“War On Two Fronts” Pt.8 (Final Part)
“War on Two Fronts” pt.8 (Final Part)
Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara
The cantina had never felt so alive.
Over the last several weeks, she had joined the Bad Batch on a few of Cid’s more difficult jobs. Recovery runs, extractions, a few tight infiltration missions—each one forging a subtle bond between them. She and Hunter found common ground in silent understanding, Wrecker made her laugh despite herself, and even Tech, with his logic and curiosity, had started asking her opinion more often than not.
Cid still didn’t know her full story. The Trandoshan just assumed she was another burned-out merc who’d gone to ground after the war, hiding her past in the quiet monotony of bar work. And that suited the her just fine. The fewer people who knew, the safer everyone was.
But on one mission—one where they’d helped two bold sisters named Rafa and Trace Martez—she’d felt it again. That familiar pull in the Force, that reminder of what she used to be. Rafa had seen it too, maybe not for what it was, but she’d looked at her like someone who knew the fight wasn’t over yet. Trace had even asked if they’d ever met before.
She had only shaken her head. “Not in this lifetime.”
Now, back at Cid’s, sweaty and aching and dusty from another run, the Batch filed in ahead of her. Her boots dragged slightly, exhaustion settling in her bones like old echoes. She was about to hang her blaster at the rack when her breath caught—sharp, immediate, deep.
She felt him before she saw him.
The Force surged like a wave just under her skin. A presence wrapped in memory and loyalty and grief. Her head snapped up.
Standing in the corner of Cid’s parlor, talking low with Hunter, was Captain Rex.
He hadn’t changed much—still clad in familiar white and blue armor, cloak drawn over one shoulder, a little more wear on his face, a little more heaviness behind his eyes. His gaze was sharp as ever.
And then his eyes locked with hers.
The world fell away.
She didn’t breathe. Neither did he.
“Rex?” she said, barely a whisper.
Cid squinted at her. “Wait—you two know each other?”
Neither answered.
“Holy kriff,” Wrecker muttered.
The room fell into silence. Even Tech looked up from his scanner, blinking rapidly.
She took a step forward, heart in her throat. He took one too.
“…You’re alive,” Rex finally said.
“So are you,” she whispered back.
Rex’s voice broke just slightly. “I thought I lost you on Mygeeto.”
She wanted to say a thousand things. She wanted to cry. Or maybe scream. Instead, she smiled—tight and aching.
“You almost did.”
“You were reported dead,” Rex said, his voice lower now, almost reverent. “The logs said your ship was shot down before it cleared Mygeeto’s atmosphere. That you never made it off-world.”
She blinked, her mouth parting as if to speak, but nothing came at first. Her throat tightened.
“No,” she said finally. “That… never happened. I made it out clean. No damage. No one even fired at my ship.”
Rex stared at her, confusion shadowing his face. “That doesn’t make sense. That kind of discrepancy… someone altered the report.”
Her heart began to pound harder now, a slow, rising pressure like air being sucked out of the room.
A beat passed.
“…Bacara,” she said aloud, but not to Rex—more like to herself. The name slipped out like a bitter taste on her tongue.
It didn’t make sense. And yet, it did. The moment on the battlefield, when his blaster had locked on her with terrifying precision—then hesitated. Just for a breath. And she had felt something underneath the chip-induced obedience. A pause. A struggle.
And then the fake report.
Did he lie? The thought whispered through her like a crack of light through stormclouds. Did he lie to protect me?
But the thought was gone as quickly as it came—burned out by the searing heat of Rex’s presence.
“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered, shaking it off, forcing herself back to the now. “I survived. That’s what matters.”
Rex wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking past her, to the others.
To the rest of the Batch.
His body tensed, like a wire pulled too tight.
“…You haven’t removed your chips,” Rex said suddenly, voice sharp and cold as a vibroblade.
The Bad Batch stilled.
“What?” Echo stepped forward. “Rex—”
“I said,” Rex growled, stepping into the middle of the group, “you haven’t removed your inhibitor chips. After everything we’ve seen—after what happened to her—you’re still walking around with those things in your heads?”
“We haven’t had an episode,” Tech offered calmly. “We believe our mutation suppresses its effectiveness.”
Rex’s hand hovered near his blaster now.
“Belief isn’t good enough. You’re a threat to her.”
The reader stepped between them, her heart in her throat.
“Rex—”
“No,” he said, not to her, but about her. “She barely survived the last time a squad turned on her. You really want to gamble her life again?”
Hunter met Rex’s fury head-on, calm but firm. “We’re not your enemy.”
“Not yet,” Rex snapped. “But I’ve seen what those chips do. I felt it tear my mind apart. You think just because you haven’t activated, it won’t happen? You don’t get to risk her.”
The reader put a hand on his chest, stopping him, grounding him.
“I can take care of myself,” she said quietly. “They’ve had plenty of chances. And they haven’t.”
But Rex’s gaze didn’t soften. Not yet.
“I lost everything,” he said, finally looking at her again. “Don’t ask me to stand by and watch it happen again. Not to you.”
⸻
The makeshift medbay in the old star cruiser felt colder than the cantina ever had. The surgical pod hissed softly as Tech monitored the vitals, his face pale in the glow of the console.
Wrecker sat on the edge of the table, visibly uneasy.
“I really don’t like this, guys,” he muttered, voice strained. “This doesn’t feel right.”
Hunter stepped forward, voice calm. “You’ll be okay. We’ve all done it now, Wreck. You’re the last one.”
The reader stood to the side, hands clasped tightly. She had helped on this mission, grown close to them over the weeks. The thought of any of them hurting her—or Omega—was almost impossible. But she’d seen what the chip could do. She had lived it.
“You trust me, don’t you?” Omega asked softly, standing near Wrecker’s knee.
Wrecker gave her a pained smile. “’Course I do, kid.”
She left his side reluctantly as Tech activated the procedure.
Then it began.
Sparks of pain registered on the screen—neural surges, error readings. Wrecker groaned, clutching his head.
The reader’s breath hitched.
“Tech?” Echo stepped forward. “That’s not normal—”
Wrecker’s growl cut through the room. His hands gripped the edges of the table until they bent under his strength.
He lunged.
Tech hit the emergency release—but too late. Wrecker was up, snarling, wild-eyed.
“You’re all traitors!” he shouted.
Hunter shoved Omega behind him. “Wrecker, fight it!”
“In violation of Order 66!” he bellowed, locking eyes with the reader.
She barely had time to ignite her saber as he charged.
They clashed hard—fist to blade. Sparks flew. Her heart pounded. He was trying to kill her.
He wasn’t Wrecker anymore.
“You don’t want to do this!” she cried, dodging as he smashed a console.
Echo and Hunter tried to flank him, but he threw them aside effortlessly. He moved toward Omega next—drawn to the Jedi-adjacent signature she carried.
“No!” the reader screamed, hurling him back with the Force.
That dazed him just long enough for Tech to line up the stun shot—two bursts of blue light—and Wrecker dropped to the ground, unconscious.
The silence afterward felt deafening.
Omega rushed into the reader’s arms, trembling.
“I-It wasn’t him,” she whispered. “That wasn’t Wrecker…”
The reader just held her tightly, blinking away her own tears.
“I know, sweetheart. I know.”
The cruiser’s medbay was quiet again, the hum of the equipment the only sound as Wrecker stirred.
He groaned, eyes fluttering open, then blinked blearily at the harsh lighting above. The reader stood near the far wall, arms crossed, eyes guarded. Omega was asleep in a nearby chair, curled up beneath a blanket.
Wrecker sat up slowly, then immediately winced. “Urgh… what happened?”
Hunter leaned forward, cautious. “You don’t remember?”
Wrecker rubbed his temple. “Just… pain. Then nothing.”
Tech stood near the console. “Your inhibitor chip activated. We had to stun you to prevent serious harm.”
Wrecker glanced around, gaze slowly landing on the reader. His heart dropped.
“I—I hurt you, didn’t I?” he rasped.
She didn’t speak at first. Her jaw was tight, her knuckles white where they gripped her sleeves.
“You tried to kill me,” she said quietly. “Tried to kill Omega.”
Wrecker’s shoulders slumped, devastated.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, barely able to get the words out. “I couldn’t stop it… I wasn’t me. I’d never hurt you. Or her.”
The reader finally stepped closer. “I know,” she said. “It wasn’t you. It was the chip.”
“But it was me,” Wrecker insisted. “It was my hands. My voice. I said those things…”
Omega stirred then, blinking awake. She saw Wrecker sitting up and scrambled over, hugging him fiercely before anyone could stop her.
He held her gently, cradling her as if she were made of glass. His voice cracked when he whispered, “I’m sorry, kid.”
“I forgive you,” she murmured.
The room went still.
The reader watched them, throat tight. The bruises on her arms still throbbed. But the sincerity in Wrecker’s voice, the pain in his eyes—it reached something inside her.
She gave a small nod. “So do I.”
Wrecker looked up, eyes glassy. “Really?”
She stepped closer, touching his shoulder. “You were the last one with that thing in your head. It’s over now. You’re still Wrecker.”
He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for days.
Echo gave him a nod. “You’re one of us. Always.”
Tech cleared his throat. “Now that we’re all… unchipped, we can begin operating more freely. No more sudden execution protocols.”
Hunter placed a hand on Wrecker’s arm. “We move forward together.”
Wrecker nodded slowly, and Omega curled back up beside him, calmer now.
The reader stepped back, quietly observing them.
Something had changed in her too. Watching them risk everything for one another, seeing how hard they fought to stay together, to be together—it stirred something she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time:
Hope.
⸻
Ord Mantell’s night air was thick with the scent of dust and ion fuel, the stars low and heavy above the cluttered skyline.
She stood alone on the overlook behind Cid’s parlor, arms folded against the breeze, her lightsaber weighing heavy at her side. It was the first time she’d clipped it there in months.
She didn’t flinch when Rex approached. She felt him before she heard him.
“You sure?” he asked, stopping beside her.
She nodded, slow. “Yeah.”
They stood in silence for a long time. The clatter of cantina noise bled faintly through the walls. Somewhere below, Wrecker was likely teaching Omega how to throw a punch without breaking her wrist. Echo would be reading. Hunter brooding. Tech lecturing some poor soul who made the mistake of asking a question.
They’d become a strange sort of family. And that made this harder.
“I’m not running,” she finally said. “Not from them. But I can’t keep hiding in a bar like the war never happened.”
“You don’t owe anyone an explanation,” Rex said quietly.
She turned to look at him, really look at him—his expression weary, but his posture still sharp. There was always weight behind his gaze, but now it was heavier. Lonelier. She recognized it. She felt it too.
“I think I owe them a goodbye,” she said.
⸻
Inside, the Batch were gathered around the table. She stood before them, her saber now visibly clipped to her hip.
They all turned. Omega was the first to speak. “You’re leaving?”
“I am,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake. “With Rex.”
A beat of silence.
Hunter stood. “You’re sure?”
She nodded. “You all gave me something I didn’t realize I needed. But I can’t stay here while there’s still a fight out there.”
Tech removed his goggles briefly, nodding with rare sincerity. “You’ve always been capable. I suspected it the moment I saw you cleaning barstools like you’d rather stab someone.”
That earned a faint laugh, even from her.
Wrecker stepped forward, wrapping her in a careful, crushing hug. “Just don’t get shot or anything.”
“I’ll try not to,” she muttered into his chestplate.
Echo approached last, meeting her gaze with quiet understanding. “Stay safe. And if you ever need us—”
“I’ll find you,” she said. “I promise.”
Omega flung herself into her arms, teary-eyed but brave. “Will you visit?”
“If I can,” she whispered. “I’ll try.”
⸻
Outside again, Rex waited by the speeder. She joined him in silence, the saber at her hip now humming softly against her side.
“You ready?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “But I’m going anyway.”
Rex smirked faintly. “Good answer.”
They mounted the speeder, and as it took off into the dark, she didn’t look back.
Not because she didn’t care.
But because it hurt too much.
And because the future waited.
⸻
*Time Skip*
The AT-TE creaked in the dry wind, its repurposed hull groaning like an old man settling into bed. Panels of mismatched metal were welded over the gaps, creating a patchwork home that had weathered years of storms, dust, and silence. A line of vapor-trapped cables ran down from a salvaged power generator, and the front cannon had long since been converted into a lookout perch—with an old caf pot hanging just beneath it.
Out here on Seelos, nothing moved fast—except time.
She sat alone atop the forward deck, legs dangling over the edge, her lightsaber in a locked case at her feet. She hadn’t opened it in years. Some days she forgot it was even there. Other days, her hand would rest on it unconsciously, like a phantom limb that still itched.
Behind her, laughter echoed from inside—Gregor’s wild cackle, Wolffe grumbling that something in the stew “smelled too fresh,” and Rex… softer now, slower in his step, but still unmistakably him.
He didn’t wear armor anymore. Not really. The old pauldrons were used as patch plates on the AT-TE, and his helmet rested on a shelf with a layer of dust thick enough to write in. His hair was white now, and his back bent a little more with each passing year. She could see the toll the war had taken on his body—clones weren’t built for longevity. But his eyes? Those still held that sharp, earnest fire when he looked at her.
