumphant.

“Rex… my most dependable, rule-bound, chain-of-command clone… got kissed by a Sith.”

Rex scowled. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it?” Anakin leaned on the table. “You’ve been off since it happened. You volunteered to lead the recon mission to track her. You haven’t even joked with Fives.”

“That’s not evidence of anything.”

“You’re obsessed,” Anakin said bluntly. “And obsession leads to mistakes.”

Rex stepped forward. “I won’t make a mistake.”

Skywalker’s brow furrowed.

“Then tell me the truth. What happened in that hallway? Before she escaped.”

A pause. Tense. Thick.

Rex looked away.

“I hesitated.”

Anakin’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“…I don’t know.”

It was the only honest thing he could say.

Skywalker exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I get it,” he muttered. “You see something in her that doesn’t make sense. It throws you off. Makes you wonder if the whole enemy line is as black-and-white as they drilled into us.”

He looked at Rex again, this time with less judgment. More understanding.

“I’ve been there,” he added quietly. “Trust me.”

Rex met his gaze. “What do I do?”

Anakin stepped forward, voice low and deadly serious.

“You find her.”

A beat.

“And next time… you don’t let her walk away.”

Rex nodded once.

But he wasn’t sure which part of that command he’d actually follow.

⸻

“Sir, you’re gonna wanna hear this,” Fives said, stepping into the room with Jesse right behind him, both looking far too smug for just a routine debrief.

Rex didn’t even glance up from where he was cleaning his blaster. “If it’s another story about how you two flirted your way through an outpost again, I’m not interested.”

Fives smirked. “This time it wasn’t me doing the flirting.”

Jesse elbowed him, grin wide. “She’s alive, Rex. The Sith.”

That got his attention.

Rex set the blaster down slowly. “Where?”

“Outer rim—some cragged little rock of a world,” Fives said, tossing a datapad onto the bunk. “Scouts clocked her landing in a stolen Separatist fighter. Alone. No guards. No backup. Like she’s hiding.”

“She is hiding,” Jesse added, more serious now. “She’s off comms. No Dooku, no Ventress, no Separatist chatter. It’s like she vanished off the map and doesn’t want anyone to find her.”

Rex stared at the datapad. Her face flickered on the holo.

Still dangerous. Still wanted. Still—

He clenched his jaw.

“She’s bait.”

“You think it’s a trap?” Fives asked.

“She got away once,” Rex said. “She could be luring us in again.”

But he wasn’t sure he believed that.

Because something about the reports didn’t match the woman he’d fought. The woman who’d kissed him like a dare and disappeared in smoke.

She wouldn’t hide.

Not unless she was hiding from them too.

⸻

You stood at the edge of the jagged cliff, cloak wrapped tight around your shoulders as the wind howled against the rocks below. Blaster in hand. Saber hidden. Breath shallow.

Every shadow was a threat.

Every sound could be them.

You hadn’t slept in days.

Dooku’s disappointment had been quiet—crushing in its indifference. He hadn’t hunted you.

He hadn’t even tried.

You were nothing to him now.

Ventress had left you for dead. The Separatist cause—what little you’d clung to of it—was gone.

And yet, part of you was relieved.

No more commands. No more darkness threading your every breath.

But freedom came with silence. And silence, with ghosts.

You kept expecting to feel him—Dooku’s presence, that icy command in the back of your skull.

Instead, all you felt was that clone captain’s eyes on you, burned into your memory.

Rex.

You hated how often your thoughts returned to him.

To his defiance.

His strength.

His disgust.

That heat in his stare when you kissed him.

You’d told yourself it was just a game.

So why did it still make your chest ache?

You swallowed hard.

And then you felt it.

A presence in the Force. Close. Familiar.

And getting closer.

“They found me.”

⸻

Rex stared out the viewport, helmet clutched in his hands.

“Think she’ll fight?” Jesse asked behind him.

Fives leaned back with a grin. “She’ll flirt first.”

Rex ignored them.

“She’s changed,” he said, more to himself than to them.

