Bolts and Blasters

by theboldsnake

Summary:

You join the GAR as the mechanic to 501st, expecting to travel the galaxies and see new things. Meet new people.
What you don’t expect is a certain clone captain to catch your eye.
Now, if only you two could agree on things...
***
Or, I got attached to Rex and just wanted to see him happy.

Chapter 1: Rest

Notes:

Hey y’all! I know it’s been a hot minute since I’ve been on here; life got a little crazy. But I’m back now with some lovely Rex x mechanic!reader.
Hope you enjoy!

Mechanics, much like clones find sleep whenever it finds them. Or, at least, this is the conclusion you come to, as you wedge yourself in between a supply crate and a busted astromech.

The 501st has been campaigning for what feels like an eternity now, and still, there has been no real progress. It’s starting to wear on everyone, and it shows in the exchanges between men, ranging from snippy to downright cruel.

You get to deal with all this, as a civilian mechanic brought in to help cull the sheer number of repairs that are necessary in order to make another attempt at advancing. But even with the mechanically inclined clones pitching in, there is… a lot. Especially because people tend to get angry when things aren’t fixed. But droids and blasters are really only meant to last for so long, and you can only coax so many engines into working for just a little bit longer, so they’ll just have to get over it.

But hey, the pay is good (getting shot at means a pretty credit in hazard pay), and you get to see the galaxy.

Now if you can just catch a break. You close your eyes and listen to the light rain on the roof of the supply tent, enjoying the rhythmic sound. It’s a nice change up from the near-constant yelling and distance firefight sounds you’ve become used to.

“Hiding out, are we?” The voice jars you awake, right before you drift all the way off. Your eyes stay closed, but a smile curves your lips.

An additional bonus to going from a civil mechanic to one employed by the Republic was CT-7567, or Rex. The clone captain met you in the midst of a particularly tough offensive, when you resorted to actually begging the transport ship engine to hang in there. (And yes, it manifested in you singing under your breath about the joys of oil. It was a way to cope with stress, ok?)

It was a… memorable first impression to say the least.

Regardless, you must have done something right, because after that, you two ended up becoming what you would consider good friends.

And now here he stands, waiting on you to acknowledge his presence.

“You’re pestering,” you respond, shifting slightly and wedging yourself further back in an attempt to get more comfortable. Instead, your head bumps into the corner of the crate, eliciting a wince. Finally, you have no choice but to open your eyes and look up at him.

“And you’re hiding away while the rest of us work,” he says. There’s a gleam in his eyes that tells you he’s joking with you.

You register this directly after registering his appearance. There are dark emerges under his eyes, and a few days worth of stubble on his jaw. He’s soaking wet and making a puddle near your feet. His armor has seen better days; at this point more mud than anything else.

“Gross,” you whine. “Do you know how hard it was to find somewhere that wasn’t wet or muddy?”

“I can imagine.” His tone is acrid, and it sends you into a fit of laughter. A sure sign you’re exhausted. He props himself up on the crate, exaggerating his exasperated expression for your benefit.

You’re not exactly sure how or why this little friendship happened. Rex, at his core, is dedicated to fighting for the cause, something you had been quick to realize. He will never be one to be content with settling down. Having a family.

But maker, here he is, bantering and flirting with you in between all the fighting and surviving and giving you a look that makes you wonder.

“I just needed to catch a quick nap,” you say, suddenly desperate to steer your mind away from those lines of thought. “So I wouldn’t kill Fives.” Rex snorts, then moves to sit down beside you, bringing his muddy water with him.

“If that isn’t the summary of my life,” he mutters. You choke back another laugh, and he takes the opportunity to rub some of the water out of his short, blond hair.

“You’re getting me wet,” you complain when he rubs more vigorously than necessary, sending droplets flying all over you.

“Tough, kid.” You lean up enough to sock him in the shoulder, then wince when you hit the armor instead.

“I just wanted some quick shut eye, and instead, I’m sitting here being abused,” you gripe. “And don’t call me kid.” Rex leans back against the supply crate, tilting his chin up so his head is all the way back. His eyes close.

“So sleep,” he says, not bothering to look at you again. You watch him for a minute, then decide it cannot be a comfortable angle.

“Do you want to come back here with me? It’s a lot warmer, and you’re less likely to be spotted by well-meaning subordinates.” It’s out before you can really process what you just said.

Kriff. No, agh, you did not just suggest cuddling with Rex. It would be an innocent suggestion, except for him to “come back here” it means he’ll have to wedge in between the droid and crate and you. It’ll certainly be nice and cozy.

And while that’s not wholly unappealing to you, it makes things very, very awkward.

He tilts his head up, pinning you with an unreadable gaze. You can feel your cheeks heat, and you look away, fast, before he sees something you aren’t ready to let him see.

“Cross that. Don’t answer that,” you’re quick to say. “Just… go back to sleep.” He’s still quiet, and you wish you could just like, die, right here. Or maybe turn into one of the cute creatures that keeps getting underfoot. Or, y’know, die. You’re not picky.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he says finally, and it’s your turn to stare. Jaw stays closed, you remind yourself.

“I… O-ok.” He wriggles himself closer, and you realize it’s not going to be very comfy, because he’s still wearing wet armor which also happens to be very hard. Good for keeping men alive, bad for sleeping. (Read: cuddling.)

Rex seems to realize this at the same time you do, because his hands fly to the clasps, as if on instinct. He stops, then, and looks at you.
“I can leave it on if it will bother you. I’m used to sleeping in it.” It’s suddenly uncomfortably hot; wedged there in between the astromech and crate.

“I don’t fancy getting all wet and muddy,” you say after a beat, pretending to have a lot more bravado than you actually do.

The armor comes off.

Silence settles heavy in the tent, and you two just sort of look at each other.

“What if I-”

“How about we-”

The two of you speak at the same time, and you’re starting to question whether or not this whole thing is all worth it.

“You go first,” Rex says, even as you open your mouth to tell him to go first.

“What if you lie down,” you say slowly, “then I’ll use you as a pillow?” There’s a look that passes over his expression, and it’s gone in an instant, but it leaves you with a tingling feeling somewhere deep inside.

“Alright.” You move out of his way, and he settles himself down. Counting to three, you move forward, and end up curled into him, head resting on his chest.

This is a wonderful position, not only because it’s warm and soft, but also because now your misbehaving brain can’t get distracted by the way Rex looks in his form-fitting Republic-issued blacks.

You can hear his heartbeat. It’s a little fast, much like yours feels, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest.

It’s a heady feeling; this position. Intoxicating. Rex stays silent, and you force yourself to close your eyes.

“You make a good pillow,” you finally mumbled, nearly asleep. Rex laughs softly, and it stirs the hair on top of your head. You snuggle up closer, vaguely aware of Rex tightening his arms around you. The pleasant warm feeling spreads to all around you.

Hours later, when you wake up to the distant sound of the 501st calling for their leader, you’re forced out of the pleasant little cocoon, and back into the real world.

But the warm feeling stays, even when you venture back out into the rain.

Notes:

Thanks for reading!
Come find me on tumblr as @kill-the-feels, where I post about Star Wars and whatever else strikes my fancy. :)

Chapter 2: Reaction

Notes:

Here’s where it all starts;)

You’ve had to adapt. Quickly. Going from a civilian mechanic to one contracted by the army is fine. It’s good pay, chance to travel, etc…
Most of the time.

You can’t say you love getting shot at. That puts a damper on things, especially when everyone is yelling at you to fix the transport ship so they can leave.

Yes, you know there’s a need for urgency. Yes, you know they’re all waiting on you to finish repairing the engine. But all you have is bits and pieces, and before those bits and pieces can be used, you have to make sense of them.

“Any time now,” Rex gripes beside your shoulder, and you take a brief moment to make a face at him.

“I’m trying,” you snap back. He’s wearing his helmet, so you can’t see his face, but the irritated little growl low in his throat conveys his feelings.

He’s frustrated. You all are. The Republic is losing ground on the planet that never stops with the rain, and all the transports are dead or dying. A blaster bolt flies right over your shoulder, and he shoves you farther down with one hand, the other never loosening its grip on his blaster.

“Try faster,” he says, ducking down a little himself. You pull out a random wire, then trace it back into the engine, wincing all the while. It’s impossible to miss all the jagged and broken parts inside.

“Stop busting up the transports, then,” you answer, leaning farther down until you’re up to your elbow in engine grease.

There’s an explosion that rocks the transport, and Rex ends up basically on top of you, something your brain files away for later. You’ve been thinking about him since you cuddled together, hidden away from the rain and people.

This is not the time, you remind yourself, pulling a jagged fragment back into place with one hand, and connecting a red wire to a brown one with the other. There’s a clunking sound, then the transport begins to hum as it powers up.

“Yes!” You cry, slapping the side of it and getting grease everywhere. “Just hold on a little longer, baby, and I’ll give you all the oil you want.” You hear Rex scoff and you’re opening your mouth to poke fun at him when you see it.

“Look out!” Your body moves of its own accord; before you can tell it otherwise.

You shove him out of the way as the enemy droid takes aim and fires. You can feel it singe by your side, leaving a burning trail in it’s wake. Rex pushes himself up off the ground, then catches you as you stumble. The bolt didn’t hit you, but it definitely grazed you, if the fire in your side is any indication.

“Stupid, stupid,” Rex mutters as he scoops you into his arms, running for the open side of the transport, where the rest of the 501st is waiting to take off. He slides on the mud, and you push against his chest. Your head feels a little woozy, and you’re not sure who or what exactly he’s talking about.

“Put me down! I’m fine,” you insist. The helmet tilts down to look at you, and you can tell he’s beyond angry now.

The two of you reach the transport, and he puts you inside first, before climbing in himself. The other clones are quick to ask Rex for direction, as the ship takes off.

He sets them to various tasks, before coming to a stop beside you.

Your side feels like it’s on fire, and you’ve decided the cons of being an army mechanic definitely outweigh the pros.

He kneels down beside you, steadying himself as the transport rocks over some flak.

“What were you thinking?” He hisses, tugging off his helmet. The rest of the 501st is doing a bang-up job of pretending to ignore you.

“What was I thinking? What do you mean, what was I thinking?” Rex pinches the bridge of his nose, and you feel bad for causing him this extra stress, but you’d reacted on instinct, and you don’t really feel sorry for it.

“I’m the one with the armor, cyar'ika,” he mutters. The Mando’a word is not unfamiliar to you, but at the moment you can’t quite remember what it means.

“I just reacted,” you whisper, shifting slightly to try and ease the burning. Rex raises an eyebrow, expression turning resigned.

“Let‘s see it,” he says with a sigh. You raise the shirt slightly, then focus on how his feather light touch feels on your skin.

It’s a pleasant distraction, and a much more welcome kind of burn.

His thumb presses gently on the graze, and you suck in a sharp breath. Instantly, his finger is gone, and he looks worried.

“Did I hurt you?” You shake your head, already missing the contact.

“No.” He watches you for a minute more, then looks over his shoulder at the clones who are still pretending to be busy. Ever so slowly, his hand comes up and brushes some of the hair off your face.

“Don’t do that again,” he chides. “You’re not the one who’s meant to sacrifice themselves for the cause.” He cups your face gently, and you feel an unexpected tightness in your chest at his words and from his touch.

Neither are you, your mind says. But as you look up at him, all you can do is nod.

“Ok.”

The transport nears the bigger ship, and you can feel the moment ending as Rex stands and starts to put his helmet back on. He looks at you one more time.

“I mean it,” he says sternly, before passing you off to Fives, who is ordered to take you to the med bay.