They had made a quiet life together. A small garden. A stripped-down comm dish for the occasional transmission. She cooked. He read. Some mornings they sat in silence with caf, the sun rising red over the Seelos horizon like blood on sand.
And yet, there were moments—when the wind howled just so, or when night came too quiet—when her thoughts drifted elsewhere.
To him.
To Bacara.
She hadn’t seen him since Mygeeto. Since she watched him gun down Master Mundi without hesitation—since he turned on her with no emotion at all, like a stranger wearing a familiar face. But sometimes, she wondered. He’d lied in his report. She was sure of it. He said her ship was shot down before it breached the atmosphere… but it wasn’t. He let her go.
Why?
And where was he now?
Did he ever think about her? Did the chip ever break like it did in Rex? Or did he die a soldier, still bound to the Empire? Still hunting Jedi in the shadows of a life that used to mean more?
She shook the thought away.
She had Rex.
And this peace… this was real.
The perimeter alarm chirped—one long tone, then two short. A ship. Small. Civilian or rebel-modified. Old programming still made her spine go rigid.
She stood, heart steady but alert, as the vessel descended into view. The dust curled beneath it, kicking up into the dusk-lit sky.
By the time it touched down, she was already at the foot of the AT-TE, hand hovering instinctively near the saber case tucked behind the front hatch.
Then the ramp lowered.
She felt it.
The Force.
Before they even stepped out.
Two Jedi.
A Mandalorian.
And a Lasat.
Ezra Bridger emerged first, cautious and respectful. Sabine Wren followed, helmet in hand, and Zeb let out a low grunt of approval at the sight of the old war walker.
And then him.
The Jedi.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Not because he was a stranger.
Because he wasn’t.
Caleb Dume.
He didn’t look the same—not exactly. Older now, guarded. His hair longer, beard fuller, movements tighter like someone who had lived on the edge too long.
But she knew those eyes.
“Kanan Jarrus,” he introduced himself, stepping forward.
She didn’t return the greeting immediately. Her voice was quiet. “I knew you as Caleb.”
He stiffened, face unreadable. The others exchanged a glance. The Lasat’s hand twitched near his weapon, but Hera gently put a hand on his arm.
Kanan didn’t deny it. “Then you’re…?”
“I was with Master Mace Windus second padawan,” she said. “I remember you at the Temple. You were small. Loud. You used to sneak into the archives to look at holos of war reports.”
His expression softened. “That sounds like me.”
“You survived.”
“So did you.”
They stood in silence for a moment. The past stretched like a shadow between them.
Ezra finally stepped in. “Do the numbers CT-7567 mean anything to you? Ashoka Tano said he might help us establish a network… fight back against the Empire.”
Behind her, footsteps thudded—Rex stepping out of the AT-TE, wiping his hands with a rag, eyebrows raised as he spotted the group.
“Told ya they’d find us eventually,” Gregor called from the hatch, cheerful as ever.
The reader didn’t take her eyes off Kanan.
He was studying Rex, but his focus kept flicking back to her.
She could feel the tension like a storm behind his eyes. The chip. Order 66. Old scars. Unspoken pain.
She understood. But this wasn’t about the past anymore.
This was the beginning of something new.
A new hope.
⸻
Previous Chapter
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Bad Batch/Clone Force 99 Material List 🖤♠️💀🩸💋◾️
|❤️ = Romantic | 🌶️= smut or smut implied |🏡= platonic |
The Bad Batch
- x Jedi Reader “About time you showed up” 🏡
- x Reader “permission to feel” 🏡
- x Fem!Reader “ours” ❤️/🏡
- x Fem!Reader “Seconds”🏡
- x Fem!Reader “undercover temptation” 🌶️
- x reader “Say that again?”❤️
- x reader “Echoes in Dust” ❤️🏡
- x Reader “Secrets in the Shadow”
- “The Scent of Home”🏡
- Helmet Chaos ❤️🏡
Hunter
- x Mandalorian Reader pt.1❤️
- x Mandalorian Reader pt. 2❤️
- x Pabu Reader❤️
- x reader “good looking”❤️
- x reader “Ride” 🌶️
- x reader “What is that smell”❤️
- x Plus sized reader “All the parts of you” ❤️
- x Reader “Flower Tactics”
Tech
- x mechanic reader ❤️
- x Jedi Reader “uncalculated variables”❤️
- x Reader “Theoretical Feelings” ❤️
- x Reader “Statistical Probability of Love” ❤️
- x Reader “Sweet Circuits” ❤️
- x Reader “you talk too much (and I like it)”
- x Fem reader “Recalibration” 🌶️
- x Jealous Reader “More than Calculations”
- x Reader “There are other ways”
-“Exactly Us” ❤️
- “The Fall Doesn’t End You” 🏡/❤️
- “Heat Index” ❤️
- “Terminally Yours” ❤️
Wrecker
- x Shop keeper reader❤️
- x Reader “I wanna wreck our friendship”❤️
- x Reader “Grumpy Hearts and Sunshine Shoulders”❤️
- x reader “Big enough to hold you”❤️
- x Torguta Reader “The Sound of Your Voice”❤️
- “Heart of the Wreckage” ❤️
Echo
- x Senator!Reader❤️
- x reader “safe with you”❤️
- “Operation: Stay Forever” ❤️
Crosshair
- x reader “The Stillness Between Waves❤️
- x reader “just like the rest”❤️
- x Fem!Reader “Right on Target” 🌶️
- “Sharp Eyes” ❤️
Captain Howzer
- x Twi’lek Reader “Quiet Rebellion”❤️
- “A safe place to fall” ❤️
Overall Material List
Captain Rex x Villager Reader
⸻
The mission went sideways—like most things involving General Skywalker.
The Republic cruiser got hit mid-orbit, forcing the 501st into a crash-landing they barely walked away from. Engines fried. Comms fried. Morale? Hanging on by a few snide remarks from Jesse and a sarcastic comment from Kix.
They hiked miles through jungle and shoreline until they stumbled across it: a sleepy little village tucked in a crescent of cliffs and coral. Sun-bleached stone homes. Palm trees bending in the breeze. Children with wide eyes and old souls.
And then... her.
The village welcomed them with food, drink, and curious smiles. The chief offered shelter. But Rex? Rex couldn't stop staring at the figure twirling barefoot on the sand.
You.
Clothes soaked to the knees, hair tangled with shells, a song on your lips and hands raised to the sky like you were conducting the clouds.
"Who's that?" Jesse muttered, nudging Rex.
One of the villagers chuckled. "That's her. Our ocean spirit. The crazy one."
"She always like this?" Kix asked.
"Always. She talks to the stars. Dances with the tide. Claims the Force whispers in her dreams."
"Right," Rex said flatly, trying very hard not to watch you pirouette through the foam.
⸻
You noticed him the second he stepped into the village.
Not because of the armor—everyone else had that.
But because of the weight on his shoulders. The silence behind his eyes.
He was loud in his stillness. Something broken beneath all that discipline. And you... well, you liked broken things. They had better stories.
So naturally, you made it your mission to get under his skin.
The first time, you startled him by hanging upside down from a tree branch as he walked by. "You're a soldier, but you move like someone who wants peace," you said, grinning. "What a strange contradiction."
He blinked up at you. "What?"
You dropped beside him, barefoot and beaming. "You've got stars in your chest, Captain. Ever let 'em out?"
He stared.
Then turned to Jesse and muttered, "She's weirder up close."
⸻
You danced along the edges of his days.
Offered him woven seashell charms ("For luck."). Sang to him in the mornings ("For clarity."). Told him stories about planets that didn't exist, and beasts made of shadow and seafoam.
At first, he humored you. Called you "eccentric." Maybe a little unhinged.
But over time, when the others laughed—when Anakin smirked and Jesse nudged him—Rex stopped joining in. He started listening. Watching.
You'd talk to the ocean and hum lullabies to fish. You'd draw in the sand and claim it was from a vision. You'd call him "Captain Sunshine" and pretend not to notice how his lips twitched every time.
But the turning point?
It came the night you found him staring at the stars, quiet and heavy.
You sat beside him without asking.
"There's something about you," you said softly. "Like the Force wrapped a storm in armor."
Rex didn't speak. But his hand was still when you placed yours over it.
"You think I'm mad," you whispered, "but the truth is—I've just seen too much. And maybe... maybe I see you too."
He looked at you then.
Really looked.
And for the first time, he didn't see "the village crazy."
He saw you.
⸻
From then on, he started lingering.
He'd listen to your stories.
He'd walk with you on the shore.
He'd steal glances when you danced in the moonlight—shirt soaked, hair wild, joy uncontained.
His men noticed.
So did Skywalker.
"You know she's probably kissed a krayt dragon or something, right?" Anakin teased one evening.
"She said it kissed her," Jesse corrected.
Rex only grunted. But later that night, when you sat beside him by the fire and handed him a shell—"It's for courage," you said—he didn't laugh.
He kept it.
Right there, tucked beneath his chest plate, next to his heart.
⸻
The moonlight filtered through the palm trees, casting silver streaks across the soft sand. The air was warm, a gentle breeze ruffling your hair as you sat with Rex on the quiet beach. His armor, normally so rigid and sharp, lay discarded in a pile beside him. His shoulders were relaxed—more than they had been in days.
For the first time, there was no mission. No enemy. Just the two of you, the waves, and the stars.
You were humming a tune that had no words—just the melody carried by the wind. You always sang when you felt alive. And tonight, you felt alive. There was something in the air, something that shifted between the two of you.
You glanced over at Rex, who had his gaze fixed on the horizon, his arms resting loosely on his knees.
"You know," you began, your voice quieter than usual, "I've been thinking."
He turned his head slightly to look at you, but didn't say anything. You could feel the weight of his attention on you, even without him speaking.
"You're always so serious," you continued, your eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. "I think it's time I gave you a new name. Something that suits you better than 'Captain Sunshine.'"
He raised an eyebrow, but there was a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I told you to stop calling me that."
You grinned, leaning your head on your knees. "But it fits! You're always so bright, even when you try to be grumpy."
"I'm not grumpy," he muttered.
"Sure you're not," you teased. "How about 'Captain Gloomy' then?"
He laughed, a rare, deep sound that made your heart skip. But it was only for a moment before he grew quiet again.
"You know, I don't mind the nickname," Rex said, his voice softer now, more vulnerable than usual. "I just..." He cleared his throat, then looked at you, his blue eyes soft under the moonlight. "I don't want you thinking I'm some sort of walking joke."
Your smile faded, replaced with a warmth that bubbled in your chest. You reached over and took his hand, resting it in your own.
"Rex," you said, your voice low and sincere. "I don't think you're a joke. And I don't call you 'Captain Sunshine' to make fun of you. It's because you shine, even when you don't know it. You've been through so much, but you still manage to have a light in you. It's... rare."
For a long moment, he didn't speak. Then he squeezed your hand, a silent acknowledgment of something unspoken. Something neither of you were ready to say yet.
But for the first time in weeks, Rex didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he leaned in, just enough for you to feel the warmth of his presence.
"Stop calling me 'Captain Sunshine,'" he said quietly, his voice thick with something you couldn't quite place. "Call me Rex."
You blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of it. Rex. He wanted you to call him by his name. Not by rank. Not by some distant title. Just Rex.
And you smiled.
"Okay... Rex."
⸻
The next morning, the peaceful rhythm of village life was shattered.
You were on the shore, as usual—your feet in the water, your hands lifting to the sky as you hummed to the wind. But something was different today. The ocean felt... wrong. The waves rolled with a strange intensity, crashing against the rocks with too much force.
You stood still, listening to the sound of the water. The whispers came to you, as they often did. But this time, they were louder. Urgent.
Something's coming. Something dark.
A chill ran down your spine. You felt it deep in your bones. It wasn't the Force, not really. You couldn't wield it the way the Jedi could. But you felt it—this impending darkness. The kind of thing that stirred in your gut and made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
You rushed into the village, seeking out the chief. You found him in the square, talking to some of the villagers.
"Chief!" You grabbed his arm, your breath quickening. "The ocean is angry. Something is coming. You need to prepare."
The chief looked at you, brow furrowed. "You're rambling again. The ocean is just the ocean."
"But the water—" you began, your hands trembling. "The waves—there's something wrong! It's not just the ocean. It's everything."
He shook his head. "You've always been a little... eccentric. The villagers are afraid of you, but we've never had a problem. Don't stir up fear."
Your chest tightened. No one believed you. Again.
You turned away from him, running towards Rex, Skywalker, and the others, desperate to make them understand.
But even as you spoke to Rex, the worry clear in your voice, he shook his head, not fully understanding. "You're being cryptic again, [Y/N]. We can't just go around acting on every... feeling you have. We need to focus on finding a way off this planet."
"You don't understand," you said, grabbing his arm. "You have to listen to me, Rex. The Force... something's coming. I can feel it. We're not safe here."
Rex's gaze softened for a moment, but there was a stubbornness in him that wouldn't let go. "You're not crazy, but we can't just assume the worst. We're in a safe place."
As if on cue, the first explosion rocked the village.
⸻
The Separatists came from the cliffs, their droid army descending in waves.
The village, so peaceful just hours before, was now a battlefield. The village chief scrambled to rally the villagers, but it was clear they weren't prepared for what was happening. Panic spread like wildfire. Children screamed. Elders tried to hide.
