Chapter Text
Breathe in.
The needle carefully entered the skin, poking out two centimetres away.
Breathe out.
The lights flickered, Maker you hated it. You were already tolerating the noise, silence was a fantasy you couldn’t afford here on Coruscant, even less in this district. The steady beep of monitors and the restrained breathing of your patients who knew better than to scream was what kept you going. But the lights? That was another story. The power could go off any moment during an operation, heightening the danger that the patient was put into.
You tightened the last suture and leaned back, letting out the breath you were holding.
“If you tear it open again, I’m charging you double.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Charging him double would be a gift. Medics were rare these days, rarer if looking for one who’s working against the Empire. Treating clones was a risky gamble you took after befriending one of them. Running an illegal clinic was already risky, but treating patients that looked exactly like your enemy made you shiver. You did charge fairly low for the quality of your services. You were barely paying up your bills, but most patients were in the same situation. The Empire was merciless, going into debt was your way to help your own.
As you dismissed the clone that was laying on the table, you heard the swish of the door. One would turn around, surprised, making sure the Empire hasn’t found them, but you stayed still. You recognized the sharp, uneven whine of the engines and the constant deep rattle of the hull when the ship landed. You’d recognize it miles away.
“Hey, doc.”
“Hey, captain.”
Rex walked up to you and sat on the table.
“It hasn’t been sterilized, you shouldn’t…” you sighed as you turned, noting the fact Rex clearly didn’t care.
“Are you done for the day?” His voice hitched in a way you heard before, too many times. He wanted a favour, and once again, you would say yes.
“What do you want?” When you lifted your eyes, something shifted inside of you. Rex had always been different, he cared. He cared one year ago when he found you on Utapau, on the verge of surrender. He cared enough to bring you with him, even though it put his cover at risk. But now, he was asking you to care, to understand.
“My last mission wasn’t quite a success…” he sighed. You could sense the grief in his words. “The Empire is closing in, our current network has been compromised… you’ve been compromised.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Doc…” Rex reached for your arm, but stop mid-motion when he heard to beep of his comm.
“Rex? We’ve got a problem.” The man paused. “One of us is down.”
Rex stared at you, giving you the ‘we’ll talk later’ look, then answered to the transition.
“Sending you my coordinates.” Rex reached for his comlink, clicked on a few buttons and sighed. “Prepare the table.”
“It would’ve been prepared if you hadn’t come and sit on it,” you mumbled to yourself and quickly gathered sterile equipment.
Rex left the med bay, probably to go to the landing pad. The voice on the comm was familiar, probably because three million people shared it. You never really liked treating clones, scared they might hurt you again. Rex was an exception, and he tried his very best to show you that he wasn’t the only one.
You reluctantly cleaned the table and grabbed the nearest trauma kit, getting ready for any type of injury.
You’ve been compromised.
You’ve been dead in the Empire’s records for a year: deceased in action, confirmed loss, no body recovered, no further investigation. Just a name crossed out and filed away beneath a thousand others. You made sure of that. You disappeared so thoroughly that even rumors stopped circling back. You built your safety on that death.
So how could you have been compromised?
No, not just you.
The thought shifted. How could any of this could’ve been compromised?
Rex’s network wasn’t reckless. It was layered, fragmented, cautious to the point of paranoia: encrypted channels rotated weekly, meeting points abandoned after a single use. He’d learned from the war. Learned from betrayal. Learned from Order 66.
He didn’t make a mistake like this.
Unless it wasn’t his.
Your thoughts drifted to one of the clones you treated last month. His sly expression, his doubtful answers. Di’kut. You muttered under your breath.
Before you could overthink again, the door swished, revealing Rex along three clones carrying a man twice their size on a stretcher. Behind them was a child following them with a worried gaze glued on her face.
They rushed in and put the man on the table. One of them quickly grabbed a data pad from his utility belt and glanced in your direction. He was a clone, yet, his armour seemed more fitted for mobility. It had additional sensors and data interfaces. When you looked closely, you could see that he wasn’t wearing a standard bodysuit, but… jeans?
“His blood pressure stands around 118 over 76, I estimate moderate internal trauma to the thoracic cavity. Two to three liters of bacta should be given, according to the circumstances, though, I would recommend a minimally invasive thoracotomy to assess and repair any organ lacerations.”
“Are you done?” You looked up at him, noticing how he froze at your comeback.
You turned and leaned forward over the man on the table. Rex had already removed his helmet and put on a breathing mask. That’s when you realized he, as well, was a clone. You wanted to wonder how that was possible, but you didn’t have time, not with a man dying on your table.