Your skin burns in two very different ways.

Notes:

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 3: Phantoms

Notes:

This one has some light smut/suggestive content, so if that’s not your thing, just go ahead and click on by.

Everything is blurry around you. In the distance, there is a delicate song playing. The melody catches you and carries you, leaving you feeling weightless. Slowly, your eyes adjust, and you see him standing there.

Rex.

The word spills out of your mouth, and he’s there in an instant, arms holding you tight. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and you cling to him, afraid to let go.

And then he’s moving, and his lips are ghosting over yours while his hands roam.

You feel his fingers as they trace down your spine, then lower, cupping and pulling you closer until there is hardly a breath left between you. It elicits a small gasp, and he claims your mouth again, groaning against you as you rake your fingers through his short hair.

His lips move away, pressing kisses along your jaw and neck. You cling to him, legs too unsteady to even think of moving away. His hands tangle in your hair, pulling your head back so he can press an opened mouthed kiss on the column of your throat.

The breathy little moan slips out of it’s own accord, and you pull him back to your mouth, and grinding against him.

You’re on fire again, this time deliciously so.

“Cyar’ika,” he breathes against your mouth, hands slipping under your shirt and running up your sides. His thumb traces along he edge of your breast, sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes?” You whisper, your own mouth finding a place on his collarbone that makes him shiver against you.

He tightens his hold on you, and you look up at him. He’s still hazy like the room is, but it adds to the heady effect his touch is already causing.

“I love-”

The blaring alarm sends you shooting bolt-upright in the bed. The room is dark and it takes you a moment to gain your bearings.

Your arms feel empty and your skin feels cold, like Rex was never there at all. Like it was all just—

A dream.

Chapter 4: Unsaid

Sometimes, you don’t go with the 501st on their missions. Sometimes, the need is so great on Coruscant, you’re forced to stay behind to help cope with the overwhelming amount of explicitly necessary repairs (explicitly necessary, because there are even more that should be done but have to be pushed back).

You try to convince yourself you don’t mind. There are plenty of mechanically inclined clones; they can fix things in a pinch.

But you also know who you are, and you know that you won’t rest easy until they’re back. Going with them makes everything more tangible. You can hold that busted blaster in your hands and know it’s been fixed the correct way, rather than relying on the so-called knowledge of a mechanically inclined clone.

(Honestly, the lack of control drives you crazy.)

Rex knows this, and this is perhaps why he’s sentenced you to remain on Coruscant for the foreseeable future. After your little stunt that landed you in the med bay, he’s been extra cautious.

It’s infuriating.

“Just let me come this time,” you argue as you wipe the grease from your hands. The 501st has only just gotten back from a mission, and Rex hasn’t bothered to clean himself up yet, if the increased stubble and dirty armor are any indication. He eyes the fighter you’re currently picking apart for salvageable parts.

“You have more than enough to keep you busy here.” You scowl, and fling the rag down. It lands on the tarp full of parts with a muffled thwack. It’s not nearly loud enough to convey your frustrations.

“I’ll keep my head down this time. Kriff, I won’t even get into the middle of battle, if that’s what you want.” Rex rolls his eyes, and you can see the tiredness there. The 501st is being run ragged. It adds to your own worry.

“It’s not about that,” he says through gritted teeth. Now you roll your eyes, gaze dropping to the parts at your feet. You toe one around, searching for the words to convince him.

“What is it about, then? You can’t keep me here forever. You need me.” It comes out too pouty, and you hate that because you’re trying to convince him to quit being so protective, and you meant for it to sound professional. Like a fellow soldier.

“I don’t need anybody,” he counters, “especially not hot-headed mechanics who don’t know when to stop.” You snap your head up and glare at him, jaw clenched in an effort not to say something you’ll regret.

“I can’t just watch you all go,” you protest, “knowing a quick repair could be the difference between life and death.” Rex slams a fist against the ruined fighter, temper boiling over.

“You are not a soldier. You’re not. You’re a mechanic who is going to get herself killed, and I will not be the one to let it happen. I-I won’t. Can’t.”

His voice is barely louder than normal but the words and the way his voice wobbles strikes you in the chest. He looks away, focusing intently on the part you’ve been worrying.

Oh.

Oh.

“So just… stay here and do your job, so I can do mine,” he finishes without looking up. You bite your lip, anger cooling.

“Rex, you can’t keep me safe forever,” you say quietly. He jerks his gaze back to you, expression warning you not to go there, but you hold up a finger to keep him from interrupting.

“Eventually, I’m going to have to go back out there. That’s just how it is. And I can take care of myself.” He scoffs.

“Jumping in front of a blaster shot is not taking care of yourself.” He’s back to teasing, the tense moment passing before either of you are really forced to confront the implications of his words.

You sock him in the shoulder, then wince when your fingers clack against the pauldron.

“Just make sure you come back here in one piece, tough guy.” He gives you a mock salute, then takes a step closer.

You find yourself suddenly afraid to move, worried anything sudden will scare him back to his normal, rational self. He brushes a stray hair off your cheek before cupping the side of your face. His hand leaves a tingling sensation, and you end up holding it in place with your hand.

“‘Course, cyar’ika,” he says, tilting his head down to yours. “Wouldn’t want to give you too much to repair.” His voice has gone soft now, and you’re tempted to finally ask him what the word means, but in the distance, you hear the rest of the 501st approaching.

Gently, Rex pulls away, and you go back to salvaging for parts, forced to watch him leave.

Chapter 5: Disquiet

Notes:

This one’s a little heavy on the angst because clones go through it, okay?

Everyone knows when the 501st come back to town. Besides the sudden presence of a certain numerically named flirt at 79’s, there’s an influx of personal in the hanger, getting all in your way.

You’re annoyed, up until you see the telltale blue.

You go through a couple emotions at once, all before your stomach settles on being a bundle of nerves.

Despite this, you don’t see him for the rest of the day.

It’s not until you’ve schlepped yourself back to your room, ready to hit the ‘fresher and crash until your alarm goes off at an unholy hour.

(The repairs never end.)

He’s leaning against the doorway, head tilted back and eyes closed. HIs helmet is clutched lazily under his arm, and his eyes are closed. You choose not to get distracted by the amount of relief you feel. Rex is alive and he’s here.

“Hey, stranger,” you call, tiredness momentarily forgotten. Rex opens his eyes, and there’s some inscrutable emotion in his eyes before he blinks again, clearing his face of everything but humor.

“Hey yourself,” he calls back. You’re close enough now to see the absolutely weary set of his shoulders. There’s shadows under his eyes and - kriff - in them.

He’s been through the ringer on this last mission.

“Everything ok?” You ask gently. He looks away, jaw clenched.

“Rough day,” he says. His tone is evasive. You cock your head, studying him and waiting on him to elaborate.

He says nothing, and you’re no good at comforting. So you opt for what you do best.

Distract. Fix the problem with odds and ends.

“I bet mine was worse. Ever showered in grease? Let me tell you, it is not pleasant. Better than oil, i suppose, but there’s a reason people don’t become mechanics these days.” You reach around him, punching the code for your door. It is insanely tempting to hug him, and something tells you he would enjoy that, but you can’t. Not yet. You gesture for him to come on in.

“Is that what I’m smelling?” He asks, poking you in the ribs as he enters the room. You smack the back of his armor - hard enough to shake him but not hard enough to hurt him. (Hard enough to hurt you, if the tingle in your hand is any indication. You’d think you would learn.)

“I have had a very long day, and if I have to explain the difference between the engine and the hyperdrive one more time, I will scream.” Rex sinks into the chair you keep by your tiny desk.

“There’s a difference?” If looks could kill, he’d be dead right now. You strip off the top part of your jumpsuit, letting out an annoyed grunt when you realize the grease has soaked through to the undershirt.

“There absolutely is a difference.” Rex seems to realize you’re as dead on your feet as he is, because he stands, and makes to leave.

“Wait.” The word slips out before you can stop it, as your words are wont to do around him. He freezes then, and for the longest you two just stand there and just sorta… look.

“Wait?” He repeats. His shoulders have sunken down even more. You don’t know why you said wait, other than you don’t want him to go. An idea hits you then, and you wrestle with it for a solid minute, just to say you tried.

“I wouldn’t mind it… If you… If you decided to stay here for the night.” Rex tilts his head, watching you as if trying to decide how far to go.

If he should go, for that matter.

“You sure ‘bout that?” Even as he asks, the helmet is placed on the desk. And, although you’ve napped together before - you used him as a pillow, for kriff’s sake - there’s something more intimate about this. (For one thing, there’s a bed this time.)

“Sure.” As much as it scares you to invite him in, you know you’ll lie awake all night regretting it if you don’t. “Let me just slip into the ‘fresher.” Rex, who looks like he’s still trying to process your words, nods slowly.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll hit the ‘fresher by the racks, then come back.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Great.

By the time you’ve scrubbed your skin until it’s pink and changed into the sleeping clothes you keep, there’s a soft knock at the door.
He’s in just his blacks now, and you have to remind your brain that eyes do not stay focused on the chest.

“Come on in.” Rex glances down the hall, then slips in. There is a moment where you both stare at the bed, and then he takes initiative and sinks in with a little groan that does something funny to your insides.

“Can’t believe they give the better beds to the mechanics,” he gripes, and just like that, the tense spell is broken. You slide in beside him, wriggling until you’re comfy, and lying on your side to face him.

His arm ends up draped over your middle, the action so natural and comfortable, it doesn’t take you long to start drifting off. Rex does the same, and the two of you end up curling even closer.

It’s amazing how much better you sleep when he’s near.

At some point, you wake up to a dark room. Something is wrong. Instantly, your hand reaches out, finding Rex.

He’s shaking.

There are little sounds of terror coming from him that absolutely break your heart.

“Rex.” You shake his shoulder, then call his name again. Just when you’re afraid he won’t wake, he shoots up, taking the blankets with him.

You’re there in an instant, not even hesitating this time as you hug him from behind.

“It’s ok,” you whisper. “You’re ok, cyar’ika.”

The word feels funny on your tongue, and you make a mental note to finally ask someone what it means.

His shoulders shake a little, and you feel like crying with him. Never have you felt so helpless.

“They’re all gone,” he mutters finally. “All of them.” Your eyes burn and all you can do is hold him.

Chapter 6: Friction

Rex finds you on an unseasonably warm Coruscant day. The 501st is on leave for the foreseeable future, after a particularly disastrous battle off-world.

(You’d still been helping with repairs on Coruscant, and the news of the battle had left you afraid to breathe for three days straight; right up until Rex commed, saying he was fine, everything was fine.)

Now, you’re waiting for their survivor’s leave to run out, so you can join the 501st on their missions again.

(You have no way of knowing this, but Rex is quite happy you’ve been stuck here. After the carnage of the last battle… He is insanely glad he didn’t have to worry about your presence on the battlefield.)

He comes to stand beside you while you fiddle with parts of a downed speeder, watching clones run drills.

“Efficient, aren’t they?” He asks, pushing the wrench you’re reaching for closer with the toe of his boot. You snag it and twist the loose screw tighter, eying the still-loose wiring.

“I could take ‘em.” You absolutely, probably could not take them. But the words are worth the amused laugh that bursts forth from him.

“Could you?” Your hands brush over the wires, mentally taking note of which ones can be spliced together and repaired, and which ones will have to be replaced all together.

“Sure, they made me pass a physical before they recruited me for the GAR.” You leave off the fact that the “physical” was only a small test of various skills that could be passed by anyone with any mild sort of determination.

