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jetii · 22 days ago

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Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Four: Fault Lines

Chapter WC: 13,262

Chapter Tags/Warnings: this chapter is 50% awkward flirting and teasing and the other 50% is arguing and scene setting and existential dread

A/N: Point of order for military stuff that's happening in these next couple chapters: the 501st is typically referred to in canon as a battalion. I'm making some assumptions that they grow to the size of a legion by the end of the war, though they're still a battalion by the time the Umbara arc happens according to canon. Yes, it's a kids show and they play it pretty fast and loose with the terms but I can't stomach ambiguity SO! At this point, the 501st is a battalion.

A legion is the same thing as a brigade. Goldie and Booker as Senior Commander lead the 419th Brigade, which is comprised of 4 regiments or 16 battalions, or up to 9,216 troops total. Just to give you an idea of size. I spent forever building her army and naval forces, and I could keep yapping but that’s not what we’re here for lol enjoy the chapter 🫡

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Duro, 20 BBY

Duro is an industrial world, and not one you'd ever desired to visit. It's a grim, polluted planet, with few natural resources and an atmosphere thick with pollution. The factories that litter the landscape are a testament to the greed and avarice of the corporations who own them, and the few workers left to maintain them are often treated little better than slaves. The planet's only saving grace is the flotilla of orbital cities, floating above the surface, where the majority of the inhabitants live.

There's an air of desperation down here on the surface, a sense of hopelessness, and it's not hard to see why. The Duro have wrung every last drop of profit from their world, stripping it bare and leaving nothing but ruins. They're a race in decline, clinging to their fading legacy with grim determination.

The Republic has managed to maintain control of the planet with a small garrison of troops stationed at a posting called the Equatorial Communications Hub. The hub is a series of towers, each housing a relay connected to the orbital cities by a network of repulsorlift tubes. It's an ugly building that juts out like a spike amongst the ruins in the distance, its white exterior stark against the dark sky, and the Republic's flag flies proudly from the top.

You look around as your gunship flies over the factories and the crumbling buildings streaking past below. It's an eerie sight, a ghost town, and it's easy to imagine how much worse the situation could become if the Separatists gain a foothold. You can't help but think of Nadiem, the image of the burned, bombed-out buildings and the piles of rubble fresh in your mind. The same thing could happen here, if the 501st and your forces aren't successful.

"It's a damn wasteland," Wise calls out over the hum of the gunship's engines. He leans over, glancing down at the row of factories, his face pinched with distaste. "What a shithole."

"Remind me why we have to land here?" Snap asks from the copilot's seat, bracing his arm against the cockpit as the ship rocks violently. "It looks like it's gonna blow up at any secon—hey! Watch it!"

"I'm trying," Dash snaps, his eyes focused on the controls. He eases the ship around a smoking tower, narrowly avoiding a collision, and the squad lets out a collective sigh of relief. “You try flying in this mess and see how you do, okay?"

"Someone's touchy today," Screwball observes from the back of the ship. He's fiddling with his rocket launcher, inspecting the charge and checking the power level. "You get up on the wrong side of the bed, little brother?"

"Oh, fuck off," Dash mutters, and you can't help but smile as he shoots Screwball a look of annoyance that translates through his helmet. "I'm trying not to get us killed. So maybe focus on that instead of harassing me."

Screwball opens his mouth to retort, but Wise clears his throat, his voice booming over the comm.

"Enough," he commands, and the two of them fall silent. "Save it for the clankers."

Screwball nods, turning his attention back to his weapon. Dash sighs, and you reach out, resting a hand on his shoulder. He's been tense since the battle on Nadiem, the strain showing in the tightness of his shoulders and the weariness in his eyes.

He's not the only soldier who's been affected, though. The rest of the men are tired too, the months spent in and out of combat without respite having taken a toll. They're all dealing with it in their own ways, but for some, the burden has been harder to bear.

Snap is usually the most laid-back member of the squad, but you've noticed that even he has become more serious, his usual jokes and quips replaced by grim silence. Wise has been snapping at everyone, and Screwball seems to be constantly on the verge of a breakdown, oscillating between bouts of manic energy and depressive moods. And Dash...well, he's just exhausted. He's been working twice as hard to cover for his brothers, and it's not going unnoticed.

“You’re doing well,” you murmur, and Dash nods, his hands tightening on the controls. You can see the faint tremors in his fingers, the result of too many hours awake, and you sigh.

You've barely had any sleep yourself, your dreams haunted by visions of destruction and death. The images are getting clearer, more detailed, and they're becoming harder and harder to ignore. You're no closer to understanding them, and it's been an exhausting effort.

But the Force is telling you that it's important. It’s giving you the tools, the warnings, and you have to trust that it will show you the way. Even if it means sacrificing your sleep and your sanity.

And, hopefully, this time, it'll be worth it.

“Really,” you insist. You squeeze his shoulder, trying to convey the sincerity of your words. "I know it hasn't been easy, but you're doing a great job. I'm impressed."

"Thanks," he mumbles, his head dipping forward. You can't see his face, but you can sense his relief. He relaxes for a moment until the ship shudders as a gust of wind buffets it, the hull groaning in protest, and his spine stiffens. “I think I'm getting better at this flying thing.”

"I'll say," you remark, watching as he guides the ship around a towering factory billowing smoke into the air. "It's been, what, two months since you've had a crash?"

He snorts, and you know he's rolling his eyes, though he’d never do that in front of you directly.

“I’m serious,” you laugh and pat his shoulder. “Keep this up, and I might even let you fly my fighter.”

“Really?”

His head snaps towards you, and his voice is so hopeful that you can't help but smile.

You've spent a lot of time with the clones under your command over the past few months, and it's a privilege to see their personalities come to the fore, to watch them evolve into individuals, rather than just identical soldiers.

Dash has been particularly receptive to your efforts. His eagerness to learn and his natural affinity for technology has made him Maelstrom Company's de facto pilot under Snap, and the responsibility has allowed him to step out of his brothers' shadows and into his own. And as he's grown, so has his confidence. You've watched him go from a nervous, shy kid to a capable soldier, and you're proud of the progress he's made.

And he's not the only trooper who's improved. The rest of the squad have made similar strides, and you've seen them all blossom, each man finding his own niche within the 419th and discovering his strengths and weaknesses. It makes you a bit sentimental, and a lot proud. They've become more than just soldiers, and you’re well aware that you’ve grown attached, far more than you probably should be.

It's something you never expected, at least not to this extent. You'd never wanted a command of your own, never wanted to be a general, content to let Obi-Wan do all the leading and all the commanding. And the idea of being responsible for so many lives had scared you, especially considering your past. You'd had no choice in the matter, and you'd accepted your role with a sense of resignation.

But as the weeks and months had passed, you'd slowly come to realize that it wasn't the burden you'd expected. It wasn't easy, not by a long shot, and the losses and the deaths weighed heavily on you. But there was something rewarding about the work, a sense of purpose and a sense of accomplishment. You were able to help people, and make friends while doing it, and that was something you could get used to.

"Maybe," you say, giving Dash a playful smile. "We'll see."

He chuckles and returns his focus to the controls, his shoulders squared with determination. The ship shudders again, and you brace yourself against the wall as the viewport fills with a haze of grey. The men curse and complain, their voices rising over the roar of the engines, and you bite your lip, fighting the urge to snap at them.

Dash guides the ship into a sharp turn, the engines whining in protest. The turbines kick in before the ship levels out again. You all breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Sir, we’ve got movement on the ground, coming from the eastern quadrant of the city," Snap reports. A squadron of droids lumbers through the empty streets in the distance, heading towards the hub. "Looks like an entire company, at least."

You study the group, watching as the droids march in formation. They're moving quickly, and you can see the blaster bolts flashing as they fire into the windows of the surrounding buildings. Your intel suggests this part of the city has long since been abandoned, but it doesn't seem to stop the droids from continuing their attack.

"There's no civilians there, right?" you ask warily.

"No sir," Snap confirms. "All civilians were relocated to the orbital platforms, and the area was deemed secure."

"I'm going to make a low pass," Dash announces. "Check for heat signatures."

You nod, and Dash pushes the controls, dropping the ship towards the city below. He's careful in his movements, weaving between the towering shells of factories and the crumbling remnants of the city's infrastructure.

The men around you lean forward, watching intently, their eyes fixed on the droids. The gunship drops lower until its belly skims the rooftops of the lower buildings, and the droids come into focus, the dim sunlight glinting off their metal plating.

“I’m not picking up any organics," Snap reports, studying the scanner. “We should—“

The radio crackles, and a voice cuts in.

“Gunship 2899, this is 501st Captain Rex, what is your location? Over.”

The men exchange a glance, and you lean over, bracing on Dash's shoulder as you activate the comm.

"This is General Anathorn," you answer. "We are inbound to the rendezvous point. What's your status, Captain?"

“Engaging enemy forces, General,” Rex replies, his voice crackling through the speakers. “Care to join us?”

You can't help but smile, and the men chuckle, shaking their heads. You feel a flutter of excitement, the anticipation of seeing Rex again causing your heart to beat a little faster. You've missed him more than you'd ever expected, and the thought of being together, fighting side by side, it fills you with a sense of relief that’s almost staggering.

It'll be good to have him back. And even better to fight beside him.

"I think we can manage that," you answer, and Rex's answering chuckle echoes through the cabin.

Behind you is a chorus of groans and gagging noises, and you turn, glaring at the rest of the men. They pretend not to notice, staring studiously out the viewport or checking their weapons. You roll your eyes, and the comm crackles, Rex's voice ringing out once more.

"Copy that, sir," he says, his voice betraying his smile.

"See you soon, Captain," you murmur.

“Looking forward to it.”

The line cuts out in a burst of static, and you step back, trying not to look too eager. You cross your arms, clearing your throat, and turn to face the men. You can feel their barely-contained amusement through the Force, and you try to ignore the flush of heat creeping up your neck.

"Don't say a word," you warn, but it’s too late. The cabin explodes with laughter and cheers, and you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose.

It's good-natured, and they mean well, but it's still embarrassing.

You'd thought you'd been subtle in hiding your affection for Rex, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that your efforts had been futile. More than once, the men have caught you messaging and comming him, and their reactions have ranged from concern to bemusement to downright delight. They'd always seemed supportive, even approving, but their behavior as the hours counted down until your reunion has turned their teasing from gentle ribbing into outright harassment.

They were enjoying this, and you weren't sure how to feel about it. There were so many things that could go wrong, so many ways this could end badly if you decided to actually do something about the feelings you've harbored for the clone captain. So much could go wrong.

But at the same time, there was an ache inside, a longing, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore. And with the way the men were behaving, you were beginning to think it might be okay to act on those feelings. At least a little. If the opportunity arose. Maybe.

"Sir, permission to speak freely?" Screwball asks, his voice thick with laughter.

"Denied," you mutter, and the men snicker.

Snap covers his mouth, his shoulders shaking with barely-contained laughter, before his shoulders finally straighten. "What's the plan, General?"

"The plan is to land, kill every single droid in our path, and save the Republic," you answer. You cross your arms, trying to hide your embarrassment, and give them a pointed look. "Any questions?"

A few hands raise. You roll your eyes.

"Any questions not about my personal life?"

They put their hands down, and you nod.

"Good."

The gunship banks, and the men brace themselves as it drops towards the street below, weaving through buildings and dodging explosions erupting from the ground. Screwball and another trooper slide open the doors before they kneel and arm their rocket launchers, two troopers poised on either side to provide cover. You can see flashes of light in the distance, and the distinctive boom of exploding ordnance echoes through the cabin.

A group of droids rounds the corner in formation, firing at the approaching gunship. The rockets launch, streaking towards the droids, and the resulting explosion is deafening, a cloud of smoke billowing out and engulfing the street. The men cheer as the ship rockets through the plume and joins two more of your gold-painted gunships, the trio descending in a wedge formation.

“Focus on the tanks,” you order over the comms. "Scramble the fighters and begin aerial strikes. Let's try to minimize the damage."