Rex and the 501st were quick to action, weapons drawn, taking position around the village. But the fight was chaotic. Too chaotic. And despite his skill, Rex couldn't shake the feeling that you had been right.
That something was wrong. That something was coming.
And when he looked back to find you, his heart dropped. You weren't by the water anymore. You were in the center of it all—trying to calm the villagers, trying to do something, but you were alone.
You weren't a Jedi, but your connection to the planet and the Force—it had always been there. But now, it was stronger than ever.
But the village was under attack, and Rex—he would do anything to keep you safe. Anything.
⸻
The ground trembled beneath your feet as the first explosion reverberated across the beach, sending the villagers scattering in panic. You had felt it before, but now it was undeniable—the feeling that something was horribly wrong. The droid army had descended without warning, their cold, mechanical clanking filling the air as they stormed through the village.
Rex's sharp voice cut through the chaos. "Form up! Secure the perimeter!" His orders were precise, but even he couldn't ignore the panic that was building. The Separatists had come out of nowhere—this was no mere skirmish. This was an invasion.
You were in the thick of it, dodging through the scrambling villagers, trying to usher the children into the village huts. Your heart pounded in your chest, every instinct telling you to run—run far away—but you couldn't. Not when you felt the waves of darkness closing in.
The Force was alive in you now—alive and screaming. You had never experienced anything like this before. There was something wrong about the way the droids moved. It was as if they had a plan—a deeper purpose. And in the center of it all, you could feel a dark presence, one that made your chest tighten with fear.
You tried to keep your cool, but it was hard. It was hard when you saw Rex, the man you had come to care for, pushing through the village with his brothers, cutting down droids left and right. You wanted to warn him, to tell him to stop, to listen to the warning bells ringing in your soul.
But you were just the village "crazy." What could you say? Who would listen?
⸻
Rex was fighting alongside the rest of the 501st, but his eyes never strayed far from you. He knew you weren't helpless—he knew that. But seeing you caught in the middle of the battle, guiding the villagers to safety, made his heart race in a way he couldn't explain. His usual stoic focus slipped, his movements sharper, more desperate as the battle intensified.
"[Y/N]!" he called out, pushing through a group of battle droids to reach you. "Get to cover!"
You didn't move, your eyes scanning the battlefield, your hands raised as if trying to push the tides themselves back. Your breath was shallow, your mind working overtime to sense the next wave of danger. You felt the air shift—they were coming. But they weren't the droids.
A blinding flash of blaster fire exploded nearby, and Rex's hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you behind a nearby hut for cover.
"Stay down!" he shouted, crouching beside you, his voice fierce, desperate. He was holding onto you tightly—too tightly, almost as if he thought letting go would mean losing you.
You caught your breath, staring at him, your hand still on his arm as if grounding yourself. The connection was stronger than ever, but there was nothing you could do but feel.
"I—Rex..." You struggled to find words. "There's something else. Not just droids. Something darker."
He shook his head, his face set with determination. "You're not going through this alone. We're getting you out of here."
But it was too late.
The battle intensified. More droids came flooding into the village, backed by a squad of heavily armored battle droids. You felt it—the pull of the darkness, tightening its grip around your chest. The very air seemed to grow thick with danger.
The droids were growing stronger by the minute. The battle outside was escalating, and the villagers had nowhere to run. You felt the heavy presence of Skywalker's power drawing closer, but you couldn't bring yourself to move. Rex had his orders. He was focused on defending the villagers, but in the pit of your stomach, you knew—if something wasn't done, this battle would turn into something much worse.
But then, everything stopped.
The unmistakable sound of blaster fire and screeching engines tore through the air. Anakin Skywalker.
"Didn't think you'd get rid of me that easily, Rex!" Skywalker's voice crackled through the comms. The roar of his ship's engines echoed as he barreled through the droid lines, his starfighter tearing through the air, blasting droids out of the sky with precision.
"I knew you'd show up," Rex muttered, a grin creeping onto his face despite the chaos. "Where have you been?"
"Just finishing off a few stragglers!" Skywalker's voice came back with a mischievous chuckle, as his ship soared overhead, dropping bombs and causing explosions in its wake. He was pulling the droid forces back.
The Separatists were retreating, forced to deal with the new wave of attacks from the air and ground.
Rex glanced back at you, his blue eyes full of concern. "We need to move now. They're still coming."
With Skywalker's timely intervention, the tide of battle had shifted. The 501st took advantage of the confusion caused by Skywalker's precision strikes, their assault growing fiercer. It wasn't just the droids that were retreating—Skywalker's presence had thrown them off balance, leaving the droid army scrambling for cover.
The villagers, assisted by the 501st, rallied together to get the wounded to safety. The battle raged on, but the droids were systematically wiped out. It wasn't a clean victory, but it was a victory nonetheless.
Finally, after the dust settled, you stood on the beach, your eyes still searching the horizon. You could feel the last traces of Skywalker's energy dissipating, his presence fading from the air. The village was safe—for now—but the cost had been heavy.
The 501st was preparing to leave. Skywalker had repaired his starfighter—patched up and fueled as best as he could with what limited resources the village had. His unorthodox heroics had cleared the sky, and now, it was time to go.
Rex stood beside you, silent for a moment, his hand resting on the hilt of his blaster. "We've got to go," he said, his voice soft.
You nodded, your heart heavy. You knew this was coming—the goodbye.
You looked up at him, trying to find the words. But there was only one thing you could say.
"You're going back to the fight," you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion.
Rex nodded, his gaze shifting downward for a moment before meeting yours again. "It's my job. It's what I'm good at."
You smiled softly, even though it hurt. "I know." Your fingers brushed his, and for a fleeting moment, the world stood still between you two.
Rex hesitated. There was something in his eyes now, something deeper than the soldier he had always been. He took a step closer, his hand reaching for yours. "Come with us. There's always a place for you with the 501st."
You shook your head gently, your heart aching with the decision. "No, Rex. You belong out there, with them. This is where I need to be. This is my home."
He looked at you for a long time, his gaze tender and filled with an unspoken understanding. "I'll never forget you, [Y/N]."
"I know," you whispered.
You pulled away, taking a deep breath. "Goodbye, Rex."
And as he turned to leave, you couldn't help but feel that your connection—this strange, beautiful bond between you—would remain. Even across the stars.
Rex glanced back one last time, his helmet under his arm, his eyes full of regret and something else—something you couldn't name. But then he was gone, heading to the shuttle with his brothers, disappearing into the sky.
And you stood on the shore, watching the stars shimmer in the distance, knowing that, just maybe, you would always feel that pull toward him. Across time, across galaxies, and even the darkness that threatened to divide them.
The Force, it seemed, had a way of bringing souls together—if only for a little while.
Hiiii! Could you do a Bad Batch x Fem!Reader where she’s like their new general (a force user but not a Jedi) where she’s trying to keep her distance to stay professional and to not fall for them but maybe she wakes up from a nightmare or has a really bad day and she goes to wrecker and sees if those hugs are still available? The others obviously see and a bunch of cute confessions? Love all the additions you add too!! Love all your work! Xx
“Permission to Feel”
Bad Batch x Fem!Reader
The Clone Force 99 barracks were quiet for once.
No late-night sparring, no Tech rattling off schematics, no arguments about snacks between Wrecker and Echo. Even Crosshair wasn’t brooding out loud. Just silence—and the hum of hyperspace.
You should have been grateful. Instead, you sat on your bunk with your face buried in your hands, heart hammering from the aftershocks of a nightmare you couldn’t quite shake.
You weren’t a Jedi. You never claimed to be. Not trained in their ways, not chained to their rules. You were something… other. The people on your homeworld called you “Witchblade.” A war hero. A force of nature. The Republic called you General.
But tonight, you were just a woman shaking in the dark, trying not to feel too much.
And failing.
The vision—whatever it was—had left your skin cold and your chest too tight. It wasn’t just war. It was loss. Familiar faces, falling.
You told yourself it was just stress. Just echoes from the Force. Nothing real.
But you couldn’t stay in this room.
Your feet found the floor before your mind caught up. You moved through the ship barefoot, shoulders hunched, arms crossed like you could hide the vulnerability leaking from your ribs.
Wrecker’s door was cracked open. Dim lights. Soft snoring. His massive frame curled on a bunk made way too small.
You hesitated. So many reasons not to do this. Not to cross that line. Not to give in.
But still—you whispered, “Wrecker?”
He stirred. Blinking. Yawning. “Hey, General…” His voice was warm and rough, like gravel and sunlight. “You okay?”
You didn’t answer at first. Then: “Are those hugs… still available?”
He was already opening his arms before you finished.
You didn’t cry. Not really. But when your face pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around you like a fortress, you breathed in a way you hadn’t in days. Weeks. Maybe ever.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
You nodded against him. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not.”
You felt the bed shift behind you, and only then realized others had stirred. You didn’t need to turn to know Hunter was standing in the doorway now, gaze sharp but not judging. Crosshair leaned against the frame, arms crossed but brows drawn together. Echo hovered behind him, concern etched into the lines around his eyes. Tech, as usual, said nothing—but his gaze softened when it landed on you.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you mumbled, pulling back.
Wrecker held you a second longer, then let go gently. “It’s okay. You’re allowed.”
You sat back. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable now. Just… full. With things unsaid.
Hunter stepped in first. Sat across from you, elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself, you know.”
“I’m your commanding officer,” you said quietly.
“You’re you,” Crosshair replied, from the doorway. “That outranks any title.”
“I wasn’t trying to—” you started, but Echo interrupted gently.
“You were trying not to fall for us. We noticed.”
You blinked. “What?”
Wrecker chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, you’re not as subtle as you think, General.”
Tech pushed his goggles up. “Statistically, we have all exhibited signs of attachment. It is entirely mutual.”
Your heart stuttered.
Hunter leaned closer. “We don’t expect anything. We just… we care. And if you want this—want us—you’re not alone.”
You looked at them. Really looked.
These men—outcasts, experiments, your greatest allies—they weren’t just soldiers under your command. They were your anchor. And maybe you were theirs.
You exhaled, tension uncoiling from your shoulders like a storm breaking.
“Then… maybe I’ll stop pretending I don’t want you.”
Hunter smiled softly. “That’d be a good start.”
Crosshair rolled his eyes. “Finally.”
Wrecker just wrapped his arm around your shoulder again, and you leaned into it like it was the safest place in the galaxy.
Wrecker never stopped holding you.
He rested his chin on your head now, gently rocking you. “You don’t have to say anything,” he rumbled. “Not tonight. You can just stay.”
That simple.
You can just stay.
And so you did.
You stayed.
Sat nestled between the one who understood your silence (Echo), the one who sensed your pain (Hunter), the one who read your walls like blueprints (Tech), the one who’d never admit he cared but always acted like he did (Crosshair), and the one who’d give you the biggest piece of his heart without needing anything back (Wrecker).
Eventually, someone—maybe Echo, maybe Tech—tossed a blanket over your shoulders. Wrecker shifted, cradling your body like it was made of starlight and trauma. Hunter sat beside you, his hand finding your knee, thumb stroking softly in rhythm with your breath.
You drifted off like that.
Not in your quarters.
Not alone.
But safe, for once.
Warm, held, and finally—finally—seen.
Delta Squad Material List🧡❤️💚💛
|❤️ = Romantic | 🌶️= smut or smut implied |🏡= platonic |
Boss
- x reader “directive breach”❤️
- x Reader “Shadows of Theed”❤️
- x Reader “Duty Calls, Desire Waits”❤️
Sev
- x Reader “still just a rat in a cage”❤️
- x Reader “Storm and Starlight”❤️
- x Reader “Vertical Evac”❤️
Scorch
- x reader “Pull the Trigger”❤️
- “Where’s your head at” 🏡/❤️
Fixer
- x Reader “Caf Break” ❤️
Overall Material List
“Crossfire” pt.7
Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex
The camp was quiet now. The chaos had died down into murmurs, tired footsteps, the clatter of armor being stripped off and stacked beside sleeping mats. She wandered through it like a ghost, feeling out of place but… not unwelcome. Not entirely.
She spotted him near the supply crates, still in his blacks, helmet off, hair mussed from the fight. Rex looked up as she approached, his posture straightening slightly like muscle memory kicked in before the rest of him caught up.
“Hey,” she said.
He didn’t smile, but his expression softened—just enough.
“Didn’t expect you to come find me,” Rex said. “Figured you’d be off the minute your boots cooled.”
“Yeah, well…” she kicked a rock with the toe of her boot. “Running hasn’t exactly worked out great for me lately.”
Rex folded his arms, waiting.
“I wanted to check on you,” she added. “See how you were holding up. After today.”
“After everything, you mean?”
She met his eyes. “Yeah.”
There was a long pause, not uncomfortable, just… heavy. She leaned against a crate beside him and crossed her arms to match his posture, head tilted up to the stars.
“You still got that scar?” she asked casually. “The one on your jaw. From the skirmish on Felucia?”
He gave her a look. “You remember that?”
“I remember a lot of things about you, Captain.”
She offered him a crooked smirk, the kind she used to wear like armor. Playful. A little bold. A spark in the rubble.
Rex didn’t return the smile—but the way he looked at her made her throat tighten.
“You think flirting with me is going to fix this?” he asked quietly.
She lost her grin.
“No,” she said. “It’s just… easier. Than everything else.”
