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jetii · 1 month ago

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Event Horizon

Chapter Fourteen: Remedy

Chapter WC: 7,969

Chapter Tags/Warnings: fairly graphic descriptions of wound care and blood

A/N: does anyone else blush so much more when they're writing fluff vs smut? bc my face is on fire

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Hyperspace, 21 BBY

Your back hits the mat with enough force to knock the wind from your lungs. You lay there for a moment, dazed and disoriented, before the world slowly comes back. Your vision blurs and you blink, trying to bring the ceiling above you into focus.

Anakin’s face swims into view, his hair loose and hanging around his face, strands stuck to his forehead and neck with sweat. He flashes you a grin that stretches the scar over his cheek and brow, and you roll your eyes.

“That’s three, Master,” he says between heavy breaths, smug satisfaction written across his features. You should get used to him beating you by now, but you still feel a surge of irritation and frustration, and it doesn't help that he's enjoying it.

"That's a low blow," you grumble. "Even for you."

"No, a low blow would be doing this," Anakin replies, and he brings his foot down on the outside of your knee. You cry out and kick him in the back of the leg, sending him to the ground next to you. He groans and rolls over onto his back.

"You fight dirty."

"You're one to talk," you scoff. "You kicked me when I was down."

"You said not to hold back," he replies with a smirk. Anakin wipes the sweat from his forehead and sighs. "Come on. One more."

"I'm done," you groan. "I'm sore. And I'm tired."

"One more round," he insists.

You hesitate, your eyes tracing the panels of the ceiling. You know you should stop. Your shoulder is starting to throb again, and the ache in your bones is getting harder to ignore. But the alternative is going back to your quarters to sit alone in the dark with your thoughts, and you know that’s something neither you nor Anakin are keen to do.

After the disaster that was Saleucami, Anakin was the one who insisted that the two of you train together. He claimed that you needed the practice, but you're not convinced. In fact, you're almost certain he just wanted to get a better read on your emotional state, but you decided it would be easier just to humor him.

Besides, there was little else to do but wait until the two of you could return to Coruscant and get clearance from the Council for your next assignment. The last thing you wanted was to sit and wallow in your own self-pity.

A few rounds of sparring in the mornings quickly turned into several in the evenings as the two of you fell into your favorite pastime: beating each other up and not talking about the things that really mattered.

It's a good distraction from the turmoil in your heart, the physical activity keeping your mind occupied and your emotions in check. You can't focus on the memories when Anakin is busy kicking your ass, and you're pretty sure the same is true for him. So you let him drag you out of bed and into the training room every morning and night. And tonight you let him convince you to stay until well past lights out. Again.

Anakin doesn't say anything. He just sits up and waits, unmoving. He stares at you expectantly, his brows raised, until finally you let out a resigned sigh and roll onto your side.

"Fine," you concede. "One more. But then I'm going to bed."

"Okay. Whatever you say."

"Don't get too excited," you huff. “I don’t plan on making this easy for you."

"You never do," he laughs.

You sit up and cross your legs, reaching forward and pressing your palms together. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, centering yourself. The Force moves through you, and your thoughts calm. You can feel the energy flowing around the room and into you like a cool stream, and the pain in your shoulder and chest fades to a dull, manageable ache. It’s only a temporary fix, and you’ll pay for it later, but for now, it’s enough.

"Ready," you say, opening your eyes. Anakin is kneeling across from you, mirroring your pose, and he's staring at you intently. You can see the gears turning in his mind, and you brace yourself. Whatever he's planning, you're certain it's not going to be pleasant.

"Me too," he says with a grin. He shifts his weight and tenses, preparing to strike.

"Good," you reply.

And then the two of you are moving.

Anakin leaps to his feet and charges towards you. His foot flies towards your head and you duck under it, spinning and lashing out with a kick. He grabs your ankle and tries to pull you off balance, but you twist your leg free and lunge forward. He dodges your fist and swings at your head.

You lean back, and his punch goes wide, giving you enough room to plant a hand on his chest. He's moving too fast, and his momentum carries him forward. You shove him backward, and he trips over his own feet, falling hard onto his back.

You drop onto his stomach and wrap your legs around his torso, pinning him down. Your knee presses into his chest, and he wheezes, his face contorting with pain. Anakin tries to grab your leg and pull you off him, but you press down harder.

“That’s three, Knight,” you mock.

You can feel his anger simmering below the surface, and it fuels your own. He hates losing, and the more you antagonize him, the angrier he gets. It’s not right, and it’s certainly not Jedi-like, but you can't help yourself. You revel in the feeling of it. You want to draw it out, let him stew in it, because it makes you feel better.

