#EVENT HORIZON | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lordofthenerds97 · 2 days ago

Text

SCREAMING

So I know I’m way behind on updates but omg omg omg omg omg

Once again I’m going to shower you with the fact that I love Booker and Wise so damn much. They are love and life and I am here for them and I would die for them your honor

I’m also highly interested in the fact that Goldie feels secure enough around her men to use this still as of yet “undisclosed” power to save their lives, and validated by Anakin’s pride in her for doing so

I could be totes wrong here but the more I went back and reread this part about the Obi-Wan reunion…I’m sensing…a trauma response

The part where you mention Goldie still wanting/needing his approval after everything, not being able to forgive him but still needing him and that connection they had, Obi-Wan’s constant back and forth and back and forth, the frayed bond being like a missing chunk of her soul…*slides some puzzle pieces around and gestures to table* It’s kinda seeming like he’s been manipulating circumstances and her feelings and emotions for a long time…

*hides behind a corner and waits for the rotten fruit*

MOVING ON

Heheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheehehehehehehheehhehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe

I see what you did there, Roy

Sneaky

Tryna slide in maybe a lil smooch because literal perfect timing, and Rex conveniently has this feeling and Booker shows up?

Everything about this was perfect, as always, and I’m so excited for more!! I’m sorry for disappearing for so long but this lil update was kinda what I needed as a pick me up ☺️ love ya Roy!!

Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Push and Pull

Chapter WC: 9,561

Chapter Tags/Warnings: a little emotional but it's like 2/10 sadness, war stuff

A/N: results from last week's poll are in! looks like i'll be switching up this fic's banner for part two, which is 3ish chapters away now plus an interlude. if you have any design ideas, let me know 💙

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Bothawui, 21 BBY

You've been on Bothawui for four days. Four days. And you're already ready to leave.

The planet's surface is cold and dreary, the atmosphere thick and suffocating, and the rain — which has been pouring down without stopping since the moment you arrived — is not helping the mood one bit. The once pristine white of your robes and the clones' armor is now streaked with mud and grime, and your boots are so soaked they squeak every time you take a step. Which, at this point, is almost constantly.

You've spent the last several hours running back and forth across the battlefield, doing everything in your power to keep the troops alive, and it's beginning to take a toll on both your patience and temper, the stress and frustration mounting with each passing second. Your muscles ache, your joints are stiff, and you're starting to see spots whenever you close your eyes. But the Separatists are relentless, and they just. Keep. Coming.

You've tried to focus. To stay calm. To keep a level head. But the chaos around you makes that difficult. It's all you can do to keep yourself from losing control. To keep the frustration from overwhelming you. To keep the dark thoughts at bay.

To be fair, it hasn't been a particularly great week.

The battle started off relatively well. Your team arrived a day earlier than scheduled, and the Republic forces managed to secure a large swath of territory. But as always the Separatists quickly launched a counter-attack, and within a matter of hours, the two sides were engaged in a vicious battle.

At first, you'd been optimistic. The troops were in high spirits, and morale was strong. But as the fighting dragged on, the men began to tire. Even with their advanced constitution, days of endless battle were taking its toll on them, and it only made you want to fight harder. You were determined not to let them fall, not to let the enemy claim their lives, but you knew the battle wouldn't last much longer.

In an attempt to boost the men's morale, you'd rallied the troops, and you'd led the charge, the clones following closely behind. You'd managed to cut a path through the droid army, carving a swath of destruction through the ranks, and the clones had taken advantage, sweeping in behind and cleaning up the remains. Four AATs, three dwarf spider droids, and a dozen super battle droids later, things were finally looking up.

You've just disabled a fifth AAT, your lightsaber slicing through the metal like butter, and the droids inside are screaming as the interior catches fire. The resulting explosion as you leap away sends a wave of heat and fire across the battlefield, and the droids in the vicinity scramble to escape the blast, but are quickly shot down by the clones around you.

By the time the smoke has cleared, both you and the troops were breathing heavily, covered in soot and ash and debris. Your lungs burn, and the air tastes of burning metal and oil. You cough, wiping the sweat from your forehead, and you look around, taking stock of the situation.

And that's when it happens.

A blaster bolt hits the ground a few inches from your foot. You jump back, the adrenaline coursing through you, and when you turn, you see a pair of super battle droids ambling towards you. There's a group of troopers nearby, but they're too busy fighting to notice, and when the closest droid aims his blaster at one of their backs, your fraying patience finally snaps.

You grit your teeth and throw your hand out, the Force gathering in your palm and shooting forward in a wave of pure energy. There's no light, no sound beyond the roar of the rain, but the effect is immediate. The droids are thrown backwards in a spray of sparks and shrapnel, their limbs flying off in a dozen directions.

You're not finished.

The rage is boiling inside of you now, and you're too exhausted to try and fight it.

You turn and throw a third blast at another droid, and then a fourth and a fifth, the fury inside you building until the air is crackling with energy, the heat scorching your skin and evaporating the water on your robes. You're dimly aware of the clones around you, the distant hum of their voices, but it's drowned out by a feeling of power so absolute that the world fades away, your vision reduced to a narrow tunnel of anger and destruction.

You're not sure how many droids you take down, but eventually, they stop coming. And as suddenly as the rage had appeared, it fades, replaced by an odd sort of emptiness.

The world returns to focus starting with the cold, wet feel of the ground beneath your feet and the steady beat of the rain on your back. You blink, the last remnants of the haze dissipating, and you lower your hand, letting the Force return to its natural state.

There's a loud clank behind you, and when you glance at the source, you see a pile of smoking droid parts. A trooper is standing a few feet away, his blaster raised, though it's starting to slip through his fingers.