“Let’s see it then.” You looks away from the wires, staring up into the face of Rex. He looks better than he did all those weeks ago; when he was waiting outside your quarters.

Then, he looked dead on his feet. Now, there’s still a palpable tiredness in his eyes, but he looks more himself.

(There is no trace of the grief he allowed himself to feel that night.)

“N-now?” You stammer out. Rex shrugs his shoulders.

“Why not now? I’d like to see those skills.” You strip the red coating off a wire, exposing the pretty copper color beneath. There should be a brown wire somewhere, maybe back behind the panel… You furrow your brow, thoughts temporarily shifting to the mess in front of you.

“I’m busy.” It’s an excuse. You’ve finally managed to get on top of most of the repairs, and the speeder is one you’re doing just for fun.

“I can see that.” His voice comes from right behind you; close enough that his breath stirs the hair at the nape of your neck.

Close enough he feels you jump at his proximity.

“I really don’t think we need to test my skills today. Where is that brown wire?” You hiss the last part under your breath. Rex reaches around you and plucks it out from beside a frayed and broken yellow one.

“This one?” He seems unbothered by your position - with his arm reaching around you and his back right up against yours, it’s almost like a weird, pseudo-hug thing you’ve got going on - but it’s taking a good deal of your concentration not to do something that will reveal how much he’s affecting you. Like lean farther back into him. Or blush. (Maker, you’d never live that down.)

Or both.

“Yes.” Oh, you so did not mean for your voice to come out that breathy.

It seems to finally have an effect on Rex too, because he backs away enough that you can breathe normally again.

You finish with the wires, making note of which ones will definitely need a replacement, then slam the panel door closed.

Rex waits until you’re looking at him, gaze carefully neutral when he speaks.

“Then again, if you’re too scared to fight me, you can always admit it.” Your eyes narrow. You don’t back down from a challenge, and he knows it.

“Bring it on.”
***

The two of you end up in one of the recreational rooms used by the clones to work on their individual skills. It’s empty by this point in the day; everyone else is in the outdoor area to run battle drills.

“Should you be there?” You ask Rex as he takes off the upper portions of his armor. It’s nothing you haven’t seen, but, uh, in the bright lights of the room, you can clearly see how nice and defined his chest is.

Nice and defined.

“Not today,” he answers, rolling his shoulders and stretching. You attempt to copy his movements. It’s not the first time you’ve fought. There have been a few bar fights in your time, and you do work with your hands.

But you have not been trained in the actual art of fighting, and you fully expect Rex to beat you in the first few moments.

The thought of him slamming you down on the mat, pinning you with his weight leaves you looking carefully out the window, telling your brain to focus on other things.

“Ready?” He asks, and you can tell by the tone of his voice he’s going to enjoy this.

“Sure,” you chirp, pretending you know what you’re doing.

And then, you’re fighting.

Rex rushes at you, and you clamp your teeth to keep from crying out. He’s fast. Like, even faster than you expected. You lunge out of his way, hitting the floor and rolling as he spins around.

Tire him out, you decide. The only way you have a Maker’s chance at lasting more than a second.

He comes at you again, and this time, you use his momentum to propel you away.

“Interesting tactics, cyar’ika,” he taunts. He doesn’t even sound winded. You circle each other, waiting on the other to make the first move.

Rex eyes you, calculating. You eye him, doing your best to calculate and failing.

“Y’know,” you say, pretending to lunge at him. He doesn’t even flinch. “You’ve never told me what that word means.”

“Beat me and I will.” You make another circle, and then he’s advancing, feinting to the right, then switching at the last minute.

You can’t help it. The little cry slips out as he grabs your left shoulder and spins you around. His arms come up, pinning your hands to your sides, as he molds his stomach to your back. You struggle, but it’s useless.

He leans down, mouth right by your ear.

“I win.” It sends a delightful little shiver down your spine. An idea comes to you. You drop your weight. Rex has to adjust his stance to hold the sudden deadweight, and you use his precarious balance to surge backwards.

He goes down hard, and you fall on top of him, quick to scramble up so you’re straddling his hips. You pin his hands above his head.

“I win.” He looks up at you, eyes dark with an emotion that makes you hot all over. Your hands loosen a fraction, and he tears them out of your grip, snapping his hips up at the same time.

It sends you flying forward; hands slapping down on either side of his head. His own, now-free hands, end up at the small of your back. Your chests are flush, and his mouth is right there.

“Cheater,” he hisses, even as you both lean closer.

He’s a breath away, and your eyes are slipping closed, and his hold on you tightens in a way that is just right.

“Sir?” Your eyes fly open and you see some of Rex’s men standing there, looking highly amused.

“Kriff,” Rex growls.

Notes:

Fun fact: this is one of my favorite chapters and I had an absolute ball writing it :)

Chapter 7: Branded

Notes:

Did someone say angst?

The benefit to being on Coruscant means you have actual sleeping quarters instead of a damp pallet. (Or, even worse, the damp ground.) So, you value your time on-world. You sleep long and you sleep hard.

Or, you try to.

Your comm device goes off, beeping loud and sudden in the silence and sending you scrambling to find it. With most of the repairs finished, there’s no reason anyone should be calling you unless something serious has happened.

“Hello?” There’s a beat of silence, and you start to wonder if you got commed by mistake.

“Cyar’ika?” Rex’s voice crackles over the line. It’s slurred and deeper than usual.

“I’m here. Kriff, Rex, do you have any idea what time is?” There’s another pause and you can hear faint voices in the background.

“I’m at the medbay.” His words slam into you like a punch to the gut. You stumble your way over to the lights, and flick them on, squinting around for your jumpsuit.

“The medbay? The medbay?” You spy it in a ball on the floor by the ‘fresher and pull it on.

“‘m fine,” he grunts. “Jus’ need help gettin’ back.” You’re already out the door.

“Kriff,” you huff. “Just…stay there.”
***

The medbay is empty when you get there; no surprise given the time. One of the clone medics points you down the hall, and you find Rex there, slumped against the wall.

He cracks open his eyes when your shadow falls over him, looking equal parts adorable and miserable. You give him a stern look, hand on your hip.

“Hi,” he slurs, goofy smile breaking out. It hits you then, and you groan.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” He shrugs his shoulders, something that clearly takes a lot of effort and concentration.

“‘m not drunk. Jus’ buzzed.” You kneel and put your hands under his arms, intending to hauling him up.

He leans into you instead, head turning so his face is nuzzled into your neck. You cough awkwardly, and back up some.

“Rex, ol’ pal, you’re making things difficult,” you joke, trying to decide how to do this.

“You make things difficult,” he mumbles, stumbling to his feet. “And don’t call me old.” You stare at him. He’s talking nonsense.

“I make things difficult?” He nods, coming to lean heavily on you as the two of you start the trek back to his quarters.

”M-make things difficult. Make it hard to focus. Smell nice too.” Cheeks burning, you shove him a little.

“Stop talking, Rex.” He does not stop talking.

“Always smell so nice too. And look pretty. Even when you’re covered in oil and grease. Kriff, you’re hair is soft. Bet your lips are too.” Now everything is burning. You looks around, praying to the Maker no one else hears him.

“Rex, stop.” He trips over his feet and leans heavily into you to compensate.

“Make me.” He buries his nose in your neck again, lips grazing beneath your ear. You eyes drift close, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to pretend this is all real.

Loud laughter comes from around the corner, and you jolt them back open.

“Rex,” you whisper. “We can’t.” He mumbles something you can’t hear, then hauls himself back to standing.

“Night, cyar’ika.” His tone is cold. You watch as he staggers away.

“Rex,” You call after him.

He doesn’t turn around.

You’re left standing there; hand cupped over the place that feels like it’s been branded by his lips.

Chapter 8: Ache

Notes:

Just to make sure everyone is on the same page, these chapters are mostly chronological, but they focus on both the little things and the bigger plot.

Sometimes, Rex catches himself thinking about kissing you.

He doesn’t mean to, and it often causes attention issues.

Like bad enough that no less than three times, you’ve had to snap your fingers at him to get his attention.

But the sight of you — nose smudged with grease after you try to push hair off your face and fail — does something to him.

Or when you laugh at one of his stupid jokes; head thrown back, laughter ringing out in the hanger bay. It draws him in, and he’s thankful for the helmet so you can’t see just how much he’s looking at your lips.

Or, kriff, that time Fives convinced you to go to 79’s with the rest of them, and he watched you down a shot before making a distracting little pout at the bitter taste of it.

It’s all almost too much, and he lies awake at night, trying to force his mind onto other things.

But he can’t help but wonder what you would feel like, pressed between him and the wall. Can’t help but wonder at the little sounds you’re bound to make.

Can’t help but wonder how you taste.

It drives him crazy, and sometimes it almost makes him desperate with the need to know.

And then you’re there, snapping your fingers in his face and calling his name, because he forgot to listen again, while he was thinking about you and your lips.

And he aches.

Chapter 9: Distractions

When you’re finally able to rejoin the 501st on their missions, it’s not anything like you expect. It’s not the battles you’re sort of used to at this point. It’s all new. A mission specifically for you to do repairs. (Frankly, it’s a more than a little flattering.)

However. You’re heading to a nearly empty tundra wasteland of a planet, where you will be repairing a signal tower at an outpost that’s been dark for a few standard days now. It’s cold and it’s perpetually night, and frankly, it’s miserable.

“Why couldn’t we have a relief mission on a balmy, tropical planet?” you mutter under your breath. You’re careful not to complain too much. Rex is…not happy that you’ve rejoined the missions, which does annoy you just a bit. At the start. But now you’re kind of wishing you’d given in to his protests and just stayed back on Coruscant.

The weather here is brutal.

Ice shards are doing their best to lash through your skin, and the wind nearly takes your breath away.

And you haven’t even climbed up the tower yet. Instead, you’re making your best efforts at solving the problem on the rooftop. For your sake and for the sake of getting this over with.

“Can we speed this along?” Rex calls over a particularly fierce gust of wind. You ignore him, choosing to keep your teeth clenched to prevent them from chattering hard enough to hurt instead of point out that fact that you are hurrying.

It ends up being no use. There’s no issue with anything on the ground level.

The problem has to be coming from the satellite up top, especially if this wind if any indication.

You’ll have to climb.

“I need climbing gear,” you call, glancing back at Rex. The 501st captain doesn’t seem to be having any particular issues with the harsh weather, but he has his compression blacks and plastoid armor. And helmet. Your jumpsuit-jacket-bandana-safety googles getup is nothing compared to his.

“Like firefek you do,” Rex growls. He’s taken up a position right behind you, doing his best to shield you from the elements. And it’s sort of working because your back does feel nice and toasty. But the weather is getting worse with every passing second, and the longer you wait, the more difficult it’s going to be.

You explain as much to Rex, watching as he tilts his helmet back to look at the precarious tower. The outpost itself sits in a little hollow, but the satellite tower is on the roof and exposed to the gusty winds. Add in the durasteel beams that make up the tower (which are only slightly bigger than your wrist and twice as slippery as the ice on the roof) and you’re in for a rough night.

Rex huffs, then lifts his arm, speaking into his comm.

“The longer we wait, the harder this is going to be.” You have to lean in close to his helmet to be heard over the winds, which have doubled just since you’ve been talking.

“Fives, Echo, bring the gear we packed up here. And tell the rest of the crew to hunker down. It looks like we’re in for a nice little blizzard.” There’s a pause, and then Rex’s men come trooping up top, hauling the items you need.

“Need any more help, sir?” Echo asks, hand lifted to help shield the vision slit on his helmet.