Anakin doesn’t reply. He’s too busy trying to get his breath back, his face red and his eyes watering. You're about to get up when he rolls to the side, catching you off guard and throwing you off. You land hard, the impact knocking the air from your lungs.

A bolt of pain shoots through your shoulder, and you yelp, cursing under your breath. Your arm feels like it's on fire. You reach up and cradle the wounded limb, your jaw clenched in pain. You take a deep breath, trying to block it out, but the agony is overwhelming.

“That’s four—oh, shit,” Anakin groans. His face is still red from the lack of oxygen, but there's no mistaking the guilt and concern that colors his features. "Sorry. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you bite out.

"Let me see," he insists. He reaches for your shoulder, but you shake your head, scooting away from him. “Goldie, come on.”

"No."

To your horror, you can feel blood dripping down your arm. You pull back the sleeve of your tunic and grimace. Your bandages are soaked. The stitches must have come undone when you landed. You're not surprised. It's a minor injury, but it's deep, and it's taking a lot longer to heal than it should.

Anakin sees the blood, and his face pales. He looks away and swallows.

"Kriff," he breathes. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you reassure him, leaning your head back against the mat and closing your eyes. Your skin feels hot. You're sweating, and your heart is pounding. "I think we’re done for the night. I need to rebandage this."

“You need to go see Kix,” he corrects, and your eyes fly open.

"I'm fine," you snap. "Really. It's not a big deal."

"Goldie," he sighs. He's using that tone, the one he uses when he's trying to be patient and reasonable, and it irritates you. "This is serious. You need to get this checked out."

"Anakin, it's fine," you insist.

"No," he argues, and you glare at him. His brows are knitted together, and his jaw is clenched. "It's not."

"I can handle it," you grumble. You don't want to deal with the medics again, and you definitely don't want to hear Kix lecture you about taking proper care of your injuries. Or worse, have him tell Rex what's going on. The thought makes your stomach churn.

"It's not about handling it." Anakin shakes his head and sighs. He rubs his eyes and runs a hand through his hair, leaving it a tangled mess. "It's about making sure you're okay."

"I said I'm fine," you snap.

He puts his hands on his hips and glowers down at you. “Too bad.”

With a jolt, your body lifts off the mat. You hover for a moment, weightless, before your feet touch the ground, and Anakin’s hand clasps firmly on your uninjured arm. His fingers wrap around your bicep, and he takes advantage of your surprise to begin pulling you towards the door. You try to pull away from him, but his grip is too strong.

“Obi-Wan will kill me if he finds out about this," he complains. You try to twist out of his grasp, but he tightens his hold, and you stumble. "Stop fighting me, Goldie. Just let me help."

"I can walk by myself," you growl.

"I'm not so sure," he retorts. He doesn't bother looking back at you. "I think you might fall over."

"Anakin," you protest, trying to pull away again. "I'm fine."

He doesn't let go, merely shaking his head and continuing to drag you through the hallways. It's late, and the ship is half-dark, lit only by emergency lights and the glow of the panels and switches lining the walls. It's a small mercy that the two of you haven't run into anyone else save for the few troopers on night patrol. They wisely choose not to intervene.

Anakin drags you into a lift and slams his hand against the control panel. The doors slide shut behind the two of you, and the room begins to move. He stares straight ahead, his shoulders rigid and his lips set in a thin line.

“This is stupid," you grumble.

"You're the one being stupid.”

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he snorts. "You're being an idiot."

"I am not," you argue. Your shoulder hurts like hell, and you're in no mood for a lecture. You know it's probably not the best idea to engage him, but you're angry, and the pain is making you lightheaded. "Let go."

"Nope," Anakin replies.

"Anakin," you warn.

"Look, I know you're mad at me," he sighs, and you narrow your eyes. "And I get it. You have every right to be, but—"

"I'm not mad at you," you cut in, your voice low. He turns his head and gives you a look. "Okay. Maybe a little. But mostly I'm pissed off at myself."

"For what?" he asks. His tone is soft and sincere. He's not being sarcastic or condescending. He's actually curious. "What did you do wrong?"

"I should've been faster," you explain. “I let Grievous get away, and this kriffing—“

“This again? Seriously?" He rolls his eyes and scoffs. "From what I heard, you almost took his head off. And he escaped by the skin of his teeth. You did great. Stop beating yourself up about it."

"No," you argue. "I should've been better."

"How could you have done better?" he prods. His brows are furrowed, and he's staring at you, his gaze scrutinizing.

"I..."

You trail off. You can't seem to formulate a coherent answer. You don't know what to say. You don't even know how to begin to explain the tangled mess of emotions roiling in your chest, and you certainly can’t tell him about what Grievous said to you, the memories that you thought were yours alone thrown in your face.