For a moment, the two of you stare at each other, the realization of what you'd done slowly sinking in. He slowly lowers his weapon, and the silence between the two of you seems to stretch on for an eternity.

Finally, he takes a tentative step forward, and his voice is soft and hesitant through the modulator of his helmet.

"General? Are you okay?"

You don't answer. You can't. Instead, you turn away, staring blankly at the battlefield, and the clone’s helmet follows your gaze toward the destruction that surrounds the two of you. The droids are nothing but scrap metal now, their limbs twisted and their circuits fried. A faint wisp of smoke rises from the piles, the smell burning your nostrils, and a shudder runs down your spine.

You give a short nod, not trusting yourself to speak, and the trooper's shoulders relax slightly.

"Good," he says. He pauses, as if considering his next words carefully. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking...what was that?"

"I..." you begin, but the words catch in your throat.

What was that? You have no idea. You've never been able to use the ability you've kept hidden, buried deep within the recesses of your mind, at will. The ability that's caused you so much fear and pain, the ability that's been the reason for countless sleepless nights. But here, in the midst of battle, it's the first time you've ever managed to harness the energy, the first time you've been able to tap into the darkness and pull it out.

And for the first time, the power had felt right. It felt natural. Like it was a part of you. And as terrifying as the thought is, it also fills you with a sense of...exhilaration. Hope, even. If you can learn to control it like Dooku suggested you could, maybe it won't be a burden. Maybe it won't be a curse.

Maybe it can actually be a gift.

The thought is enough to send a shiver down your spine, and you let out a shaky breath, the weight of the revelation settling on your shoulders. You run a hand through your hair, pulling the damp strands out of your face as you try to find the words.

You're saved from having to explain yourself by a shout ringing across the field.

"General!" Booker calls. He rushes towards you, his steps clumsy in the mud. His foot nearly slips out from under him, but he manages to catch himself before he slows, coming to a stop a few feet away. His helmet tilts towards the pile of debris, and he lets out a low whistle. "Wow."

"Uh..." You look down and scuff the toe of your boot against the ground. "Sorry. I got carried away."

"Don't apologize, sir," he says, his gaze returning to the wreckage. "Damn. You're strong."

"Yeah," you mutter. "A little too strong."

"What are you talking about?" Booker asks, and you frown, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. He shrugs his shoulders. "You think we're gonna complain? Those clankers were about to blow our heads off."

"No," you say. You take a deep breath and try to steady your pulse. "But there were other ways to handle them."

"Maybe," he admits. "But, hey, whatever works. Right, Snap?”

You glance over at the clone who'd come to your aid. His presence had felt familiar, but you hadn’t realized until now that he was another one of the shinies from the battle of Kamino. Now it feels obvious in the way his shoulders are set, the tilt of his helmet. He's older now, stronger, but he still has that same boyish quality about him, a certain softness to his demeanor.

"I'm not going to lie," he begins, and his voice is slightly nervous. "I was a little worried for a second."

He glances around the area, his eyes landing on the smoking remains, and he gives a low chuckle.

"But it was also pretty badass," he adds.

You snort, and you run a hand through your hair, shaking the water off.

"Right," you scoff. "Well, I'm glad someone finds it entertaining."

"It's better than the alternative, sir," Snap counters.

"And what's the alternative?"

"You know, getting shot," he answers, his tone nonchalant. "Dying. Not a lot of entertainment value in that."

The corner of your mouth quirks upward.

"True," you agree.

You study the pile of rubble for a moment, a hint of guilt nagging at the back of your mind. You hadn't intended to take the situation so far, but at least no harm had come to the clones. You just have to keep it that way.

Booker pats your arm and steps away, returning his attention to the battle, and after a moment, you follow suit. The droids are still coming, but there are fewer of them now. The tide is finally turning in your favor, and the Separatists are pulling back, their ranks dwindling as the Republic's forces push forward.

A few minutes pass, and the sounds of blaster fire slowly fade, replaced by the voices of the troops. The rain has eased enough that you can hear yourself think, and you take a deep breath and tilt your face upwards, closing your eyes.

"Alright," Booker announces, his voice ringing out across the field. "Let's pack it up. We're done here."

You open your eyes and look at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What, no speech?"

"Nah," he replies, shrugging. "I think they get it."

He turns and gestures to the hill overlooking the battlefield, and you can make out the shape of two figures standing on the crest. One is tall and slender, his robes billowing in the breeze, his head held high. The other is shorter and armored, his hands resting on his hips, his head bowed slightly. You know, even at this distance, that Obi-Wan and Cody are looking right at you.

A small flutter passes through your chest, and the feeling is followed by a wave of exhaustion. It's been a long four days. And it's not over yet.

"Let's go spread the good news," Booker says, his tone teasing. You roll your eyes and give a small laugh, and the two of you head towards the hill, making your way through the field.

You start up the slope, the mud clinging to your boots with each step. It's slow going with the exhaustion wearing you down, and Booker easily outpaces you with his longer stride. He's almost at the top, but you can't help but drag your feet. A part of you dreads what will come next.

Obi-Wan.

For as relieving as it is for the battle to finally be over and won, there's a nervousness in the pit of your stomach that seems to worsen with every passing moment. You have no idea how Obi-Wan will react, if he saw what you just did, and you're not sure you're ready for the inevitable disappointment. You don't even want to think about the fact that he'll have questions. Questions you aren't ready to answer.

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, the familiar sensation of a presence touches the edge of your consciousness. Your feet slip out from under you, and as you try to regain your footing, a hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. You stumble backwards and fall into a broad chest, the armor digging into your spine, and a pair of arms wrap around you, holding you in place.

The sudden, unexpected contact brings a flush to your cheeks, and the fluttering in your chest returns. You know exactly who it is. Even before his scent envelopes you, his warmth seeping into your skin. Even before he speaks.