Jesse raised a brow. “You sure about that?”

“No.”

But something told him this wasn’t the same assassin who once whispered threats like poetry and left him bleeding on the deck.

This woman was running.

And maybe—just maybe—she was running from herself.

⸻

The air was thin. Cold. The kind that bit into your lungs and forced you to breathe slow or not at all.

Rex moved like a shadow, rifle low, boots silent on the cracked stone. The trail was faint—half-buried footprints, a heat signature already fading. Whoever she was now… she was trying not to be found.

She should’ve known better.

She was good.

But he was better.

A flash of movement to his right.

He turned, fast—blaster raised, ready to fire.

And there she was.

Perched on the edge of the cliff like some half-feral creature, cloak torn, hair wild in the wind. Her saber was clipped at her hip, untouched. Not lit. Not raised.

She didn’t flinch when he pointed the blaster at her.

In fact—she looked tired.

“…Rex,” you said, voice rough, wind-swept.

The way his name sounded from your mouth—it sent something low and confused curling in his gut.

“Drop the weapon,” he barked.

You raised your hands. Slowly.

“I’m unarmed.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You tilted your head, voice softer. “If I wanted to kill you, Captain, you’d already be bleeding.”

“And if I wanted to take you in,” he countered, stepping forward, “you’d already be cuffed.”

You smiled—sharp. Tired. “Then why aren’t I?”

Rex didn’t answer.

He studied you.

No backup. No escape route. No fight.

This wasn’t an ambush.

This wasn’t a trap.

This was… surrender.

“Where’s your army?” he asked.

“Gone.”

“Dooku?”

You scoffed. “Didn’t even notice I left.”

“And Ventress?”

A beat. Your jaw tightened. “She tried to kill me.”

That, at least, made sense.

Rex lowered the blaster just an inch.

“I’m not with them anymore,” you said, voice low.

“Why should I believe you?”

You looked at him.

Not smiling. Not teasing.

Just looking.

“I don’t care if you do.”

Another beat of silence.

And then, you stepped forward—only once, hands still raised.

“Just don’t call it in,” you said. “Not yet.”

He stared at you.

One word. One plea.

“Please.”

It wasn’t seductive.

It wasn’t tactical.

It was real.

And Rex felt something twist in his chest—guilt or rage or something else entirely.

The wind howled between you.

And he… didn’t pull the trigger.

Rex’s hand hovered over his comm. He could feel her eyes on him—watching, weighing. She wasn’t smiling anymore.

The truth sat thick between them.

“501st recon team,” he said into the transmitter. “Target trail went cold. Tracks disappear into the ridge. Visibility’s dropping—might have to call it for the night.”

There was a pause.

Then static cracked and—

“You lost her?” Fives’ voice came through, incredulous.

“Lost or let go?” Jesse muttered, too close to the mic.

Rex closed his eyes briefly. “Negative. She’s not here. We’ll regroup in the morning.”

Before they could push back, he shut off the comm and tucked it into his belt.

When he turned, she was already walking toward the small cave behind the outcrop, half-collapsed from age, half-hidden by a rockfall.

“Storm’s rolling in,” you said. “If you’re going to arrest me, you’d better do it inside.”

Rex followed without a word.

⸻

The wind screamed outside, carrying dust and rain in harsh gusts. But inside, the air was still—tense. Dry. The flickering firelight cast your shadows long against the stone.

You sat cross-legged near the flames, cloak shed, arms bare beneath the loose black tunic. Scars crossed your skin like old lightning—some faded, others fresh. A lifetime of battles carved in silence.

Rex sat across from you, blaster close, helmet beside him. Watching.

Always watching.

“You don’t trust me,” you said quietly.

“No.”

“Good.”

You smirked, dragging a finger along the edge of the cup you were warming with tea.

“But you didn’t call me in.”

“I should have.”

“But you didn’t.”

You looked up. Eyes meeting his.

And for the first time, neither of you looked away.

“I’m not your enemy anymore, Rex.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“No. But I can stop pretending I’m something I’m not.”

You exhaled, slowly.