You don’t want to think about any of it, much less talk about it. Not now, not when the pain is threatening to overwhelm you. So instead, you look away and stay silent.

Anakin waits for a minute, and when he realizes you aren’t going to respond, he lets out a deep sigh and rolls his eyes.

"See, that's what I mean," he mutters. "You're being unreasonable. This is exactly why I'm dragging your ass to the med bay."

"I hate you," you huff.

"No, you don't," he smirks.

"Yes, I do," you insist. You glare at him. "Right now, I really do."

He shrugs. "That's okay.”

The elevator stops and the doors slide open. You step into the corridor and turn left, and Anakin sticks close to your side. His hand is still wrapped around your arm, but his grip has loosened. You're not sure if he's worried you'll run, or if he's concerned that you'll collapse, but either way, he stays close, hovering protectively at your side.

“Well, if it helps, I think you did a damn good job," he says after a few moments of silence. "Obi-Wan did too. He said the same thing."

"Really?" you can’t help but ask. He’d been less than thrilled when you spoke, and you find it hard to imagine he had a kind word to say about you after.

“Are you surprised? He's impressed by pretty much everything you do," he chuckles. You glance over your shoulder and catch the corner of his mouth twitch upward. "Honestly, I'm a little jealous. I thought I was his favorite."

"Oh please," you scoff.

"You know I am," he insists. "He says so all the time."

"You're delusional."

"Or maybe you just don't know him as well as you think you do," he suggests.

You open your mouth, ready to tell Anakin exactly how well you know Obi-Wan Kenobi, but the words die on your tongue, and your face heats up.

Anakin’s brows rise, and he grins. "Interesting. I'll have to ask him about that later."

"Don't," you grumble. You look away, your face burning, and try not to think about what Anakin would say if he knew the full extent of your relationship with his former master. You're not ashamed, exactly, but things are still tense between you and Obi-Wan, and you don’t need any more drama. You've had enough.

"Fine, I’ll let it go," he laughs. He squeezes your arm reassuringly. "For now.”

You're not sure if you should believe him, but you appreciate the sentiment all the same. You round the corner, and the doors to the medical wing come into view. You let out a sigh and shake your head. "This is going to be a disaster."

"It's not so bad," Anakin counters. "Kix likes you. He'll go easy on you."

"I'm not worried about Kix," you murmur.

He looks at you curiously, his brows furrowing. "Then who—"

His voice cuts off as the door opens, and the two of you step into the dimly lit medbay. You scan the room. It's quiet. A few troopers are stretched out on the beds in the front of the ward, and most are asleep. Two are staring at the ceiling, and they both turn their heads and wave as you pass.

The lights are off in the back room where Kix's office is located, and you’re hopeful that means he's in bed. But when you reach the entrance to the small cubicle and peer inside, you spot him, hunched over his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration. He doesn't notice you standing there. His head is bowed, and his arms are crossed over his chest, the blue glow of his datapad illuminating his face and the dark circles under his eyes.

"Hey," Anakin calls.

Kix jumps and nearly topples backwards out of his chair, but he grabs the edge of the desk and catches himself just in time. His eyes are wide, and his mouth falls open, his lips moving silently for a few seconds before he manages to form words.

"General Skywalker," he greets. He glances at you and blinks. "General Anathorn? What —"

"I’m fine," you interrupt.

"She isn’t," Anakin adds, and you glare at him. Kix looks at Anakin and then back at you, his brows rising. "Her stitches came loose. She's bleeding."

"Anakin," you hiss.

"I didn't even hit her that hard," he continues, ignoring you. "But she went down pretty quick, and now she's bleeding."

"I'm okay," you grumble. You pull your arm free from his grip and cross your arms, wincing as it pulls on the wound. "It's not that bad.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Kix says with a weary sigh. He rises to his feet and gestures for you to walk over to the nearest empty bed. He rubs the back of his neck as he follows behind you, and motions for you to sit down. "Alright, General, let's see."

The urge to protest is strong, but you’re starting to feel woozy. The blood loss and lack of sleep are catching up to you, and you're not sure how much longer you can keep going. You can't bring yourself to fight him. Not tonight.

You hop onto the bed and carefully shrug off your tunic, leaving you in your breast band. Kix steps closer and frowns. He takes in the sight of your bare skin and the dark bruises covering your torso and arms, the bandages around your shoulder stained a deep red. His face pinches into a scowl. "What happened here?"

"Anakin happened," you grumble.

"She fell," Anakin corrects.

“You fell?" Kix asks incredulously. His gaze flicks to Anakin, and his lips press together, his expression disapproving. "On your shoulder?"