You look out the open door and watch as the three ships separate, each flying along a different trajectory. The droids in the distance are a sea of black and gray, their blasters flashing as they return fire. You can see the blue armor of the 501st slowly advancing, the clones moving in formation and using the cover of the buildings to their advantage. Your eyes roam the field, and your breath catches as you finally catch a glimpse of the one you’re searching for.

Before you can overthink your decision, you step up to the open doors and unclip your lightsabers from your belt. A cool breeze blows past your face, ruffling your hair and tugging at the sleeves of your robes, and the scent of smoke fills your nose.

"Cover me," you order.

Screwball lets out a quiet chuckle. "You got it, sir."

He readies his rocket launcher, aiming at the nearest group of droids, and fires. The missile soars through the air, and the droids are engulfed in a flash of orange and red, the explosion rocking the ship.

You take a deep breath, centering yourself, and close your eyes. And then, you leap.

The wind rushes past your ears as you plummet, your body arcing gracefully through the air. You land in a crouch and ignite your sabers, deflecting the bolts that fly in your direction before you push out, sending a shockwave that knocks the nearest droids off their feet.

You sprint forward, closing the distance, and slash through the droids, cutting them down with a flurry of strikes. The metal parts clatter to the ground, and the droids fall, their circuits sparking and sputtering.

A gunship swoops down and fires down at the droids, and you take advantage of the distraction, sprinting through the street and cutting down the machines in your path.

“You really know how to make an entrance," a voice calls from behind you as a familiar warmth blooms in the back of your mind.

A thrill runs through you, and you turn and find Rex approaching, his pistols drawn and firing rapidly. He ducks and weaves, his shots finding their targets, and the droids collapse in a heap of scrap.

"I was trying to impress you,” you shout back. "Did it work?"

"Mission accomplished," he jokes. You block another shot, and he takes a step closer, covering your flank. The two of you stand back-to-back, a familiar position, and you can't help but grin. It's good to have him at your side again.

"You seem to be doing well," you remark as your squad disembarks from the gunships, landing in the midst of the battle. They fan out among the 501st, forming ranks and returning fire. "How are things here?"

“Just another day at the office,” Rex quips, and you snort, rolling your eyes. He takes down two droids with two precise shots and tilts his helmet toward you. “Your boys been behaving?"

"As well as can be expected," you reply. You throw your blade, impaling a droid, and it slumps to the ground. You catch the blade as it returns to your hand and twirl, deflecting a blast and slicing through another droid. "Though they've been getting a little out of hand lately."

"Out of hand, huh?" he asks. His tone is curious, but you can sense the hint of worry in the back of your mind.

"Nothing I can't handle," you assure him. "They're just teasing."

"Teasing?" he repeats, and the question is heavy with implications. "What about?"

"Nothing," you say quickly. A little too quickly. "Just...nothing."

You're saved from further questioning by a sudden barrage of blaster fire. You duck and roll behind the nearest cover, Rex following suit. You both kneel, peering around the corner. A tank sits at the center of the battlefield, firing relentlessly, and you sigh, rubbing your temples. There's a headache coming on.

"What are the odds that you're going to let me deal with the tank while you stay here?" you ask. Rex shakes his head, and you huff, unsurprised. "I didn't think so."

"No, but thanks for asking this time," he retorts, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Fine," you mumble. "Any other ideas?"

Rex gives a nod, tapping the side of his helmet. "Yeah. Just give me a minute."

His attention turns back to the battle, and you take the opportunity to study him, his armor and the lines of his helmet. The familiar jaig eyes emblazoned on the front of his helmet are freshly painted, the only similarity between this set of armor and his old one besides the blue pauldron.

You’ve grown used to seeing the phase two clone armor among your troops, but to see it on him feels strange. It's a reminder that the war has changed, and that the men, the clones, are evolving too.

But despite the new armor and the fresh paint, it's still him. Still Rex. You can feel his presence, his mind, his emotions. And you can feel his affection, a warmth in his aura that radiates from him and seeps into your own. He's clearly happy to see you, and the knowledge of it eases the doubts in your mind, soothing the fears you've harbored.

The war has taken its toll, but he's still here, and he's still yours.

Rex notices your stare and turns towards you, a question in the tilt of his head. You don't bother to hide the fact that you're looking him over, and he clears his throat.

"What?" he asks, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

You reach out and touch the side of his helmet, your thumb running along the line where the old fascia plating meets the new. Rex goes still with a slight intake of breath, his hands tightening around his blasters.

"This looks good," you tell him as your hand drifts down, touching the side of his chest plate over his ribs. There's another welded seam where the plastoid plates are joined, the edges smooth and polished. "Did you weld this yourself?"

"Yeah, uh, yeah. I did," he answers, his voice strained. He shifts slightly under your scrutiny, his emotions fluttering like a bird caught in a net. "Too attached to the old look, I guess."

"Well, I'm glad you're still you," you tease as your hand falls back to the hilt of your lightsaber. You shrug a shoulder and turn, looking out over the field. “I’ll miss the old pauldron, though.”

Rex lets out a huff of laughter, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“You can try to stab me again, leave your mark on this one too," he jokes, gesturing to the blue pauldron jutting out from his shoulder. "If it'll make you feel better."

"Don't tempt me."

Before either of you can say anything more, a sudden blast erupts. The ground shudders as the tank's shell explodes, sending a plume of smoke into the air. You both turn and peer around the edge of your cover, and you're surprised to find a crater where the tank once stood, its metal shell shredded and its engines smoking.

"Huh," you mutter. "Guess we don't have to do anything after all."

"Looks like the boys are enjoying themselves," Rex chuckles, nodding towards the group of 501st and the 419th as they charge the droids. "We should probably get in there."

"Right behind you, Captain," you reply, and the two of you emerge from cover.

You leap across the street, and the battle is on. The droids are already scrambling to regroup, but their efforts are futile. Your squads close ranks, firing on the enemy with practiced precision. At your side, Rex picks off the stragglers while you deflect the bolts that fly in his direction, using the Force and your blades to guide their trajectory away from his armor.

Within minutes, the field is littered with metal parts and smoking wreckage. The 501st cheer as they take down the final droid, and you sheathe your lightsabers, watching the men celebrate.

Rex holsters his blasters and leans against the pile of debris, breathing heavily. His helmet tilts towards you, and a breathless laugh escapes his lips as you join him, resting your back against the same chunk of rock. The two of you look out over the field, the silence broken by the occasional burst of cheering and laughter.

"It's good to see you," he says softly.

"It's good to see you too," you reply, your tone fond, and you reach out and lay a hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he answers. He lifts his hand, his fingers curling around yours. "Just tired."

“Liar,” you tease, giving him a small smile, and he huffs a laugh.

"Maybe a little," he admits. Rex's thumb traces a small circle on the back of your hand, and you lean closer, pressing your shoulder against his. "Things have been rough lately. I've missed having you around."

"Yeah," you agree. You turn towards him, and the two of you face each other, the silence heavy with words unsaid. "Me too."

The moment stretches, and Rex's free hand reaches up and removes his helmet, tucking it under his arm. His blond hair is damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes are tired, but the affection in them is unmistakable. It's a look you're familiar with, and the sight of it never fails to make your heart skip a beat.

"So," he begins, his mouth curving into a smile. "You want to tell me what's going on with your boys?"

You groan and close your eyes, and Rex chuckles, shaking his head. You can feel his eyes on you, studying your face, and you can't help but flush a little under the intensity of his gaze.

"Is it that bad?" he asks, and you can hear the concern in his voice. "Is someone giving you trouble? Booker should know better."

"It's not like that," you say, opening your eyes and meeting his. He frowns, his expression thoughtful, and you sigh. "I'll tell you later. We've got work to do."

"If you're sure," he says, his brow furrowing.

"I'm sure," you insist, and you push off the wall. The rest of the troops are approaching, the 501st and 419th converging in the middle of the field. Your men greet their brothers, and a small crowd forms, the 501st exchanging handshakes and friendly ribbing with your men. Fives is among them, and he greets the members of the 419th like they're old friends, clapping them on the back and laughing.

You're happy to see the camaraderie between the two squads, and it's nice to see the 501st mingling with your troops. Rex is at the center of it all, trying to maintain some semblance of order, but his attempts are halfhearted at best. He's smiling, a wide grin, and you can't help but stare.

The 419th had never gotten much interaction with the rest of the army before, and it had made for a lonely experience. You've been in the Outer Rim for over three months, trudging through jungles and swamps and the occasional desert. But rarely have you done so with another army nearby. You'd often wondered if the isolation was on purpose, or if the 419th had simply fallen through the cracks. Whatever the case, the result had been the same, and you're grateful that the situation has changed.

You watch them all with a small smile, your thumb and forefinger pressed to the bridge of your nose in an attempt to stave off the headache building in your skull.

It's going to be a long afternoon.

"General!" Fives calls, catching your attention. He waves at you with a bright grin. "Over here!"

You roll your eyes, but join him anyway, the others clearing a path for you. The men stand to attention as you approach, and Fives gives a lazy salute.

"Good to see you, sir," he greets. "Been awhile."

"At ease," you tell him, and the men relax, dropping their hands. You give his shoulder a pat. "How are things? Everyone holding up?"

"We're hanging in there," Fives answers. You tilt your head, trying to get a read on his emotions, and he seems...happy, his aura calm and unbothered. You're relieved. Fives has had a rough go of things lately, and you're happy to see him looking well.

"Good. We're glad to have you," you say.

"We're glad to have you too, sir. We missed you," he replies. There's a teasing note to his voice, and his grin widens, his eyes glittering with mischief. He glances at Rex. "Some of us more than others."

There's a chorus of snickers, and you fight the urge to groan as Rex stiffens. The teasing has officially begun.

"Thanks, Fives," you mutter, and he just shrugs, unfazed by the dryness of your tone. Rex, on the other hand, is practically radiating embarrassment. It's kind of cute.

"Hey, no problem, sir," Fives replies, a cocky smirk on his lips. He steps forward, and a low, conspiratorial murmur fills the space. "He's been insufferable, by the way."

Rex's face pinches in annoyance. "Fives."

"He's been moping, sir," Fives continues, ignoring his captain. "He wouldn't stop complaining about the comm traffic."

"Fives." Rex's tone is a warning, and Fives turns, raising his hands in surrender.

"Hey, I'm just trying to help," he defends.

"Well, stop helping," Rex snaps. The 419th all exchange knowing looks, the 501st snickering amongst themselves, and he sighs. "Let's just...get back to work, shall we?"

"Yes, sir," Fives responds, and he shoots you a wink. "We'll see you later, General."

He gives a quick salute and turns on his heel, marching off with the rest of the 501st. They break apart, the clones heading towards their various squads and companies, and Rex gives you one final look before heading off to rejoin them. You can't help but watch him walk away, and the men of the 419th all chuckle, nudging each other and smirking.

"Get moving," you order, and they salute, heading towards the command post and their assigned duties. You sigh and follow after them, wondering how many times you can repeat the same words before they'll listen.

As the two armies make the trek toward the hub, the city stretches out around you, a sea of gray buildings and smoke-belching factories. The sun is low in the sky, and the air is filled with the haze of pollution, a thick blanket of smog hanging low over the buildings.

It's a depressing sight, and you can't help but notice the destruction. Broken windows and scorched walls, shattered glass and twisted metal, and the occasional skeleton of a destroyed tank or an abandoned transport. It's a graveyard, and the thought causes a sharp pang in your chest. This planet was already dying, and the war is only accelerating the process.

The Republic and the Separatists are little better than the corporations that have stripped Duro bare. They've come to pillage and plunder, to take what they can and leave nothing behind. And they're destroying a planet that was already struggling. A planet that could have been saved, had they been wiser.

But these are thoughts for another day.

You're tired, and your mind is foggy, the exhaustion of the past weeks catching up to you. You're still feeling the effects of the visions, the strain of using the Force and the toll of the sleepless nights, and it's hard to focus. Your steps are sluggish, and the ache in your head has returned, a dull throb behind your eyes.