"You alright?" Rex asks, his voice close to your ear. His grip on you loosens, and he gently turns you around, his hands moving to your shoulders. He gives you a gentle shake as if checking to make sure you're still intact, and the movement snaps you out of the trance.

"Yeah," you reply, and he tilts his head, giving you a concerned once-over.

"You sure?" he presses. "You looked a little shaky there."

"Just a little tired," you tell him, offering a weak smile. He seems unconvinced, and you nudge him playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm fine, Rex," you insist. "Really."

He nods and releases his hold on you, his hands moving to his helmet. The sudden surge of anticipation in your chest is completely irrational and inappropriate, and the rational part of your brain is screaming at you to get ahold of yourself. But much to your dismay, it's quickly silenced by the flood of emotions coursing through you.

Rex pulls his helmet off, revealing his handsome features. His skin is covered in sweat and grime, and there's a taped over cut above his right eyebrow. The sight is enough to make your heart race, and you can't help but smile.

"You're here," you murmur.

He runs a hand over his head, and his lips twitch, as if trying to fight a smile. He doesn't succeed. His relief is palpable through the Force, and you can see it in the softening of his gaze, the easing of his posture.

"So are you," he replies, his voice equally soft. He looks around and frowns. "What are you doing out here?"

"Trying to keep everyone alive," you say wryly. Rex's brow arches, and his gaze returns to yours, searching. You shrug a shoulder. "You know me. I like to keep busy."

He shakes his head and lets out a small chuckle, and he leans in closer.

"It's always something with you," he teases.

"Hey," you protest, and Rex laughs, warm and bright, and the last bit of uneasiness you'd been feeling melts away. "It's not like I plan for this kind of stuff to happen."

He smiles, and his expression is a mixture of fondness and exasperation.

"I know," he murmurs. You watch his hand lift toward your face, and then his eyes dart to the side, a shadow passing over his features. When you glance in the direction of his gaze, you see Booker standing a short distance away, watching the two of you with his head tilted.

"We should get moving," Rex says, his tone suddenly serious. "You don't want to keep General Kenobi waiting."

"Right," you mutter, and you follow him as he begins the trek up the hill.

Rex's posture is stiff, his stride purposeful, and his expression is carefully blank. But every few steps, you can see him glance at you out of the corner of his eye, as if checking to make sure you're still there. You bite back a smile, the warmth spreading through your chest making the ache in your legs and the tension in your neck seem trivial.

"What?" Rex asks after the fourth time your eyes meet. He gives you a sidelong glance, a note of amusement creeping into his voice. "Something on my face?"

You smile and shake your head.

"Nothing," you reply, and the corner of his mouth twitches. He glances ahead and slows his pace, dropping back beside you.

"It's good to see you," he says softly, and your smile widens. "It's been a long couple weeks."

"For me, too," you tell him.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum. "You know, with all the fighting and the running around. And there's this captain that keeps calling me late at night. Keeps me up."

His eyebrows shoot up, and his lips part, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, and you can't help the laugh that escapes you. The fact that he's still able to be flustered by something so small never ceases to amaze you.

"Right," he murmurs. "Well, if he bothers you again, let me know. I'll have a word with him."

You grin and reach out, brushing your fingers against his. He stiffens slightly, but he doesn't pull away, and his hand slides down, his palm brushing yours.

“I don't think it'll be a problem," you tell him, your voice low. "I kind of like him."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you agree.

Rex's gaze moves down to your hand, and his expression softens. He glances at the others, checking to make sure no one's paying attention, and he interlocks his fingers with yours. He curls his fingers, squeezing gently, and a faint smile plays at the corner of his mouth.

"Good," he murmurs as you both let go and return to a respectable distance apart. "That's...good."

“You alright there, General?” Booker calls as the two of you near the crest of the hill. Cody and Obi-Wan are standing beside him, the three men watching the battle unfold below, and when you come to a stop in front of them, Booker nods at Rex, who returns the gesture.

"She slipped a couple times on the way up," Rex explains. He points at the mud caked on the bottom of your boots, his lips twitching. "You know how clumsy she is."

Booker lets out a loud laugh, and even Cody's lips turn up in a small smirk.

"Hey!" you protest, shooting Rex a playful glare. He chuckles, and he holds his hands up in mock surrender, though the smile remains.

You turn your back to the scene below, watching as Anakin and Ahsoka finish off the last of the droids. As the final one falls, you all let out a sigh of relief, your shoulders slumping. The battlefield falls silent, the only sound the rain pounding against the ground. It's finally over.

"Well," Obi-Wan sighs. "That's the last of them."

The Jedi turns to you, his lips curved into a tired smile, and he takes a step forward, reaching for your arm. You flinch, the instinct to pull away strong, but you manage to stop yourself, and you force a smile, trying to act casual.

"I'm glad you're safe," he says, his expression full of concern. "You had me worried."

"I'm fine," you assure him. His gaze lingers for a moment, searching, and he gives a slight nod, seemingly satisfied.

You're sure he's frustrated with you, or disappointed, or some combination of the two, but there's no sign of it in his face or in the Force. Just worry. And that, for some reason, makes the guilt in your chest even worse.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Obi-Wan asks.

"Yes," you say, and the words come out too quickly, the sound sharp and high. "I'm fine. I mean, I'm...yes."

Obi-Wan tilts his head, and a faint, knowing smile spreads across his face.

“You did well today," he says softly, his gaze moving from yours to the battlefield, where a mix of soldiers from all three armies are gathered around the smoking remains of the enemy force.

One droid is struggling to stand, and the four of you watch as Snap walks up and shoots it point blank, the shot making its head pop off and roll across the muddy ground. The three clones chuckle, and Obi-Wan turns to look at you, his eyes sparkling.