"Not my fault," you mutter. “We were sparring, and—“

“You were sparring?" he repeats, and his scowl deepens. His voice is quiet, but there's a hard edge to it that makes you tense. "After I specifically told you to take it easy and wait until you had a proper check-up? I knew I should have tied you down when I had the chance."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "I'm fine."

"Your arm is bleeding," he snaps. He pulls a pair of scissors from his pocket and grabs the edges of the bandages. "And your stitches are loose. This is not fine." Kix turns his attention to Anakin and narrows his eyes. "How many times did you hit her?"

"Today?” Anakin asks innocently. He shrugs. "I dunno. Like ten. Fifteen?"

"Ten or fifteen times?!" Kix shouts. The words echo through the room, and several of the sleeping troopers stir. One or two of them even sit up and look around. Kix clears his throat and lowers his voice. “With all due respect, sir, what the hell were you thinking?"

"We were just training," Anakin says defensively. "It's not like we were fighting. I could’ve hit her harder if I wanted to. I was holding back.”

“Oh, sure,” you scoff. Anakin glances over at you, and you raise a brow. His lips twitch into a cocky grin, and you roll your eyes, turning away and focusing instead on Kix. "Can we please just get this over with?"

"Yeah," he grumbles, and he starts cutting away the bandages. You grit your teeth as the material sticks to the fresh scabs, and Anakin shifts beside you, his discomfort tangible. "This is going to sting, General. Just try not to move."

"Okay," you mumble.

"You...don't need me here for this," Anakin points out awkwardly. "I'll just...uh...go..." He backs away, his hands up, and heads towards the door. "Let me know when you're done."

You nod, and then he's gone, disappearing into the darkened hallway.

You take a deep breath and look down as Kix grabs the edges of the fabric and pulls. The bandages fall away, revealing the three gashes running down the outside of your shoulder. The stitches are torn, and a mottling of purple and yellow bruises have formed around the edges of the wounds. It's not as bad as it was the first night, but it's not a pleasant sight, and your stomach turns. You look away.

"This doesn't look good," Kix observes. His brow furrows as he leans closer. He prods gently at the area around the cuts, his touch light and careful, and you wince. "Did it start hurting while you were fighting?"

"It always hurts," you say through clenched teeth. You close your eyes and try to ignore the way your skin is pulling. "That's nothing new."

"Hmm," Kix hums thoughtfully. He turns his head and studies the bruises. "Do these hurt?"

"Not really," you reply.

"What about this?" he asks, his fingers pressing against a sore spot. You hiss and jerk away. "Guess that's a yes."

He leans back and frowns, his gaze sweeping over the rest of your shoulder. "It's swollen." He touches near the bottom of the injury, and you gasp. He glances up at you, his brows knitted together. "That hurt?"

"Kriff, Kix, everything hurts," you snap. You take a deep breath and swallow hard, your jaw clenched in frustration. "Sorry, I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. Yes, that hurts."

"I see," he mutters. He lets out a heavy sigh. "Well, it looks like you did a number on yourself."

"Thanks," you grumble.

"I'm serious," he sighs again, grabbing a pair of tweezers from the tray next to him and pulling on a pair of gloves. "These stitches are going to need to come out. And you've got a pretty severe strain in your rotator cuff."

"Oh, come on," you protest. "It's just a scratch."

"A scratch?" Kix exclaims. He holds up the tweezers, the metal gleaming in the dim light, and points them at your face. "You call this a scratch? Have you looked in a mirror recently? Your shoulder is a mess. The bruises are bad enough, but this?"

He gestures to the open wound and the frayed threads hanging out of your skin. "This is an absolute nightmare. You're lucky at least some of these stitches held. They shouldn't have. You're not taking proper care of it."

"I'm not doing anything," you point out.

"Exactly," he retorts. "Which is why I'm going to need you to promise me that you're not going to be running around and getting yourself into trouble."

"But—"

"Promise me. No more sparring matches. No more fights. Nothing that's going to put any more strain on this." He taps the edge of your wound for emphasis, ignoring when you wince and jerk back. "You need to let it heal."

"Kix, please," you plead. You look up and meet his gaze. "I can't do that."

"Well, I guess that's too bad, then," he replies flatly. He picks up a cloth and begins to clean the blood off your skin. "Because until this heals, you're not going to be of much use to anyone."

"Kix," you say, a warning edge in your voice. He pauses and glances up at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, and you bite back the next words on your tongue. You let out a breath and sigh. "Fine. I promise."

"Good," he says with a nod.

"Does that mean you'll fix it now?"

"Yes," he chuckles. He grabs the tweezers and presses the cool metal against your skin. "Hold still. I'm going to take these out. I'm sure they're itching something fierce."

"You have no idea," you mutter. You sit still and hold your breath as he begins to pull the threads free, wincing at the sharp pinch and tug of the stitches coming loose. It takes a while. Kix is meticulous and slow, making sure each stitch is completely removed before he moves on, and you watch him carefully.