The men notice, of course, and they give you concerned glances. Without speaking, Snap drops back and takes Booker's usual place at your side. The two of you fall in step, and he clears his throat.

"The rest of the men just arrived at the hub," he says quietly, his hand finding your elbow, steadying you. "I had Dash fly ahead. He said the comms are a mess. Apparently there was some kind of power failure earlier today, and they haven't been able to restore service. He thinks the Separatists are jamming the signal to the flotillas."

"And the fleet," you guess, and he nods. You sigh. You're starting to regret the lack of sleep. You'd been so focused on the mission, trying to compensate for Booker’s absence, and now, you're paying the price. You stifle a yawn, blinking the exhaustion away. "How are Anakin and Ahsoka?"

"Eager to get started," Snap answers. He guides you around a piece of debris, careful not to jostle you too much. "They want to start a recon mission tonight."

"Of course they do." You rub your eyes and lean further into his hold. "I don't know about you, but I could use some rest before we go chasing after any more droids."

"Agreed, sir," Snap replies, his grip tightening on your elbow. "Let's take it easy, okay?"

"Okay."

It's quiet, and you can tell the men are listening in, even as they try to pretend otherwise. Their concern is almost stifling, their auras full of worry and affection, and it's hard not to be overwhelmed.

You know that they care about you. It's not a new realization. But it's still a strange feeling, being surrounded by people who are invested in your wellbeing. You'd only just recently gotten used to Booker's constant worrying, his hovering and the way he seemed to know your moods better than you did. And now, he's not here, and the role has been passed on to Snap, who seems to have taken it upon himself to be your self-appointed caretaker.

You can't really blame him. You know you haven't been yourself lately, and the fact that you've been neglecting your own health is something you can't ignore.

It's just hard to remember, sometimes.

"Wise said he has something for you, if you want," Snap tells you. "For the headache."

"He always does," you sigh. You glance up at him, studying his expression, and he tilts his head, waiting patiently. "Is he mad?"

"He's Wise," Snap says, and you can't help but snort. That's a yes. "He'll get over it."

"He's worried about you," Screwball chimes in from behind you. "He always is. That's just how he is."

"I'm fine," you protest. They both gives you pointed looks, and you relent, sighing. "Okay. Maybe not fine. But I will be."

"You should have said something sooner," Screwball scolds, and the men around him nod. "We could have helped."

"I know," you admit.

You're not sure what else to say. They've given up so much for you already. You're not sure how to tell them that they've already done more than you could ever ask for. They've followed every order, every command. They've trusted your judgment, even though it's led to countless close calls and far too many brushes with death. They've taken your extra training in stride without complaint. And they've become more than soldiers. They're your friends, and you know how lucky you are.

"It's just a headache," you tell him. "Nothing to worry about."

Screwball doesn't look convinced, but Snap gives him a stern look, the two of them having some kind of silent conversation. They share a nod, and Screwball falls back, rejoining the others. Snap releases his grip on your elbow and slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

"Come on," he mutters. "Almost there.”

Your men are quiet for the rest of the journey, and the streets are empty, save for a stray droid here and there. The clones make quick work of them without you ever having to raise a hand, and by the time you reach the command post, the sun is low in the sky.

The hub is a massive building, a spiked tower rising above the surface of the city. It's an ugly mixture of modern utilitarian architecture and the ancient style of Duro's long-forgotten civilization, a reminder of a forgotten past, and the sight fills you with a sense of foreboding as you approach. The repulsorlifts connecting the hub to the flotillas have been shuttered, and the building looms, dark and ominous, against the setting sun.

Rex leads the way up the ramp and into the building, the rest of the men following close behind. You hang back, your gaze fixed on the tower. It feels as though the atmosphere itself is holding its breath, the air heavy with anticipation.

The door hisses open, and you turn, following the others inside.

The interior of the building is dark and gloomy, the hallways lit only by dim, flickering lights. The walls are bare metal, and the floors are lined with cables and conduits snaking through the corridor. It's a labyrinthine structure of hallways and empty rooms, and it takes you a moment to get your bearings.

Snap stays close, a silent sentinel at your side as the others form up around you. The two of you keep an eye on Rex’s back as you walk, and you can see him glance over his shoulder every so often in your direction as if checking to make sure you’re still there. You meet his gaze each time and give him a reassuring smile.

You walk until the hallway branches off, a makeshift sign directing toward the medbay the Republic has set up in the lower levels. Snap slows to a stop and nudges your arm.

“I’m gonna go talk to Wise and see if he has anything for your headache," he says. He pauses and glances at the group ahead of you. "You'll be okay?"

"Yes, Snap," you sigh, and he narrows his eyes and turns his head, cupping a hand over the side of his mouth.

“Hey Rex,” Snap calls out. Rex stills, the rest of the squad following suit. "I'm going to see if the Chief has anything for our General. Think you can keep her out of trouble until I get back?"

“Snap,” you hiss. He shrugs and turns back, a smug smirk on his face. You shake your head. "I'm fine."

Rex chuckles and turns, his expression playful.

"I think I can manage," he replies, and Snap gives him a salute, disappearing down the hallway. You're left standing awkwardly in the middle of the corridor, the remaining members of the 419th giving you curious looks. You roll your eyes and start walking.

"I should be offended by that," you mutter as Rex falls into step beside you, letting Fives take the lead.

"Nah," he replies. "It's good. They're just looking out for you."

"They're treating me like I'm fragile," you grumble.

"They're treating you like a sister," Rex corrects. He tilts his head towards the men, his voice soft. "Which isn't too far off."

"You're not helping," you grumble. You give him a sidelong glance, and he shrugs. "I can't believe they're doing this."

"I can," he retorts. His voice is gentle, and his eyes are bright. "You deserve it. And honestly, I'm glad. After the last time we saw each other—"

"Let's not talk about that," you interrupt, and he gives a quiet huff. "Please."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to," you mutter. Rex gives you a skeptical look, and you sigh. "It's just...I'm not sure how to...talk about it."

"Then we won't," he agrees. He's silent for a moment, and you can feel him studying your face. "For now."

"Thanks," you whisper, and he hums.

You walk in silence after that. You're acutely aware of Rex's presence next to you, the familiarity of his mind. It's comforting, and you're reminded again how much you've missed him. Even his emotions, which are often tumultuous, are a comfort. They're warm and affectionate, and they fill the space around you, wrapping you in a soft blanket.

It's nice. But it's also incredibly distracting.

By the time the squad emerges from the hallway, you're a jumbled mess of emotion. You're tired, and your head is pounding, and the last thing you need is another round of teasing. But with Anakin, you know there's no chance of avoiding it.

The rest of the clones disperse, and you and Rex continue on through the command center, a large, open space with the ceiling extending far overhead. There are catwalks lining the upper floors, and a series of computer consoles are arranged in neat rows, each console manned by a clone or a droid.

Rex leads you towards a raised dais with a holotable in the center of the room. Anakin and Ahsoka are there, along with several other members of the 501st, including Jesse. The trooper stands to the side, his arms crossed, and he greets Rex with a curt nod before his eyes slide over to you. A slight smile touches his lips, and it only widens when he takes in how close Rex is hovering next to you.

You roll your eyes. You're not sure why you assumed he'd be any less insufferable than the others. Jesse had been the one to tell you, explicitly, that Rex was in love with you, but he'd done so with such a straight face and had been so unflappable in the aftermath that it was hard to imagine him still teasing you about the potential relationship.

But apparently his patience and self-control were only a ruse, and he was just as bad as the rest of the men. You can only imagine what Rex had to endure in your absence.

Ahsoka looks up and meets your gaze, her expression shifting from frustration to relief as you and Rex ascend the steps. You're struck by how different she looks, her blue eyes still bright and full of life, but her expression older, her features sharper, and her aura heavier. She's grown since the last time you saw her, and the war has left its mark.

Still, though, she smiles just as brightly as ever, her excitement and happiness radiating through the Force. She darts around the holotable and embraces you in a hug.

"Master Anathorn," she exclaims, her voice muffled against your shoulder. You laugh and return the hug, giving her a squeeze. "It's so good to see you."

"Good to see you, too," you reply, and you step back, taking her in. "You've gotten taller."

"Have I?" she asks, her eyes crinkling.

"You have," you confirm.

She glances over her shoulder at her master, and you follow her gaze. Anakin is leaning against the holotable, his arms crossed. His gaze is fixed on the map, but he's clearly listening to the conversation. He looks older too, his hair slightly longer, his eyes a bit more tired, but there's still a spark of mischief in his gaze. He meets your eyes and gives a small, almost imperceptible smile, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Took you long enough.”

"Nice to see you too, Anakin," you sigh.

"Glad to have you back, Goldie," he replies, breaking out into a grin. He rounds the table and approaches, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and giving you a squeeze before he steps away. You grimace, and Ahsoka snickers.

"I forgot how much I hated that nickname," you grumble. "Any chance you'll stop calling me that?"

"Not likely," Anakin replies easily. You shake your head and glance at Rex, who's watching the exchange with a mix of bemusement and annoyance.

Anakin follows your gaze, trailing down to where Rex is still hovering on the step behind you, his hand balanced on the railing next to your hip. You can't help but notice how close he is, his armor almost brushing your back. Anakin arches a brow and smirks.

"Captain," Anakin greets. "You're late."

"Sorry, sir," Rex replies, his voice tight. He hesitates, glancing down at his hand, and shifts back, clearing his throat and tucking his hand behind his back. "We were delayed."

"Oh? By what?"

Rex clears his throat. "Droids."

"We were fighting your battles for you, evidently," you add with a glare. You're not sure what game Anakin is playing, but you don't like it, and the urge to defend Rex is too strong to ignore. "You could have at least mentioned that we had a Separatist blockade to deal with. Or did you forget about us?"

"We didn't forget about you," Ahsoka interjects quickly. She gives her master a look, and he holds up his hands, his expression innocent. "We're glad you made it."

"Thank you, Ahsoka," you say. You glance at Anakin and scowl. "It's nice to know some people have manners."

Anakin just smirks. Ahsoka sighs and turns, and Rex falls into step beside you as the four of you crowd around the table. There’s a brief, featherlight touch on the small of your back, a flash of gratitude in the Force, and the contact sends a shiver up your spine. You give him a sidelong look and find his expression is carefully neutral, his gaze focused on the holomap. His fingers twitch against the hilt of his blaster.

"Okay, well, let's get started," Anakin says, turning his attention back to the holotable. He waves a hand over the display, and a series of images and data files appear. "The Separatists have managed to cut off communications from the flotilla and are jamming our transmissions to the fleet. We need to get the signals back up, and soon."

He pauses, his gaze moving over the gathered group.

"Our intelligence suggests the Separatists are using a signal jammer located somewhere in the city," Anakin continues, pointing near the hub. "We’re guessing it’s a distraction while they prepare for their assault on the shield generators. It's only a matter of time before they start launching an offensive."

"And we can't let that happen," Ahsoka adds. She crosses her arms and leans against the table, her eyes narrowed. "The shield generators are located at the north and south poles of the planet. One is in the center of the capital city, and the other is on the edge of a small farming settlement. The Separatists are planning on attacking both at the same time."

"If they manage to destroy the generators, the shields will fail," Anakin says, a scowl forming on his face. "And once the shields go down, they'll launch their ships. And we'll be in big trouble."

"We'll have to divide our forces, split up," Rex says, and Anakin nods. "One group can take out the signal jammers, and the other two can protect the shield generators."

"Ahsoka is going to lead a team to find the location of the jamming device," Anakin says, nodding to the Padawan. He turns back to you just as Snap arrives, carrying a bottle of water and a small packet. "Goldie, how many men did you bring?"

"Three regiments, sir," Snap answers for you as he passes you the water and painkillers. You give him a grateful look and down the pills, chasing them with a sip of water. "A little over six thousand. They're ready to move out, just waiting on your orders."