His shoulders dropped a little, some tension leaving his frame even if the rest stayed knotted. He didn’t look angry. Just… tired.
“I missed you,” she admitted, more earnest than she meant to be. “Even when I was running. Especially then.”
Rex looked down at her—really looked—and she saw the conflict written across his face like ink on skin.
“I didn’t know where you were,” he said, voice rough. “Didn’t know if you were alive. If you were working for the Chancellor still, if you were working for anyone. It’s hard to miss someone when you don’t know if they’re already gone.”
That one hit. She nodded, eyes flicking away for a moment.
“I was scared,” she said. “Of what I was doing. Who I was becoming. Of what you’d see if you looked at me too long.”
“I saw someone who gave a damn,” Rex said. “Still do.”
She looked at him then, and for a moment, everything else—Palpatine, the Council, Cody, the kid—blurred out into silence.
He stepped closer, just slightly. She didn’t move away.
“I’m not saying it’s fixed,” he said lowly. “But I’m still here.”
She reached out, fingertips brushing his hand, testing the water like she was scared it would burn her. He let her.
“I missed you too,” she whispered.
They stood there for a while, in that silence. The tension still coiled, still unresolved—but different now. Softer.
The kind that might, with time, unravel into something real.
⸻
The shuttle touched down on Coruscant with a low hum, metallic feet clunking into the hangar platform. The ramp hissed open, revealing the cold blue glow of the Senate District skyline in the distance. She breathed it in—familiar and suffocating all at once.
Rex had disappeared into a sea of 501st troopers. Anakin and Ahsoka had gone to debrief. The kid—the kid—was somewhere out there now, no longer hers to protect, though the phantom weight of responsibility still clung to her shoulders like wet armor.
And Cody…
Cody had been quiet the whole way back. Not cold, not rude—just restrained. Professional. Distant.
She knew that look. It was the same one she wore when she was hurt but too proud to bleed out in public.
So she went looking for him.
The GAR barracks were quiet this time of day, most men off-duty or in mess. She spotted Cody’s armor first, piled neat outside a side room, the door half-cracked. She knocked once—light—and pushed the door further open.
Cody was sitting on the edge of his bunk, bare-chested, arms braced on his knees, deep in thought. He looked up, startled at first, and then his mouth pulled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“You look like you’re about to deliver bad news,” he said, voice low and wry.
“I’m not,” she said. “I just wanted to talk.”
He nodded, gestured to the spot beside him on the bunk.
They sat in silence for a beat. The air between them tense but not hostile.
“I don’t want things to be weird,” she said. “Between us.”
“Kind of hard for them not to be,” Cody replied, tone not sharp, just… tired.
“I know,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “But I’m trying. I’m done running. I just—I want to fix things. Or at least make it so we can be in the same room without all the oxygen leaving it.”
Cody huffed a small breath. “You don’t need to fix things. Just stop acting like you can flirt your way out of every mess you cause.”
That one stung, but she accepted it.
“I know,” she said softly. “I know.”
He turned to her. His eyes didn’t hold anger. They held ache. And something else—something deeper. Something he wasn’t saying.
She opened her mouth to say more—
—and the door slammed open.
“There you are!” Quinlan Vos strode in like a tide, full of unfiltered charisma and absolutely no awareness of personal boundaries.
Obi-Wan followed, much slower, brow furrowed with concern. “Apologies for the intrusion, but we’ve been looking for you.”
Cody stood, arms folding tightly across his chest, clearly not thrilled.
She didn’t move from the bed. “I’m a little busy.”
“So it seems,” Obi-Wan remarked mildly, eyes flicking between her and Cody.
Quinlan plopped down on Cody’s empty chair like he owned the place. “The Council wants to talk. They’ve got questions. About Palpatine. About the kid. About you and your… pattern of disappearing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why do I feel like I’m constantly on trial.”
“Because you kind of are,” Quinlan said with a grin.
Obi-Wan sighed. “We’re not your enemies. But we do need to understand why you made the choices you did.”
She stood up now, shoulders stiff. “And I’m trying to explain those choices—to the people who matter to me. But you keep showing up like two banthas at a tea party.”
Cody, behind her, almost smiled.
“Can it wait?” she asked Obi-Wan directly.
He hesitated.
“…Fine,” he said at last. “But not long.”
He and Quinlan left with far more noise than they entered.
She sighed and turned back to Cody.
“…See what I mean? Never a quiet moment.”
Cody studied her, his expression unreadable. “You don’t owe them your soul.”
“No,” she said. “But maybe I owe them a piece of the truth. Just… not before I say what I need to say to you.”
Cody gave her a slow nod. “Then say it.”
She looked at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the words that clawed to the surface.
But for once—maybe for the first time—she let them stay unspoken. Let them sit there in the space between them, heavy and real and understood.
The door had long since shut behind Obi-Wan and Quinlan, the echo of their presence still lingering. But now, it was quiet again. Just her and Cody. And the weight of what she hadn’t said.
She looked up at him, heart hammering harder than it had in any firefight.
“Cody,” she began, voice low, almost unsure. “I need to say something. And it’s not fair, but it’s honest.”
He raised a brow, still standing a few feet away. Guarded, but listening.
“I love you.”
That stopped him. His arms slowly uncrossed.
“But—” she continued before he could react, “I love Rex too.”
Cody’s face didn’t shift. Didn’t wince. Didn’t soften. Just—stilled.
She took a step closer. “And I don’t know what that says about me, or what it means, but I’m tired of pretending I only feel one thing at a time. I tried to choose. I did. But every time I think I have, I see the other one and it just—breaks something in me.”
He let out a long, quiet breath.
“I’m not asking you to be okay with it,” she added quickly. “I’m not even asking you for anything. I just needed to say it. To stop lying about how I feel and hoping it’ll get easier if I just shove it down hard enough.”
A long silence passed.
Then Cody finally spoke. “You’re right. It’s not fair.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“But it’s real.” His voice had softened, barely above a whisper. “And I’d rather have your truth than someone else’s lie.”
Tears burned her eyes, sudden and hot. She didn’t cry. Not for years. But this—this kind of vulnerability? This was harder than bleeding out in the field.
Cody stepped forward, gently touching her cheek with a calloused hand. “You deserve a love that doesn’t make you choose.”
She leaned into his touch, even as guilt twisted inside her.
“Rex deserves to hear it too,” Cody added after a beat. “But for now—just… thank you. For being honest.”
⸻
The Jedi Council chamber was quiet in the way only heavy judgment could make it.
Sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting long shadows across the room where the Masters sat in their semi-circle. Windu, Yoda, Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Luminara, Kit Fisto, and Obi-Wan.
She stood in the center, still dressed in half of her mission gear, the other half forgotten in the chaos of being summoned straight off the landing pad.
Mace Windu leaned forward first. “We appreciate your cooperation, though your presence here is long overdue.”
“I didn’t think I was a priority,” she said dryly.
“You’ve been a priority since the moment you vanished with a Force-sensitive child under mysterious circumstances,” Ki-Adi-Mundi snapped.
She raised her chin. “I didn’t kidnap him. I saved him.”
“From whom?” Luminara pressed. “From the Chancellor himself?”
“No,” she lied smoothly. “From a bounty. Someone—anonymous—put a price on the kid’s head. I took the job, found the kid, couldn’t go through with it. So I ran.”
Windu’s gaze was steel. “You expect us to believe a bounty hunter with personal access to the Chancellor just happened to take that contract?”
“I was close to Palpatine,” she admitted. “He trusted me. I never asked why. But I’m not loyal to him—not anymore. I saw enough to know I was a pawn. I just didn’t know what kind of game.”
“And the child?” Yoda asked softly.
“I gave him up. To the Republic. He’s safer now than he ever was with me. But I won’t apologize for keeping him alive.”
Kit Fisto watched her with new eyes. Quieter than before. Maybe… less suspicious. Maybe not.
“You told me once you feared the Chancellor,” Windu said, looking at her directly. “Do you still?”
“I fear what he’s capable of,” she said. “But I fear myself more. I made too many decisions in his shadow. I want to start making my own.”
The room was silent for a long moment.
Then Yoda turned to the others. “Much darkness clouds the future, but truth… glimpses of it, I sense in her words.”
Windu nodded. “We will deliberate. In the meantime, you are not to leave the planet. Is that understood?”
“Crystal,” she said, and turned to walk out, her heart thudding.
She had told some truth, enough to avoid chains—but not enough to put the game to rest. Not yet.
⸻
The summons came before sunrise.
No official escort this time. Just a short, encrypted message on her private channel—a voice she knew too well, cold and commanding:
“Come. Now.”
She hadn’t slept anyway. After the Council interrogation, after saying too much to Cody—and not enough to Rex—her nerves were frayed like wires sparking against metal.
The Senate building was quiet when she arrived, its corridors dim and eerie. Palpatine’s chambers were even darker—lit only by the soft red of Coruscanti dawn bleeding through heavy curtains and the low hum of security panels locking behind her.
He was waiting, seated in his throne-like chair, hands folded, hood drawn low over his brow.
“You lied to the Council,” he said without preamble. His tone held no accusation—only satisfaction.
She didn’t respond.
“You said nothing of my involvement. Not a single hint. You protected me.” A faint smile curled at the edges of his mouth. “That kind of loyalty is… rare.”
She shifted her weight, unsettled. “I didn’t do it for you.”
“But you did it well.” He stood slowly, walking toward her with quiet, measured steps. “The Jedi are grasping at shadows. And now they trust you just enough to leave their guard down. Perfect positioning, wouldn’t you say?”
“I didn’t come here to be your spy.”
He chuckled. “No. You came here to survive. And you’ve done that—exceptionally.”
She said nothing, jaw tight.
Palpatine clasped his hands behind his back. “The child you so kindly spared… he will serve a greater purpose than you could ever imagine. The Force hums in him—volatile, angry, raw. He will be an excellent assassin one day.”
Her throat went dry. “He’s not a weapon.”
“He’s an asset,” he corrected coolly.
“He has a name,” she snapped, louder than she meant to. “Kes. His name is Kes.”
Palpatine paused. Then, slowly, he turned to face her fully. “Names,” he said, voice lower now, more dangerous. “Names are tools. Just like loyalty. Just like you.”
Her hands curled into fists.
“I spared him,” she said, steadying her voice. “I hid him. I protected him. That doesn’t make me loyal to you.”
“No,” he said, almost fondly. “But it proves you can be used. Even against your will.”
She flinched. Because it was true.
Palpatine leaned closer, his presence overwhelming. “The boy will be trained. Molded. And when the time comes, he will take a life with his own hands. You will see.”
She met his gaze. “Over my dead body.”
The Sith Lord only smiled. “If necessary.”
⸻
She didn’t remember much of the walk back from the Senate building. The city buzzed around her, speeder traffic whipping by overhead, durasteel walkways trembling with the movement of life, but she moved through it all like a ghost.
Palpatine’s words still burned behind her eyes.
He will take a life with his own hands. You will see.
No. No, not if she could help it.
She barely registered her fists slamming against the barracks door until it opened. Rex stood there, still half-dressed in blacks and greys, fresh from training. His expression shifted from surprise to something more serious the moment he saw her face.
“I need to talk to you,” she said, pushing past him into the room.
He closed the door slowly behind her. “I figured.”
She paced the floor, hands on her hips. “I told Cody I loved him.”
Rex blinked, stiffening slightly. “Okay…”
She turned toward him, eyes sharp, voice louder now—heated. “And I love you, too. I love you, Rex. Not in some vague, flirty way. I mean it. I feel it in my chest like a damn explosion.”
He stared at her, caught off guard. “You’re angry.”
“I am angry,” she said, voice cracking. “But not at you.”
He stepped closer, expression softening as he tried to piece her together. “What’s wrong with you?”
Her mouth opened. Closed. The breath that came out after was shaky, jagged. “It’s the kid. It’s Kes. I don’t trust he’s safe.”
“I thought—he’s with the Republic now, right?”
She gave a bitter laugh. “Safe? From him?” Her voice dropped. “He wants to train him. Turn him into some twisted weapon. He called him an asset, Rex.”
Rex’s brows furrowed. “Who?”
“He’s not a tool. He’s a child. And I think… I might be the only person who can actually keep him safe.”
Rex looked at her for a long time, something unreadable in his eyes. “You still working for the Chancellor?”
“No,” she said quietly. “Not in the way I used to. But I can’t just walk away from this, not now. I know too much. And I know what he’s planning.”
Rex reached out, gently taking her arm. “Then what are you going to do?”
She looked at his hand, then into his eyes.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But whatever it is… I don’t think I’m coming back from it.”
⸻
The barracks were still, the artificial lights dimmed to simulate night. Most of the 501st were out or asleep, and for once, no one was shouting over a game of sabacc or sparring in the hall.
Rex sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, her words echoing in his skull like distant artillery.
I love you, Rex.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight. There were thousands of things he wanted to feel about it—pride, warmth, something like victory. But it came with a storm he didn’t know how to name.
She’d told Cody the same thing. She didn’t want just one of them.
He could’ve handled that. Maybe. They were soldiers—brothers—used to sharing everything. But this wasn’t a blaster or a battlefield.
This was her.
What kept him anchored to the floor, instead of pacing the room or sending a message to Cody to yell at him for no good reason, was the other thing she said. The thing that mattered more than love or jealousy or pride.