“Just get back below and make sure we have plenty of rations and heat packs,” Rex orders. You can hear the underlying worry in your voice. Fives and Echo salute, then fight their way back to the hatch leading inside.

“Are you expecting us to be stuck?” you ask. He doesn’t answer, and instead helps you set everything up, double checking to make sure everything is secure. You’re about to start working your way to the top, when he puts a hand on your shoulder, stopping you. You tug down the bandana so he can hear you better.

“Something wrong?” He slips off his helmet and holds it out to you.

“You’ll want something more protective up there.”

You’re touched.

You smile gently at him, taking off the googles but leaving the bandana. Extra warmth. He gazes down at you, hand coming up to brush a strand of hair back behind your ear. His hands are warm, and you lean into his touch, relishing in it.

“I’ll be right down so you can have it back,” you say finally, when a howl of wind and ice shards intrudes on your moment. He raises an eyebrow, soft smile on his face as he plucks the googles out of your hand.

“Just be careful, cyar'ika.” On the helmet goes and up you begin to climb, his hands on your waist to steady you until he can’t reach anymore. The helmet is a little big and takes some getting used to at first, especially with the way Rex has the HUD set up. You can see a temperature and elevation read out, as well as vital signs.

There’s also a log in the left corner, which keeps track of communications between the 501st.

You can’t pay attention to it while you’re climbing, but when you get to the top, you take a minute to orient yourself. (Ignoring, to the best of your ability, the way the tower is swaying.)

That’s when you see a line of communication from “CT-5555.” Fives.

I got twenty credits the Captain makes a move after this, the transcript reads.

It shouldn’t surprise you. It really shouldn’t. After that night when Rex commed you, drunk and lacking a filter, you kind of figured there were some unspoken feelings.

(Feelings, that, you could never admit, are definitely requited.)

But seeing the communication distracts you just enough, so that when the next big gust of wind whips the tower, you’re jostled around.

You lose your grip, and for an eternal second, you’re suspended in the air.

And then you’re plunging down. You’re vaguely aware of Rex yelling, as you scramble to take hold of the safety line secured to the harness you’re wearing. Your tools clatter to the distant roof below you, and fear robs your lungs of air.

Too late.

The line snaps taut inches above the ground, jarring you to your very bones. The helmet clacks against the ground, ratting your teeth and leaving you with a sharp pain in your head.

The last thing you see is Rex in the very edge of your vision.

He’s panicking.

Notes:

It seems like Rex is forever asking Mechanic!reader to speed things along while she sasses him. (It doesn’t work out so well this time.)

Chapter 10: Incalescence

Notes:

First off, I want to say thank you to everyone who has read/commented/interacted with this story!! It’s been mind-blowing to see the response, and I still can’t believe it!!

Second, I realize it’s been 8,000 years since I last updated, so thanks for hanging in there! Enjoy the chapter!!

Consciousness is slow in coming. Gradually, you become aware of a pounding in your right temple and an aching back.

But what trumps all that is the sound.

There’s a constant, rushing sound that assaults your ears, and you find yourself trying to twist away in an effort to find relief. Something wraps around you, keeping you still.

“Easy, cyar’ika. Just hang in there,” someone murmurs. You find yourself leaning into the touch. It’s warm, you realize. When everything around you is cold. The realization takes the edge off the piercing cold that won’t leave you alone.

“Kix, are you almost finished?” The words float over and through you, and you grapple with them, trying to assign them some semblance of meaning.

Instead, they slip on by, and you’re left wanting and more confused than when you first heard them.

The cold blows through you, and you lean closer to that warmth, willing your eyes to open.

But it’s so cold out there and it’s so warm here, in this limbo, so you let yourself be pulled back under. Your head falls back down to something hard, and faintly, you hear a rhythmic sound that brings you comfort.

(Later, you’ll only be able to identify the sound as home.)

*****

The next time you wake up, you’re a lot more alert. The rushing sound has died down, but your extremities are cold, and you find it hard to move.

A squinted glance to the left and right in the dark room tells you why.

You’re propped up against the wall, sandwiched between the 501st’s sleeping medic - Kix - and Rex.

Rex, who has his head tilted back at an incredibly uncomfortable angle, with a fraught look on his face, and tension creasing his skin even in his sleep. You start to reach up and smooth the worry away, but it’s then you realize you can’t move your hand.

(It is, however, the only part of you that’s totally warm right now.) Rex has it held tightly in his grip.

You shift slightly, and your back twinges in warning. Things come back to you in pieces, and the thought of how close you came to serious injury leaves you breathless.

Your stirring must wake up Rex, because you feel him move before he speaks.

“Cyar’ika?” He croaks out, the hand he’s holding yours with tightening before he realizes what he’s doing and letting you go. You feel an odd sense of loss at the sudden lack of contact.

“I’m here,” you say. “Why do you always call me that?” It’s a weird time to ask - in fact, probably the wrong time - but you can’t help focusing in on it.

“I-I don’t always,” he stammers out. Your back has increased from the annoying twinge it’s been doing to full on pain, and you shift to where you’re laying back against Rex’s chest, legs draped over his. The movement is without thought and you don’t consider it until you feel his breath hitch under you.

“Sorry,” you murmur, worried he’s injured. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” It comes out through gritted teeth, sounding slightly strangled.

It does funny things to your stomach.

“Are you sure?” You turn slightly, trying to see his face, then decide to situate yourself further in between his legs for maximum warmth and comfort.

“Yes.” He’s only giving you one worded answers, but in his “yes” you hear it. The barely contained desperation.

Oh.

Oh, that’s what’s wrong.

You open your mouth to apologize for essentially and quite literally forcing yourself on top of him, and for putting the two of you in this situation, but Kix interrupts with a mumble at the loss of your warmth, then scoots closer to the trooper on the other side of him. It looks like Fives, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing and waking them up. Rex takes a deep breath, and you feel his chest rise and fall against your back.

“Are you hurting anywhere?” he asks. Carefully, his hands tighten around your waist, enveloping you in a hug.

It’s exquisite torture.

“No,” you whisper, watching as the rest of the 501st sleeps piled together. Yes, your mind whispers. Yes, I’m hurting and I just want you to kiss it and make it better.

(Your mind goes off on a tangent then, imaging Rex kissing up your spine and you have to reign it back in.)

You could never ask of him any of that. Duty comes first, and it’s that characteristic that makes him so appealing in your eyes.

“Are reinforcements on the way?” You ask, desperate to change the subject. Rex is silent for a moment and you toy with pressing farther into him. Pushing that boundary.

“Yes. Echo called it in while Kix made sure you hadn’t busted your kriffing spine.” He speaks before you can act on the thought.

“Good,” you murmur, “I’m ready to get off this kriffing planet.” Rex laughs softly behind you, and you feel it then.

The gentle kiss against your temple.

“Language,” he chides softly, arms tightening almost imperceptibly, as if he’s afraid that once he loosens his grip, you’ll float away.

“You said it first.” Your voice is breathless, and you give up, pressing harder back into him, and relishing in the way he feels behind you, even with his armor between you two.

“Sorry,” he says. “Wasn’t thinking.” Do it again, you want to beg him. Don’t think. Instead, you rest your head against his chest. There’s that rhythm again; the one you heard the first time.

“S’ok,” you mumble, sleepy once again now that you’re warm and comfortable.

As your consciousness fades out, you feel him press another soft kiss on the other side of your head, where the bruises will be forming. Vaguely, you hear yourself hum in contentment.

Notes:

Come bother me on Tumblr as @kill-the-feels where I spend most of my time screaming about Star Wars and Temura Morrison’s various faces.

Chapter 11: Teacher

Notes:

Wow, it’s been a minute since I last updated! I want to say thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed!! Y’all are the best!! <3

Finding things to do in between battles is always a challenge, and it often results in impromptu shows of skills. Sometimes, this comes in the form of sparring, especially when everyone is itching for a fight. But more often than not, it‘s target practice.

There‘s a healthy little competition between the troopers, made even bigger when more than one company of men are on a mission.

You watch as Rex takes aim at a target. His hand is steady, hips cocked at an angle.

Normally, the 501st captain keeps himself above all this. But this time, he’s in full-blown show off mode.

The blaster bolt rips through the air and lands smack in the middle of the target.

The 501st boys crow out insults to the 212th boys. You laugh, content to watch from your spot on the ground.

This mission to Jakku has been hot and long, with little relief. You can only imagine the troopers are just as happy as you are that night is finally setting in.

“Th’ commander could never beat that,” Fives shouts, and the 212th is quick to shout insults back. Commander Cody is nowhere to be seen, and you figure he’s probably made himself scarce to avoid all this. A wise choice, you’re starting to think, as two troopers exchange friendly punches.

You roll your eyes, taking another bite of your rations. Rex holsters his blaster, ignoring the jeers. He takes his seat beside you, his hand finding yours. In the low light, it’s impossible to notice the action unless someone is really looking.
You tighten your grip on him.

“At least our mechanic can shoot,” Boil, one of the 212th, shouts.

“His foot, maybe,” Fives calls back. He looks at you. It’s a challenge. The 212th mechanic, a civilian Twi’lek, stands up, cracking his knuckles.

“I’m not shooting a blaster,” you tell Rex. The other mechanic takes aim and fires. It’s a good shot; just a little to the left of the middle.

“Let’s go,” Fives shouts. “The 501st could beat that in their sleep.”

“Let’s see it then!” someone calls. All eyes turn to you and it goes silent.

“Rex, I really can’t shoot,” you murmur. He’s casually neutral, but you feel his thumb rub over the back of your hand, reassuring. Further insults are being hurled in the lull between shooters.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” he says, tone even and leaving no room to argue.

“But, sir-” Fives protests, mouth open in surprise. Rex raises an eyebrow.

“I said, I think that’s enough. It’s been plenty loud for one night.” As if on cue, Cody materializes, breaking up the two squads, and reminding troopers that above all, they’re still in battle. Noise and light infractions - like that of stray blaster bolts - are strictly prohibited.

Rex releases your hand and stands up.

“See you in a bit?” you whisper. He nods, already tugging his helmet back on.

The two of you are in no hurry to flaunt your relationship for all eyes to see. So, if that means quick handholding and unspoken communication, that’s what it will be.

*****

He finds you before you find him the next morning. You’re under the belly of an LAAT/i, which’s had sand wreak havoc on its internals. There’s a fine layer of grit and grease on everything. It’s hot work - there’s little shade, even underneath the transport, and durasteel retains heat like nothing else.

Someone grabs your ankle and pulls you out. You’re in an irritated mood already, and you come out ready to hurl insults at whoever just greeted you in such a way.

“Oh. It’s you.” Rex’s helmet, with it’s Jaig Eyes stares down at you.

“Hello to you too,” he says drily. You wipe some of the grit off your face with your sleeve.

“Sorry. I’m just frustrated.” He helps you up, hand coming up to wipe some of the grit you missed on your forehead.
“So you could use a break?” You consider him.

“Well, yes. But the 212th mechanic isn’t taking a break.” Actually, you haven’t see him since earlier in the day, and the area he’d been working in is strangely quiet.

“Forget that. I could use a break.” You follow Rex into the hot sunshine, already missing the little shade afforded by the LAAT/i. He takes you outside of the camp, to a twisted hunk of metal that used to be a large droid.

It, apparently, never stood a chance against the clones.

Rex offers you his blaster. You take it gingerly, looking between it and him in confusion.

“What’s this for?” He backs the two of you up a few paces.