"That's good. We're going to need them," Anakin says, and his eyes slide to Rex. "Rex, take the rest of the 501st with Goldie to the northern generator. I'll take two regiments to the south and rendezvous with Ahsoka when she’s finished."

"Understood, sir," Rex replies. He looks over at you and tilts his helmet in your direction. "What do you think, General?"

You study the hologram, and your gaze settles on the capital city, a collection of buildings and factories arranged in a circular pattern. A thick wall surrounds the city, and the shield generator is placed in the center, the structures surrounded by a complex network of defense cannons and guard towers.

To be honest, you're not thinking much of anything. Your head is pounding, and your thoughts are slow and fuzzy. But Rex is looking at you expectantly, and the rest of the group are waiting, so you force yourself to speak.

"It's going to be difficult," you say. You lean against the table, bracing yourself. "But we can do it. My only concern is Grievous' fleet. Our ships can’t hold him off forever.”

"We can't worry about them right now," Anakin says. "Our priority is keeping the Separatists from taking the shields down."

"Agreed," you sigh. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to ease the ache in your head. "Alright. We'll go north. We should try to reach the generator before the droids arrive."

"Copy that, sir," Rex says, and he raises a hand, signaling the troops. "Let's move out."

You nod at Snap, and he does the same, passing the message on to the troopers nearby to take to the regimental commanders. You push away from the table and turn, stepping away as the room bursts into a flurry of activity. Rex is by your side instantly, his hand finding your arm and guiding you down the stairs. You don't resist, letting him lead, and his grip tightens, a reassuring squeeze.

"Are you alright?" he asks quietly. You shake your head, and he sighs, a sympathetic rumble in the back of his throat. "How bad is it?"

"Not too bad," you lie.

"Liar," he accuses. You let out a soft laugh, a small, strained noise that makes his brow furrow. "What do you need?"

"Some time alone," you murmur. "It's...hard, having so many people around."

"Okay," he says. "Can you hold on a bit longer? Just until we can get somewhere private?"

You nod, and he leads you through the bustling crowd, weaving between the troopers as they gather their gear and prepare for the mission. The room is alive with movement, the buzz of voices, and the clatter of armor and weapons. But you hardly notice. You keep your eyes down, focusing on the ground beneath your feet and the feeling of Rex's hand on your arm. It's comforting, grounding, and it's all you can do not to cling to him, to use him as an anchor.

It doesn't take long for him to find a quiet corner, tucked behind a stack of crates and out of sight. It's an out of the way alcove, dark and cool, and the noise fades into a distant murmur.

Rex pulls you to a stop, and you take a deep breath, closing your eyes and letting your head fall forward. You can feel his worry, his concern, but he stays quiet, giving you the space you need.

He's always been good at that, at knowing what you need, even if you can't put it into words. It's something you've come to appreciate. Especially now, with the noise and the lights and the overwhelming press of his mind.

You let the Force flow through you, washing over you and clearing the fog from your thoughts. The painkillers kick in, and the sharp stabbing pain in your skull fades, leaving behind a dull ache. You focus on your breathing, on the beat of your heart, and the chaos around you begins to recede, replaced by a sense of calm.

When you finally open your eyes, Rex is standing next to you, his gaze fixed on your face. You give him a small smile, a slight curve of your lips that does little to reassure him.

"I'm okay," you tell him, and his jaw tenses, his brow furrowing.

"You're not," he counters, his voice low and soft.

"No," you concede. "But I will be. It's not the first time."

"It wasn't like this before," he says. "Is it—"

"No," you answer before he can finish. You know what he's going to ask, and you don't want him to. "It's not."

“Seems like it is,” Rex insists, his eyes searching yours. You sigh and rub your temples, your shoulders slumping. He's right. It's hard to argue. But the visions are still a raw, open wound. The memories too fresh, the feelings too raw.

You can't talk about it.

"I just need a minute," you whisper.

"Okay," he murmurs, and he steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. You feel his absence like a cold breeze, and a wave of frustration washes over you.

It's not fair how much you want him. It's not fair how close he is, and yet how far away. It's not fair—the war, and the rules, and the fear. You're tired of being afraid. Tired of keeping your distance. Tired of wondering if this is the moment everything comes crashing down. It's too much. You're so, so tired.

Without thinking, you close the gap, wrapping your arms around Rex’s waist and burying your face in his chest plate. You can feel his surprise, his hesitation, and the sudden spike of anxiety. But he doesn't push you away. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you closer and guiding you both deeper into the shadows, his grip tightening as the room continues to buzz with activity.

It's risky, the two of you so exposed. Anyone could see, anyone could walk by and catch you in each other's arms, but you don't care. The fear is a distant echo, buried under the exhaustion and the need to feel his body pressed against yours.

You can hear his heart pounding, the rhythm of his breathing, and the soft exhale as he rests his chin atop your head, his body molding to yours. You breathe him in, the scent of his armor, the clean smell of his skin, and the subtle spice of his aftershave. It's comforting and familiar, and it soothes the ache in your chest.

"It's not that bad," you murmur, and Rex scoffs, his grip on you tightening. "It's not."

"No. Of course not," he mutters. His cheek presses against the top of your head, his hand stroking your back. "That's why you're hiding."

"I'm not hiding," you retort, your voice muffled by his chest plate. He chuckles, and you sigh, leaning against him. "Fine. I'm hiding."

"It's okay," he whispers. "You can hide here."

"Thank you," you murmur, and his hand cups the back of your head, his thumb running over the skin of your neck.

"You're welcome," he replies. He pauses, and you can feel the hesitancy radiating through the Force, the weight of his thoughts. You wait, and eventually he speaks. "Are we okay?”

You know what he's asking. It's the same question that's been haunting you since you admitted you want more. It's the same question that's been plaguing your mind, keeping you awake, and torturing you with doubt. Are you okay? Are the two of you okay? Can things go back to the way they were? Or is this something that will change everything?

"I don't know," you admit. "I want us to be."

"Me too," he whispers.

"Then we will be," you promise. You close your eyes and rest your head against his chest, savoring the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms. "We'll figure it out."

"Yeah," he murmurs, his grip tightening, holding you close. You sigh and close your eyes, letting yourself relax. "Yeah, we will."

You stand there for a long time, just holding each other. Eventually, Rex pulls back, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

“What’s going on with you? You don't seem like yourself." He tilts his head and brushes a stray hair out of your face, his voice soft. "Is this about the vision? You can talk to me, you know."

“It’s not about the vision,” you reply, and when his face turns skeptical, you sigh. “It’s not. It’s just a headache.”

“Have you talked to the Chief?"

"Of course I've talked Wise," you grumble. Rex frowns.

"Then why do I have the feeling you're not telling me the whole truth?" He tilts his head, his brow furrowed, his concern bleeding through the Force. "There's something you're not telling me. What is it?"

"Wise said that I'm probably just tired," you deflect. Rex arches a brow, his expression dubious. "It's just a side effect. And the lack of sleep isn't helping."

“A side effect of what?”

“I…”

"Side effect of what?" he repeats, lower this time. You pull away from his grasp, and Rex’s eyes narrow, his hands dropping to his sides. You can see the muscles in his jaw flexing, the frustration radiating off of him in waves. "Please don't tell me that it's nothing. Not again. Not this time."

"You're gonna be mad," you warn, and he shakes his head, his expression tight.

"Probably," he concedes. He lets out a breath and steps closer, his gaze locked on yours. "But I'm not going to stop worrying. So please, just tell me what's wrong."

You swallow and look away, biting the inside of your cheek. You shouldn't have said that. But you know that he'll see right through any lie you could possibly come up with, and, honestly, you don't have the energy for it.

You glance over your shoulder, scanning the crowd, but there's no sign of anyone paying attention to the two of you. Even so, you take his hand and lead him further into the darkness, until the two of you are hidden completely, a pile of crates blocking the view.

You take a deep breath and brace yourself, meeting his gaze.

“I healed someone on Nadiem. A child, with a serious brain injury," you confess. "It was...extremely taxing."

You watch as Rex’s expression shifts from suspicion to shock, his eyes widening. He takes a step back, his hands clenched at his sides, his mouth working, but no words coming out. After a moment, he just shakes his head and sighs.

"Of course you did," Rex says, his voice rough. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, a look of pain crossing his face. "When?"

"Not long before our last conversation," you admit. He curses, and you wince. "Rex, it wasn't—"

"It was," he cuts in, his voice tight. His jaw tenses, and he turns away, running a hand over his face. He mutters something under his breath, and the frustration in the Force is almost tangible.

You can't help but notice how tired he looks, his face lined with stress and exhaustion, his eyes heavy with dark circles. He looks haunted. Like he hasn't slept in days. Or weeks. You're not sure which, and the realization is painful.

You reach out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he flinches. His head jerks up, his eyes finding yours, and he takes a step back, his expression guarded.

"Rex," you urge softly. "Talk to me."

"I just..." he trails off, his gaze drifting away. He sighs, his shoulders drooping, and he leans back against the crates. "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't put yourself in danger like that. And you...you still did."

"It was an emergency, Rex," you say, your tone a mixture of exasperation and fondness. You take his hand and squeeze, and his fingers curl around yours. "Besides, it was…different this time. Yeah, my head hurts, but the way that it felt? I've never felt anything like it. It was incredible. I felt more in control than I ever have. The pain wasn't as bad, and the drain wasn't as severe."

Rex gives you a sidelong glance and tilts his head. "Why is that?"

"I don't know. I have a theory, but it's..."

"What?" he prods, his brow furrowing. He straightens up, and the curiosity is written all over his face. "You think you might have finally learned how to control the Force, right?"

"Yes," you confirm. You smile at him and step closer, your hands moving to his shoulders. “I trusted the Force, and it guided me. And it worked. Better than it ever has. The kid just walked out of the medbay the next morning, completely healed. It was a miracle, Wise said."

Rex frowns and glances away, his brows drawn together. He's silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the ground. When he speaks, his voice is soft.

"It doesn't change anything," he says, and you scoff, dropping your hands to your sides.

"It changes everything," you argue, and he shakes his head.

"Not if it puts you in danger."

"It was worth the risk, Rex," you say, and he huffs.

"Not to me."

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain calm. It's hard. Your emotions are bubbling up, threatening to boil over, and you're not sure what to do. You're angry, and frustrated, and hurt, and you can feel his anger too, and his fear. But there's something else, something deeper. There's a vulnerability there, an aching loneliness, and you can't bear to let it fester.

"Why?" you ask. "Why does it bother you so much? You know what I can do, Rex. It's not like this is the first time."

He shakes his head, his eyes dark. "It's not about the Force."

"Then what?"

"You," he says. His voice is rough, and his eyes are bright, burning with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "It's about you. You're always pushing yourself too far, putting yourself in the line of fire, and not caring about the consequences. That's what bothers me. You're so focused on saving everyone else that you don't realize you're going to get yourself killed. Or worse."

You take a breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I can't help it, Rex," you say, and his face twists, his mouth pressing into a thin line. "I can't turn it off. And I'm not going to apologize for trying to save lives. And, frankly, I'm getting tired of hearing about it. So, for once, can we not do this?"

"Not do what?" he asks, his voice rising. "Be concerned about you? Or worried about the possibility that you might not make it through the war? No, we can't not do that. Because that's my reality."

"That's not fair," you protest, and he shakes his head, pushing off the crate and stepping forward, closing the distance between the two of you in one stride.

"Neither is expecting me to be okay with the fact that you're constantly throwing yourself into danger," Rex says, his voice sharp. He leans closer, and the air between you seems to crackle, the Force rippling with energy. "Or worse, not even tell me about it."

"It's not that simple, and you know it," you hiss, and Rex shakes his head, his eyes blazing. "I can't—"

"Yes, it is," he insists, his tone firm.

"No, it's not," you retort. "You don't understand what it's like to have this power, to have the ability to help people, and not use it."

"And you don't understand what it's like to have to stand by, helpless, while the person I—" He cuts himself off, and his expression turns stricken. He takes a deep breath, swallowing hard, and continues, "The person I care about risks her life. Over and over again."