The tension in his shoulders tells you he's irritated. He's trying to hide it, but you can tell. You can hardly blame him. You don't think he's had a moment's peace since Saleucami, maybe even longer, and you feel a flash of guilt knowing that he's been dealing with your injuries on top of everything else.

"Hey," you begin tentatively. He glances up at you for a second, but his gaze flicks back to his task almost immediately. "How are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" he asks casually. He sounds indifferent, but his face says otherwise.

"Just, with all of this," you explain, gesturing to the empty beds in the ward and the dark corridors beyond the medbay doors. "How are you holding up?"

"Oh. Well, you know, the usual," he replies with a shrug. He tosses another ruined thread onto the tray and begins working on the next one. "Dealing with karking idiots who won't take care of themselves."

"That's not what I meant," you huff.

"It's fine," he says quietly. "It's my job."

"You—"

"We're all tired," he sighs. "I'm just glad I don't have to worry about anyone dying." He gives you a pointed look and plucks another stitch free. "Not yet, anyway."

"Kix," you admonish softly, a little taken aback by his bluntness, but he doesn't respond. The two of you fall silent as he continues his work, the only sound the quiet click of metal on metal and the soft rustle of fabric.

"So," he says after a long silence. He pulls the last stitch out and begins to dab at the edges of the wound with a wet cloth, his expression serious and focused, his eyes trained on your shoulder. "Why exactly were you sparring?"

"Why not?" you ask casually.

"Because you're supposed to be resting," he reminds you. "That was the agreement. If I remember correctly, and I do, you agreed that if you could leave your bed, you'd be good and take it easy until we docked."

"Oh," you murmur guiltily. "Right."

"And?" he prompts.

"And what?" you ask. You know exactly what he wants you to say, and you're not going to make it easy for him. You're not sure why you're so reluctant to admit your failure, but the words refuse to come out, and your jaw clenches, the stubbornness in you refusing to budge, even though it's obvious that he knows the truth already.

"General," he groans impatiently, and you relent, your shoulders slumping in defeat as you sigh, giving him a sheepish smile in return.

"I liked it better when you were afraid of me," you grumble jokingly. He rolls his eyes, but there's no missing the twitch of his lips, a small smile that quickly turns into a scowl as he shakes his head.

"You're unbelievable," he mutters under his breath. He turns to pick up the bottle of disinfectant, and you're about to make another remark when the doors slide open.

Rex strides through the entryway, his eyes scanning the room with an intense focus. You know the instant he spots you, because his face relaxes, and his expression changes from one of concern to annoyance.

He's standing just inside the room, his arms folded across his chest, his gaze hard. You can't tell if he's mad, but judging by the tightness of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes, you'd say that he is. His eyes travel over you, lingering on your shoulder, and then they move to Kix as he tilts his head to the side and raises a brow.

"What's going on here?"

"Nothing," you say quickly.

"The General tore her stitches," Kix answers at the same time. He gives a cursory look over his shoulder and a nod to Rex before turning back to his work.

"Oh?" Rex says. He walks over and stands next to the bed, his arms still crossed, his expression neutral, but the disapproval is written all over him. "That looks bad."

"I'm fine," you reassure him as Kix turns back around and moves closer to you.

"No, she's not," Kix disagrees. He doesn't look at either of you, his eyes trained on his work as he pours disinfectant onto the cut and wipes it clean, seemingly immune to the withering glare you're shooting his way. "She's lost a lot of blood, and she's in pain. She should be in bed."

"I told you, I'm—"

"Fine?" Rex finishes. His tone is dry, and you can tell by the way his jaw clenches and his brow creases that he's less than impressed. He looks back down at your shoulder, his brows drawing together, and he shakes his head. "You don't look fine."

"I will be," you promise.

"If she takes it easy and listens to me," Kix adds as he picks up a needle and thread. "Now, not that I'm not happy to see you, Captain, but what are you doing here?"

Rex falters, and his gaze flickers between you and Kix. You can't help but smirk at the flustered look on his face. He clears his throat and squares his shoulders, his expression returning to one of indifference, though his cheeks are still a bit pink.

"I need a refill on my painkillers,” he says stiffly, and you duck your head, hiding your grin at the obvious lie. Kix stills, needle and thread hovering in the air over your arm, and he shoots Rex a dubious look.

"Painkillers?" he repeats slowly, staring at Rex for a second longer before he starts stitching the wound closed. He gives him another quick glance. "I can't get you to take those more than once every couple of days, and now suddenly you're running out? How's that possible?"

"You told me to use them, and I've been using them," Rex explains, a note of irritation in his voice. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "And now they're gone."