“I think it’s time you learned to shoot, don’t you?” You laugh, figuring he’s kidding.
“There’s no reason for me to shoot. I’m never in the battles and we’ve already established I can hold my own in hand-to-hand.” You, in fact, cannot hold your own in hand-to-hand.

Rex snorts.

“That was not holding your own. That was you cheating.” He’s talking about the one and only time you tried to spar Rex. (It ended up with Rex on the floor and you on top of him.)

“If it worked, was it really cheating?” He ignores you, pointing at the blaster.

“Everyone should know how to shoot. Now, you want to make sure your hand is steady when you take the shot. It will help improve your aim. Point the blaster at the target.” You’re used to working with your hands, so you figure this won’t be too hard.

Except it is. Rex goes through a whole litany of rules, then tells you to fire, but before you can even pull the trigger, he leans in close.

“Safety’s still on, Cyar’ika,” he says. You grit your teeth, flicking it off.

The first shot misses, as do the second and third. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the frustration. You don’t like doing something if you aren’t good at it. And shooting? You’re not good at it.

“Concentrate,” Rex says. You side-eye him.

“I am.” He reaches around and supports your arm.

“On the target, not the gun.” You take a deep breath, firing again. This time, it hits the very top of the target. Good enough for you.

“Yes!” Rex pulls out his other blaster.

“Good shot,” he says. He fires without even looking. It hits dead center.

“Show off,” you mutter.

“You’ll get there one day,” he responds, and even though his helmet is still on, you can tell he’s smiling.

Rex has you practice a few more shots, and by the end, he’s standing right behind you, arms wrapped around our waist and helping you aim as he points out various tips. The warmth of the day doesn’t compare to the way his touch makes you feel.

The sun is going down by the time you’ve made three decent, consecutive shots. Rex has removed his helmet, leaving it sitting in the sand.

You lower the blaster and survey the shots.

“Good job,” he says, resting his head on your shoulder. The closer the two of you have gotten, the more touchy he is. You lean your own head down on his.

“I’ve got a good teacher.” You know the two of you need to head back - if they haven’t missed you by now, they’ve definitely missed Rex - but there’s a cool breeze blowing by, and the stars are starting to come out.

“Maybe you can teach me how to hot wire next,” he says. “Show me how to steal a ship.” You attempt to swat at him.

“I don’t know how to steal a ship. It’s illegal.” He catches your hand, so you start to sweep your leg back, with the goal of knocking him off his feet. It works, but he pulls you down with him. You’ll have sand everywhere. (It’s worth it.)

He rolls over, propping up on his elbow and leaning over you.

“We should get back,” you murmur. His gaze flicks down to your lips.

“In a minute.” Rex kisses you then, lips hot and needy. He bites your bottom lip, drawing a little moan from you. Your hands come up, cupping his face, then sliding to the back of his head and pulling him closer. His chest presses against yours, and your legs tangle together. It’s been awhile since the two of you’ve been able to do something like this, and it shows in the way you kiss. Pent up passion fights for an out. You claw your hand down his back, intent on getting the armor off, as his own hands start working the top portion of your jumpsuit off.

Rex’s comm lights up.

“Sir? We need you at base camp. Can you hear me? Sir?” It’s Fives. Rex groans, head falling down to your chest.

“Kriff,” he sighs. He hates to leave. The moonlight looks lovely on you; flushed and aroused, laying there beneath him. And he’s no better than you. There’s a lovely pink flush on his cheeks, and his codpiece is achingly tight.

“I guess we should go,” you say finally. He nods, loathe to get up.

“Sir?” Rex finally stands, answering Fives while you compose yourself. He picks up his helmet from the ground, and you adjust your jumpsuit top. You wait until he clicks the comm back off.

“Thank you. For teaching me, that is,” you say. He gives you a tender smile.

“Anytime.”

Notes:

Thank you for reading!! <3

Chapter 12: Deluge

Notes:

You might have noticed, but I bumped up the rating. This story does feature smut from here on out, so if that’s not your thing, please be aware!

It never rains in the desert. Never. And yet, here you are, soaked to the skin as you try to dislodge the carcass of a speeder from the bog of mud its stuck in, while the rain pounds down on your head and makes its way inside your jumpsuit via cold trails of water that feel like fingers crawling down your back. You shiver and try to maneuver the collar closer to your neck by shifting your shoulders, but it’s useless without your hands.

A crash of thunder makes you jump, and the flicker of lightning that follows it seems so close that you can smell the electricity in the air. The speeder budges a little bit, then slides even deeper.

“Shit,” you mutter, hands slipping on the mud-covered sides. Clones splash around you, running to and fro to complete their duties and get out of the rain. Like you’d like to do, as soon as you can move this kriffin’ speeder. At least the rain is a nice break from the relentless heat you’ve been dealing with.

“Thought I ordered everyone inside?” someone yells over the pounding rain. You know it’s Rex without having to turn around, which is a good thing, because the speeder is finally inching its way out of the mud with a gross sucking sound.

It won’t run, obviously - the engines too clogged with mud for that - but if you can get her free, you can take her in and clean her up.

“I’ll get in just as soon as I finish this.” Your teeth are chattering, and the sentence comes out less smoothly than you anticipated. He falls in beside you, helping to push it forward. His hands - no less muddy - are so much bigger than yours, you can’t help but get stuck on them.

With a sudden jolt, the speeder wrenches free, and you’re too distracted to stop yourself from falling face first into the once-hot-sand-turned-cold-mud.

“Aw, hell,” you whine. There are no showers to clean up in, so you’ll be stuck covered in mud for as long as the 501st is stationed here. Rex extends a hand down to you, tugging you gently out of the mud.

“You should get inside,” he says, helmeted face scanning the horizon. “There’s worse coming soon.” You nod, pushing the speeder along. It moves a lot better when it’s not being sucked down into the equivalent of quicksand. He goes off the opposite direction of you, to help some clones secure LAATs. You duck into the makeshift tent you’ve put up, dragging the speeder with you. It takes up most of the space, but you don’t mind. Better here than drowning out there.

***

Rex is right. The longer the day goes on, the worse the storm gets, until everyone can hardly walk without getting sucked into the ground. Already, they’ve had to pull three clones out of the mire. You keep yourself busy in the tent, having mostly dried out. Now you just feel crusty.

The front flap snaps open, and you rush to secure it. It’s a good thing the rains have dampened the sand too much to blow it around, because the winds are nearly as bad as the pouring rain.

Rex steps through, tugging off his helmet as he does, and shaking off extra droplets of water and mud. Another sign the weather is bad: Rex is willingly wearing his helmet.

“I hate the rain,” he says, dropping his helmet on the tiny table you’ve made out of an old crate.

“Watch it,” you say, “I have the speeder data there.”

“Sorry.” He moves the helmet to the side, then leans against the center pole, arms crossed.

“At least it’s not so hot anymore,” you tell him. He nods, gaze drifting about the room. There’s something off about him, you decide. More so than just the typical exhaustion or worry that he’s usually carrying. No, there’s almost a sense of awkwardness that’s rooted deep within him, preventing him from meeting your gaze.

“Are you okay?” He rubs a thumb over the bridge of his nose, smearing mud on his face.

“Kriff,” he says, face twisting in annoyance. You step over to him, speeder momentarily forgotten, and gently wipe away the mud with your fingers, touch lingering on his skin. Even in the miserable weather, he’s so warm. He pulls himself away from you, leaving your hand hanging in the air. There’s a twinge of hurt deep in your chest, but you mash it down farther. Now is not the time to be all in your feelings.

“I should go,” he says. “We’ve got a lot more to do.” And then he’s gone, leaving you in your little tent, wondering what you did wrong.

***

By morning, the rain is even worse than it was before, and there is an impending threat of a mudslide coming from the ridge up above you. Rex has decided to move the company to a better location, which means packing it all up and transporting it through the rain and mud.

Misery.

You’re in charge of making sure all the different vehicles are ready to go, and those that aren’t coming with you (because the mud is too much of a force to be reckoned with) are properly dismantled for parts and destroyed.

By the time you actually move out, the sun is setting and the rain is still pounding, and you think that you’ve actually never been so miserable in your life. Rex is leading the company and you’re towards the back, so you can’t exactly gripe at him, but the clones around you are doing plenty of that themselves.

Battle is not always a glorious firefight, you decide. Sometimes it’s just putting one foot in front of the other in the hopes of making it to a better day. Or in this case, better ground.

As the sun rises, the rain lets up some, bringing immediate relief, up until the humidity sets in.

“Maker, I hate this place,” you mutter as you pitch your tent and check to make sure all your supplies are in order. You haven’t seen Rex since he set off on this grand old march, and frankly, you’re a little annoyed with him. You thought you were better friends than how he’s been acting. Or, if he needed space, that he would at least tell you.

Apparently not. You wipe sweat off your face, and fan yourself in a futile attempt to cool off. Everyone is suffering - clones all around you are in varying degrees of dress, and you’ve already peeled off the top part of your jumpsuit and tied it around your waist, just to try and escape the heat.

Not Rex, though. The few times you’ve managed to catch a glimpse of him as you weave in and out of gunships and speeders, checking to make sure they’re all in working condition, he’s been fully suited up. And not only that: the helmet has stayed on. Something is definitely wrong with him, and you’re determined to figure out what.

As the sun begins its downward trek again - nearly hidden by another set of clouds that have spent the day building - you locate Rex among a group of clones hanging around the center tent used for operations.

Not wanting to intrude and make Rex push you away again, you linger just out of earshot, pretending to be busy messing with the wiring on a speeder.

At first, you think the trembling is your own body, which alarms you. But as clones around you begin to react, you realize it’s the ground, which alarms you even more.

There’s a rumbling sound that gets louder and louder, and then the very ground starts to move under you, as mud, dirt, and sand begin to slide. Gunships and speeders shift with it, and clones lose their footing. You grab the side of the speeder you’ve been messing with, using it to brace yourself. It starts sliding too, but you can’t let go, because the other alternative is getting pulled along in the mud, like some other others.

Chaos erupts around you, and a shout reaches your ears. You watch in horror as the shifting mud tugs a LAAT, spinning it on its side before sending it careening down on top of the center tent. The impact drives up a kriffin’ wall of mud, which slams over everything in its path. Your mouth drops in horror, and you scan the shifting mud, searching for the familiar flash of blue in between all the other pieces of debris. Your own speeder twists and your stomach drops, because if it turns loose from the mire its stuck in, then you’re as good as dead.

Just as soon as it starts, it’s over, the mud coming to a stop and everything falling eerily silent. You pry your hands off the speeder, ignoring the way they really are trembling now, and pick your way over the ground, towards the command tent. Your legs shake with every step and your hands are so numb you can’t feel your fingers.

Kriff, where is Rex? You count men as you pass, trying to determine just how many were swept away in the mudslide. Two of the remaining six LAATs are on their sides, and the one is wedged nice and tight over the command tent. Speeders are flipped end over end, and you pass no less than five men trapped in the mud, their fellow clones already struggling to pull them out.

But you don’t see Rex.

Your breathing is shallow, and you feel like you can’t get a full breath in as you approach the downed gunship. You join the ranks of men working to get it moved, eyes scanning the mud the whole time. Is this it, then, you wonder. Is this how he dies? You’re not naïve. You know that, realistically, this war does not end with Rex still alive. But you always thought death would come at the hands of a firefight, not being smothered by nature.

The LAAT shifts slightly, enough that you and the men are able to use gravity to your advantage, letting the newly-sloped ground pull it on down. The tent is utterly flat. But that’s not what turns you limbs to stone. No, that comes from seeing the twisted and mangled bodies, limbs protruding from the mud at all angles. You press a hand to your mouth, trying to settle your stomach.