"I do," you argue. The anger coursing through you, hot and bright, burns through your veins, but you fight to keep it at bay. You fight to keep your voice down, even though the urge to do something, anything, is threatening to break free. "I do understand. Because that's what it's like for me too."

"It's different," he insists, and you can't help but roll your eyes. "It is."

"How?"

"Because it is," he snaps, his frustration seeping through the Force. "You're the Jedi. I'm just a clone."

"Don't," you warn, your voice low. The anger is replaced with a sharp pang of hurt, a deep, piercing ache that leaves you reeling. "Don't even start with that."

The two of you fall silent, breathing hard. Rex stares at you, his eyes wild, his expression a mix of frustration and pain. He looks at you, really looks, and the weight of his gaze is almost unbearable. You can't meet his eyes, so instead you stare at his chest, your heart pounding. You're shaking, and you're not sure if it's from the rage or the pain.

Rex is right, though. It is different. Your life is worth more than his, and the knowledge of it sits heavy in your chest. It's a bitter truth. An awful, painful realization that has been slowly eating away at you since the day you first met him, met all the clones. They were never meant to survive. In the eyes of the Republic, he's expendable, a replaceable cog in the machine of war.

And you hate it. You hate that the galaxy has so little regard for their lives. You hate that the Jedi Order has allowed the clones to be used like this. You hate that, no matter how much you try, no matter how much effort you put into saving their lives, it will never be as important as saving your own. And most of all, you hate that Rex knows it, too.

You close your eyes, trying to regain control, but the anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface. The ache in your chest is a physical pain, and it takes every ounce of strength not to lash out, to throw the boxes at his feet, to send them flying into the wall. To shatter the silence with a blast of power that would leave the entire room shaking.

But you can't. You can't risk it. The only thing keeping you grounded, keeping you from losing control, is Rex. The warm press of his mind, the familiar hum of his Force signature. It's the only thing keeping the darkness at bay. You cling to it, holding tight.

"Fine," Rex sighs, and he runs a hand over his head, his expression resigned. "But that doesn't mean it's not true."

"It's not true," you whisper. He raises an eyebrow, and you shake your head, the anger fading, replaced by a desperate, aching sadness. "I won't let it be true. I can't. Rex, you're—you're more than just a clone. To me. You have to know that."

"I know," he admits, his voice soft. He closes his eyes, and his shoulders slump. "I do. But that doesn't change anything."

"No," you agree. You swallow, the ache in your chest spreading. "I suppose it doesn't."

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, the air heavy with the weight of your words. You can feel the pain, the guilt, and the sorrow radiating off him. And you know it's not going to get any easier. Not anytime soon.

You're exhausted, too tired to keep the fires of your rage burning, and every second passes leaves you feeling colder than the last. You don't have the energy to keep arguing, to keep trying to convince him that you're doing the right thing. Or that it's going to be okay. The truth is, you're not sure if it is. But you have to believe.

So instead, you reach for him, and Rex lets out a shuddering breath before he meets you halfway. Your arms wrap around his neck as you pull him into your arms, his chest plate pressing against yours, his arms encircling your waist, and he buries his face in your neck. You close your eyes and let him lean into you, his body curling around yours.

"Why are we doing this?" Rex asks, his voice a rough whisper. You can feel his lips move against the skin of your neck, his breath tickling the hairs at the nape. You shiver, and he presses closer, his fingers digging into your back.

"Doing what?" you murmur.

"Arguing," he answers. "We shouldn't be doing this. Not now. We should be...we should be celebrating, or...or doing something. Anything."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," he mutters. You pull back, looking up at him, and his expression is pained, his jaw clenched. "I just know it's not what I want. Is it—is it what you want?"

"Well, you know I do enjoy a good argument," you quip, trying to lighten the mood, and Rex gives you a deadpan look. You sigh and rest your forehead against his chest, closing your eyes. "No, it's not what I want."

"Me neither," he admits, and he lets out a shaky breath, his hand cupping the back of your head. "We've barely spoken for months, and the first thing we do is fight. Why are we fighting?"

"Because we're stubborn.”

"I'm stubborn," he corrects. "You're impossible."

"Oh, come on," you huff. "I'm not that bad."

"Worse," he counters, a smile tugging at his lips. "Definitely worse."

You kick his boot with the toe of yours as you glare up at him, and he gives a small laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You can't help but notice the way his eyes shine in the dim light, the hint of mischief and warmth, and you feel the last bit of anger fade away, replaced by a familiar sense of affection.

"Rex," you whisper.

"Yeah?"

"I missed you."

"I missed you too," he murmurs, his thumb moving gently near the spot by your ear. You lean into the contact, and his gaze softens, a look of tenderness settling over his features. "So much."

"So stop being mad at me," you plead. He sighs, his eyes searching yours. "Please."

"You make it very difficult not to be," Rex says, his voice laced with humor. "Especially considering your track record."

"I'm working on it," you grumble. "I'll try not to worry you so much, okay? I promise."

"Well, that's something," he says with a chuckle. You laugh, and he squeezes your waist, a playful tug. "You're going to give me a heart attack."

"You're too young for that," you tease. "Maybe an ulcer."

"Oh, well, as long as it's an ulcer," he drawls, and you snicker. He gives you a look, but it lacks heat, and he can't hide his smile. "Seriously, though. Please be careful. I have a bad feeling about this whole thing."

"I'll try," you reply. You stroke his cheek, his stubble scratching against your palm. "You too."

"Always am," he assures you.

He tilts his head, leaning into your touch, and his eyes slide shut. His forehead presses against yours, and his hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer. His scent fills your senses, his presence enveloping you, and you close your eyes, letting yourself relax.

He feels so good, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, the weight of his hands on your hips grounding you. And it's only now, with the space between you closed, that you realize how much you've missed him. How much you need him. How much you love him.

You open your eyes, taking him in. He's so close, his lips inches from yours. All it would take is a shift, a tilt of your head, and you'd be kissing him.

"You should know that I...I..." Rex falters, and his eyes flicker open, a hesitant look on his face. His mouth works, but no words come out, and his grip on you tightens. "I'm..."

"What?" you prompt softly.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, his jaw clenching.

"I'm—"

"Hey, Captain!"

Rex jerks back and yanks his hands away as if burned, and he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet and into the stack of crates behind him. You reach out, steadying him, and his cheeks burn as his eyes dart over your shoulder, his attention focused on whoever called his name. You turn to find Fives rounding the corner, and the trooper skids to a halt, his gaze darting between the two of you, his mouth hanging open.

"Fives," Rex greets, his voice strained. He straightens, adjusting his armor and clearing his throat, and his gaze lands anywhere but on the clone. "What can I do for you?"

"Uh…" Fives hesitates, his eyes flickering over to you. His face twists into an apologetic grimace, and you shake your head, a silent signal that it's fine. He nods, his expression easing, and he gestures vaguely over his shoulder. "I just...we're ready to move out. We're waiting on the two of you."

"Right. Right, of course," Rex replies, his voice thick. He glances down at you and clears his throat, his expression carefully neutral. "General."

"Captain," you murmur.

He looks at you, his eyes wide, his cheeks still flushed, and his mouth works silently. You can feel your brows rise in amusement, and his gaze darkens, a warning.

"I'll be right there," Rex says, his tone firm.

"You got it," he replies. He shoots you a glance before he turns on his heel and walks off, the bounce in his step telling you that he's enjoying this a little too much.

You sigh and turn back to Rex, his gaze locked on the crate next to you. He's avoiding your eyes, his lips pressed together and his arms crossed over his chest.

"So," you start, and his gaze snaps to yours. "Where were we?"

"Nowhere," he says, his expression pained. He shifts his weight and glances away, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "Absolutely nowhere. That was...nothing. We can talk about it later."

"If you're sure," you say, and he nods. You can't help but notice the flush in his cheeks, the slight tremble in his hands. He's nervous. Really, really nervous. You're not sure why. "Okay. If that's what you want."

"That's what I want," he confirms, his voice tight.

"Okay."

Rex lets out a frustrated sigh and rubs his face, his hands falling away to grab his helmet off a nearby crate. He pulls it on, the hiss of the seals echoing in the space, and his posture straightens. The change is subtle, but it's noticeable. The air around him feels more controlled, the chaos and uncertainty giving way to focus and confidence. It's like a switch has been flipped. He's Captain Rex again, not the man who was inches away from kissing you.

You shake your head, a wry smile touching your lips, and he tilts his head, studying you. His gaze lingers for a moment before he turns and walks away, his strides purposeful, and you're quick to follow.

By the time you reach the entrance to the building, it’s nearly dark, and the streets are crowded with troopers filing into transports, tanks, and gunships. The air is filled with the buzz of conversation, the steady rumble of engines, and the whine of repulsorlifts. It's a chaotic scene, and the noise is disorienting, a dull roar that seems to fill your senses.

“Sir.”

You turn to see Snap and Wise approach, the latter adjusting his medpack on his shoulders as he walks. Wise gives you a once over, his brow furrowing while his gaze roams your face, as if he could see your headache if he looked closely enough. His gaze darts to Rex, and you can feel the disapproval radiating off of him.

"You good, sir?" Wise asks, his voice low.

"I'm fine, Wise," you reassure him.

"Uh-huh," he hums, clearly not convinced, and Snap gives him an exasperated look.

"That's the fourth time today," Snap warns. Wise scowls, his lip curling. "It's not going to work. Stop asking."

"It might," Wise mutters.

"It won't," he counters, and the medic lets out a huff. "We're ready, General. All units accounted for."

"Thank you," you say, and you glance at Wise. "Both of you."

Snap salutes and heads off, and Wise lingers, his expression unreadable. He sighs, shakes his head, and adjusts the strap on his pack.

"I'll ask again later," he warns. You shake your head, a faint smile forming on your lips, and he grunts and steps closer, lowering his voice. "And about whatever that was. With the Captain."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply smoothly, and you hold Wise’s gaze with raised eyebrows, daring him to call your bluff. His expression doesn't change, and the two of you stand there for a long moment, a silent battle of wills.

Wise finally breaks first, a heavy sigh escaping him.

"Yes, sir," he grumbles, though you know better than to think he’s going to let that go so easily. "You coming?"

"No, she's riding with me," Rex interrupts, and you turn to see him standing behind you, his arms crossed over his chest. His posture is casual, but there’s a tightness to his tone that catches Wise's attention, and the medic frowns. He nods in the direction of one of the 501st's gunships. "Orders."

"Of course she is," Wise drawls. He raises an eyebrow, and you can tell he wants to say something else, but he holds his tongue, settling for a knowing smirk. "See you in a bit, sir."

Wise salutes, turns, and jogs off, his long stride quickly eating up the distance to his transport. He joins his brother, and the two of them climb inside, disappearing from view.

Rex catches your eye and jerks his head toward his ship, and you follow him, shaking your head at his blatant lie. You’re the highest ranking officer on the planet. There are no orders. But, as far as excuses go, it works, and you don't argue. You're not going to pass up a chance to spend more time with him.

"You’re giving me orders now, Captain?" you tease. "I should put you in the brig for insubordination."

"I think we're past that," Rex replies. He slows his pace, and you match him, the two of you walking side by side through the throng of troopers. He clears his throat and glances toward you. "Sorry. I just...now that you’re here, I'd rather keep you close. For everyone's safety."

"Right," you drawl. A smirk curls on your lips, and you nudge him with your elbow. "For everyone's safety."

"Yes," he says, a hint of exasperation in his voice. He gives you a pointed look that translates through his helmet. "Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything," you laugh. "I'm just agreeing with you. For everyone's safety."

"General," Rex sighs.

"Captain."

His hand finds your shoulder, and he nudges you gently in the direction of the waiting gunship. “Just get on the damn ship, will you?"

"Alright, alright," you concede, holding up your hands. "You're getting very pushy."

"I'm trying to keep you alive," he replies, his tone flat. "It's a full-time job."