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Yes," Rex grumbles.

"Have you checked everywhere?" Kix presses. "Because if you're not taking them properly—

"Kix," Rex cuts in impatiently. "I know how to take a pill. It's not that complicated. They're gone. That's all there is to it."

"Alright, fine," Kix mutters, tying the end of the thread and snipping it off before moving on to the next stitch. "I'll get you more. Just let me finish up here, and I'll grab them for you."

Rex nods, and he falls silent as Kix works. He leans back against the bed, his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes drift to the ceiling. You stare at him, waiting for him to look at you, but his gaze remains fixed on the lights above.

After several minutes of awkward silence, Kix finally finishes and bandages the wound, and he rises to his feet and disappears into the back office.

You cast a look around, taking stock of the sleeping patients and empty beds. When you're satisfied that no one's listening, you turn to Rex.

"So," you whisper. Rex doesn't respond, and you continue, a hint of amusement in your tone, "What's the real reason you're here?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says flatly, his gaze still trained upwards, his face blank. His mouth twitches into a small smile. "I'm here for painkillers."

"Painkillers," you repeat. You raise a brow and study his expression, his face unreadable. You're tempted to push him for answers, but the truth is, you're not entirely sure what to say, and a strange unease settles in the pit of your stomach. "Well, thank you for checking up on me. But I'm fine."

"Good," he mutters, and he looks away, his eyes drifting towards the door to Kix's office, where the medic is still rummaging through his supplies. A frown pulls at his lips. "What happened?"

"Anakin and I were sparring," you reply honestly. "We got a little carried away."

"I see," he hums. He tilts his head towards the wound on your shoulder. "And why were you and General Skywalker sparring at 0200 hours?"

"Because we can," you quip.

Rex doesn't laugh. Instead, he lets out a long sigh, and he gives you a disapproving look, his brow furrowed. "Is that the best you can come up with?"

"I don't know what you want me to say," you huff defensively. You cross your arms over your chest and look down at the floor. "I'm not sorry."

"I didn't ask you to be," he says calmly. "But if you're going to get hurt again, I'd prefer it if you'd try not to do it in the middle of the night."

"Fair enough," you mutter under your breath. He lets out another heavy sigh, a low, tired sound, and he closes his eyes, his head dropping forward. You shift uncomfortably and bite your lip. "How did you even know I was here?"

"One of the night guard saw you being dragged by General Skywalker, dripping blood, and figured it was important enough to report it," he grunts. His head snaps up, and he opens his eyes, staring at the wall in front of him. "What was he thinking? What were either of you thinking?"

"Not thinking was kind of the whole point," you retort with a shrug, wincing slightly as the movement pulls at the newly-stitched wound.

Rex’s head swivels around to face you at the sound, and he narrows his eyes. You can tell by the way his mouth tightens and his eyes darken that he's worried, and a surge of guilt shoots through your chest.

You sigh and drop your hands to your lap. "Sorry. I just...needed to get out of my own head."

"What?"

"It's nothing," you mumble. You wave him off and look down at your feet. "Forget it."

He makes a low, thoughtful noise, and his fingers twitch, his hand clenching and releasing a few times before he finally speaks.

"I'm familiar with the concept," he murmurs. His shoulders sag as the tension leaves him, and he leans against the bed, his back against the edge. His expression softens, and his gaze is fixed on yours. "I just don't think it's worth getting injured for."

"Yeah," you say quietly, avoiding his eyes. "Me neither."

"Listen, I know it's been rough. We've all been through a lot, but..." His voice trails off, and he runs a hand over the back of his neck. You watch as he swallows hard and looks away, his eyes searching the floor, his face tight. "Just be careful. I don't want you getting hurt. And if you need to talk..."

"Yeah," you sigh. "I know."

"I mean it," he insists, turning back to face you, his brows drawn together in concern. "You can come to me."

He pauses, his lips pressing together in a thin line, and he glances over his shoulder towards the door leading to Kix's office. When he speaks again, his voice is barely audible, so quiet that you almost miss it. "Any time."

Your heart flutters in your chest at his words, and you bite your lip, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. You can feel your cheeks warming at the look he gives you, his eyes meeting yours, a softness in them that makes your chest ache.

"Thank you."

"Any time," he echoes.

He looks up and gives you a lopsided grin, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and you can't help but grin back. Your heart is racing, and you're overcome with a sudden rush of affection for him. It doesn’t take you by surprise anymore, but it still fills you with warmth. It's a nice feeling, one that you've grown accustomed to over the past few months, and one that you find yourself craving more and more.