He called him an asset. I think I’m the only one who can keep him safe.
Kes. The kid. The Force-sensitive child she’d stolen, protected, run with, lied for.
And now she was talking like she’d disappear again. Like she had to.
Rex leaned back, exhaling slowly, head resting against the cool durasteel wall. He stared at the ceiling, mind ticking over the gaps. She hadn’t just been a pawn. Not really. She’d been close to Palpatine. Trusted. Useful. And now she was unraveling from the inside out, spiraling between duty, guilt, and love.
He didn’t blame her for loving Cody.
Didn’t even blame her for loving him, if he was being honest.
But what was killing him was the way she looked when she said she might not come back. Like it was already decided.
Rex sat forward again, elbows digging into his thighs. He could still smell her on his skin—warmth and dust and a hint of whatever Corellian brandy she’d drowned herself in last night.
He didn’t know what scared him more.
That she’d leave again.
Or that she wouldn’t.
And when she finally did make her move—when she ran headfirst into whatever hell she was walking toward—he wasn’t sure if he’d chase after her, or let her go.
But he was sure of one thing.
She didn’t have to face it alone.
Not if he had anything to say about it.
⸻
Cody stood in the shadow of the veranda outside the Jedi Temple. It was late. Not quite night, not quite morning—the sky caught in that soft, silver pre-dawn hue. And Coruscant, the city that never truly slept, hummed below like it didn’t care about anyone’s heartbreak.
He hadn’t gone back to his quarters. Couldn’t. Not after what she’d said.
I love you.
And then—I love Rex too.
He leaned forward, arms braced on the railing, the wind tugging at the edges of his armour.
The words weren’t what haunted him. Not really. He knew her. Knew how fiercely she loved—how wildly her loyalty curved into everything she touched. Of course she’d fall for Rex too. Of course it wouldn’t be clean, or easy, or fair.
He didn’t even blame her for it.
But it stung, deeper than blaster fire. Not because she loved them both—but because even now, after everything, she still looked like she was halfway out the door. Like her mind had already started packing bags she didn’t plan to unpack again.
Kes.
Cody’s fingers flexed on the railing.
The boy’s name hadn’t been spoken when she’d told her lie to the Council—but he’d heard the truth in her voice, beneath every beat of it. She’d kept him alive. Protected him. Cared for him in a way no bounty hunter had any right to.
Palpatine’s orders or not, she’d chosen the kid. Chosen to lie, run, risk everything.
That terrified him.
Because if she was willing to walk away from him for the kid… she’d do it again. In a heartbeat.
And he didn’t know if he could survive her leaving twice.
He exhaled slowly, the wind catching the breath like smoke. He could see himself from the outside—Commander Cody, poised, sharp, unreadable. A model soldier.
But inside? He was chaos.
He wanted to go to her room. Say something—anything. Ask her to choose him. Or don’t. Or promise to come back. Or stay.
But he wouldn’t beg.
She had enough people trying to pull her in opposite directions. She didn’t need another weight on her shoulders.
Still… he couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking about him now. If she was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, just as lost.
Don’t run again, he thought. Not from this. Not from me.
And if she did?
He’d find her.
And bring her home himself.
⸻
The air in her apartment was heavy.
It was always quiet before a storm. Before chaos. Before death.
She moved like a shadow, deliberate and silent, pulling her gear piece by piece from beneath the floorboards. Her knives. Her blaster. Her comm jammer. Her datapad with every possible layout of the facility burned into its memory.
She was going in alone.
There was no other way.
Kes was being held somewhere deep within the restricted levels of the Republic Intelligence Annex—a place so far off the grid it didn’t technically exist. He hadn’t shown up on any of the usual rosters. No holos. No files. Just whispers. Rumors.
She didn’t trust anyone else to get him out.
And the Chancellor… Palpatine.
She didn’t care if it was madness. She didn’t care if it meant her own death. The moment he’d looked at Kes like he was a tool, a weapon, an asset, something in her broke.
She wasn’t a Jedi. She didn’t have to play by their rules.
She’d already made up her mind.
The door panel chirped, breaking the silence.
She froze.
One hand gripped the vibroblade still resting on the kitchen bench. Her heart pounded hard, but her face remained unreadable.
Another chime. This time more insistent.
She took a breath. Stepped toward the door.
It slid open.
And there they were.
Cody. Rex.
She should’ve known.
Both of them stood just outside, dressed like they hadn’t had time to change out of their armor. Faces hard, eyes flicking past her to the gear stacked on the counter behind her.
Cody spoke first. “You’re leaving.”
She didn’t answer. Not with words. She turned her back on them both, walking toward her gear like she hadn’t just been caught mid-plan.
“I don’t have time to explain,” she said as she fastened her utility belt.
“We figured,” Rex said. “So explain on the way.”
“No.” Her voice was sharp, steel underneath. “You don’t get to follow me this time.”
Cody stepped inside. “We didn’t follow you. We found you. Big difference.”
She spun, eyes locking onto Cody. “You don’t get to be the voice of reason right now, Cody. Not when I’m going to kill your Chancellor.”
The silence hit like a thermal detonator.
Rex looked at her like he hadn’t expected to hear her say it aloud.
Cody didn’t flinch.
“I’m going to get Kes out,” she said, quieter now. “And then I’m going to end this. Before it starts.”
“You think assassinating the Chancellor is going to stop what’s coming?” Rex’s voice was tight. “Do you even know what that’ll unleash?”
“I don’t care,” she snapped. “He’s using that kid. He’s manipulating all of us. And the longer I wait, the worse it gets.”
Cody took a single step closer. Not threatening—just there. Solid. Like he always was.
“You’ll die,” he said. “You know that, right?”
She nodded. “I made peace with that a long time ago.”
Rex stepped forward now, voice low, fierce. “Then let us help. Let us at least stand with you.”
She stared at them both. Her throat tightened.
She wanted to say yes. Stars, she wanted to say yes so badly.
But—
“If either of you die because of me,” she said, “I’ll never forgive myself.”
“We’re soldiers,” Cody said. “We’ve already made peace with dying.”
“But not with you dying alone,” Rex added.
The silence stretched long. Her eyes burned.
She turned away, back to her weapons. She was shaking, just slightly.
And then… she spoke.
“No.”
They both stilled.
She faced them now, eyes sharper than either had ever seen. “I can’t let either of you come with me.”
“Why?” Rex asked. “Because it’s dangerous? We live in danger. That’s not an excuse.”
“It’s not about danger,” she said. Her voice cracked, just slightly. “It’s about you. About him. About both of you. I love you—both of you—and I will not be the reason your stories end in a hallway you were never meant to be in.”
Cody stepped closer. “That’s not your choice to make.”
“It is this time,” she said. “Because if I lose either of you, I don’t just lose a soldier. I lose the only damn thing I’ve got left in this kriffed-up galaxy.”
Neither of them spoke.
And then, gently, she picked up her blaster, slid it into its holster, and looked at them for what might’ve been the last time.
“You don’t have to understand it,” she said. “Just… let me do this. Alone.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She didn’t want to hear them fight her on it.
She just stepped out the back door, into the night.
And left them both behind.
⸻
She didn’t go to the facility alone.
Not exactly.
She had a contact.
Someone who didn’t care for the Republic, the Jedi, or much of anything beyond credits and personal satisfaction.
Cad Bane.
She hated him.
He’d say the feeling was mutual.
But she also knew he’d show up if the job was dirty enough, personal enough—and promised to make things just complicated enough to be interesting.
So, when she stood in the shadows near the Coruscant underworld comm relay, keyed in the frequency and said nothing but “I’m cashing it in”, there was a beat of silence, followed by his dry, smug voice.
“Took you long enough. Where’s the target?”
She sent him the encrypted drop zone coordinates, along with a note:
If I’m not there by this time tomorrow, I’m dead. Take the kid somewhere safe.
He didn’t respond. That meant he understood.
She climbed the side of the Republic Intelligence Annex like she had done it a thousand times before.
Because she had.
Not this exact building, no. But enough like it. Enough to know how their sensor blind spots layered. Enough to know the door panels ran off an old auxiliary power line she could override with a reprogrammed comlink. Enough to slip past the outer perimeter before anyone ever saw her coming.
The inside was colder. Cleaner. Sharp-edged metal and flickering overhead lights. It wasn’t meant to feel human. It was meant to strip identity. The place was surgical in its cruelty.
She moved like smoke. Swift. Silent. Lethal.
Floor by floor, she moved through the corridors.
Until she saw it.
The hallway. The black-glass door with the lock system coded to bioscans. The child’s name wasn’t on any sign, but she knew he was behind it.
She cracked her knuckles, pulled a thumb-sized detonator from her belt, and slipped it into the seam of the scanner.
A flicker. A soft click. And then—
Boom.
The door gave.
She sprinted in through smoke and static.
There he was.
Kes.
Slumped on the floor, eyes wide, body curled up like he was used to expecting violence. His force signature was alive—but dimmed. Buried.
She dropped to her knees and pulled him into her arms.
He looked up at her. “You came.”
“Of course I did.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“Not yet.”
She took out a stimpak and injected it into his arm. “We have to move. Can you walk?”
He nodded. She didn’t wait. She pulled him to his feet and wrapped his small arm around her neck.
The sirens started.
Of course they did.
Guards stormed the lower halls.
Blaster fire lit up behind them, but she didn’t stop. She ran, dragging the kid through maintenance shafts, down an auxiliary lift, bursting into the speeder bay just in time to hijack a transport and shoot out into the traffic lanes above the city.
She weaved and twisted through Coruscant’s sky, sirens behind her, and a fragile hope burning in her chest.
Kes was safe.
For now.
They landed in a scrap yard on the edge of the underworld district, just near the slums. The air was thick with fuel and metal and smoke. She tucked Kes behind a decaying repulsor rig and handed him a stolen ration bar.
“If I don’t come back by tomorrow,” she said, crouching beside him, “Cad Bane will find you. He has the coordinates. You run. You survive. You hear me?”
“You’re not gonna die,” Kes whispered.
She smirked faintly. “Kid, I’ve been trying to die for years. But you… you’re different. You’ve got a future.”
She squeezed his shoulder, then vanished into the shadows.
She had one more stop to make.
And Palpatine wouldn’t see it coming.
⸻
She didn’t knock.
She didn’t need to.
The side entrance to the Chancellor’s private chambers peeled open after her third override attempt, a hiss of smoke and whirring gears inviting her into the lion’s den. Every step she took echoed like thunder through the polished marbled halls, golden-red light casting long, terrible shadows over everything.
It felt wrong.
He wasn’t supposed to be alone.
He never was.
But the throne sat empty in the center of the chamber—its occupant standing by the wide viewport, hands clasped behind his back, city lights dancing across his reflection.
“You’re late,” Palpatine said without turning.
She drew her blaster.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t hesitate.
She fired.
The bolt twisted in midair—curved—like the space between her and him had turned to oil. It splashed against the wall, leaving a crater, and Palpatine finally turned to face her, slow and measured.
He was smiling.
“Predictable,” he whispered.
Lightning surged from his fingers before she could blink.
It hit her like a wrecking ball.
She hit the ground screaming, bones screaming with her. Her blaster flew out of reach. Her limbs convulsed—vision swimming. The pain was like drowning in fire.
“You think yourself above your role? A pawn with a little sentiment?” Palpatine hissed, walking toward her, cloak dragging behind him like smoke.
He leaned down.
“I gave you purpose. I gave you everything.”
Her hand slipped to her boot. Blade.
“You gave me rot,” she spat, and slashed.
The blade caught his cheek.
He didn’t even flinch.
But he bled.
That was enough.
He threw her across the room with a flick of his wrist. She shattered a statue. She couldn’t breathe.
The alarms began to blare.
Corrie Guard. Jedi. Everyone was coming.
“You won’t get far,” he said, voice like thunder, like prophecy. “Run, girl. Run until the stars burn out. They’ll all be hunting you now.”
She didn’t answer.
She crawled, dragged herself to her feet, one hand clutching her ribs. She didn’t even remember how she escaped—smoke bombs, a hidden exit route, a chase through skylanes with every siren screaming her name. The Guard was relentless. She saw Cody. She saw Fox. She even saw Kit—his face torn between duty and disbelief.
She didn’t have time to process it.
She just ran.
By the time she reached the rendezvous point—blood in her mouth, cloak torn, and the weight of failure dragging behind her like a corpse—Cad Bane was already there. So was Kes.
“You look like hell,” Bane drawled.
“Bite me,” she rasped, grabbing Kes’s hand. “We’re leaving.”
Bane handed her coordinates to a small craft already programmed and pre-fueled. She didn’t say thank you. He didn’t expect it.
They jumped into hyperspace an hour later.
⸻
The stars faded into the dusty pink of dawn as they crested over the hill that led to the farm.
It hadn’t changed.
Still crooked fences. Still half-dead crops. Still peace in its imperfection.
Kes looked up at her, his big eyes shadowed with exhaustion.
“Why the farm?” he asked softly.
She breathed in the air, cracked and burned and hers.
“We have our Loth cat to find,” she said.
Kes blinked. “That’s… that’s it?”
She half-smiled. “It’s as good a reason as any.”
The war had followed her.
Death had nearly claimed her.