Maker, he’s dead. You just know it.

And then:

“Captain? Hey, Captain! Can I get some help over here? It’s the captain!” You scramble towards the clone with the others, heedless of the way jagged bits of debris catch on your jumpsuit and skin.

He’s there, in a crevice made by two of the tent poles, buried up to his chest in mud. But he’s there. Together, you and the clones work to unearth him, as the clone medic, Kix, makes his way over. He looks harried, and it’s no wonder, with all the injuries you’re sure are going to come out of this.

When Rex is unearthed, he’s carried over to a relatively flat area. Kix pries off the dented helmet and examines him, and you hold your breath. You honestly don’t know what you’ll do if he’s gone. Like, seriously. Rex has become so much to you.

“He’ll be okay,” Kix says finally. “Just a lil’ banged up.” Your body sags in relief that multiplies whenever Rex actually sits up.

“The hell happened?” He says, voice deep and cracking. (It’s so not the time, but you find yourself clenching your legs together a bit, wondering what it would be like to hear that voice in the mornings.)

“Mudslide,” Kix says, “Nearly crushed you. Others weren’t so lucky. I need to get to them. Will you be alright, sir?” Rex pushes himself up - a good sign that nothing’s broken - and nods.

“Gotta be. I need to get things back in order and inform the people back on Coruscant what a shit mission this is turning out to be.” Kix shakes his head.

“Not so fast, sir. I’d like you to get the cuts you sustained patched up. No telling what’s in this sand and mud.” He pauses, as if trying to decide who he can pawn the job off to, but everyone is busy, unearthing survivors and dead alike. You look around. Pretty much every piece of machinations and tech is going to have to be unearthed before you can begin repairs, and people come first, so you’re in a holding pattern.

“I can do that,” you call, stepping forward. Kix’s gaze passes over you briefly, before he fishes something out of his medic pack. You take it, and he’s moving on, heading to the next group of clones to assist. You point to the area your tent was. It’s been pulled sideways, but is otherwise mostly intact, it seems.

“I can patch you up in there,” you say. Rex says nothing, but when he takes a step, you see him wince, then falter. Your eyes narrow. He’s hurt worse than either he or Kix are letting on, you realize, in the hopes of not alarming his men.

“Here,” you say, slipping his arm across your shoulders, letting him lean on you.

“‘M fine,” he says, voice low. You catch a twinge of pink across his cheeks. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the rest of the 501st pretending not to notice the two of you.

“Humor me,” you say as you enter the tent. Boxes have been knocked over and scattered about. Carefully, you lean Rex on the center pole, then right two of them.

“Sit.” Apparently, he’s too tired to put up much of a fight, because he sits and doesn’t even make an attempt to sound tough. You study him, noting areas with deeper cuts and areas with simple scrapes.

“Do you know how lucky you are?” You ask him, uncapping the bacta spray Kix gave you. Rex scoffs.

“I don’t consider this lucky,” he says, “since I’m the one alive, and every one of the men I was talking to just minutes ago is dead.” Gently, you tilt his chin up with one of your fingers, before spraying the bacta along a cut on his cheekbone. You rub it in softly, and something tightens in your chest at the way he closes his eyes and leans into your touch.

“But your other men need you,” you point out, turning his head just a bit to get at a cut on his neck. “And… and I need you.” His eyes open, and you see the raw pain in them just briefly before the walls slam up again. The same walls he’s been carefully erecting since the two of you had your little moment when he was teaching you to shoot.

“Don’t say that.” His voice is low and gruff, but you hear the way it catches in the back of his throat. You clench your jaw and move around behind him, searching among his bleach blond hair for any cuts. There’s a particular nasty gash on the back of his head that’s stained the hair around it a dark brown.

Gently, you probe it, trying to figure out how deep it is. He hisses in pain and jerks away from you.

“Watch it.” His tone has defaulted back to that of a soldier now, emotionless and measured even as his arm snaps to his side, cradling his ribs as another soft grunt of pain escapes him.

“I am,” you say, spraying the bacta on the back of his head, watching as the liquid causes the dried blood to run; an awful, deep red that oozes into a fresh red. It isn’t a long cut, but it’s deep, almost like he slammed the back of his head on a rock. Once more, you’re struck by how close you came to losing him.

“Kriff, Rex, why didn’t your helmet stop this?” He snorts.

“Piece of junk,” he says, “I’d have been better without it. Might have been able to do more than concuss myself.” The last part is muttered, but his dark words take your breath away.

You know he’s tired. You know he has such conflicting feelings about this war and the people it’s taken from him. But at the same time, you hadn’t realized he’d gotten this bad mentally. What kind of friend does that make you?

“Oh, Rex,” you breathe. And then you pull him into your arms, holding him tight and hoping you can simply just… tug the pieces back together. You hands cradle the back of his head and his neck, careful to avoid the gash.

His breath catches again, and holds, and then he buries his face in your neck.

“I… I just…” He’s quiet then, but your feel his arms tighten around you, until they’re just shy of painful. Like he’s afraid that letting go of you will cause you to disappear.

“I was so scared,” he says finally, lips brushing your skin as he speaks. “For my men and for you. I saw you, right before. And then the ground moved, and I couldn’t find you, and all I could think about was how I failed… everyone. And how I’d failed you. Hadn’t… protected you.” Oh.

“I know. But we’re okay now. It’ll all be okay,” you say, running your hands down his neck and across his back, then back up, trying to soothe. Rex doesn’t cry. He’d argue there’s no time for it in war.

But this time you feel a certain dampness against the skin of your neck. For his sake, you pretend it’s not there. You just let him hold you and run your hands over him, grounding him.

Eventually, he clears his throat and straightens back up. You notice the wince as he does.

“I should check that spot on your side too,” you say. He shrugs.

“It’ll be fine.” You raise an eyebrow.

“Rex.” And with a sigh, he’s reaching up to undo the clasp keeping his chest piece on, shaking off his pauldron as he goes.

Even with his blacks, you can tell where the injury point is. The fabric is ripped and torn, revealing an angry bruise, already a bright red ringed with purple. And it’s right over his ribs.

“Uh, I think I should get Kix for this,” you say, because that does not look good, but then he’s grabbing your fingers and just… holding.

“Wait. Please.” You look into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts, but he’s as good at hiding his as he is at reading yours.

“You need more than bacta for that one,” you say, trying to appeal to his sense of rationality.

“I know. But… not yet.” Your eyes narrow slightly, and you sit across from him on one of the other boxes.

“Okay.” For the longest, the two of you just stare at each other, Rex hiding every kriffing thought from you, and you letting your emotions play across your face.

(You’ve never been very good at games that require a blank face.)

It’s a waiting game, you realize, and Rex is waiting for you to crack, as his gaze darts up and down your body.

It’s this moment that you realize what you must look like. Neither one of you looks great - covered in mud and dried sweat and old rainwater - but you distinctly remember undoing the top of your jumpsuit, which has left you in a thin, used-to-be-white tank.

His eyes linger on your chest, and his tongue comes out to wet his bottom lip. It sends a bolt of fire to your tummy.

“Rex.”

“Cyar’ika.”

You crack at the same time.

***

Later, you’re not sure who moves first. You remember the pound of thunder that fills the air the second his hands touch you. The rain starts to pour again, surrounding the two of you in your little tent. It’s so much like the very first moment you can remember sharing with him.

Except this time, it’s him who lays you down. It’s him who spreads you out across one of the tarps that’s come loose from covering the boxes.

The rain makes it feel like you’re in your own world, everything totally silent except for the pattering on the tent top and your breathing.

He cradles you in his arms, weight pressing down on you in a way that’s real and heavy and right.
So right.

You study his face, letting your gaze devour him and commit this moment - him - to memory. You’re never guaranteed more than this moment, here and now, with him, so you’re going to make it last.

Gently, he lets you down, bracing his arms on either side of you head. His hand comes up, and he tugs a glove and gauntlet off with his mouth. You follow him with your eyes, unable to do much else other than watch.

When his gloves are gone, he cups your face in his hand, thumb tracing over you cheek and then lower still, across your bottom lip.

“Are you sure?” he asks, because this time, you know there will be no stopping. This time, there will be no interruptions.

“Yes,” you breathe, before arching up into him and wrapping your arms around his back. You pull him down into you, muffling his groan with your lips, and widening you legs so he’s in between them, situated right in front of your center.

Rex kisses like he fights - it’s calculated and pointed, creating the most devastating effect as he drags his lips away from your mouth long enough to press kisses along your neck, teeth nipping as he goes.

But he’s also multitasking, you realize distantly, as you feel him tugging at your jumpsuit, pulling it even farther off you, until you’re nearly bare beneath him; just the tank. He pulls away, and you whimper at the loss of him, trying to pull him back with you legs, heels digging into his back.

He studies you instead, sitting back on his heels and looking down at you, flushed and panting. His pupils are dilated, and they can’t seem to focus on one spot for too long. Ever so slowly, he reaches down and tugs on the hem of the tank top you’ve been wearing. Up, up, up he pulls, until there’s nothing barring his eyes from seeing you.

And then he leans down, and your breath catches in your throat as he places a searing kiss on you chest, right above you heart. You can’t hold in the breathy sigh that escapes you. Rex lingers there until you feel like you’re going to burn up.
Finally, mercifully, he moves again, back to your lips as he shucks the rest of his armor, leaving him only in his blacks. Leaving him vulnerable.

Now you pull away, cupping his face and looking deep into his eyes as he shifts, tugging at his blacks until he’s as bare as you are.

His forehead falls to rest against yours and you hold him tight, like he might leave if you let go.

Rex’s first thrust into you takes your breath away, and you cry out before he muffles it, mouth hard against your mouth. You bury your face in his neck, biting just slightly, leaving your mark amongst all the rest. His own face falls to your neck, below your ear, and you hear his choked groan when your hands start to wander, nails scraping over his back, griping tight as he pulls out, achingly slow, before slamming back in.

He keeps that slow pace. Maker, it’s slow and it burns through you, winding you higher and higher until you can hardly breathe. His hands are on you, dragging over your sides and cupping your breasts. Twining through your hair and tugging your head back so your neck is exposed and he can sink his teeth in, the pain sharp but in all the right ways. You’ll have bruises in the morning, but you don’t care. You want them there, to remember this, to remember him like this.

You clench around him, sensing your impending release and he grunts, head falling back to the crook of your neck.
“Sweetheart,” he says, in a low tone, voice cracking in a way that goes straight to your core.

You’re falling then, the world a blinding white, the deluge to your senses just like the rain outside.

All that matter right now is this. Not the rain, not the fear, kriff, not even the war.

Just this.

Notes:

Thank you for reading!! <3

Chapter 13: Sunset

The galaxy comes to a blazing, sudden and glorious end on an otherwise normal day.

Actually, that’s not quite true. For other civilians it might seem like a normal day. But for you, who spends your life in close quarters with the GAR and its finest, you know the galaxy has not been fine for some time.

But it’s easy to forget that and pretend everything is okay when you’re around Rex. It’s easy to pretend this war ends not with massive casualties but with a peaceful resolution when you hear him laugh and talk about a future.

It’s easy to slip into a dream that, realistically, you know will never happen.

Maybe that’s why it hurts so much when the galaxy ends.

It starts like this: Rex finds you in between his increasingly busy schedule as you make repairs to a medical droid — there’s been an increased need for them these days. He looks tired but he’s not wearing the helmet, which is always a good sign.

But he hesitates. You’ve learned to read his silences, his contemplations, between what he actually says in order to gain the full meaning.