There's something about him, his voice, the way he looks at you, the way he cares, that makes your heart flutter. You've known him for a while now, but recently it's been stronger, more intense. You're not sure if it's because of the time the two of you have spent together lately or if it's simply the stress of war weighing on your emotions. Maybe it's because you're finally starting to see you're not alone in feeling this way, that he might care for you as much as you care for him.

Whatever it is, it's getting harder and harder to ignore. It's distracting, dangerous. And right now, in the middle of the medbay within earshot of Kix and the other patients in various states of consciousness around you, you can't afford to let yourself be distracted. Especially by Rex. Even if you wanted to. Which you don't. Definitely not. No. It's better for both of you to keep your distance.

It's safer.

It's what needs to be done.

"General," Rex says softly, bringing you back to reality, his tone cautious. He leans forward slightly and reaches out his hand as if to touch your arm, but he stops short, his fingers hovering an inch or so from your skin. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you say quickly, blinking and giving him a reassuring smile. You lean back a little and put a few inches of space between the two of you. "Just tired. Really tired."

"Okay," he replies skeptically. His brows draw together in confusion as his gaze travels over you, his eyes lingering on the bandage on your shoulder and the bruises scattered across your chest and abdomen, before settling on your face. “I just—“

"Rex," Kix calls.

Rex's hand drops to his side and he turns his head towards the office. You follow his gaze. Kix is standing in the doorway, a small paper cup in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. His brow furrows as he studies the two of you. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Rex assures him.

Kix doesn't look convinced. His gaze flickers from Rex to you and then back again. His expression turns serious. "Are you sure? Because if something's going on—"

"We're fine," Rex insists, taking a step forward and holding his hand out. "You can give me the meds. I'll get out of your hair."

"Okay," Kix says slowly.

He hesitates for a moment before walking over to Rex and placing the cup and bottle into his open palm. Rex thanks him and immediately pops a pill into his mouth, swallowing it down with the cup of water.

"Remember what I said about the dosage. You're only supposed to take one. Any more than that, and you're going to be sleeping for the next two days."

"I know," Rex grumbles. He places the cup on the table beside the bed and slides the bottle into his pocket. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Kix replies. He glances at you, a small smile tugging at his lips, and he shakes his head. "Don't let me catch you in here again. I'm going to start charging."

"I make no promises," you say with a grin.

"Figures," he sighs. He walks past Rex and heads towards the back office. "Have a good night."

"Night," Rex replies. He looks at you and clears his throat. "You coming?”

"Oh. Uh, yeah," you say quickly. You scoot to the edge of the bed and swing your legs over the side. "Where are we going?"

"We're not going anywhere," he answers. He nods towards the door. "You're going to bed. I'm going to go back to sleep. And tomorrow you're going to take it easy."

"But—"

"That was the agreement," he reminds you. He gives you a pointed look. "You promised."

"Right," you agree, hopping off the bed and landing lightly on the floor. You grab your bloody tunic from the counter and slide your arms through the sleeves. Rex watches silently as you adjust the fabric, carefully avoiding your bandaged shoulder.

He opens his mouth, and you hold up a hand. "If you tell me to take it easy, I swear—"

"You're not going to listen anyway," he sighs. "Let's just go."

"After you," you tease.

Rex shakes his head and begins walking towards the door. You fall into step behind him, your hands clasped in front of you, and the two of you slip quietly out of the medbay and into the darkened corridors beyond.

The hallway is empty save for a single trooper stationed at the end near the lift. He doesn't react as you and Rex pass him. He keeps his eyes forward, his attention focused on the empty corridor, and you follow Rex around the corner and into the next hall.

The lights are dimmed, and the soft hum of the ship's engines echoes throughout the empty passageway. The quiet is peaceful, and you feel a weight lift from your shoulders.

You glance at Rex. His gaze is straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the floor. You're tempted to reach out and try to touch his hand, but the risk of running into someone, anyone, is too high. You swallow hard and clench your fists by your side instead.

"You know," you start casually, "If you wanted to check up on me, you could've just come by."

"I don't know what you mean," he says without looking up. His voice is flat and even, and you can't help but smile at his attempt at sounding innocent.

"Come on," you coax, nudging his shoulder gently with yours, careful not to jostle the wound. "You can't fool me."

"I don't know what you mean," he repeats, his voice a little louder, but still without emotion. He turns his head, his gaze flicking up and catching yours for a brief moment before darting away. His lips twitch into a smile. "I'm just here for the painkillers."

"Yeah?" you prod. He nods once. "So, you're saying I was nothing but an afterthought, then."

"Yep," Rex agrees without missing a beat. You scoff, and he glances at you, his eyes shining mischievously in the low light. You can't help but laugh. The sound echoes through the empty hall, and he shushes you playfully, his lips twitching upward.

"What?" you whisper.

"Shh," he chuckles, pressing a finger to his lips. "You'll wake the whole ship."