You removed the chest plate, only to uncover a deep, festering wound, its edges darkened with early infection, an open threat to the organs beneath
“MD-09, prepare a full dose of bacta over 15 minutes, and an additional two litres over an hour.” You glanced at the little girl, then at the clone who seemed to be their leader. “And please, take the child out of the room.”
You leaned over your patient again, carefully administrating the pouch of bacta and cleaning the wound.
“According to my readings, a full dosage of bacta would exceed safe systemic levels, and an additional two liters would risk severe toxicity. Under the current conditions, the thoracotomy must take precedence,” suggested the clone with the data pad, still avoiding your gaze.
You straightened your back, and cracked your neck taking in a deep breath.
“His pressure’s borderline. Your estimate of internal damage is low. I’ll administer the full dose of bacta, monitor his vitals closely, and delay surgery until he’s stable: a thoracotomy now would be a risk, not a fix,” you finally said firmly. “Now please, if you’re here to doubt my medical knowledge, you should leave.” You glanced at the child, still staring at the man on the table. “Along with the child.”
Your tone was firm. You strictly believed no child should see such things, even less in a place so unfamiliar. The one who seemed to be their leader took the girl by the shoulders and headed through the door.
Once the patient was somewhat stabilized, you allowed yourself to breathe out. Rex had left the room with a rather light skinned clone with robotic limbs that called himself Echo, leaving you in the med bay with the know-it-all and the oversized clone.
The med bay was quiet, save for the gentle hiss of the bacta system and the beep of the monitor. The clone with the goggles finally took a step back, admitting to himself that his friend’s vitals won’t change if he stops looking.
“I… owe you an apology.” His hands fidgeted with the edge of his data pad, his fingers tightening and releasing. “I didn’t trust your judgment, I assumed my readings and calculations were sufficient.”
You chuckled dryly. “Well next time, you should take into consideration that your friend here weighs three times more than you and me and that it is impossible to maneuver this close to organs while the patient isn’t stabilized.”
“I… yes. I misjudged you and that was incorrect,” his voice dropped quieter, “You were right about Wrecker’s condition. He is now stable because of your decision.”
You couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Wow, that was surprisingly formal for an apology.”
His fingers tightened again. “I struggle with expressing personal acknowledgement. Professional acknowledgements are… safer. But I wanted you to know that I recognize my error and, thus, respect your judgment.”
You leaned back against the wall, studying his avoidance. “If you were so confident in your data, why not treat him yourself.”
The clone took a breath in and adjusted his goggles, clearly ready to give you a detailed answer. “We are defective clones with desirable mutations, as you probably already noticed noting Wrecker’s size. My enhancements allow me to think and learn quicker than most, but even my knowledge can’t compete with actual experience such as yours.”
You nodded.
“My name’s Tech.”
“You can call me Doc.”
“Don’t you have a name?”
This question sounded empty. Of course you did, but you got rid of it. When Rex found you on Utapau, the Empire was hunting down anyone tied to the Jedi or the Republic, so you did what seemed reasonable: you burnt your identity, leaving no records, no documents, no past.
“Not anymore.”
Tech adjusted his goggles again, clearly understanding your answer. Feeling the awkward silence settling between both of you, you glanced at the bacta system, that was nearly at the end of its cycle.
“I’m going to operate him in a few minutes, if you’d like, I could use some help.”
It was all you needed to say to put a little smile on Tech’s face. It was easier than it seemed to reach a wavelength with him, and you were happy that someone finally acknowledged your talents.
When you got up to check on Wrecker’s condition, Tech followed swiftly, placing himself next to the monitors.
“His vitals are stable enough for me to operate,” you said, already reaching for your equipment.
The light flickering and you sighed, ready to complete yet another operation, leaving once again the fate of a man tangled between your fingers.
Breathe in.
Your hands moved on autopilot, guided by muscle memory earned through years you never spoke about. The blade followed the line you had already mapped out in your mind, clean and deliberate, parting skin and muscle with strategic precision. You did not rush. You did not hesitate. Each motion was economical, as though wasted energy was a luxury you couldn’t afford.
The scent of cauterized flesh briefly mingled with the metallic tang of blood. You adjusted your grip, steady as ever, and reached for the retractor. With careful pressure, you eased the ribs apart, widening the surgical field just enough to expose the damage beneath. The lung shuddered weakly in the cavity, darkened along one edge where shrapnel had torn through tissue. You assessed the injury in a single sweeping glance: location, depth, blood loss. Calculations were forming and resolving behind your eyes.
The monitors continued their relentless rhythm: Wrecker’s pulse, oxygen saturation, blood pressure hovering at the edge of acceptable.