"Very well, in fact," he adds.

"Thanks," you reply with a small smile.

"Though I have a feeling there's a story behind all of that."

He nods towards the wreckage, and you let out a soft huff of air. Of course there's a story. But you don't know what to say, and so you stay silent, staring at the battlefield, the cold droplets of rain beating down on your face.

"The droids started it," you mutter, shivering and wrapping your arms around yourself.

Booker snorts, and he steps forward, clapping his hand on your shoulder.

"They did," he says. He leans close, and his tone is conspiratorial. "But you finished it."

Cody nods, a proud smile on his face, and Rex's expression is one of pure approval.

"Good work, General," he says.

You can feel Obi-Wan’s scrutiny, the intensity of his attention, and the sudden urge to run and hide is almost overwhelming. Try as you might to convince yourself you didn't need Obi-Wan's approval anymore, it seemed your subconscious still craved it.

His eyes meet yours, and his lips curve upward, a soft smile on his face.

"Well done," he says, and your heart does a somersault, a rush running through you. "You saved a lot of lives today."

Your eyes sting, and your throat feels tight. The last thing you want is to cry, so you swallow hard, nodding and turning away, trying to get control of yourself.

"Thanks," you mutter. You start back down toward the hill, your eyes focused on where Anakin and Ahsoka are standing. They're looking at you, and as you approach, Ahsoka's gaze flicks over your shoulder. She glances at Obi-Wan and back at you, her brows furrowing. You shake your head, a silent assurance that you're okay, and she relaxes slightly.

You come to a stop in front of her, and Anakin smiles, a teasing glint in his eye.

"Hey Goldie," he calls out. He jerks his thumb at the pile of droid parts behind him. "What was that all about?"

You shrug a shoulder, and he frowns, clearly not convinced by your casual attitude. He turns and studies the debris, a thoughtful expression on his face. After a few seconds, he glances at you over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming.

"I like it," he declares. He flashes a broad grin, and he nods, the look on his face proud and approving. "Keep it up."

"Don't encourage her," Obi-Wan sighs. "She gets carried away enough as it is."

"Aw, c'mon," Anakin replies, waving his hand. "She earned it."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows rise, and he fixes his former Padawan with a pointed stare.

"That doesn't mean we should condone it," he chides.

Anakin scoffs and turns away, ignoring Obi-Wan. He gives you a small nod, the unspoken message in his eyes easy to read. He knows what you did, and he's not judging. Quite the opposite, in fact. He seems proud. Which makes you feel a lot better than it probably should.

Obi-Wan shakes his head and mutters something under his breath, and you can't help but smile. It's been a long time since the five of you have been together in one place, and the familiar banter is a welcome reminder of a simpler time.

"We should take shelter before the storm gets worse," Obi-Wan says, his eyes scanning the sky.

"I don't know if that's possible," you muse. The wind is picking up again, and the rain is falling faster and harder, the water running off your robes and dripping onto the ground in thick, steady streams. You’re soaked to the bone, your teeth starting to chatter, and you can only imagine how uncomfortable the troopers must be. "But I'd love to get out of the rain."

“Hear, hear,” Booker agrees quickly as he comes to a stop beside you. His visor flicks up, sending a spray of water into the air, and he nudges your arm with his elbow. “Need me to carry you back to camp, General? I'd hate for you to have an accident in all this mud."

"Oh, haha," you say dryly. "Very funny."

"What, I'm serious," he insists. He reaches out as if to pick you up, and you smack his hands away with a force that makes him yelp.

"Don't even think about it," you warn. "I'll have you cleaning latrines for a month."

Booker laughs and raises his hands in surrender, and Obi-Wan gives the two of you a reproachful look.

"Really," he sighs. "This is a war zone, not a playground."

Before Booker can reply, Cody clasps a hand on his shoulder and pushes him toward the camp, his voice gruff and stern.

"You heard him," Cody says. "Let's move."

The three clones move on ahead, and you all begin making your way through the field, the mud sucking at your boots and splattering the legs of your robes. You can hear Obi-Wan grumbling to himself, and Anakin and Ahsoka are laughing, the two of them shoving each other back and forth.

When the camp comes into view, a wave of relief washes over you, the thought of warm food and a hot shower easing the tension in your shoulders and neck. You pick up your pace until you’re stepping into the command tent, and you're greeted by a blast of warm air and a wall of noise and activity.

Booker is already there, speaking to a group of your men, and Cody and Rex are standing in the corner, discussing something with their heads bowed. As soon as he spots you, Booker smiles and straightens, the others following suit.

"Hey," he calls. He tilts his head to the side, his brow furrowing. "You're soaked."

"Tell me about it," you grumble.

You reach up and push a strand of hair off your face, and a drop of water runs down the side of your neck, the cold, wet trail making you shiver. You wrap your arms around yourself, and Booker frowns, any trace of humor gone.

"I'll go grab you some blankets," he says.

"No," you reply quickly, and he pauses, his eyebrows raising. "You're not my servant. I can do it myself."

"Right," Booker agrees. He points a finger at you. "But you're freezing."

"I'll be fine," you insist.

"Here," he says, pulling a towel from a nearby supply cabinet and draping it over your shoulders. "You'll catch a cold."

"I said—"

"You're not," Booker interrupts. He rubs the towel on your hair, and you scowl, trying to bat his hands away. He gives a loud, annoyed sigh and stops, dropping the towel back onto your head. Before you can stop him, Booker turns and cups a hand over his mouth. "Wise!"

The medic looks up from where he's patching a wound on a trooper's arm across the tent as you pull the towel from your head. The white of his armor is caked with mud and grime, nearly obscuring the medic symbol painted on his shoulder, and he looks even more surly than usual with water dripping down his bald head.