"A little dramatic, don't you think?" you quip, and he grunts in response. Rex's hand slides down your back before he gives you a light shove, and you stumble forward, biting back another laugh.

"Get going. Or I'm going to leave without you."

"You're lucky you're cute," you mumble. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he stiffens, letting out a choked noise. A wicked smirk spreads across your lips, and you tilt your head, your gaze fixed on his. "What was that?"

"Nothing," he croaks, and he gestures at the ship. "After you, sir."

"Thank you, Captain."

Rex sighs and shakes his head, his helmet tilted in a way that tells you he's rolling his eyes. But the exasperation doesn't last, and the fondness in his aura only intensifies. You can't help the flutter that passes through you at the feeling, or the smile that lights up your face as you turn and board the gunship.

It’s strange, how connected you feel to him now, as if the past couple of months have only heightened the bond between the two of you. His presence in the Force is stronger, more vibrant. You're acutely aware of his mind, his emotions. They're clearer, more defined, and the connection is easier to maintain. Rex is closer, in every way possible.

You can't help but wonder if it has something to do with the dream of the golden fields. If the two of you truly are linked in some way. That there's a future for the two of you.

Or maybe it's just the stress and anxiety of the mission, the fear that something will happen, and your other vision will come true. Maybe you're just worried. Or maybe you're just missing him.

Maybe this is how it's always been, and you've just been too blind to notice.

You don't know, and you're not sure if it matters. Not right now. As long as he's here, and the two of you are together. That's all you need.

Rex's hand finds yours as you grab onto the safety handle to steady yourself, brushing your fingers lightly before pulling away to grasp the one above his head. The gesture is small, subtle, but it's more than you could have asked for. It’s a reminder that you’re not alone, and neither is he. That no matter what happens, the two of you are in this together.

You can worry about the rest later.

taglist: @cyaretra @kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @etod @puppetscenario @umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano @burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear @thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bunny7567 @lostqueenofegypt @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @maniacalbooper @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @julli-bee @moonychicky @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @cw80831

#the clone wars #captain rex #clone captain rex #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #roy writes #event horizon #reunited and it feels so good #every time i edit this chapter it gets longer god forgive me #these two make me just want to rrAAHHH #i am no closer to finishing the other chapters in this section btw #we may have another rex pov break next week

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sentientcave · 11 months ago

Text

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Chapter 4 - Left Hand Woman

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Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Gryphon time, A spot of magic, No one knows how to communicate, I've given up on any semblance of reader neutrality, sorry, Sweetpea is her own woman and you are just along for the ride, Farah is here now! We love Farah

~7.2k words - MDNI

Someone sends a young woman from the staff to help you dress the next morning. She’s shy and mousy-haired, and you have to ask her what her name is twice before she haltingly tells you that it’s Tiphanie. She goes entirely pink when you tell her that you think it’s a very pretty name, and that you hope you’re not pulling her away from anything more important.

“I’ve been tidyin’ your room, highness,” she says turning even pinker. “Or, um, tryin’ to. You leave things so neat there’s been nothin’ for me to be doin’.”

“I’m used to living on my own,” you explain. “I’ve been in charge of keeping my own space tidy for years now.”

“On your own?” Tiphanie asks, aghast. “But your wicked father sold you away to the giants in the mountains so they’d help him in the war, and they kept you in a cage and made you sing to them like a songbird, until Sir Ghost came flyin’ in on his gryphon and rescued you.”

Is that how they’ve explained your absence? You unwrap your hair, laughing. “Oh goodness, no. I was living in a town not all that far from here. Out in the country. Not sold off or captured by anyone.”

“Well, then what was sir Ghost gone so long for, if he wasn’t travellin’ through the wastes and fightin’ monsters lookin’ for you?” she asks, blinking at the cloud of tightly curled hair you’ve let down, like she’s not entirely sure if she should be doing something about it. “He’s been gone three years, and then he came back with you— If you’re tryin’ to put on a brave face about it, I understand, highness, but what you’re sayin’ don’t make any sense. You wouldn’t’ve stayed away so long if you was just a few towns away.”

It’s a bit funny that she’s so insistent that it makes more sense that you’d been held captive in the distant mountains than simply living your life peacefully close by, but you have to admit, it’s certainly the more compelling story. “Well, the giants made me keep my own room tidy,” you say, splitting your hair into three segments so you can braid it down your back in one thick plait. “I only had to sit in the birdcage when they were entertaining guests.”

“I knew—” she cuts herself off with a little yelp, catching sight of movement at the window.

You glance over, and it’s just Nox, landed on the balcony, shaking her wings out. “Thank you for your help, Tiphanie,” you say, smiling at her reassuringly. “I should say hello to Nox.”

She nods, wide-eyed, and gives you a wobbly curtsy as you step out to the balcony.

“Hello, my darling,” you croon to Nox, holding your arms out. She presses herself against your chest, making a strange, warbling purr as you scratch behind her tufted ears. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you yesterday, pretty girl.”

If she's offended by your negligence, she doesn’t hold a grudge. She hops backward and gently tugs at one of the loose curls around your face, cawing happily at the way it bounces back into shape when she lets go, wiggling her wings a little playfully.

“Sweetpea, we’re down ‘ere, whenever you’re ready,” Ghost calls up from the courtyard. When you look over the edge, you can see that all four of them are down there, sitting around a table you hadn’t noticed before. “Nox’ll ‘op down with you.”

“One second,” you tell Nox, giving her one last scratch under the chin before you dash back inside for the book Kyle lent you. When you return to the balcony, she kneels down enough that you can climb onto her back carefully, and straightens up once you’re settled in place. Inky black wings spread out on either side of you, and she jumps into the air, headed upwards rather than down like you expected, her strong legs landing lightly and launching off the low roof on the other side of the courtyard, wings catching the wind. Your stomach plummets on her first leap, and you grip the saddle tightly, terror closing your throat tightly against the scream that builds up inside your chest.

Wind rushes in your ears, the sound of your heartbeat the next loudest thing. You take a steadying breath and open your eyes to a picture of the castle, and the city beyond, laid out below you, towers as small as a child’s toy blocks, the river coiled around the eastern bank of the city, glittering like a serpent in the morning light. Nox’s wings are huge fully spread out, and when you twist in the saddle, you see that her back legs are stretched out behind, her big paws tilting one way or the other, adjusting her flight the way a true raven’s tail feathers would. She tips her whole body slightly to the side, starting a slow, circling descent, calling out joyfully, her rough croaks echoing eerily back to you, the sound bouncing off of the stone below. For a moment, it sounds like there’s a whole flock of gryphons, rather than just Nox.

You wonder if she’s lonely, being the only one here.

Nox settles back in the courtyard and sticks her beak in the fountain while you try to dismount. Your legs don’t fully cooperate, and you slide sideways out of the saddle, the returned grasp of gravity unkind and unrelenting. Solid arms catch you before you hit the ground, scooping you out of the air with one arm behind your back and the other under your knees.

“There you are,” John says soothingly. “You want some tea, love?”

You nod, still too frozen to insist on him putting you down. You’re not certain your legs will hold you.

“Nox, you naughty girl, you were just supposed to ‘op down! What if you’d dropped ‘er, eh? You’d be feelin’ pretty sorry about it now, wouldn’t you?” Ghost scolds the gryphon, standing next to her at the fountain, his hands on his hips. She just uses her beak to splash water at him in response, which earns her a pointed finger. “Oi! Don’t you sass me, you daft bird, she wun’t even buckled in.”

Nox deftly snatches the glove off of his hand and launches herself up to the roof, where she settles in on the tiles and pretends to gnaw on the leather, her cat’s eyes wide as saucers, tail twitching back and forth.

Kyle offers you a cup of tea and a smile that's on the shy side. You thank him, realizing a little too late that John has taken his seat with you still in his lap, his arms looped around you securely. “John,” you say sternly, twisting to look at him. “Did we not talk about this?”

“I don’t believe this was on your list of complaints, actually.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, whiskers twitching as he smiles. "Besides, you're trembling. I know I behaved terribly yesterday, but all I want is to take care of you. Are you so afraid that you'll like it?"

"That's not what I'm afraid of. I think people are getting the wrong idea about what my presence here means, and cozying up to you will not help matters." You hold the cup and saucer a little bit apart, so that the rattle of dishes doesn't draw attention to the fact that you really are shaking, and would have spilled all over yourself if the cup was filled all the way up. Not that there would be any disguising the fact from John, the way he wraps around you. "You know that this will only complicate things."

“Did someone say something to you?” John asks.

You take a sip of tea, eyes tracking Ghost as he took the last seat at the table. Typical of them to invite you to a table with only four chairs. “Tiphanie, the girl that was sent to help me this morning? She didn’t say anything outright, but it certainly sounded like she expects that I’ll be staying. And something about me being held captive by giants. And that Ghost was gone for three years? What on earth were you doing all that time?”

Ghost shrugged. “Told you already. Was keepin’ an eye on you.”

“For three years?”

“Started off just droppin’ by, but figured it’d be better to stick around. Was.” He sits back in his chair and folds his hands together. “Din’t ‘ave nothin’ better to be doin’.”

“You did, actually,” John says tiredly. “You were supposed to be the commander of my knights. Had to train Keller up for it instead.”

“An’ ‘e’s a sight better at the job than I’d’ve been,” Ghost replies. “Did you a favour, din’t I?”

“Wouldn’t’ve found Sweetpea without him either,” Kyle points out. “And Alex is much better with people than Ghost has ever been. It probably was for the best.”

You glance at Johnny, uncharacteristically quiet across the the table. He meets your eyes only for a moment, and then looks down at his hands, frowning. You're not sure if this is because of yesterday, or if something else is bothering him. He sneaks another look up, and drops his eyes again immediately when he finds you still watching him.

If it is about yesterday, you're glad that at least one of them has the decency to be ashamed of themselves. Price isn't acting the least bit concerned. His fingers are dug into the top of your thigh firmly, and his thumb keeps tapping a rhythmless pattern against your hip, distracting and wholly inappropriate. Kyle won't quite meet your eyes, but he seems hopeful that you'll let it slide and forgive him if he’s careful to make no further waves.

You'll forgive all three of them from a distance once you go home. You want your life back. You’ll do a better job of seizing that freedom this time— you think you might finally work up the nerve to talk to the blacksmith's tall apprentice, with those coal dark eyes that always soften when he looks at you. You’ve thought him handsome for a long while, despite, or perhaps because of, the scars that ripple over his skin, and now that you know that he hasn't spoken to you because of Ghost's interference, you feel hopeful that he might— Oh. Of course.

It's choking, how tight a leash these men have put on you.

“Was there something that you all needed from me?” you ask stiffly. “Or can I go?”

“You need to eat something, first off,” John says, squeezing your hip lightly. “Then down to the city to have that dress fitted, and to meet with Farah.”

“When I requested a woman to accompany me, I was anticipating a longer stay,” you point out. “I’m sure I’ll be fine without a chaperone for the rest of the day, don’t you?”

“I’d allow that, if you’ll stick close to me.” John’s voice is practically a purr, his lips too close to your ear.

You imagine tossing your cooling tea into his face, which is almost as satisfying as actually doing it would be, and freer from consequence. “I will not.”

He laughs. “Then Farah it is. You’re angry with three of us, and I don’t trust Ghost alone with you.”

“What did I do?” Ghost asked, clearly offended by the notion.

You sigh, and resign yourself to being watched. Even if this Farah person answers to John, you’ll be glad for a few moments away from these unbearably pushy men.

“We can move our little lesson to this afternoon,” Kyle offers, brown eyes hopeful. “And I’d like to join you this morning too. It’s been a while since I popped down to visit Rosie.”

“Why not head there now?” John asks. “Get a visit in, make sure things are in order, and Ghost can bring Sweetpea on Nox in a bit, if she’s up for a proper flight.”

Kyle gets up without objection. “Yes sir. I’ll see you there, Sweetpea.” His eyes linger on yours for a long moment before he turns to go.