But for now, in this quiet stretch of forgotten land, with the boy she’d risked everything for beside her, she finally let herself breathe.
Just once.
Before the storm returned.
⸻
The silence in the Jedi High Council chamber was so dense it felt like suffocation.
The doors had shut behind Master Windu with a hiss. He remained standing for a moment before stepping into the center, his brow tight with what could only be called restrained fury. Around him, the Masters sat in their usual solemn arrangement—Yoda, Obi-Wan, Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Shaak Ti, Kit Fisto, and the rest. The air was thick with tension, laced with the sharp edges of disbelief and bitter revelation.
“She tried to kill the Chancellor,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said first. Cold. Certain. “This is beyond treason. It’s an act of war.”
“She also escaped,” Master Shaak Ti added, her voice quieter, more contemplative. “From a secure facility. With a child Palpatine has repeatedly refused to explain.”
“The same child she risked her life to hide for months,” Kit said calmly, though his gaze flickered toward Yoda, seeking his temperature on this. “She did not kill him. She ran. Hid. Protected him.”
“She lied to this Council,” Mundi snapped. “On multiple occasions.”
“As do many who fear the truth will be used against them,” Kit countered.
Windu raised a hand. Silence reclaimed the room.
Obi-Wan leaned forward then, voice calm but lined with suspicion. “What was she doing in the Chancellor’s private tower in the first place? Without clearance. Without authorization.”
“She was summoned,” Windu answered.
That landed like a blow.
Even Yoda stirred at that, tapping his gimer stick once against the floor. “Truth, this is?”
Windu nodded once. “The Chancellor requested her presence. Privately. No report filed. No witnesses. Just hours before the attempt.”
A heavy silence followed.
“She did not go there to kill him,” Kit said. “Not originally.”
“She still tried,” Plo Koon said softly. “But perhaps not without cause.”
Yoda closed his eyes. For a moment, the ancient Jedi looked every bit as old as the war.
“Seen much, we have. But seen enough, we have not.”
“Agreed,” Windu said. “The fact that she is still alive… it complicates this. If she had truly wanted him dead, if she had planned this with precision—she wouldn’t have failed.”
“She wasn’t aiming to succeed,” Obi-Wan murmured. “She was desperate.”
“And she escaped with the child,” Shaak Ti added. “Which the Chancellor has referred to, multiple times, as an asset. Not a person.”
Yoda’s eyes opened.
“Uncover the truth, we must. Speak to the Chancellor… again, we shall.”
Mundi stood, disbelief etched across his face. “You cannot be suggesting that he is the problem.”
Yoda met his gaze.
“The Force suggests… many things.”
⸻
The barracks were quiet for once. No drills, no blaster fire, no shouting across bunks. Just the buzz of overhead lights and the low hum of Coruscant’s cityscape outside the narrow windows.
Cody sat on the edge of a durasteel bench, still in partial armor, helmet discarded at his feet. He hadn’t spoken in what felt like an hour.
Rex stood nearby, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly. There was a long, bitter silence between them—one that came after too many emotions had been left unsaid for far too long.
“She almost died,” Rex said finally, voice low.
“She should be dead,” Cody answered without looking at him. “Attempting to assassinate the Chancellor? Alone? That’s suicide.”
“She’s alive,” Rex replied, softer now. “But she ran. Again.”
Cody let out a tired exhale, dragging a hand through his short hair. “She always runs.”
There was no malice in his voice. Just grief.
They were quiet again before Cody finally broke it.
“You loved her.”
Rex didn’t flinch. “Yeah. You did too.”
Cody nodded once, jaw tight. “I kept telling myself it was duty. Obsession. That I could let her go. But I never really wanted to.”
Rex stared at the floor. “She told me she loved me. Right before she disappeared.”
“She told me the same.” Cody gave a humorless laugh. “Then said she wanted both of us.”
Rex looked up. Their eyes met, and for the first time, neither of them looked away.
“And if things were different?” Rex asked.
Cody shook his head. “If things were different, we wouldn’t be in this war. We wouldn’t be soldiers. She wouldn’t be a target. That kid wouldn’t be hunted.”
Silence again.
“She was trying to do the right thing,” Rex said. “Even when it meant becoming the villain in everyone’s eyes.”
“Even ours,” Cody added quietly. “And now she’s out there. Hunted. Alone. Again.”
Rex stepped forward, tension rolling off him like a crashing tide. “I want to go after her.”
“So do I,” Cody said, standing.
The two commanders stared at one another—two halves of the same loyalty.
But they both knew the truth: chasing her meant turning against everything they’d been raised to serve.
The Republic. The Jedi. The Chancellor.
Everything.
“She’s worth it,” Rex said eventually.
Cody didn’t answer right away.
But the look in his eyes said everything.
⸻
The Chancellor’s office was dimmed, blinds drawn. Only Coruscant’s dull, flickering lights spilled shadows against the walls, mixing with the warm glow of red and gold decor.
Palpatine sat with folded hands, the lines in his face calm, unreadable.
Mace Windu stood at the center of the room, flanked by Yoda and Ki-Adi-Mundi. Plo Koon lingered near the window. Kit Fisto remained closer to the rear, saying nothing, watching everything.
“She nearly assassinated you,” Windu said. “And yet you still refuse to pursue her with the full force of the Republic?”
Palpatine offered a diplomatic smile. “She was misguided. Broken. This was the action of a lost, frightened woman.”
“Frightened women don’t break into highly classified facilities with bounty hunters and walk out with a Force-sensitive child,” Ki-Adi-Mundi cut in.
“Nor do they try to kill the Supreme Chancellor,” Windu added.
“Attempt to,” Palpatine corrected softly.
The silence that followed was sharp.
“Tell us, Chancellor,” Yoda finally spoke, his voice calm but piercing. “This woman. Long known to you, she is. Trusted her, you have. But trust her still, do you?”
Palpatine’s eyes narrowed slightly. “She was once loyal. Brave. Unafraid to do what others would not. I used her, yes. But perhaps I was mistaken in believing she could survive the strain of such secrets.”
“Secrets you still refuse to share,” Kit spoke for the first time. “You gave her access to military intel. Brought her into council-level missions. And yet she was never a Jedi, never Republic command, never even vetted. Why?”
Palpatine’s expression darkened, just for a moment. “Because she was effective. Because she could go where others could not. Because she understood what was at stake.”
“And now?” Windu asked.
“She’s dangerous,” Palpatine answered flatly. “And broken. Likely unstable. If she comes for the child again, she will be dealt with accordingly.”
“The child is safe now,” Yoda said.
“Is he?” Palpatine asked mildly. “With a mark on his back and half the galaxy looking for him?”
“You put that mark on him,” Windu said. “You sent her after him to begin with.”
For a moment, silence cracked like ice between them.
Palpatine didn’t blink. “That accusation is as reckless as it is unfounded.”
“We’re done playing blind,” Kit said. “You’ve kept her under your protection long enough. Whatever game you were playing, it’s cost lives.”
Palpatine stood. “I have no more information to offer you. If she resurfaces, she will be arrested. Until then, the matter is closed.”
The Jedi exchanged glances.
But no one believed that.
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
“Red Lines” pt.4
Ryio Chuchi x Commander Fox x Reader x Sergeant Hound
The doors hissed closed behind you, muting Coruscant’s constant thrum. Your heels clicked against the marble tiling—white-veined, blood-dark stone imported from home, etched with quiet pride.
The apartment was dim, tasteful, and cold—just the way you preferred it. You dropped your cloak onto the back of a chaise and walked straight for your desk.
The datapads were already stacked like bricks of guilt.
You sank into the high-backed chair, activated the holoscreen, and scrolled through messages from governors, planetary councils, and military liaisons. The usual blend of corruption, ego, and veiled threats disguised as diplomacy.
Too much to do. Never enough time.
“Perhaps you should consider a protocol droid,” murmured Maera, your senior handmaiden, gliding in with a cup of steaming blackleaf tea. “One of the newer models. They can help prioritize correspondence and handle… the more tedious tasks.”
You looked at her over the rim of your cup. “So you mean let a metal snitch sit in my office all day?”
“They’re quite helpful,” she said, folding her hands. “Especially with translations, cross-senate scheduling, cultural briefings—”
“I know what they do.”
Maera gave you a patient look—the kind she’d perfected over years of serving someone who never stopped. “You don’t have to do everything yourself.”
“Of course I do,” you said, already scanning through another briefing. “Because no one else does it right.”
The chime of your apartment door interrupted further commentary.
You didn’t look up. “Let them in.”
Maera bowed, then vanished toward the front foyer.
You heard the faint murmur of pleasantries, the soft wheeze of servos, and then—
“Oh, this place again,” came the indignant voice of a droid. “Why does it always smell faintly of molten durasteel and latent judgment?”
“C-3PO,” came Padmé’s warning voice, graceful and composed even when exasperated.
You turned slightly in your chair to face your guests. Senator Amidala, as ever, was luminous in Naboo silk, gold accents at her collar and sleeves. Anakin followed just behind her, less formal, hands in his belt, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
C-3PO trailed in with careful offense, wringing his hands as if expecting you to insult him on sight.
You stood slowly, arching a brow. “I’d say it’s a surprise, but I’ve been too tired to lie today.”
Padmé gave you a sharp smile—more real than most. “We came to discuss the fallout from the Senate hearing. Your… performance with Senator Kessen.”
Anakin was already smirking. “You mean the part where she lit his reputation on fire and danced in the ashes?”
“I didn’t dance,” you said mildly. “I just pointed out the arson had been self-inflicted.”
Padmé pressed her lips together. “It was a bold move. Some say reckless.”
“And others say effective.”
“Others,” Padmé said carefully, “are wondering if you’re trying to provoke more conflict than resolution.”
You rolled your eyes and gestured to the chair opposite your desk. “Sit down, Senator. You’ll get a cramp standing on that moral high ground all night.”
She exhaled, and—credit to her—actually sat.
You watched her for a moment, then lazily turned your gaze to C-3PO, who was busy inspecting a vase and making soft noises of horror at the lack of polish.
“So,” you said abruptly. “Do you enjoy having a protocol droid?”
Padmé blinked. “Pardon?”
You leaned forward, expression sly and disarming. “C-3PO. Is he worth the constant commentary and fragility? Or do you keep him around to make you feel more composed by comparison?”
C-3PO squawked. “I beg your pardon, Senator, I am an exceptionally rare and invaluable translation and etiquette droid—”
Padmé raised a hand, silencing him gently. “I find him useful. Occasionally irritating, but… helpful.”
“Hmm.” You leaned back. “I suppose it’s easier when you don’t mind being listened to.”
Anakin stifled a laugh. Padmé gave him a warning glance.
You shifted slightly in your chair, eyeing her again.
“You didn’t come here just for diplomacy. What’s the real reason?”
“I did want to talk about Kessen,” Padmé said evenly. “But… yes. There’s more. I’m concerned about the alliances you’re forming. With Skywalker. With… certain Guard officers.”
“Fox,” you supplied, smiling faintly.
Her expression flickered. “You’re not subtle.”
“I’ve never needed to be,” you said. “Subtlety is for people whose power isn’t visible.”
Padmé’s voice softened. “Be careful. People are watching you more closely than ever. You’ve made enemies, and you’re not on neutral ground anymore.”
You stood slowly, brushing nonexistent dust off your skirt. “I’ve never had neutral ground.”
Behind her, Anakin leaned on the back of the couch with a half-smirk. “Told you she’d say something like that.”
Padmé sighed.
The light in your home office softened as the sun began to vanish behind the metallic skyline. Coruscant’s artificial twilight crept in, and shadows elongated against the marble floor, the sharp silhouette of the Senate still looming in the distance through your tall windows.
Padmé stood now, hands folded neatly in front of her, expression calm, composed—but not cold.
“For what it’s worth,” she said quietly, “we’ve never seen eye-to-eye in the Senate. Our values differ, and our approaches even more so.”
You arched a brow. “A gracious understatement.”
She continued without rising to the bait. “But I still want you to be safe.”
That made you blink, just for a moment. A flicker of something softened your features, though it disappeared just as quickly.
Padmé took a breath, glancing sidelong at Anakin before she added, “And while I don’t agree with the friendship you and Skywalker seem to have built, I understand why you formed it.”
You tilted your head. “You disapprove?”
“I worry,” she corrected. “He has a habit of getting drawn into… chaos. You carry more of it than most.”
You gave a slow, dark smile. “I thought he liked that.”
“He does,” Anakin chimed in from the corner, hands clasped behind his back.
Padmé gave him a sharp glance. He shrugged like a delinquent Padawan.
“But regardless,” Padmé said firmly, refocusing on you, “he’ll protect you, if you need it. That’s what he does. Whether I agree or not.”
You regarded her in silence for a long moment. Then you said, with just enough edge to be honest but not cruel, “It’s strange, Amidala. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken this long without one of us trying to crush the other in a committee vote.”
Padmé gave a small, tired laugh. “Well. There’s a first time for everything.”
You nodded once. “Your concern is noted. And… accepted.”
Padmé inclined her head, graceful as ever. Then, with one final look, she turned and made for the door.
C-3PO clanked after her. “Oh thank the Maker. Honestly, Senator, I don’t think I was designed for this level of tension!”
Anakin lingered a little longer, offering a subtle grin as he passed you.