"Can you come take a look at the General?"

"I'm fine," you hiss, but it's no use. Wise is already making his way towards you, the other troopers watching him warily.

"What is it?"

Booker gestures towards you and gives Wise a stern look. "Fix her."

You shoot Booker a dirty look and cross your arms tighter around yourself, trying to stop the shaking that's wracking your body. It doesn't work. And the longer you stand here, the worse it seems to get.

Wise's gaze moves over you, and his eyes narrow, his expression thoughtful. A short distance away, Rex glances at the medic, and he takes a step towards the two of you. He doesn't say anything, but the look in his eyes is one of concern. You give a slight shake of your head, silently telling him you're fine, and he stops, his jaw twitching. Wise doesn't seem to notice the exchange.

"You’re freezing," he announces, and you groan, wishing the ground would swallow you up. "We need to get you warm."

"I'm fi—"

"And she's been complaining about a headache," Booker continues, and you grit your teeth, the urge to strangle him rising.

Wise strides forward and grabs the edge of the towel, rubbing the cloth over your face. The motion is brisk and rough, and you squirm, trying to pull away.

"Hey!" you protest.

"Stop fighting me," Wise scolds.

"I don't need—"

"You're going to catch pneumonia," he grumbles. He tosses the towel aside and places the back of his hand against your forehead.

"I'm fine," you try again. "Really."

"No, you're not," Wise counters.

His voice is flat, but there's an undertone of concern that makes you pause. You're about to tell him not to worry, that you can take care of yourself, but the medic shakes his head and turns on his heel, stomping across the tent and grabbing a med pack from a crate on the ground.

He rifles through the bag, pulling out a small packet and a thermos, and when he walks back, his scowl has deepened, the expression clearly aimed at the Commander.

"Stop being a pest," Wise grunts.

"Hey," Booker objects, but the medic ignores him. Wise drops the packet into the thermos and shakes it, the mixture bubbling and foaming inside the container. He hands it to you, and when you hesitate, his frown deepens, his brow arching in challenge.

"Drink," he says gruffly. "Now."

"Don't be so rude, Wise," you admonish, but you're fighting a smile. Wise rolls his eyes, and you take a sip of the warm liquid, the taste bitter on your tongue. "This is awful."

"It's good for you," he insists.

"I'm pretty sure that's not true."

"Shut up and drink," he mutters, and you bite back a grin.

You drink deeply, the warmth spreading through your body, and when you lower the cup again, you notice the tent has grown quiet. You look around and find the entire room is watching the exchange, a mix of amusement and bewilderment on their faces. Anakin and Ahsoka are both barely containing their laughter, and Obi-Wan has his arms crossed, a faint smile on his face.

Wise notices the attention too, and his scowl deepens.

"What are you all looking at?" he snaps. "Get back to work."

The tent springs into action, the troopers rushing to complete their tasks, and you bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to laugh. A soft snort escapes, drawing a glare from the medic. You lift the thermos to your lips and drink the rest, the warmth of the liquid making you feel slightly better.

"That should help with the headache," Wise tells you. "But you need to change into dry clothes."

"I will," you promise. "Thanks, Wise."

He lets out a soft grunt and nods, his eyes shifting over your shoulder. You feel a blanket being draped over your shoulders, the thick wool instantly warming you. Rex steps around you and gives a slight nod.

"What's the verdict, Chief?"

"She'll live," Wise drawls.

Rex takes the empty cup from you, and the medic grabs the blanket, tugging it closed and wrapping it tightly around your shoulders.

"Good," Rex drawls. "I'd hate for the men to have to break in another general."

Wise scoffs and strides across the tent, barking orders at the troopers. When he's out of earshot, Rex lets out a soft laugh, and he turns back to you, the look on his face gentle and tender.

"How're you feeling?"

"Better," you murmur. "Thank you."

"Of course," he says. His eyes travel over you, his lips twitching. "That was impressive. I thought it would take at least another week before you gave the men a heart attack."

You shrug a shoulder, and the blanket slips, nearly falling to the ground. Before you can grab it, Rex leans down and pulls it back over your shoulders, the heat of his touch seeping through the fabric. You let out a small sigh and pull the blanket tighter, a sense of comfort washing over you.

"I guess I can't stay out of trouble forever," you tell him.

Rex lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes crinkling. "No, I guess not."

He gives you a faint smile before turning away, his attention returning to the group gathered around the holotable. You watch him go, the fluttering in your chest still present. As you look around the room, a thought occurs to you. It's strange, really, that all these men are here, helping you. That they care enough to worry and fuss over your health and well-being.

You'd never had that before. Obi-Wan was the only one for so long who didn't practice the same sort of distanced affection or professionalism as the other Jedi. And now, you're surrounded by people who genuinely care about you, who worry about your well-being, and who have your back. And that's...nice. More than nice, actually.

The conversation resumes, centered around how the Republic’s forces will pull out and return to Coruscant while the locals continue the fight against the few droids that remain. Anakin and Ahsoka lead the discussion, with the clones providing input every so often, and a few minutes in, you feel a gentle brush against your consciousness as Obi-Wan's Force signature probes yours.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye and find him watching you, the hint of a smile on his lips as his presence withdraws.

“You seem well," he murmurs under his breath.

"I am," you assure him.

"Good," he says, nodding, and you can hear the emotion in his voice, the longing and regret. You wonder if it's because you've shut him out, or because he's thinking about your relationship and how far you've drifted apart. It's hard to tell with Obi-Wan. He's always been so good at hiding his emotions, and even now, with the two of you so close, the bond feels distant and weak, like a thread stretched too thin. "I'm glad."