You didn’t look at Tech.
But you were aware of him.
He stood opposite you, hands clasped behind his back to keep himself from interfering, amber lenses reflecting the sterile glow of the surgical lamps. His gaze tracked every movement you made, cataloguing angles, incision length. His mind worked rapidly, projecting outcomes, estimating survival percentages, adjusting variables with every new development.
Your steadiness disrupted his projections in the most unexpected way.
There was no tremor in your fingers. No visible doubt. When you suctioned blood from the cavity, you did so with the calm efficiency of someone who had seen far worse and survived it. When you identified the tear in the lung, you didn’t falter; you merely shifted techniques, adapting with seamless precision.
Tech’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
Your technique was not improvised. It was refined.
You anticipated complications before they could happen. You compensated for Wrecker’s physiology without being reminded. You worked as though you had operated under fire before, because you had. That much was becoming statistically undeniable.
He had assumed you were an underground medic, skilled, yes, but limited to patchwork procedures and stabilizations. What he observed now contradicted that hypothesis entirely. Your movements suggested formal training… or something harsher: battlefield triage, black-market surgery, war zones.
You had clearly treated more than just rebel clones and displaced civilians. And that realization unsettled him in ways he could not immediately quantify.
Still, as you sealed a minor bleed with careful sutures, your expression never changed, focused, detached entirely present in the moment.
The med scan finally showed a regular breathing pattern, allowing Tech a slow breath he had not realized he was holding.
For now, Wrecker was still alive, and you, whatever your past entailed, were the reason why.
The light flickered again.
Once.
Twice.
A faint electric stutter rippled through the room, shadows bouncing along the walls. The hum of the generators wavered making your hands freeze mid-motion.
And then the light died. The room collapsed into darkness and the sound of the monitors cut off completely, leaving you in an uncomfortable silence.
It took you a heartbeat to register what was happening before quickly adapting. Tech lit up the small flashlight that decorated his helmet and pulled down his visor, looking around for the cause of the power outage.
“Tech!” You snapped at him. His light quickly reached your face as you glanced down your blood covered hands. “We need to close the wound, I’ll need your help.”
Tech understood and quickly set another flashlight he had in his utility belt to create a steady light for you to operate in.
“I’ll need you to administer the bacta manually, can you do that?”
Tech’s eyes raised to meet yours, “I hope you’re aware I am not incompetent,” his voice tightened a little bit, “All I need is the exact rate and I will compensate for any fluctuation.”
“One over four,” you said then gently pressed your hand under Wrecker’s heart, making sure the rhythm was still stable. Tech perfectly executed the manual transfusion, allowing you to proceed with the stitching.
You gently removed the retractor and prepared your sutures.
Breathe in.
The needle pierced the skin and precisely poked out on the other side of the wound, closing the gap created by the retractor. The knots were impeccable, taking in acknowledgment the circumstances.
The door swished open, someone must’ve overrode it. Tech’s gaze lifted to meet the clone that had just entered, but you were still focused on the operation, not letting a man die on your watch again.
“One over five,” you indicated Tech, halfway through the sutures.
“The Empire arrived, we have to move,” Echo whispered not to startle you.
“I am not leaving an open patient on the operating table,” you answered firmly, making your intention of staying clear.
The clone who seemed like their leader entered in a rush, questioning Echo with his head when he noticed you and Tech were still operating.
“They’re breaching the east corridor, if we don’t leave now, they’re going to reach us.”
You didn’t look up and Tech noticed the way your hands still weren’t shaking. You could sense Rex and the little girl had entered, blasters ready. The leader and Echo defended the entrance and Rex guarded the distance. You could hear heavy footsteps approaching as you poked Wrecker’s skin with the needle again.
“We need to extract, now!”
“I calculated Wrecker’s survival odds without full repair. He won’t make transport without complete stabilization,” Tech stated calmly, still administrating the bacta at a steady pace.
“One over eight, going gradually,” you ordered once again. “Two minutes is all I need.”
Rex stared at you and, instead of protesting, he transmitted a message to his associates over his comm, stating they’re staying. He sighed and launched for the entrance, blasters firing in both ways.
A stray blaster bolt punched through the wall behind you after grazing your shoulder.
“You’re injured,” Tech noticed as you barely reacted.
“It’s superficial,” you answered. You would die before abandoning a patient. You poked through the skin one last time, knotted the end carefully, cut the excess thread and dressed the wound properly before signalling Tech to stop the transfusion. You removed the needle that was providing Wrecker support and gestured to one of the clones to come and grab him.
“There’s a wheelchair in the west corridor,” you said, voice tight but steady, pointing toward the back door with blood-slick fingers. “He’ll be easier to drag.”