So when he says, “I’m shipping out.” you don’t just hear “I’m leaving for a bit.”

You hear the finality. And maker, you’re glad your hands are currently buried in your jumpsuit pockets, because they begin to shake worse than they ever have in your life.

(Mechanics don’t get shaky hands. They just don’t.)

But you will never tell him how scared you are in that moment, because while his job is to fight, yours is to fix, and you can tell he’s come to you because he wants you to fix the ending of this for him.

Rex is smart. He’s calculating, he’s analytical, and for all the impulsive decisions the others rib him for, you know at his core, he’s already done the math.

And this time he’s determined he doesn’t come home.

“How soon?” you ask. What you don’t say: how much time do we have left?

“Sunset.” A single word, delivered so precisely, it’s like a blaster to the chest.

“Well, this old thing is absolute shit, and if I stare at it any longer, I’m gonna hurl. Why don’t we do something? If you’re not busy.” It’s a lie and he knows it’s a lie, but Rex doesn’t protest. He doesn’t remind you that the GAR needs medic droids now more than ever, doesn’t remind you that if you aren’t going to repair this, there are tons of other pieces of tech to fix up.

Instead he nods.

“Was hopin’ you’d say that.” You’re hyper aware of him following behind you, so close you can feel his breath on your neck, his hands brushing your sides as you lead him back to your tiny, cramped quarters.

You pause in the doorway, glancing back at Rex and trying to gauge his reaction. Understand his thoughts.

“Do we have time?” you ask. It’s a pointless question. No, you don’t have time. The whole point of him finding you is because he’s out of time.

“Yes.” The two of you step into the darkened room, the shadows made long by the lateness of the afternoon. Everything is painted in golds and muted orange, the soft lighting such a contrast to the last time you two were together, in the electric blue darkness of a storm.

Rex tugs at his armor as he steps towards you, and his gaze holds the weight of a star. You run your hands over his, squeezing slightly, and tugging on the pauldron first. It gets tossed carelessly to the side once it’s loose.

The arm and chest pieces follow, as you run your hands across his back, fingers splaying over the muscle there. You feel it jump slightly at your touch. Rex’s own hands end up on your waist, tugging you nearly flush against him. You nestle your face into his neck, pressing a gentle kiss against the warm skin.

He grunts and squeezes you tighter as he works his gloves off behind your back. You go back to his armor, finding the latch on his tactical belt and removing it and his kama in one fluid motion. At the same time, his hands run up your sides, finding the zipper at the top of your jump suit.

You lean back just enough to allow him to pull it. Instead, he lingers, studying you. He drops your zipper, and cups your face instead, thumbs running over your cheekbones. Memorizing. Filing you and this moment away for strength in the coming trials.

Rex tilts his head down, burying his fingers in your hair and tugging, tilting your face up to him.

When he kisses you this time, it’s sloppy and erratic, teeth nipping your lip, making you moan into his mouth. He uses the moment to kiss you deeper, licking inside your mouth as your knees go weak from the rush of emotions that follow. You pull him tighter against you, nails digging into the soft material of his blacks, and he groans against your lips.

Rex tears himself away first, and you pretend not to notice the way his fingers shake as he takes hold of your zipper again, tugging it down. His hands brush against your breasts as he does, the touch like fire. You let out an airy sigh, throwing back your head. Rex kneels in front of you, and your mind stutters over the image on him on his knees for you.

He continues to pull the zipper down, pressing a kiss to your tummy as he does, gripping your hip to keep you close to him. Your knees wobble, and you clutch his shoulders for balance, no longer trusting yourself to stand on your own.

You shrug out of the top portion of your jumpsuit, letting it fall to the floor beneath you. Rex stands, and you make quick work of the rest of his armor, caressing the skin beneath as you go. He trembles under your fingers and leans into your touch.

When you remove his codpiece, you palm him over his blacks, letting you hand linger. He lets out a choked sound, wrenching away from your touch just long enough to tug the tank you’re wearing off you. His gaze devours you, raking over your exposed skin. His tongue darts out and he wets his lips.

Rex dips his head again, this time lathing his tongue over one of you nipples, while his hand squeezes the other. You cry out, arching into him, and Rex shifts, squeezing your ass and lifting you up. You wrap your legs around him, able to feel him just beneath your core. He presses soft kisses along your throat, stumbling towards the bed.

The two of you tumble onto your small bed, the space hardly big enough for the two of you, but adequate enough to serve your purpose. He lays you beneath him, propping himself up long enough to admire you, like he did before. He brushes a stray strand of hair off your face, cupping your cheek as he does. His eyes are luminescent in the late afternoon light, the gold reflected and magnified on the walls all around you.

His mouth opens like he’s going to speak, but then closes as if he’s afraid to break the quiet sanctity of the moment. Rex leans down, capturing you lips in another kiss. You know what he wants to say. Maker, you want to say it too, but it feels too hopeful and too final all at the same time.

You smooth your hands over him, helping as he wriggles out of his blacks, scooting down your body and taking your underwear with him as he does. Your breath catches as he grips your thighs, widening your legs just slightly. He looks up at you, questioning.

“Rex,” you murmur, wanting to explain that he doesn’t have to do this, but that you very much appreciate it, and also, you might die if he doesn’t get on with it. He waits, eyebrow raised. You nod, then, and he dips his head, tongue hot against your center. You cry out, head falling back to the mattress, no longer able to hold yourself up to watch. He hums against you, running soothing hands up and down your legs. You reach for him blindly, briefly wishing he had enough hair to grab hold of, and settle for his wide shoulders, which push your legs farther apart.

He glances up at you, slightly hazy in the dimming room, the golds and oranges painting his skin, and your arousal glimmering on his chin. Your chest feels tight at the emotion in his eyes. He tilts his head back down, and his tongue darts out again. You squeeze your eyes shut, biting your lip to keep from screaming out his name. Instead, a pitiful whimper escapes you. He groans at that, the vibration going straight through you, as he continues to undo you with his tongue. You can feel yourself getting close, feel the way the room seems to zero in on only him, and you clutch at the back of his head.

“Don’t stop. Maker, please don’t stop,” you manage to babble out. He grips your waist, tugging you tighter against his mouth, and you keen, the world exploding around you.

“Cyar’ika,” he says kissing your inner thigh, voice wrecked. You tug on his shoulder, weakly, and he lets himself be pulled, skimming back up your body.

You kiss him this time, tasting yourself on his tongue, as Rex takes his sweet time exploring your mouth. You reach down between the two of you, doing some exploring of your own. He’s painfully hard, and he breaks away from your mouth with a hiss when you wrap your hand around him and squeeze.

You want to make this last. He wants to make this last. But you know that as surely as the room is getting darker with the setting afternoon sun, so is Rex’s time running out. Rex exhales a shaky breath, the regret poignantly written all across his face.

“Hey,” you murmur against his skin. “Hey, we’re going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.” He says nothing; instead he takes hold of your hand as he pushes you back against the mattress, holding tight, as if he needs you to keep him anchored.

You tighten your own hold on him as he pushes into you, taking your breath away. Rex pauses, letting you adjust, and you press an open mouthed kiss to his chest, right above his heart.

He shakes slightly, from trying to control himself or the emotion or something else, you don’t know, and you pull him close to you with your free hand, until he’s resting his forehead against yours.

“I…” Rex starts, before shutting his eyes and letting out a moan as you clench around his thrust. You’re still sensitive and soaked, and the sound adds to the fire coiling in the pit of your belly.

“You- I- I’m-” He tries again, his words stuttering and broken as he buries his face in your neck, panting.

“Shh,” you soothe, sighing as he cups your breast, his palm rough and calloused against your chest. There will be time for talking later. Time to return to the real world. Right now, you just want to stay in this moment. Besides, you know what he’s going to say. And in your mind, it’s already been said.

***

After, you lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It’s slow and serene, so much like the very first time you and Rex took a little nap together. You’ve come so far since that moment, learned so much.

He plays with the ends of your hair, breathing deep and easy. Right now, all that exists are you two, and if you close your eyes, you can almost pretend that’s all this is. Maybe if you close your eyes, you’re back at the beginning. Yes, you can hear the rain, smell the oil from whatever piece of junk you were trying to coax more life out of. Maybe there’s some faint yelling even, as Rex’s men try and get things in order.

You open your eyes. The dream dissipates.

Looking back, though, you wouldn’t change anything, either. You’d keep it all, every little moment, both good and bad, because it’s made you who you are. To go back and deny meeting Rex would fundamentally change the course of your life, and that’s almost as difficult to think about.

Your throat feels tight, and you’re glad the two of you aren’t speaking yet, because you just know you’d say something sappy and ruin it.

“I need to get ready,” Rex says finally, fingers lightly tracing over your back. He’s been writing a word back there, for the past little bit, and you’ve pointedly been pretending not to translate it.

“I know,” you say, gathering the strength to pry yourself off his chest.
“Just to be clear,” he says, “I don’t have to go quite yet. But I do need to get up.” You swallow hard, composing yourself to look him in the eye.

“I know,” you say again.

Once you’re dressed, the two of you find yourselves in a secluded part of the hanger bay you work in, staring out over the vastness of the city.

Any other people. Any other people, and it would be a normal day.

“When you get back, I think it’s finally time for me to teach you how to hotwire a speeder,” you say. “Never know when you might need it.” Rex scoffs, back in his armor and infinitely more composed than he was earlier.

“And maybe I’ll teach you how to give proper medical care. Never know when you might need it.” You shove him in the arm, pretending to be offended that he brought up the disastrous mission in the desert.

“Jerk! I was worried about you. And besides, I thought my bedside manner was great. You didn’t seem to have any complaints.” Now he laughs, and that’s really perhaps what seals the deal for you. Rex never laughs like this; a full belly laugh that shakes his shoulders and brings tears to his eyes. Yours water up too, but not from mirth.

He notices.

(Of course he does.)

“Cyare…” he trails off, and you lean your head on his shoulder, the cold armor preventing you from feeling his warmth again.

“So this is it, huh?” you say, and the ever-present lump in your throat only seems to get bigger.

“Maybe not,” he says, his head coming to rest on top of yours. The helmet is nowhere in sight, but the sun is getting real low and you know he’ll need to put it on soon. Don’t promise me what we both know you can’t give, you want to say, but it feels like there’s a clamp on your throat, trapping your voice and blocking anything and everything you wish to say.

“Don’t.” All you can manage is a whisper, and you can’t stop the tears that leak down your cheeks and onto his pauldron.

You feel the whisper of his lips as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, then your forehead. His hands come up and gently cup your cheeks, and he presses a kiss beneath both eyes before brushing away the tears with his thumbs.

His touch is always so gentle, so at odds with the indifferent and calculating way you’ve seen him wield a blaster.

And then he presses one final, achingly slow kiss to your lips. Both your faces are wet, and you can’t even tell who’s crying anymore.

The two of you are silhouetted against the sun, and you know you need to let him go, need to let him do the job he was created for.

And you can’t even hate the war that’s taking him away from you, because in his own words, without it, he wouldn’t exist and then you would never have even met him, much less lived this life.

But letting go and pulling away in this moment…

It’s one of the hardest things you’ve ever done.

So you don’t. You sit and you breathe him in, as your time runs out. And when he absolutely has to go, he pulls himself up off the ground, off the ledge you’ve been occupying as the world continues to turn. Because at his core, he’s already done the math, and he’s a good soldier, and he won’t let his men fight without him.

And maker help you, that’s what you love him for. You can’t ask him to do otherwise, or he wouldn’t be Rex.