"Me too," you say quietly.

You're still not happy with Obi-Wan. You don't know if you'll ever be able to forgive him, and a part of you is worried that if you do, it will open a door you'll never be able to close again. But the ache in your chest is there, a constant reminder that things can never go back to the way they were, and a tiny part of you misses him. Misses what the two of you used to be.

You give him a weak smile, and he smiles back, his eyes crinkling.

“So," he says. "Tell me about this headache. Are you having trouble sleeping?"

You groan and roll your eyes, and he lets out a soft chuckle, the hint of mischief in his expression easing the knot in your stomach.

"It’s nothing," you insist. You turn away and try to ignore the way his presence pushes against your mind, a subtle reminder of his concern. "Just tired."

"Ah," Obi-Wan murmurs, nodding slowly. "Well, that's to be expected. You did destroy quite a few droids today."

Your eyes narrow, and you frown, turning to look at him.

"It wasn't that many," you lie.

Obi-Wan snorts and shoots you a wry look, and you can feel the Force vibrate with his skepticism.

"I think it's safe to say the number was...unusual," he says carefully.

Your eyes narrow, and your frown deepens.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you mutter, your gaze focused on the floor.

Obi-Wan sighs and shakes his head, and a flash of disappointment flickers through the bond. It's gone as quickly as it appeared, like a cloud passing over the sun, and he leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"As I suspected," he says softly.

"As you suspected, what?"

"Nothing," Obi-Wan says quickly, waving his hand dismissively. "It's nothing."

He turns and glances at the others, and the two of you stand there, neither of you saying anything, the silence between the two of you heavy and tense.

The minutes tick by, and a sense of unease builds in your gut. The longer the silence stretches, the worse it gets. You're just about to ask him what's wrong, what's bothering him, but he speaks first.

"I know this hasn't been easy for you," he murmurs, his voice soft and low. He pauses, and you can see him searching for the right words, the expression on his face pained. "But I hope you'll consider talking to me."

"About what?"

"About anything. Anything you want."

You sigh and look away, biting your lip and fighting the urge to tell him everything, to spill all the pain and the hurt and the anger, to confess all the things that have been keeping you up at night, all the fears and doubts that have been swirling through your mind. Optimism is harder than it seems to be, and even harder still, is not letting the darkness inside of you creep into the light.

It would be so easy to tell him, to open up and let him in, but you're not ready. Not yet. So instead, you shake your head and stare at the ground, and he lets out a soft sigh, the disappointment in the Force almost too much to bear.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, and the ache in his voice is unmistakable. "I know...I know that we weren't always on the same page. And perhaps I could have done more. Been more supportive. I don't know."

You swallow hard, and your throat feels tight, the pressure in your chest building.

"It's not your fault," you say quietly.

"Maybe not," Obi-Wan concedes, and his gaze moves over you, the look in his eyes sad and regretful. "But it doesn't change the fact that I hurt you."

The words catch in your throat, and you blink, the tears in your eyes blurring your vision.

"It wasn't just you," you whisper, and a part of you wants to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the statement, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

He gives a short nod, and the two of you fall silent. For the first time in weeks, you can feel the bond between the two of you, the connection that had been so strong and vibrant, now little more than a dull, distant memory. It's hard to believe the two of you had once been so close, that there was a time you knew each other better than anyone.

And yet, even now, a small part of you wants to reach out, to feel his presence again, to let him in.

"I'm sorry, too," you say softly. "For...for shutting you out."

He doesn't respond, and for a moment, you think he hasn't heard you, or that the apology was too little, too late. But after a second, he gives a short nod, his eyes flickering over your face.

"I forgive you," he says, and you can feel the truth of the words, the sincerity in his tone. "It's just good to have you back."

His voice is rough, his expression strained, and the emotion in his voice hits you like a blow to the chest, knocking the breath from your lungs and sending a stab of guilt through your heart. The lump in your throat is getting bigger, and the ache in your chest is spreading, the tears stinging your eyes.

Obi-Wan's hand drifts up, touching your back gently, and you inhale deeply as a wave of calm washes over you. You exhale, letting out the breath, and the tightness in your chest eases, your tears drying.

"There you are," Obi-Wan sighs. "All back together."

You snort, and the two of you fall silent again, staring at each other, the weight of his gaze heavy on your shoulders.

"I've missed you," he whispers.

You miss him too. You miss him more than you can express. But despite everything, you don't regret pushing him away. You don't regret pulling back from the bond, and you don't regret trying to put some distance between the two of you.

And as much as you've missed him, as much as you want him to forgive you, a part of you still wonders if things would be different if he'd tried harder, or if he'd done something differently, or if he'd been a bit more patient with you, or if he'd just let things go.

Maybe things would be better. Maybe they would have turned out the same.

But none of it matters now.

"I've missed you, too," you think, and the thought echoes through the Force, the words bouncing off the walls of your mind and back again. Obi-Wan's breath hitches, his lips parting slightly, his eyes widening. He looks at you, and for a split second, he looks...hopeful. Then the emotion fades, replaced by a soft, wistful smile.

"I'm glad," he replies, his voice drifting through your mind like a breeze, the words light and airy, almost dreamlike. "I'm so glad."

"Are you two done gossiping?" Anakin calls out, a note of irritation in his tone, and the two of you look at him. Obi-Wan looks startled, and a flush spreads across his cheeks, the color rising up his neck and into his ears. "Because we could use your help."

"Apologies," Obi-Wan says quickly, his hand sliding down and dropping from your shoulder, his presence withdrawing completely.

He turns and strides towards the table, and you follow, the blanket draped over your shoulders swaying gently behind you. Your eyes meet Rex's as he steps aside, giving you room to move closer, and he tilts his head. His gaze flicks to Obi-Wan and back, and you don't miss the way his jaw twitches, or the look of distaste that crosses his features.