The words felt distant in your own ears, drowned beneath blaster fire and the violent hiss of scorched metal. The air was thick with smoke. Another bolt slammed into the wall above you, showering sparks over the operating table where Wrecker had only just been closed.
You reached instinctively for your shoulder.
Pain flared the moment your fingers brushed the torn fabric. The blaster graze had clotted badly, sticky warmth seeping between your gloves. You hadn’t noticed how much it hurt until now. Or maybe you had and simply refused to acknowledge it.
Rex stepped in front of you without hesitation, firing both blasters in controlled bursts. Each shot was deliberate. He adjusted his stance to shield you from the corridor, body angled like a wall.
“You need to go, doc.”
His voice cut through, it was softer than usual.
You shook your head immediately, the answer forming before the thought fully did. “I can’t leave you.”
Another explosion rocked the building. Echo shouted something from the distance, numbers, they were multiplying.
Rex grabbed your uninjured arm and pulled you down beside him as a volley of bolts scorched the doorway. The heat grazed your cheek.
“They’re not here for us,” he said, crouching so you were both out of the troopers’ direct line of sight. His helmeted gaze locked onto yours. “They’re here for you.”
The words landed heavier than any blaster impact.
“Go through the back door with the others,” Rex continued, firing again without even looking as a trooper rounded the corner. The body dropped before it hit the ground. “I’ll hold them.”
“No.”
“That’s an order.”
For a split second, you saw it, the understanding behind his visor. He knew what staying would mean. He knew you would try.
And he would not let you.
Behind you, Tech and Echo lifted Wrecker carefully between them, adjusting their grip to avoid tearing the fresh sutures. Wrecker’s head lolled uselessly, his breathing shallow but stable. The little girl was by his side, holding his hand tightly.
Tech glanced at you, lenses reflecting the flames creeping along the opposite wall.
“We must depart. Immediately.”
A blaster bolt struck close enough to send shards of durasteel skidding across the floor.
Rex stood abruptly, stepping out of cover to draw fire. His aim was flawless, forcing the troopers to retreat behind their own barricade.
This clinic had been your anchor. Rex had been your constant. Leaving meant losing the only stability you had in the last two years.
But Wrecker was unconscious.
The Empire was closing in.
And Rex was already pushing them back, buying you seconds he could not afford.
You turned and wrenched open the back door.
Cool night air rushed in, carrying the distant roar of ships descending into the sector.
Echo slipped through first, adjusting Wrecker’s weight. Tech followed with the child, careful, precise even in retreat. The metal door frame groaned as another explosion rattled the building. The last clone followed after you slipped in to finally leave Rex behind.
You ran for what felt like an eternity before finally reaching the landing pad where ships were scattered everywhere. You heard explosions in the distance and you knew Rex made it, you could feel it.
Your gazed was locked on the fire bursting through the place you called home when you heard the buzz of a comm behind you.
“Empire’s locking down the sector. Take her with you, she’ll be safer.”
You smiled at Rex’s voice, ignoring the fact that you were about to leave him to go with complete strangers, strangers that shared his face and voice yet complete different personalities. You wanted to resist. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to turn around, to run back through that door and fight beside him until there was nothing left to fight with. Staying was easier, familiar. You understood Rex. You understood his silences, his orders, the weight he carried
The others were unknown variables, unpredictable, and yet… they had stayed.
They had waited those extra minutes while you closed Wrecker’s chest. They had trusted your hands in the dark. They had fought for you as if you were already one of theirs..
You finally turned, nodded, and ran again, really hoping that, one day, you’ll finally stop running and find a real place to stay, a place to belong, a family.
You entered a ship, following the rest of the clones and allowed yourself to breathe. You found a spot on the ground, between a wall and a seat that was covered enough for you to feel somewhat in security. You closed your eyes as you felt the ship departing, trying to process all the events that occurred.
“I’m Omega.” Your eyes snapped open at the sound of the little girl’s voice. “Thank you for saving Wrecker, you’re one of us now!”
“Omega!” Echo snapped.
“What? That’s what Rex asked you and Hunter earlier, I heard you.”
“Maybe, but the choice remains hers,” the clone named Hunter explained glancing at your confused expression.
Omega let out an annoyed sigh and rolled her eyes. “So what’s your name?”
You found yourself smirking. The entire world could burn right now, but the warmth that eradicated from the girl’s smile would still remain.
“I don’t have one…”
“Then what are we waiting for?!”
She sat across from you, listing names you could never even think of, but all you could do was smile to the thought of someone finally seeing you for more than just your talents.