So you let go of him. You take the deepest breath you can manage and you hold in the rest of your tears (you’ll rage and sob later), and you hug him one last time.

“Try not to run into any landslides this time, you hear?” you say as he starts to slip his helmet back on. The dent from the last mission has been hammered out, so it’s in shipshape and ready for the next trial. Rex laughs again, and then he’s taking two big steps and pulling you back into his arms.

“Try not to bust any more medical droids,” he counters, cradling the back of your head and holding your tight. And as you cling to him, you hear him murmur those three little words against the crown of your head, and it breaks you. Something deep inside you cracks and it crumbles down to dust, and you feel the way it fucking chokes you from the inside out. Your fingers ache with the need to grab him tight and never let go, because if he doesn’t go, then you don’t lose him.

But Rex has to go and he’s pulling away and you know, for his sake, you need to say goodbye, but you can’t. You can’t. Because then it’s too real.

So instead, you smile, brilliant and blinding and shove him away, playfully.

“You better go. They’ll be waiting on you.” And he stumbles just slightly, his breath stutters just slightly, his smile wobbles just slightly. But he nods.

“See you on the other side,” you call, as if you’re just two normal people, unaware of the galaxy ending. As if he’ll be back by tomorrow morning. And he looks back at you. Maker, he looks back at you, and an understanding passes between the two of you in an instant.

“See you on the other side.”

Notes:

Thank you for reading!! <3

Chapter 14: Time

Notes:

This is it folks! The final chapter. It feels a little surreal, and I want to thank you all for sticking with me!! Enjoy!<3

Seelos is shit. You blow out a huff of air, trying to clear some of the crusted salt off the damn piece of machinery in the abandoned mine. If you can get into its guts, you might be able to find something useful enough to use in an attempt to cobble together a transmission.

Anything to get off this place.

When you’d made the decision to leave Coruscant, it’d seemed prudent enough. You weren’t going to become a pawn for the Empire. Everything was falling down around you, and the once glorious Coruscant, bastion of democracy, was a shell of its former self.

In a way, it reminds you of the old days, back before your time with the GAR, bouncing from job to job, trying to make enough to survive. It’s easy to forget how hard things can be until you’re forced to confront them again. Working with the 501st hadn’t always been easy, but it was steady work. The company was nicer too.

And… Rex.

You don’t know where he is. Alive, dead, fucking possessed like the rest of them. A new wave of grief wracks your body and you straighten your shoulders in an attempt not to double over on yourself.

You should know better than to think about Rex at this point. Because when you do, you think about your last night together. You both knew it was coming — only a fool wouldn’t — but the naïve part of you actually thought you might see him on the other side of the war.

You shake your head, frustrated with yourself and your circumstances.

Seelos hadn’t been your first choice, but your piece of junk ship gave out before you could make up your mind over where exactly you wanted to go. You’d managed to land the thing on this little planet, in a flurry of busted parts and fuel.

It hadn’t been too bad at first — plenty of abandoned machines and old droids to mess with, and this feeling in the pit of your stomach. Like you needed to be here.

But since then, it’s gotten worse. There’s hardly anything in the way of food, the only people around are outlaws who’d sooner kill you than help you, and the fucking ginormous worms.

Speaking of… You feel the ground rumble beneath you, something you’ve learned quick enough means impending doom. And that’s not even you being dramatic.

“Shit,” you breath, scrambling down from your perch and looking for a way out of the old mining tunnel. Your hand slips across a jagged piece of durasteel, and you let out a hiss, glancing down at the deep cut.

Pressing it against you side, you clamber over rocks, slipping and sliding as you go. Everything’s got a layer of salt, making it harder than it needs to be, especially since you’ve only got the one hand.

The light is at the end of the tunnel, both literally and figuratively. You’ve discovered the worms don’t often like to risk going above ground, not for a measly little prey like you.

If you can just make it outside… You stumble through the entrance, tripping as the ground shifts under you. You’re thrown forward, rolling painfully over the ground.

The worm breaks through the surface, towering over you. Its red eyes focus on you, and you feel the chill settle into your bones. For a long moment, neither of you move. Its long tongue flicks out, a blur, and you throw yourself away, scrambling backwards in a vain attempt to get away.

You survived the Clone Wars and the rise of the Empire, and now you’re going to be killed by a stupid worm. Fingers fumbling, you manage to snatch your ancient blaster off your waist, aiming as best as you can for one of its eyes.

Long ago lessons float through your head. Hazy nights spent around a campfire, challenges to hit the target. If Rex were here, he’d have already put the damn thing down.

You depress the trigger, only for it to make a weak fizzling sound.

“No,” you breathe, jerking the sight away from your eye and shaking it. There’s no time to diagnose its problem like you normally would. Right now, you’re hoping some good old fashioned percussive maintenance will work.

The worm is crashing towards you, and you give up, aiming wildly in the hopes of getting in a shot.

The trigger clicks again and again, but nothing comes out. You laugh, because it’s either that or cry, and stare up at it, determined to at least go out fighting in some manner.

A shot sails over your shoulder, landing squarely in the worm’s eye. It roars, an awful sound, then goes down on its side with a loud crash.

You crawl backwards away from it, as shouts echo across the empty stretch. You’re up in an instant. Kindness for kindness sake is not the way anyone around here operates, and you’re not about to get caught owing some sleemo.

Loud laughter punctuates the shouts, and it tickles something at the back of your mind. For just a brief moment, you’re in another place.

***

It takes you approximately one afternoon after the near-death encounter to realize whoever killed the worm is tracking you.

You don’t know why or what they want, and you briefly entertain confronting them and giving them whatever they want so they’ll go away.

But odds are good that what they want is to kill you, so you keep moving. Your hand aches, and you don’t have to be a medic to know it’s infected. The skin is all red and puffy, hot to the touch, and it’s oozing watery blood. You don’t have anything to fix it, and you’re trying to cover your tracks, so you keep it pressed against your side, trying not to create a blood trail.

It’s miserable. Every time you think you’ve lost them, they catch up. Twice they’ve nearly caught you, distant voices shaking you out of your uneasy sleep.

You’re dead on your feet and near tears as you haul yourself out of a little crevasse you found, certain you’d be safe there. But they’re too close; you can feel it, even if they’ve quieted down.

Your whole arm aches now, and it’s useless to even try to use it. You pull yourself along one handed, delirious with pain and what’s probably a fever.

“If it wasn’t the mudslide, or the war, or the Empire, or the fucking worm, it’s going to be the infection,” you mutter to yourself, and then laugh, because it’s just your luck. You laugh and laugh as you walk, until you can barely stand from the laughter, or maybe it’s because you’re barely conscious, sleep deprived and hungry. Whatever maker-forsaken moon orbits this world stares down at you with an unsympathetic face.

You close your eyes.

When you open them again, you’re laying on the ground, shivering despite the sun. Your head hurts, and your hand is numb. There’s no telling how long you’ve been laying here.

The voices drift over on the breeze, but you don’t have the energy to move. At this point, anything they can do to you would be merciful.

Maybe they’ll even kill you quickly. It’s not without appeal. Seeing Rex again sounds like bliss.

You close your eyes again and exhale slowly.

***

“Easy, cyar’ika.” The voice comes to you in a dream, and it’s cruel, because you know it’s a dream, but maker, how long has it been since you’ve heard his voice?

Something warm brushes over your cheek, and you turn into it. Maybe you’ll stay here, in this dream, for just a little bit.

You can’t see Rex, and you feel like if you try to open your eyes, he’ll disappear. But you can hear him. Maker, you can feel him, feel the way his calloused fingertips brush over your skin and smooth away errant hairs.

His thumb lingers on your lip, and it’s been so long since that last evening that you’ve nearly forgotten how tender he is.

The hand traces across your cheek, cupping your face, and this is one of the most realistic dreams you’ve ever had.
You don’t ever want it to end.

If only you could see him.

You know you need to get up eventually — if nothing else, the exposure out here will finish you off, and you’ll be dammed if you’ll go down that easy now that you’ve found a second wind.

Slowly, you pry your eyes open, surprised to see not the sky above you, but shelter.

The touch doesn’t leave.

You blink a few times, eyes adjusting to the dim light, trying to make out who is actually touching you. Adrenaline spikes through you, but you’re too weak to do much other than flinch.

They stick to the shadows and you reach out, whimpering when the movement tugs at the skin on your hand. It’s been freshly cleaned and bandaged, but the pain is still there. You dismiss the thought, needing to see who this new threat is.

Your eyes blur and you blink hard, forcing them to focus. The person steps into the light as you do, and for a long moment, you feel like you’re hallucinating.

“Rex.” The name leaves your lips lighter than a whisper, choking you with emotion as it does.

He doesn’t move, and you hold your breath, afraid this is the lingering remnants of your dream.

His image wobbles at the edges, and your lungs burn. And then he steps forward. You watch, mouth slightly open as he takes a step towards you, then another, and another.

But he doesn’t disappear.

Rex falls to his knees beside you, and you manage to suck in a painful breath, expelling it in a disbelieving gasp. It catches, and you feel the first tear run down your cheek. He’s a little older; has lost a lot of the angular lines that define a soldier’s body. His armor is nowhere in sight, leaving him in a simple shirt and pants. If not for his face, he’d pass for a civilian, easily.

“You’re here,” you say, reaching out for him. He takes your un-injured hand, pressing it to the side of his face.

“I’m here,” he says, and you can see the sheen of tears in his own eyes. They’re filled with warmth as they pass over you.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, struggling to sit up and look at your surroundings. It’s a makeshift shelter, and you’re swaddled in a thin blanket on the ground.

“I could ask the same,” Rex says, turning his head enough to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist. You close your eyes, reveling in a touch you thought you lost.

When you open them, he’s much closer, leaning over you, cupping your face. You have so much you want to ask him. Need to ask him. Are there others? Or is he the only one? For that matter, how did he make it?

But as Rex presses his forehead against yours, you’re not very inclined to dwell on those thoughts. Not right now, at least.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours as he speaks. You wind your arms over his shoulders, pressing your up-injured hand against the nape of his neck.

Maker, he’s so warm and solid against you.

“I could say the same,” you echo, fingers tightening just a bit. There will be time to talk about everything later, you remind yourself.

For now, you press your lips against his, sighing into him. Rex wraps his arms around you and tangles his hands in your hair, lifting you up against him.

Your back arches slightly from the force of it. His lips are nearly bruising as they move against yours, sloppy and out of practice. But you don’t care. He’s here and there will be time for practice.

Time. It’s a novel concept.

For your entire life, you’ve felt like you’re running on borrowed time. Always preparing for it to run out. Bracing for the inevitable. But now, the galaxy stretches out before you, and you have time.

Time to think, time to recover, time to rest.

Rex pulls away slightly, gaze hooded as he looks down at you.

“Everything okay?” he asks, and you laugh. Yes, everything is okay. Everything will be okay.

“Fine,” you say, tugging him down beside you. “But I could really use some more rest. And a nicer pillow.” He looks down at you, and you can see the crinkles around his eyes, the faint laugh lines.

“I’ll see what I can do about that,” he says, smile playing at his lips. He shifts you, settling you on his chest. There is no rain this time, but it’s quiet in a way things haven’t been in a very long time.

“Sleep, cyare,” Rex says. “We’re going to be alright.”

And you are.

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading!! <3 While this chapter concludes the main arc and storyline in Clone Wars, down the line I’d be open to continuing Rex and the Mechanic’s story, so be on the lookout for that. ;)

Thanks for joining me on this journey! <3