You can sense a ripple of unease coming from him, concern and something else, something sharper and darker. It's fleeting, and it disappears almost as quickly as it comes, but the feeling is unmistakable, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

It's the first time you’ve felt such a reaction from him, but it’s also the first time you’ve all been in the same room together since the Council meeting that changed everything. For all his soft words about how the Council made the right choice in refusing you, it’s clear to you now that Rex isn't quite as forgiving as he lets on. He keeps his expression carefully neutral, but there's no mistaking the way his gaze follows Obi-Wan, or the way his posture stiffens, or the way his hands clench into fists at his sides.

If the others notice, they don't comment, and the conversation moves on. The rest of the meeting goes smoothly, and once the evacuation plan has been finalized, the group breaks up, each returning to their separate duties. You're the last to leave, and as you're walking away, Rex calls out, stopping you in your tracks.

"General," he says. "Can I have a word?"

"Sure," you reply, turning and walking back towards him. He motions towards the entrance, and the two of you step out, leaving the tent behind. The rain has stopped, and the air is crisp and cool, the scent of damp earth and fresh grass filling your nostrils.

Rex walks beside you, his arm brushing yours, and the warmth of his body and his proximity sends a thrill through your whole body.

"So what's on your mind?" you ask as the two of you come to a stop a short distance away, the command tent a dim outline through the trees.

Rex takes a deep breath, and he shifts, his body facing yours. His expression is serious, the lines around his eyes and mouth deeper, and his hands are clasped behind his back, the position formal and businesslike.

"I just wanted to check in with you," he says quietly, his gaze shifting from yours to the trees, his eyes moving over the trunks, scanning the branches. "See how you're doing."

"I'm fine," you say softly, and his eyes move back to yours, a hint of doubt lingering in their depths. You smile and reach out, resting your hand on his arm, your thumb rubbing gentle circles where his rerebrace and elbow plate meet. "I am. I was a little cold, but it was nothing a hot drink couldn't fix."

Rex's shoulders relax, and his hand drifts up, his fingers curling around your wrist, the tips pressing against the pulse point.

"That's good," he says, his gaze dropping to your hand. "That's...I'm glad."

There's a note of hesitation in his voice, and he bites his lip, his gaze flicking back to the trees. He sighs and drops your hand, and a hint of annoyance flickers across his features.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says quickly, and his brow furrows, his eyes moving back to yours, the frustration and conflict written all over his face. "I mean, not nothing. But, not what you're probably thinking."

You wait, and he looks at the ground, his boots scuffing at a fallen branch, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"You and Kenobi seemed pretty close in there," he says finally, his voice soft, almost a whisper, his gaze shifting to the side, refusing to meet yours. "I just...I wanted to make sure you were okay."

His words hang between the two of you, heavy and loaded, and you can feel the weight of them pressing down on your chest, crushing the breath from your lungs and the thoughts from your mind. It takes a second for the meaning of his words to sink in, and another second for the shock to wear off, and by the time the implications of what he's said have fully registered, Rex's jaw is clenched, his shoulders tense, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and regret.

"Sorry," he says quietly. "That's not...it's none of my business."

"No," you reply. You take a deep breath, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "No, it's not that. It's just...he and I haven't spoken much lately. Since..."

Your voice trails off, and he gives a soft grunt of understanding, his fingers brushing against your elbow.

"I know," he says, his tone soothing. He smiles, his expression gentle and kind. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Don't," you insist, shaking your head. "It's just...hard. Being here with him. After everything."

He nods, his expression thoughtful. You know he understands, and the fact that he doesn't try to convince you otherwise, or tell you that things will get better, makes the pain in your chest lessen. But you can still feel unease and confusion radiating from him, and you can't help but wonder why he'd ask, and if it's just concern for you, or something more personal.

The answer hits you a moment later, and you can't stop the small laugh that escapes, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Rex's eyebrows shoot up, his head tilting slightly, and you bite your lip in an effort to stifle your amusement.

"Is there something funny?"

"I just..." You swallow hard, trying to regain your composure, and you take a deep breath, forcing the grin off your face. "It's nothing."

His expression doesn't change, his brow still furrowed, and he waits, silently demanding an answer.

"Are you...jealous?" you ask hesitantly.

His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open slightly, the color rising in his cheeks. He splutters, his face turning a deeper shade of red, and the reaction is enough to make you giggle.

"No," he says quickly, but the lie is blatant, and the embarrassment is practically radiating off him. "I was just...wondering. I guess."

"Oh, sure," you tease, and he lets out a groan, his eyes rolling skyward, the blush spreading down his neck and into the collar of his armor.

"Stop it," he grumbles, and he shakes his head, the tips of his ears burning.

"Sorry," you say, trying to hold back another laugh. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"Too late for that," he mumbles.

You're about to tease him further, to poke fun at his embarrassment, but you bite your tongue, and the words die in your throat, the smile slipping from your lips. You study him, the humor fading, and his gaze meets yours, his expression hesitant and a little anxious. You reach over and gently take his hand.

"Rex, I don't...I don't have feelings for him anymore," you tell him. His fingers twitch in yours, and he squeezes your hand. "Not like that. Not for a long time, actually."

He doesn't respond, and the two of you stand in silence, the rain beginning to fall again. The wind picks up, sending a spray of water onto your face, and you blink and wipe your cheek, letting out a soft laugh. Rex chuckles, and he brushes a strand of wet hair off your forehead, his hand lingering, cupping the side of your face, his thumb gently tracing your jawline.

"Rex," you begin, but he holds up his hand, his eyes narrowing.

"Wait," he murmurs. His gaze darts to the side as he releases his hold on you, and he takes a step back.