“I left Dooku. I left the war. Not because I grew a conscience—but because I realized I was disposable. Replaceable. Just another weapon to him. Just another broken thing.”

Rex’s fingers twitched at that. He knew what that felt like.

You leaned back, gaze drifting to the fire. “I always thought loyalty was earned by killing for someone. But it turns out, it’s just something you can lose when you stop being useful.”

The cave was silent, save for the crackle of flames.

Then—

“You were never useful to me,” Rex said flatly.

You huffed a dry laugh. “No. I was a headache.”

“A dangerous one.”

“And yet… you didn’t shoot.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Why?”

Rex looked at you then. Really looked.

You weren’t the same woman who’d cut down Jedi guards in the halls of the Resolute. You were raw now. Scuffed. Not harmless—but maybe human.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“That’s honest,” you said softly. “I thought clones weren’t allowed to be.”

He flinched at that.

“I didn’t kill your brothers,” you added, more serious now. “I swore I never would.”

Rex didn’t respond right away.

Then, finally—

“I believe you.”

The words hung in the air like a confession.

You looked at him again, eyes darker now. “You gonna let me go in the morning?”

He hesitated.

“…I don’t know yet.”

Another pause.

Then you leaned forward, across the firelight, voice low.

“I still think about you, you know. About that kiss.”

His jaw tightened. “You only did that to get under my skin.”

You smiled. “Did it work?”

He didn’t answer.

You were closer now. Too close.

And maybe it was the firelight. Or the silence. Or the ache of too many choices unmade.

But Rex didn’t move when you reached out.

Your fingers grazed the edge of his jaw, feather-light. “You ever wonder if this would’ve been different… if we weren’t on opposite sides?”

He met your gaze.

“I don’t have time to wonder.”

“Maybe you should start.”

You leaned in—close enough to steal his breath.

Then, at the last second, you pulled back.

“Get some rest, Captain,” you said, curling into your cloak near the fire.

Rex sat stiff as stone, heart pounding like war drums in his chest.

And outside, the storm raged.

⸻

Fives squinted up at the ridge through his electrobinoculars.

“No way he lost the trail,” he muttered.

Jesse nodded. “You felt it too, right? The way he said it? That pause.”

Fives smirked. “He found her.”

“And didn’t bring her in.”

They shared a look.

“Think we’re gonna see her again?” Jesse asked.

Fives clicked his tongue.

“I think he hopes not.”

⸻

The storm had passed.

The wind was still sharp, but the sky was clearing—streaks of pale blue bleeding into the clouds like a fresh wound, wide and open. Sunlight spilled over the stone like a promise. Cold, but clean.

You stood near the edge of the ridge, cloak fluttering behind you, face turned toward the sunrise.

Rex approached, slow. Steady. Blaster holstered. Helmet tucked under one arm.

You didn’t look back at first. Just spoke, voice low.

“They’ll know soon enough.”

“I know.”

“They’ll think you let me go.”

“I did.”

Finally, you turned to him.

Eyes locked. That unspoken thing still between you—never named. Never safe enough to be.

“But you’ll lie for me?” you asked, more curious than hopeful.

“No,” he said, firm. “But I’ll say I hesitated.”

You smiled, just a little. “That’s fair.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then you stepped forward. Closer.

“This is the part where I disappear again.”

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t step forward.

Didn’t say stay.

Because he couldn’t.

You leaned in, eyes searching his.

“I meant what I said, Captain,” you murmured. “About thinking of you.”

And before he could say a word, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek—right over the scar that ran along his jaw. It lingered longer than the first. Not teasing this time. Not taunting.

Just real.

Warm.

A goodbye.

Rex didn’t move. Couldn’t.

And then you were gone.

Cloak over your shoulders, vanishing into the canyon beyond. No sound. No trace.

Like you’d never been there at all.

Except he’d never forget.

⸻

Jesse looked up first. “Incoming.”

Fives leaned on a crate, chewing rations. “He better not say she vanished.”

Rex stepped through the brush, helmet under his arm, face unreadable.