You lean forward to set your tea on the table, and push John’s arms away roughly, taking Kyle’s abandoned seat rather than remain in John’s lap for another moment. He smiles serenely when you glare at him from your new perch, as unaffected by your ire as a mountain would be by a single drop of rain.

You regret kissing him. You hate that he’s handsome and smug and insufferable. It frustrates you to end that there’s so much of you that wants to melt under his touch, that there’s a glacial, undeniable give to your resolve. Warmth spreads through you every time he puts his hands on you, every time he gives you that cheeky grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

He gives you one of those smiles as he picks up your abandoned tea cup and sips from it, his mouth where yours had been, watching you so that you know it’s no accident. Yet more heat curls in your belly, like the press of his lips against the rim of the cup can still reach you.

Hateful man.

You feel a little better once you’re sitting in Nox’s saddle again, pretending not to notice the way both Johns stare when you shift your dress out of the way and buckle your legs into the waiting straps. And when you wrap yourself extra securely around Ghost, pressing your whole body against his back, it’s certainly not because you want either of them to feel any kind of jealousy.

This time you’re better prepared for the leap skyward, and your stomach doesn’t remain somewhere on the ground below. With Ghost to cling to, you feel safer looking down, even if it does still send a jolt through you.

The world spreads out below, distant and beautiful, like a painting with minute brushstrokes. You can even see a glimpse of green fields beyond the spread of forest, a near glimpse of home. It seems so close from here, but still far out of reach. Nox begins her descent only a moment later, and the glimpse of the far countryside dips out of view again. She didn’t have to climb so high, but you appreciate that she did, that the gryphon is so keen to show you the world from her perspective.

Simon touches the back of your hands, where they’re clasped tight around his middle, thumb running across your knuckles. Your heart aches curiously. You want to pull his mask off and see if you’re right, if he really has been living in your town as Simon the blacksmith’s quiet apprentice, if he’s the owner of the brown eyes that sparked warmth in your belly whenever he looked at you.

Maybe, if he is (and you’re nearly certain of it), he’ll come with you, when you leave once more. You’re afraid to ask such a thing, to test the weight of his oath to protect you against his loyalty to John. And John… Well, that was never going to go anywhere, no matter how much his kiss shook you to the core. There’s no sense mourning a choice you never had. He would find a queen elsewhere, and you would all be happier for it.

Just one more day. You’ll be glad to leave this behind, won’t you? It’s not as though it feels like any kind of homecoming, to return to this cursed place.

There are a few shrieks from the street below as Nox swoops down and lands on the cobblestone, onlookers ducking behind carts and into alleyways, although all of the terrified faces relax somewhat when they recognize you and Ghost, and then fear is replaced with wide-eyed excitement, whispered conversations springing up around you as you lean down to unbuckle your straps. Ghost is faster with his, and hops down to help you with the straps on your other leg while you’re still working on the first.

He lifts you clear of Nox’s saddle, and the closest shop door opens. “Princess!” Kyle’s sister, Rosie, rushes out of the shop and embraces you. She’s as pretty as Kyle is handsome, with a beaming smile that creases her face in just the same way. “Goodness, it’s been years. How have you been?”

“Well,” you say. “Life outside the city has been good to me.”

“I see that. I was so glad to see that you’d gained weight, when Kate sent your measurements. We always worried about you when you were younger. No appetite.” She pulls back and cups your face fondly. “You really are a sight for sore eyes, my lady. It will be good for the people to see you again, to know that you’re well.”

Her enthusiasm surprises you. You had always rather liked Rosie, when she worked at the castle, but you hadn’t expected a greeting like this, after so long. “I hadn’t realized— I mean, my father—”

Rosie laughs, the movement of her head making the pile of coily curls on top of her head bounce slightly. “Did you think we counted you party to your father’s crimes? No, princess. You’ve always been loved. There isn’t a soul in this city, perhaps not even in the whole of the country, who isn’t glad to know you’re safe and hale.”

Your heart twists. You had expected indifference, that no one would care one way or the other if you were here or gone. You hadn’t even considered that the people would be disappointed that you aren’t planning to stay. It’s one thing, to say you wish to leave to Price, but another to say so to Rosie, and a heavy thought indeed, knowing you’ll make a speech over it tomorrow.

“Come on, in we go,” Ghost says firmly, motioning for you and Rosie to get inside. “Keep a look out, hey Nox?” The Gryphon makes a low, gurgling sound in response and sits on her haunches beside the door.

There's a prickle of magic in the air, but perhaps it's just Kyle, the energy that crackles around him wherever he goes. He stands next to a dress form with a beautiful dark green gown hanging off of it. It's off the shoulder, with pearly beads and clusters of embroidered leaves and flowers in a pale cream colour all around the neckline and the cuffs of the sleeves, giving way to beautiful lace. You think that maybe the colour difference is too stark— You would have chosen a more subtle accent— but you politely say nothing of it. Perhaps this is what's fashionable these days. You certainly won't ask Rosie to make a serious alteration like that with less than a day of lead time. You only have to wear the dress for a few hours anyway.

Rosie and one of her assistants shoo Kyle away, and start taking the dress off the form. Ghost joins Kyle on a bench on the other side of the room, his bulky frame taking up most of the available space. Another assistant ushers you into another room and begins helping you take off your dress and settle a few extra layers of petticoats over the ones you're already wearing.

The shop bell rings, and you hear Nox make a churring sound. "Hello," a woman says, her pretty, accented voice carrying through the space without growing too loud, like she naturally knows how to command attention. "Sir Garrick, Sir Ghost. Good to see you."

"Always good to see you, Farah," Kyle says pleasantly. “It’s been too long.”

“Hardly. We never see each other when times are good, Garrick.”

“Times are good now,” Kyle replies.

“Hm.”

You twist to look behind you, thinking about going back into the other room to introduce yourself, and Rosie accidentally stabs you with a pin. “Hold still, my lady,” she chides. “We’ll just be another moment.”

Farah pushes past the curtain and stalks into the room. She’s small, even shorter than you are, but she has a hunter’s lean to her stride, and a sword strapped to her back. She’s dressed practically, leather pauldron on her left arm pieced together with her bracer with a jack chain, nearly balanced on the other arm, but without the heavier pauldron, to keep her sword arm freer. Her leather breastplate is scarred from battle, but well-maintained, and a small hand-crossbow that glitters with magic hangs from her thick belt, along with a knife and a quiver of bolts. Her hair is braided back from her strong-boned face, and although her expression is serious, thick brows drawn into straight, unimpressed lines, her dark eyes have a curious glint in them. “Princess,” she says as you turn, earning yourself another pin-prick. “I am Farah Karim. I’ve been told you have need of me.”

“John insists that I’m not safe without a sword-wielding escort,” you say wryly. “I disagree, but his knights will hardly let me out of their sight as it is.”

“Could be assassins lurking about, my lady,” Rosie says, warm brown eyes wide and worried. “We would hate to lose you so quickly, after just getting you back.”

You glance at Farah, and spot the slightest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You see what I’m dealing with?” you ask. “Everyone thinks I’m in terrible danger.”

“The danger likely comes tonight. With their envoy.”

You tip your head to the side. “No love for our neighbours, Commander?”

Farah huffs, crossing her arms and widening her stance reflexively. “No. My father’s lands are close to the border. I’ve seen the worst of them. While you were locked away in the palace, I saw villages burned, people slaughtered, foul magics leeching life from the very soil. You would be wise to be wary.”

“I suppose it’s naivete to think the peace can last.”

“No. It is hopeful. But you must project strength, or they will see that hope as weakness. Your cousin has given them leverage to oust John. So it falls to you to correct the course. We cannot fight another war amongst ourselves, or the wolves will be at our throats.” The challenge in her eyes is immistakable. Her perspective is valuable, and she offers it without pretense, as both warning an a test. Are you willing to listen? Or are you like so many others of your station, in your country and without, that only hear what they wish to hear?

“You don’t see minding me as beneath you?” you ask. “You lead a company of soldiers.”

Her lips curl into a smile. “My fighters are in good hands. Besides, I’m curious about you, princess. We might have been friends, had our paths not diverged. Perhaps we still can be.”

“I’d like that,” you admit.

Farah walks back out to speak with Ghost and Kyle while Rosie finishes marking adjustments. When you’re finally freed from the dress and get dressed again, Kyle and Ghost are both gone, and Farah is inspecting some spools of ribbon idly.

"I sent them home," she explains. "I suspect Ghost will be nearby and watching, but Gaz has gone back to his tower. He says he will be there all afternoon if you still wish to learn magic tricks from him." She wiggles her fingers vaguely, eyes creased with a smile.

"I think I should. It can't hurt to try."

"No. And it will give me a chance to go over castle wards and security."

Nodding, you bid farewell to Rosie and her assistants, and step out onto the street with Farah by your side. Nox is still waiting outside, basking in a block of sunshine. She stirs, getting up and stretching like a house cat, her feather-tufted tail lashing lazily behind her. You smile when Nox settles into her stride behind you and Farah, sticking her beak over your shoulder. You hook your fingers over the smooth black beak. “Just us girls, hey Nox?” you croon.

She churrs in response.

“The beast likes you,” Farah says approvingly. “Gryphons tend to be disagreeable, unless they’re hand-reared. Nox has famously bitten more than a few fingers.”

“Yours too?” you ask.

Farah laughs, shaking her head. “I know how to keep my hands to myself.”

“At least someone around here does,” you grouse.

“Price?” she asks, raising her thick brows. “Do you want me to speak with him?”

“I don’t think there’s much point. This will all be over soon enough.”

Farah frowns at that, her dark eyes studying you sidelong. “It doesn’t give him the right, no matter who he is to you. If he cannot behave, I will gladly remove a finger or two to remind him.”

“Really? I thought you were one of John’s people.”

“He may be the king, but I am not one of his sworn knights, nor am I a member of the army. He cannot command me, he can only ask if he wants something done,” Farah says, and there’s something in her tone that tells you that she’s had to remind John of this fact more than once. “If I am to be loyal to anyone in court, it will be you, and you alone.”

“Just like that?”

“I have a good feeling about you, princess. I think your people need you, and you will need allies of your own.”

Your stomach twists again. You’re beginning to doubt your resolution to leave. Maybe you really are needed here. Maybe you bring something vital that’s been missing for too long. Maybe things aren’t going as well as you had thought— You have to admit, your perspective is still limited, for all that you were living among ordinary citizens all this time. Your town is a prosperous one, along a good trade route, too far from any borders to face any significant dangers. There has been little strife, no awful storms, no disasters. This can’t be the case for the whole kingdom.

Maybe you should stay a few extra days, and go through the accounts and reports from the last few years, at least. If there’s something that’s been missed, you might have better eyes to find it. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, to stay on just a few days more. Especially once you’d made your speech and no one was labouring under the idea that you’d be staying forever. It would be easier to speak to people if you really were no longer a princess.

On to better things, as John had said.

Maybe there’s a place here for you. Not as a queen, but an advisor. Something to speak to John about later, perhaps. You’re sure he’d be happy for an excuse to keep you close.

But then again, maybe not. It’s a bitter thought, but his interest in you is very likely just based in your lineage, your claim to the throne. He has no need to keep you close once you’ve pledged your support to him. Better to send you away, lest you rescind that support when you have a large enough disagreement.

John is nothing if not pragmatic. You’ll be no use to him by the end of the day tomorrow.

And that’s good. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To go home, to be left alone, to take upon yourself a destiny of your own, that has nothing to do with where you’re from, and everything to do with where you’re going next?

“How did you become a mercenary?” you ask. Better to think about something other than yourself before you drive yourself mad with what-ifs and maybes.

“My father arranged a marriage for me, and I wanted to be a knight, like my brother Hadir was in training to be. It was an argument. In the end, I saw only two paths. I could do what was expected, but I knew even as a girl that would not be tolerable. I was too proud of my skills, eager to fight and defend people that needed me. So I took the second path, and left my home. I started off as a sell-sword, mostly caravan work until Hadir left his knight-master to come work with me, and the two of us started making a name.” She gives you a wry smile. “My parents were none too pleased with Hadir either. But they still speak to him.”