“Don’t do anything reckless while I’m gone.”
You smirked. “You make it sound like a challenge.”
The apartment fell into stillness once more, the doors hissing shut behind Senator Amidala and her entourage. Outside, Coruscant’s traffic lanes shimmered like veins of light against the dusk. Inside, you remained at your desk, arms crossed loosely, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling as the silence swelled around you.
Footsteps padded softly across the marble, and Maera re-entered the study. She moved with careful grace, but she was watching you closely—too closely for comfort.
“You held your temper,” she said mildly.
You smirked, eyes still on the ceiling. “I’m evolving.”
“I almost miss the yelling.”
You finally looked down. “Don’t get sentimental.”
Maera glanced at the datapads still stacked on the desk, then turned her attention back to you. “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”
You exhaled through your nose and stood, smoothing the front of your robes with a practiced flick of your fingers.
“We’re going shopping.”
Maera blinked. “Shopping?”
You gave her a devilish smile—cool, amused, but exhausted around the edges. “For a protocol droid.”
She blinked again, just once more slowly. “I thought you hated protocol droids.”
“I do,” you agreed. “But I hate having to draft a thousand reply letters to planetary governors even more.”
She blinked again. “Is this because Senator Amidala made hers look useful?”
“It’s because I’ve learned that war criminals don’t schedule their own executions and Kessen’s supporters won’t shut up in my inbox.” You paused, then added with a shrug, “And fine, maybe I’m tired of forgetting which language the Kray’tok trade delegation prefers.”
Maera offered a rare grin, genuine but subtle. “I’ll call the droid district and start vetting models.”
“Do that,” you said. “Make sure whatever we get can take sass, curse in Huttese, and redact documents on command.”
“And maybe something that doesn’t faint when you pull a blaster on someone mid-sentence?”
“Exactly.”
She left with a knowing nod, and you stood alone for a beat longer, your eyes drifting to the window, to the glowing silhouette of the Senate dome.
You murmured under your breath:
“Let’s see if protocol can keep up.”
⸻
Mid-morning sunlight filtered through the transparisteel roof of Coruscant’s droid district. Neon signs buzzed, offering quick repairs and overpriced firmware updates. The air stank of ionized metal and fast food.
You stood between two handmaidens: Maera, your ever-calm shadow, and young Ila, who looked like she’d been plucked from a finishing school and hadn’t yet realized she was in a war-torn galaxy. Ila was already staring wide-eyed at a droid with one arm replaced by a kitchen whisk.
“Are they all this… rusty?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Only the cheap ones,” you replied dryly.
The first shop was a disappointment. The protocol droid bowed so low it knocked its head on the counter. The second tried to upsell you a ‘companion droid’ that made Ila blush violently. By the fourth shop, you were regretting everything.
“Maybe we just commission one from Kuat,” Maera muttered.
“Why? So it can bankrupt us while correcting my grammar?”
Then, in the fifth cramped storefront, you found it.
VX-7. The protocol droid stood motionless—sleek plating dulled by years, but optics sharp and intelligent. It didn’t grovel, didn’t babble. When you asked if it could handle over three dozen planetary dialects, it replied in all of them. When you asked if it could manage your schedule, redact sensitive communications, and tell a governor to kark off in six ways without causing a diplomatic incident, it smiled faintly and said:
“Of course, Senator. I specialize in tactfully worded hostility.”
You turned to Maera. “I’m keeping this one.”
Then something small rammed into your shin.
You looked down to see a battered astromech droid—paint chipped, dome scratched, one leg replaced with an old cargo hauler’s stabilizer. It beeped at you. Aggressively.
“What’s this?” you asked, raising a brow.
The shopkeeper looked apologetic. “R9-VD. Mean little bastard. Picks fights with power converters. Nearly blew a hole in my storage unit last week.”
Ila gasped. “Oh stars—he’s twitching!”
The droid growled.
You grinned. “I’ll take him.”
The shopkeeper blinked. “You will?”
“Buy one, bleed one free. Sounds like a bargain.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he muttered, already dragging the crate of restraining bolts out from behind the counter. “Take him before he sets fire to my register again.”
Maera stared at you. “You’re collecting feral droids now?”
“I collect useful things.”
You exited into the street, the new protocol droid gliding beside you, R9 clanking along behind like a stubby little demon. Ila was still muttering prayers under her breath. You were halfway through admiring your new acquisitions when a familiar bark echoed from across the thoroughfare.
“Senator!”
You turned to find Sergeant Hound, helmet off, walking toward you in full armor—Grizzer trotting loyally at his side.
“Well, well,” you said. “Look who I find when I’m burdened with two droids and a fainting noble.”
Hound laughed, scratching behind Grizzer’s ear. “Running errands?”
“Recruiting staff,” you said, nodding toward the droids. “The tall one speaks over a thousand languages. The short one hates everything.”
Grizzer growled affectionately at the astromech, who let out an aggressive beep in return.
“Careful,” Hound chuckled. “Grizzer likes him.”
You watched the way he stood—relaxed but alert, protective but never patronizing. When he met your eyes, there was no awkwardness, no nervous fumbling.
No obliviousness.
“Walking your route?” you asked.
“North patrol. You’re in my sector.”
“How fortunate for me,” you said, letting your tone shift slightly—warm, measured, curious. Not performative.
Just real.
Hound smiled, a little wider than usual. “Need an escort home again, Senator?”
“Only if Grizzer promises not to chew on R9’s restraining bolt.”
The droid made a noise like it was loading a weapon. Grizzer barked once, delighted.
Hound looked between you, the droids, your handmaidens—then back to you.
“I think I could be persuaded.”
You smiled. And for the first time in a while, it reached your eyes.
⸻
The doors to your apartment hissed open with a smooth sigh of hydraulics. The droids rolled and clicked in after you, their sensors flicking to scan the space—uninvited, instinctual, and irritating.
“Ila,” you called before your cloak hit the back of the nearest chair. “Make sure the astromech doesn’t electrocute anything.”
“Yes, Senator!” she said quickly, scrambling after the droid as it began sniffing around the comm terminal like it wanted to chew through the wires.
“Maera,” you continued, already tugging off your gloves. “I want them both repainted, polished, and calibrated by tomorrow morning.”
Maera raised a brow. “The astromech too?”
“I want it looking like it belongs to a senator, not some spice-smuggler from Nal Hutta.”
“The protocol droid seems compliant,” Maera said dryly. “The other one just tried to bite the upholstery.”
You turned and narrowed your eyes at R9-VD, who stared back—optics glowing, dome twitching.
“I don’t care if it wants to die in rusted anonymity. It’s going to shine. And we’ll scrub the attitude off if we have to sandblast it.”
Maera only nodded, too used to this by now. She snapped her fingers toward the cleaning droids and pulled out a datapad to begin scheduling repairs and a polish crew.
You poured yourself a glass of something dark and expensive and leaned against the balcony frame. The city buzzed beyond the transparisteel, a sleepless, greedy animal that had become your second home.
The protocol droid finally stepped forward, voice even.
“Shall I begin familiarizing myself with your schedule, Senator?”
“Start with everything I’ve put off since the Kessen disaster.”
“That could take a while.”
“Good,” you said with a small smile. “That means I’ll finally be caught up.”
As the droids were ushered away for cleaning, you took a sip of your drink, eyes never leaving the skyline.
Everything was sharpening.
Even your toys.
⸻
Coruscant’s dusk cast long shadows over the Guard barracks. Inside the command room, Fox stood over a data console, reviewing the latest internal report—a thinly veiled attempt to stay busy, to stay removed. The hum of troop activity outside was constant, comforting. Controlled.
Hound leaned against the far wall, arms folded, helmet clipped to his belt. He’d been unusually quiet on patrol. Fox noticed.
“You’ve been around the senator a lot lately,” Fox said, voice neutral, still scanning the holoscreen. “She using you for access?”
Hound’s brow ticked upward, slow and unimpressed. “That a serious question?”
Fox finally looked up. “She doesn’t keep people close unless she can gain from it.”
“She doesn’t exactly keep you far.”
That made Fox pause.
Hound pushed off the wall and stepped forward, tone low. “You ever think she’s not using either of us?”
“She’s a politician,” Fox said bluntly. “That’s what they do.”
“And you’re a commander,” Hound shot back. “You’re supposed to see the battlefield. But somehow you can’t see that both those senators—Chuchi and her—don’t just want your vote in a hearing. They want you. And you—kriffing hell, Fox—you’re so deep in denial, it’s tragic.”
Fox opened his mouth, but nothing came. His jaw tensed. His fingers curled tighter over the edge of the console.
Before the tension could crack the air entirely—
“Commander Fox.”
The voice was delicate, practiced, kind. Senator Chuchi stepped into the command room, her pale blue presence a breath of cold air between the two men.
Hound stepped aside, silent.
Chuchi held out a small datapad. “These are the updated refugee settlement numbers. I thought it best to deliver them personally.”
Fox took it, fingers brushing hers for half a second too long. “Appreciated, Senator.”
Chuchi’s eyes lingered on him, soft but calculating. “I also hoped to ask you about additional patrol rotations near the lower levels. I’ve had…concerns.”
Her tone was careful, concern genuine—but her glance toward Hound didn’t go unnoticed.
Hound met it with polite detachment, but behind his eyes, something shifted. He excused himself quietly and stepped past them, boots heavy on the stone floor. Neither of them saw the way his jaw clenched or the storm in his expression as he exited.
Fox stood frozen a moment longer, datapad in hand, Chuchi watching him.
Something had changed.
The lines were no longer clean.
He used to know what battlefield he stood on.
Now… he wasn’t so sure.
⸻
It wasn’t like you were following Fox.
You just happened to be heading toward the main Guard corridor with a report in hand. The protocol droid clanked behind you, reciting lines of political updates from other mid-rim systems while your new astromech—newly repainted in deep senate gold and high-gloss black—scuttled along beside it, muttering occasional threats at passing security cameras.
Pure coincidence, really.
You slowed when you rounded the corner near the war room. There they were—Fox and Chuchi.
She stood closer than usual. Too close.
Her hand brushed his vambrace as she handed him something. Fox didn’t pull away. He didn’t lean in either. Just… stood there. Controlled. Focused. But not untouched.
You paused. Watched. Tilted your head.
For a second, you hated her grace. Her softness. The way she made proximity seem natural instead of tactical. And how Fox didn’t seem to flinch from it.
A glimmer of something crawled up your spine—irritation? Jealousy? No. You didn’t have the luxury of that.
Before you could form a thought sharp enough to fling like a dagger—
CLANK—whiiiiiiiiirRRRRRZK—BEEP BEEP BEEP.
R9-VD rounded the corner like a demon loosed from hell’s server room, chased by your newly programmed protocol droid, whose polished plating gleamed like a diplomatic dagger.
“Senator!” the protocol droid trilled. “Your schedule is running precisely six minutes behind! Shall we move?”
Fox turned instantly at the racket, his expression shifting from unreadable to just vaguely resigned.
Chuchi stepped back from him with that serene smile she always wore in public, just a whisper too composed.
“Ah,” you said smoothly as you strode into view, “Don’t let me interrupt.”
“Senator,” Fox greeted you, stiff but polite. Chuchi nodded.
You let your gaze flick between them, slowly. One brow raised, mouth curved like you already knew the answer to a question no one asked. “Looks like everyone’s getting awfully familiar lately.”
“Professional coordination,” Chuchi replied, not missing a beat.
“Mm,” you hummed, eyes on Fox. “Is that what they’re calling it now?”
Fox’s brow twitched. Chuchi’s smile remained.
You snapped your fingers, and both droids froze. “Let’s go. We’ve got senators to ignore and corruption to thin out.”
As you swept past, you didn’t miss the way Fox glanced at you—just for a heartbeat.
Not enough.
Never enough.
But still… something.
⸻
The rotunda thundered with voices—some raised in passion, others carefully modulated with practiced deceit. The topic today was dangerous, volatile: the proposal for the accelerated production of a new wave of clone battalions.
You stood with one arm draped lazily along the back of your bench, expression unreadable but gaze sharp as vibroglass. Across the chamber, Chuchi had just taken the floor.
“I speak not against the clones themselves,” Chuchi said clearly, firmly. “But against the idea that we can continue this endless production without consequence. We are bankrupting our future.”
Your fingers tapped against the railing, the only sign of interest until you leaned forward to activate your mic.
“For once,” you said, voice cutting smoothly through the chamber, “I find myself in agreement with my esteemed colleague from Pantora.”
A ripple of surprise swept through the seats like a silent explosion. A rare alliance—unthinkable.
You continued. “We’re manufacturing soldiers like credits grow on trees. They don’t. The Banking Clan is already circling like carrion. Every new battalion is another rope around the Republic’s neck.”
That set the chamber ablaze.
Senator Ask Aak from Malastare sputtered his disagreement. “Our survival depends on maintaining numerical superiority!”
“And what happens when we can’t feed those numbers, Senator?” you snapped. “Do we sell your planet’s moons next?”
As chaos unfolded, the usual suspects fell into line—corrupt senators offering their support for more clone production, their pockets no doubt already lined with promises from arms manufacturers and banking lobbyists.
After the session ended, you stood shoulder to shoulder with Chuchi outside the rotunda. She looked exhausted but satisfied.