A moment later, Booker rounds the corner, a data pad clutched in his hands. He looks up and gives a short nod.

"General," he greets, and his eyes move to Rex, a faint grin spreading across his face. "Rex."

"Commander," Rex replies, his tone flat. You can sense a flicker of irritation from him, and the sudden, irrational desire to tell Booker to go away nearly overwhelms you. You stamp it down, focusing on keeping your thoughts calm and level.

Booker looks between the two of you, his gaze lingering on Rex.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks.

"Just taking a walk," Rex says casually.

"In the rain?" Booker asks. He gestures at the two of you, and he looks pointedly at the trees dripping overhead. "Really?"

"Really," you reply, your tone a bit more forceful than necessary.

Booker raises an eyebrow, and the smile fades from his face.

"Okay," he says slowly. "Well, sorry to interrupt your walk. I just need the General's signature on a couple of forms. When you're finished."

"We're done," Rex mutters. "Commander."

"Captain," Booker replies, his tone cheerful. He watches Rex walk away, and his grin fades, his gaze flicking to you. He frowns, his brow creasing. "What's his problem?"

You shrug. The truth is, you have no idea. You have no idea what's going on with Rex, and you can't seem to make sense of his behavior. One minute, he's sweet and caring, and the next, he's distant and detached. It's like he's trying to pull away from you, but he doesn't really want to.

Or maybe that's just what you're telling yourself, hoping that's the reason. It's easier than accepting that he doesn't want anything more from you. It's easier than admitting that you're getting too attached.

"Nothing," you say. You shake your head, and the smile returns, this time a bit forced. "Just...a little tired. Like all of us."

Booker nods, his gaze moving back to the data pad. The blue glow highlights the planes and angles of his face, giving his skin a ghostly hue, and his eyes are dark, the whites standing out in sharp contrast. There's a slight bruise blooming on his temple, and the dark circles under his eyes are even more pronounced.

"Is everything okay?" you ask.

He shakes his head, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.

“Casualty report,” he says, his voice flat. His eyes meet yours, and there's a haunted look in his gaze. "It's not as bad as it could be, but…”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat in favor of reaching out and touching his arm.

"It's always hard," you murmur.

"Yeah," he says softly. His hand moves over yours, squeezing gently. "It is."

The two of you fall silent, the air filled with the patter of raindrops and the rustle of the wind. Booker stares at the trees, his eyes glazed over, and he gives a soft sigh, his shoulders slumping.

You watch him, trying to find the words. It’s his first true battle as commander, and it's only natural for him to be upset, even though the mission was a success. You knew from personal experience that seeing the aftermath, the bodies, the wreckage, is much harder than being in the thick of it. And the guilt of surviving, while others didn't, is something that can eat away at the soul, if given the chance.

The only thing that helped you, the only thing that allowed you to move past the deaths, was having people to share the burden with. Having someone who could listen and understand, without judging or asking questions. Someone who could just be there for you.

"It never gets easier," you say softly, and he lets out a humorless laugh, his eyes flicking to yours. You squeeze his arm and offer a small smile. "But it's not supposed to. You just learn how to live with it. How to carry the weight."

Booker swallows hard, and he looks away, blinking rapidly.

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

“You did a good job. All of you did. You should be proud."

"Thanks," he says quietly.

He's still not looking at you, and he takes a deep breath, his body trembling slightly. He glances at the data pad, and the corner of his mouth turns up, a weak smile tugging at his lips.

"So, can I get that autograph, General?" he asks.

You give a soft snort and shake your head, and you let go of his arm, gesturing towards the device.

"Hand it over."

"Here," he says, giving the data pad a tap. "Signature's at the bottom."

You don't pay much attention to what you're signing, instead watching Booker, noticing the way his eyes are fixed on the screen, and how his hand keeps moving towards the data pad, like he's worried you'll drop it. You can sense the emotions rolling off him, and it's easy to tell he's anxious, even if he's trying not to show it.

"We're heading back to Coruscant after this," you mutter as you press the stylus against the screen. "Any plans?"

He shakes his head, his gaze still fixed on the device.

"Nope," he replies.

"Hmm," you hum.

There's a small pause, and he clears his throat.

"Why?"

"Oh, no reason," you say, smiling. You hand the data pad back, and he glances at the screen before pressing a button and switching the device off. "I just heard it was tradition for the troops to celebrate their first successful mission. Something about the men needing a chance to unwind. Have some fun. Drink copious amounts of alcohol. Maybe play a game of cards or two. Get into some mischief. That sort of thing."

He arches an eyebrow and shoves the data pad into his pocket.

"Cards, huh?"

"Mhm."

"That does indeed ring a bell," he muses. He glances at you, his lips twitching. "And I do have a pack on me, if you're interested."

You grin.

"You should know, I'm a master at Sabacc," you say, your tone grave. Booker gives a soft snort, and his eyes crinkle. "You may want to rethink challenging me."

He laughs, and you can feel the last traces of his worry and sorrow dissipate.

"We'll see about that," he says. He offers his arm, and you slide yours into the crook of his elbow, allowing him to escort you towards the mess tent. The sun has gone down, and the camp is bathed in the soft, orange glow of the evening, the air smelling of damp earth and rain.

As the two of you make your way across the clearing, the sounds of the men laughing and joking carries over the breeze, and a feeling of calm settles over you. The day may not have gone as planned, and the fighting wasn't easy, but there's no denying that things have turned out well. Despite the chaos, the bloodshed, and the pain, there's a sense of contentment and pride that's settled into your bones.

The ache is still there, the guilt, the loss, the hurt, but you have hope that things will get better. That you can move forward. That maybe, one day, you'll find peace. And that's worth fighting for.

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