“You don’t talk to them at all?”

“Once in a while they send me a letter to remind me that the man who wished to marry me still hasn’t found another. That he’s still open to the match.” She rolls her eyes. “I think if he hasn’t been able to find a wife in all this time, there’s a reason for it.”

You laugh lightly. She has a good point.

By the time the two of you meander back to the palace, you do feel like you’re fast friends. Farah has a way of opening up without having to say much at all, her dark, pretty eyes sincere. Maybe it's something shared between you, not words exchanged, but who you both expected to become, how you both were raised to be something you wanted no part of. Farah is bolder than you, decisive and candle-quick, and you are a slow trickle of water, always taking the path of least resistance, but somehow you were both born of the same stuff. You understand each other.

Nox flies off when you reach the castle gates, and Farah and you split at the foot of Gaz's tower, her off to meet with the knight commander, and you to see if there's anything that you can learn. The book that Gaz had lent to you had been easy reading, especially with the annotations in his neat, scratchy writing, and the first two chapters had been more reminder of what you already knew. The third was about disrupting and dispelling magic, which seemed like it would be a useful place to start your lessons. Even if you expect that greater magics will be beyond your grasp, you can protect yourself by disrupting spells used against you.

By the time you reach the workshop door, you’re a bit warm and out of breath, the countless spiraling steps more effort than you’d like to admit, especially after a walk through the city. Why Kyle liked it was apparent just from looking at him, but you have a softer physique, and you’ve become quite unused to stairs over the years away from the castle. There are very few buildings taller than two stories back in town. You halt outside the door to catch your breath, glancing out the narrow window, through the slight warping of uneven glass panes.

“Isna right, Gaz, and even ye know it!” Soap’s heated voice seeps through the door. Kyle’s response is too low to make out, but Soap’s next words are clear. “She deserves better! Been nothin’ but kind to us.”

“She’ll get over it, Soap. You know it’s for the best.”

“The best for himself, sure, but I dinnae ken if it’s best for her.”

You sigh, torn between the impulse to eavesdrop and knowing that it’s wrong to do so. It’s not difficult to surmise that they’re talking about you. It would explain the look on Johnny’s face this morning and the feeling that things are not quite right that has been worrying at you all day. Perhaps John does intend to make you stay on in some capacity, to prop up his rule, which would be contrary to everything you’ve said you want. It wouldn’t be all that difficult to get the truth of the matter out of Soap later however— He seems uncomfortable with any level of duplicity.

The knock on the door silences the low, indecipherable sound of Kyle’s response. You rub your knuckles idly as the door opens, the tingle of magic clinging to your skin like cobwebs.

“Hello, Sweetpea.” Kyle greets you with a big smile. “I’m glad you decided to come up. Did you get through the reading I gave you?” He throws a look over his shoulder at Soap that cleary says go away.

“I did. I read through the first three chapters— I was wondering if we could focus on dispelling magic? I’m familiar enough with the bare basics, and if I’m only going to have time for one lesson, this seems like a good place to focus.” You reach out to brush Soap’s shoulder as he moves past you. “Can we talk later?”

“Of course, bonnie,” Soap says. “I’m always at yer service.”

“If you go find Farah, she might appreciate any insights you have on castle security. I think she went to speak with the knight commander.”

“Aye, could be helpful there. Go’ a nose for these things.” He taps his nose, his grin tinged with relief that you don’t seem angry with him for yesterday. “We’ll talk later, then.”

You step into the workshop and he steps out, and Kyle closes the door between you. “Dispelling magic could be a good place to start… How are you at sensing magic? If you have a natural affinity for it we can breeze past the first half of the lesson.” He takes your hand and gently pulls you over to the circle of iridescent stone.

“I think I might— I get this prickle when there’s magic around. I can’t say I always notice it, but I haven’t always thought to pay attention.” You sit on the ground inside the circle, noticing the way the buzz of the workshop fades away once you’re fully inside it. “I’ve been paying more attention here. More magic to notice, I suppose.”

“And a new environment.” Kyle says. “It’s easy to get used to the ambient magic in familiar spaces. You’ll get more attuned to the castle the longer you stay.”

“I hope so. I get all tingly whenever we’re in a room together,” you say, laughing lightly.

He settles down across from you, close enough that his knees nearly touch yours. “You sure that’s just the magic?” he asks, flashing his pretty smile at you. “It could be something else.”

“Could it?” You give him a smile in return, but yours is sharp around the edges, reminding him to mind himself. You’ve gotten a little weary of the flirting— It’s more John’s fault than it is his, admittedly, but you’re just tired of all the attention. You don’t want to flirt, even if he is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, and even if you really do like him plenty. You just want to learn a bit of magic, and it would be nice if he could focus. “Or do you think that maybe being handsome has skewed your perspective to think that every young man and woman you meet is attracted to you?”

“Could be that,” he agrees, unperturbed. “But no matter. Lets get to work.”

He runs through some breathing exercises, half-familiar ones that you remember the old wizard making you do for hours on end. Luckily Gaz seems satisfied with your control, and moves on quickly.

He asks you to keep your eyes closed while he sketches runes in the air, asking you to identify them. “It will help you sense when someone is sending a spell your way, or using magic in your vicinity,” he explains. “Knowing what’s going on is the first step to knowing how to dispel it.”

The first rune feels warm, and tastes oddly of smoke. “Fire,” you say easily. Kyle hums with approval, and sketches a new one. It’s cool, and drips down your spine. “Water?”

“Good. This one should be a bit trickier.”

It’s not. You’re familiar with light spells, you come across them more often than almost anything else. “Light.”

He runs through a few more. Earth, ice, moon, sun, shadow, music, metal, lock, key. All components of spells, and not spells on their own, each one leaving impressions on your skin, tastes on your tongue. Kyle seems more and more impressed as he works through his list, and you’re both laughing before long, enjoying a lesson that feels more like a game. “You have a knack for this. Figures the old wizard couldn’t see your talent— I had to fight him to get him to take me seriously too.” He clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “Let’s see… We can try an actual spell now. You can open your eyes, if you like.”

You open your eyes to look at him, pleased that he thinks you’re doing well. He smiles so prettily at you that at first you don’t notice the way magic curls around you, sliding up your neck like warm hands. You’re too distracted by the way Kyle smells, cedar and spice and ink and paper, the little scar just below his cheekbone, his wide hazel eyes fringed by thick lashes, the soft curve of his lips… You’ve always thought him handsome of course, you have eyes after all, but you’ve never wanted to kiss him so badly before.

It’s a charm spell. Something harmless for you to practice shredding apart. It makes sense for him to throw something innocuous at you, but he’s misjudged how much you already like him, and the charm is throwing you well past friendly suggestibility to wanting so badly that your hands tremble.

Knowing what it is, it’s easy to see how to unravel it, but you don’t really care to. It gives you an excuse to do something you want to do anyway. You pitch onto your knees and lean forward, bracing your hands on his thighs. His sweet, forest brown eyes widen with surprise, and he catches your face between his pretty, long-fingered hands, holding you back before you can kiss him.

“Wait,” he says quickly, his voice a quiet, anxious rasp. “It’s a charm spell, Sweetpea, I didn’t mean— You don’t really want to kiss me.” His fingers curl around your neck, like he’s fighting every instinct in him to hold you away and not draw you closer.

“Yes I do,” you say. “I just want to blame it on the spell.”

“Prove it,” he says.

It’s as simple as pulling a loose thread from knitting, unraveling magic that tastes sweet as fine white sugar on your tongue. Your cheeks burn, embarrassment settling in your stomach heavily. You should probably still be angry with him, you shouldn’t be thinking about how plush his mouth looks, or about how his pretty eyes fix on yours intently, the fire that he hides so neatly behind his quick-wit and natural charm rising to the surface. But you don’t move, and neither does he.

“We probably shouldn’t,” you say softly.

“Probably not,” he agrees.

And still, neither one of you tries to move away. He wets his lips, his gaze settling on your mouth. You swallow nervously. “Kyle—”

“Hells,” he says, angling his head slightly and closing the distance, slow enough that you could pull away, but quickly enough that he won’t lose his nerve halfway. His mouth is as soft as you anticipated, lips sliding over yours slow and sweet.

You move closer, and Kyle shifts his legs to either side of your knees to give you enough room, hands sliding down to your waist. You hum against his mouth, wrapping your arms around his solid shoulders. He kisses you for a long while before his tongue slips between your lips. He licks into your mouth, moaning, and the sound is just as pretty as he is, sending honey-sweet arousal through your veins to pool deep in your belly.

It would be easy to kiss Kyle forever— He makes no demands, keeps his hands on your waist or curled around your back, toying with, but making no attempt to undo, the buttons that march up your spine. He feels safe, and you know that he won’t push you for more, the way John would. Kyle keeps himself in check, holds himself back. It makes you all the more ready to melt for him.

It’s several long moments before he pulls back, lips swollen and eyes hot and hazy like a summer afternoon. “Princess,” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw. “I need to tell you something.”

There’s a soft chime from his desk, and John’s voice speaks into the workroom, as clear as if he were right there with you both. Kyle freezes, a hound caught with his nose somewhere it shouldn’t have been, hands tightening on your hips.

“Gaz? Is Sweetpea still with you?”

Kyle clears his throat. He looks at you so guiltily, you almost feel like you’re the one that’s done something wrong. “Um. Yes sir.”

“Good. The Lyudireki ambassador is here, and Kate too, if you’d like to speak with her before you join us, Sweetpea. I believe she’s gone to your room to wait for you.”John’s voice sounds amused. It makes Kyle nervous, if his grip is anything to go by. “Gaz, I’d like you to find Soap, and bring him to the green parlour. He can be a wolf, if he likes. It’s up to him.”

“Yes sir. We’ll be down in a minute.” The chime sounds a second time, and Kyle relaxes slightly. “Old man has terrible timing. Come on, Sweetpea. We’d better get to it.”

He stands and pulls you up along with him. "You didn't do anything wrong," you remind him gently. "I kissed you."

"No, I kissed you, Sweetpea. And it's my fault you wanted to. You wouldn't have if I hadn't charmed you." He sighed. "Price is going to—"

"Kyle, I can kiss anyone I want," you say stiffly. You resent the implication that a Price owns you, that he has any say in who you kiss or what you do.

"Well. I suppose so," he says doubtfully. "But we should go. You'll want to speak with Kate, yeah?"

Your stomach churns slightly. Kate has been notably absent for all this time, conveniently unavailable to explain. She knew. She knew everything, and didn't give you so much as a heads up. "Yes. I have some questions I'd like answered."

"Don't be too hard on her," Kyle said. "John didn't give her a choice."

"Everyone always has choices, Kyle. She should have told me what was going on."

"Would you have done things differently if she had?"

"What could be done differently? I'm not the foolish little girl everyone seems to think I am. I understand my position in all this better than anyone."

Kyle seems to have to response to that. He’s quiet all the way down the stairs, lost in his thoughts. You let him stay there.

It would be nice if everyone wasn't too afraid of what John might do or say to be honest with you. Although you do know that loyalty like he demands from his men isn't born from fear alone, or your father would never have been deposed. There’s love there too, and real trust.

Kyle leaves you at your door with a lingering kiss. You try not to blame him for the way his eyes dart down the hall before he does so, even if it makes you want to shove him away. You offer him a small smile instead, and step into your room.

Thanks for your patience everyone! I know it took me a hot minute to get this chapter out, but we're back, baby! And we're kissing Kyle about it.

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 -

Divider by CafeKitsune - Flower Divider by Saradika-Graphics

#Cave writing #Heavy Weighs the Crown #Cod mw fanfiction #fantasy au #OC: Sweetpea #x reader #Poly 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #Farah baby I'm so glad you made it kick your boots off and stay a while #It's getting pretty obvious what's going on here but sadly Sweetpea believes in the good in others #So she hasn't fully clocked it herself yet #These chapters keep getting longer and longer fr

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