"Sorry," you say, stifling another giggle, and his smile widens. You nudge him again and lower your voice further. "Thank you. For checking on me."

"Of course," he murmurs, and your heart skips a beat. You try to ignore the fluttery feeling in your stomach, but it's getting harder and harder to do as he slows his pace and falls into step beside you, his body a hair's breadth from yours.

The two of you walk in silence, stealing glances at each other as you go. The hallways are quiet and empty, and there's no one to see. There's no reason to rush. So you linger, savoring the moment, enjoying the closeness, the warmth of his presence. You feel better than you have in a long time, lighter somehow.

You look at Rex. His face is turned away, but you can see the small smile playing on his lips. It's barely there, but it's real, and you can't help the warmth that spreads through your chest at the sight. This feels right, comfortable. Safe. You can't remember the last time you felt like this.

“What?” he asks softly, his gaze flicking towards you.

You blink. You're staring at him, and you're not quite sure when that happened.

"Nothing," you mutter quickly, shaking your head and looking down at your feet, unable to hold his gaze any longer. He chuckles and bumps his shoulder against yours. You look back up, and his smile is wider now, his eyes shining with amusement. You bite your lip.

This is new. The playful teasing, the laughter, the smiles. The last time you had this much fun together was months ago, and you've missed it. A lot.

You keep walking, and he keeps pace, neither of you looking at each other, both of you pretending not to notice the other's reaction. But no matter how much you drag your feet, the moment has to end eventually. It doesn’t take long for you to reach the end of the hallway and stop in front of your door.

You turn to Rex and give him a sheepish smile. "This is my stop."

"So it is," he says quietly. His eyes flick to the door and then back to you. "I guess I should let you get some rest."

"Yeah," you agree reluctantly. "Probably a good idea."

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, neither of you wanting to leave. He takes a deep breath, his face contorting as if he's in pain, and then he lets it out and shakes his head.

"Take it easy," he tells you. He raises his eyebrows and gives you a meaningful look. "And get some sleep. That's an order."

You grin and roll your eyes. "I outrank you, you know."

"I know," he says. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're exhausted. You need to sleep." He points a finger at the door behind you. "I don't want to see you again until tomorrow afternoon. Understand?"

The commanding tone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you bite back a smile as you nod obediently.

"Fine, I'll be a good girl,” you concede playfully, batting your lashes, your voice dripping with mock innocence. You press a hand against your heart. "I promise."

His cheeks flush pink as he clears his throat, his gaze shifting away from you. You smirk, pleased with your success, and Rex huffs, his eyes narrowing when they land back on yours.

"Go to sleep," he orders sternly. "I'm serious."

"I know," you assure him, your expression sobering. "I'll try, at least."

He gives you a knowing look, and your pulse quickens, a tingling sensation spreading through your body. You're not sure what it is, but something about his proximity, the way his eyes bore into yours, makes you feel a bit dizzy. You lean against the wall and take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Only if you promise to get some sleep too,” you say finally, tilting your head slightly, a small smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "You look like shit."

He lets out a chuckle, and his eyes crinkle at the edges. "Yes, sir."

His hand lifts in a mock salute, and you laugh, a warm rush of affection filling your chest as he smiles back. He's always so serious. It's a nice change to see him like this, playful and relaxed, so clearly at ease. You wish he could always be like this. It suits him. He's always been handsome, but now, seeing him happy, carefree, it's almost impossible to look away.

You feel a pang in your chest, and your mind wanders. You wish it could last. You wish that he could stay. But it's late, and you're tired, and it's better this way. Better that he leave now before either of you do something you might regret.

You smile softly at him. "Anything else, Captain?"

"Yes," Rex replies quietly. "If you need anything—"

"I'll let you know," you finish. "I promise."

"Okay," he says, his eyes meeting yours, a look of understanding passing between the two of you. His hand brushes against yours briefly before pulling away. "Goodnight."

"Night," you sigh.

Rex gives you one last smile before turning away and heading down the hall. You watch him disappear around the corner and into the dark before you finally turn and punch the access code into the keypad beside the door. It slides open, and you step inside, the doors sliding shut behind you.

You let out a heavy sigh, your body sagging against the wall as you close your eyes. You feel lighter than you have in weeks, more at ease, and a small, contented smile plays across your lips. You're not sure how far the two of you can take this thing between you, but you're happy knowing that whatever it is, it's still here. That's enough for now.

Maybe it won't last. Maybe it will. You can't know. But right now, you can't bring yourself to care. For once, you're content to let yourself have this.

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#the clone wars #captain rex #clone captain rex #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #obi wan x reader #roy writes #they're SOOO *grabby hands*#need to c*mmission more art of them asap

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