“Strange day,” she said quietly. “Stranger allies.”
You sipped from a flask you definitely weren’t supposed to have in the Senate building. “Don’t get used to it.”
But before she could respond—
“Senators,” came the purring, bloated voice of Orn Free Taa, waddling over with the smugness of someone who believed he owned the floor he walked on. “Your sudden alliance is… fascinating. One might wonder what prompted it. A common bedfellow, perhaps?”
You opened your mouth—but your protocol droid stepped forward first, blocking your path like a prim, glossy wall.
“Senator Taa,” the droid began in clipped, neutral tones. “While my mistress would be more than happy to humor your curious obsession with projecting your insecurities onto others, she is currently preoccupied with not strangling you with her own Senate robes.”
Taa blinked, thrown off by the droid’s tone. “Excuse me?”
The protocol unit didn’t miss a beat. “Forgive me, Senator. That was the polite version. I am still calibrating my diplomatic protocols, but I’ve been programmed specifically to identify corruption, incompetence, and conversational redundancy. You seem to be triggering all three.”
A sharp wheeze escaped Taa’s throat. “Why, I never—!”
“I suspect you have,” the droid interjected coolly, “and quite often.”
You didn’t even try to hide your smirk. “Don’t worry, Senator. He’s new. Still ironing out his filters. But I must say—he has excellent instincts.”
Chuchi choked on a laugh she tried very hard to disguise as a cough. Taa huffed and stormed off in an indignant swirl of silks and jowls.
Your droid turned to you. “Mistress, was I too subtle?”
“Perfect,” you said, patting its durasteel head. “I’ll make sure you get an oil bath laced with Corellian spice.”
Beside you, Chuchi finally let her laugh out. “I never thought I’d say this, but I may actually like your droid.”
“High praise coming from you.”
You both stood there for a quiet moment, mutual respect buried beneath mutual exhaustion.
“Today was strange,” she murmured again. “But… maybe not entirely bad.”
You tilted your head. “Don’t tell me you’re warming up to me, Chuchi.”
She gave you a look—wry, but not cold. “I’m starting to wonder if the galaxy would survive it if I did.”
Before you could respond, your astromech barreled out of the shadows, shrieking some new string of mechanical curses at a cleaning droid it had apparently declared war against.
You sighed. “And there goes diplomacy.”
Chuchi smiled. “Maybe the Senate could use more of that.”
Maybe.
⸻
The Grand Atrium of the Senate tower glittered with chandeliers imported from Alderaan, light dancing off glass and gold like it had something to celebrate. The banquet was a delicate affair—sponsored by the Supreme Chancellor himself, under the guise of “Republic Unity” and “Cross-Branch Collaboration.”
You could smell the tension in the air the moment you stepped in.
Long tables overflowed with artful dishes and finer wines. Senators mingled with Jedi, Guard officers, and military brass. Laughter drifted across the space, hollow and too loud. You walked in dressed to kill, as always—not in literal armor, but close enough. Your eyes swept the crowd. Scanned. Not for enemies. Just… two men.
You found them both within seconds.
Fox stood near the far arch, stoic in formal Guard reds, talking with Mace Windu and Master Yoda. Chuchi was at his side, hands clasped politely, expression open, deferential. Her eyes weren’t on Windu.
They were on Fox.
Across the room, Hound leaned against a support pillar near the musicians, his posture deceptively casual. Grizzer lay at his feet like a shadow. Hound’s eyes found yours immediately. He didn’t look away.
For a few beats, neither did you.
“You’re staring again,” your handmaiden whispered as she passed, wine in one hand.
“I’m assessing military distribution,” you replied flatly, plucking the glass.
“Liar.”
You smiled over the rim.
The Jedi presence tonight was thick. Kenobi, cloaked in his usual piety. Skywalker, prowling the crowd like he’d rather be anywhere else. Even Plo Koon and Shaak Ti made appearances, the Council exuding quiet power.
You didn’t care about them. Not really.
You moved.
Chuchi’s voice reached your ears as you approached the table where she and Fox stood. “I just think the Guard needs greater Senate oversight—not control, but transparency. For their safety.”
Fox nodded. “A fair point, Senator.”
“I’m shocked,” you drawled, appearing at his other side. “You usually flinch when people imply oversight.”
Chuchi’s smile cooled half a degree. “Some of us don’t believe in oversight being synonymous with domination.”
You sipped your wine. “I don’t dominate anyone who doesn’t want to be.”
Fox choked on his drink. Windu raised a brow and promptly walked away.
Chuchi’s stare could have frosted glass. “You’re impossible.”
“Debatable,” you replied. Then, sweetly, “Careful, Senator. You’re starting to sound jealous.”
Before Fox could open his mouth—likely to misinterpret all of this—Hound appeared beside you.
“Senator,” he said, his voice a little low, a little warm. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
You tilted toward him just slightly. “Trying to avoid me?”
“Not a chance.”
Fox’s eyes flicked toward you both. Sharp. Confused.
Chuchi noticed. Her gaze narrowed.
The conversation fractured as other senators arrived—Mon Mothma offered a cool nod, Padmé a quiet, guarded greeting. Bail approached with that politician’s smile and a quick, dry joke about the wine being better than the Senate votes.
But your attention split.
Fox’s shoulders were tense. He wasn’t making eye contact. Not with Chuchi. Not with you.
You leaned closer to Hound instead. “Tell me, Sergeant. Ever get tired of playing guard dog?”
“Not if the person I’m guarding’s worth the chase.”
That pulled a quiet snort from you. Fox heard it.
Chuchi, lips pressed in a fine line, excused herself and stepped aside—clearly trying to regain the upper hand.
The music swelled. Jedi floated between circles of influence. No one else seemed to notice that the air had gone charged, electric. A love square strung tight.
You stood between them, half a heartbeat from chaos.
And somewhere deep down, you enjoyed it.
The lights in the atrium dimmed just slightly as a new musical ensemble began to play—string instruments from Naboo, delicate and formal. On the surface, everything was polished elegance. Beneath, cracks were spreading.
Chuchi had excused herself from your circle not out of disinterest, but strategy. She’d caught sight of your handmaidens lingering near a refreshments table, their gowns modest and their eyes sweeping the room with practiced subtlety.
“Excuse me,” she said with a gentle smile as she approached. “You’re the senator’s attendants, yes?”
Your senior handmaiden, Maera offered only a nod. Ila, eager to please and twice as naive, curtsied.
“She’s fortunate to have you,” Chuchi continued, a kindness in her voice. “It can’t be easy, assisting someone so… involved in such controversial matters.”
“It isn’t,” said the younger girl quickly. “But she’s not what people say. She just—”
“She just doesn’t care who she angers, as long as it moves the line,” the elder interrupted. “It’s her strength. And her flaw.”
Chuchi tilted her head. “You’re fiercely loyal.”
“We don’t have the luxury of softness where we’re from, Senator Chuchi,” the elder said simply. “Not all planets grow up in peace.”
Before Chuchi could respond, a sudden flare of static caught attention nearby.
Your protocol droid—newly repainted and proud in fresh navy and chrome—was engaged in a verbal deathmatch with none other than C-3PO.
“I assure you,” Threepio huffed, “I have been fluent in over six million forms of communication since before you were assembled, and—”
“Perhaps,” your droid cut in smoothly, “but proficiency does not equal relevance. One might be fluent in six million forms of conversation and still be incapable of saying anything useful.”
“Well, I never—!”
“Correct. And that, sir, is the problem.”
Nearby Jedi Council members were visibly trying not to react, though Plo Koon’s mask did a poor job of hiding the amused twitch at the edge of his mouth.
Amid the chaos, you had drifted from the center. Politics buzzed behind you. You found yourself near the balcony edge—narrow, cordoned off, affording a view of Coruscant’s skyline.
Fox found you there.
You knew it was him before he spoke—he moved like precision, shadow and control in equal measure.
“Senator.”
You didn’t turn, not right away. “Commander.”
He stepped beside you, stiff in his formal armor, helmet clipped to his belt.
“I noticed your… astromech’s absence tonight.”
You smirked faintly. “Yes, well. I’d like to avoid sparking an incident with the Jedi Council over a ‘misunderstanding.’ He has a habit of setting things on fire and claiming self-defense.”
Fox made a sound—something between a huff and a grunt. Amused. Maybe.
You turned your head slightly, catching his expression. “Disappointed? I thought you didn’t approve of my companions.”
“I don’t,” he admitted. “But I’m…used to them.”
That was, for Fox, practically a declaration of fondness.
“I’d say the same about you,” you said, voice quieter now. “I don’t approve of you either. But I’ve gotten used to you.”
His jaw flexed. He didn’t answer. Not directly. But his eyes lingered longer than they should have.
Then—
“Senator,” Chuchi’s voice cut across the air like a scalpel.
You turned to find her approaching, poised and polished. Behind her, your protocol droid and C-3PO were still trading passive-aggressive historical references. Hound watched the balcony from a distance, arms crossed, unreadable.
Fox straightened the moment Chuchi arrived. You stepped back just a little.
And the triangle turned into a square again.
Tight.
Tense.
And ready to collapse.
⸻
Beyond the golden arches of the Senate Hall, music swelled and faded like waves. Goblets clinked. Laughter rolled off the lips of polished politicians and robed generals. But not everyone was celebrating.
Behind an alcove veiled by rich burgundy drapes, four Jedi stood in quiet counsel.
Mace Windu, ever the sentinel of Order, stood at the head of the half-circle, his gaze fixed beyond the banquet like he could see the fractures forming beneath the marble.
“His behavior has changed,” Windu said. “Subtly. But not insignificantly.”
“He still reports for duty,” Plo Koon offered, voice gravel-smooth but thoughtful. “Still acts with discipline.”
“And yet,” Shaak Ti murmured, “I have observed Commander Fox linger longer than usual at Senate functions. His patrol patterns shift more often when certain senators are present. And he has taken… liberties with Senator Ryio’s assignments.”
“Nothing has breached protocol,” Anakin interjected. “Fox is loyal. He’s the best the Guard has.”
Shaak Ti gave him a long look. “And yet, there is more than one clone whose loyalty might now be divided.”
Anakin’s jaw twitched.
“This isn’t Kamino,” Windu said coolly. “We cannot afford emotional compromise in the Guard—not now, not when tensions are already splintering the Senate. These clones were not bred for palace intrigue.”
Plo Koon folded his arms. “And yet we bring them into the heart of it.”
“We trained them to follow orders,” Shaak Ti added gently. “Not hearts.”
Anakin looked between them, the shadows of his past bleeding into the tension. He didn’t need to ask who else they were talking about. It wasn’t just Fox. Hound had been seen near Senator [Y/N]’s apartment. Thorn, too, had lingered far longer than necessary when she’d been attacked.
“She’s dangerous,” Mace continued, tone edged in steel. “Not reckless—but calculating. Clever. Her alliances shift like smoke, and I do not trust her attention toward Fox or the others.”
“She’s done nothing wrong,” Anakin said.
“Yet,” Windu countered. “Keep watch, Skywalker. If she’s tangled them in personal threads, it must be cut. Quickly.”
⸻
You sipped from your glass of deep red wine, half-listening to a cluster of outer rim delegates arguing over fleet taxation. But your eyes wandered, again, to the crimson armor across the room.
Fox.
He was speaking with Mon Mothma and Bail Organa. Calm. Professional. Controlled, as always.
But his gaze flickered toward you now and then—unreadable, unreadably Fox. And just behind him, your polished protocol droid hovered patiently, Maera and Ila whispering about a dessert tray.
The Council was watching. You could feel it.
⸻
The air inside the Jedi Councilchamber was tense, still, and too quiet. Four members of the Coruscant Guard stood before the Jedi Council’s senior representatives: Fox, Thorn, Stone, and Hound, all sharp in posture, their expressions unreadable behind the stoic training of a million battlefield hours.
Opposite them, stood Masters Mace Windu, Shaak Ti, Plo Koon, and a late-arriving Anakin Skywalker, who kept to the shadows of the room.
“This is not an accusation,” Master Windu began, tone steely. “But a reminder. You are peacekeepers. Defenders of the Republic. Not participants in the political games of its Senate.”
Shaak Ti added gently, “We’ve noted a… shift. Certain guards developing close ties to senators. Attachments. Loyalties. Intimacies. We remind you that such relationships blur lines—lines that should never have been crossed.”
Plo Koon looked to them with quiet concern. “It is not about love, nor about loyalty. It is about danger. Risk. The Republic cannot afford to have its protectors compromised by personal bonds.”
Hound flinched. Barely. Fox didn’t move, but Thorn cast him a pointed glance.
“We won’t name names,” Windu said, “but this is your only warning. Choose duty.”
Dismissed, the clones saluted and filed out, silent as ghosts—yet burdened more heavily than ever.
⸻
It was nearly midnight when the knock came. You weren’t expecting anyone—Maera had already sent off the last reports, and Ila was curled up with a datapad on the couch.
Maera opened the door, only to blink as Anakin Skywalker strolled in, cloak trailing and R2-D2 chirping along behind him.
“Don’t tell me the Jedi are doing door-to-door interrogations now,” you said, not bothering to stand from your desk.
“Just figured you should hear it from someone who doesn’t speak in riddles and judgment,” Anakin replied. “They warned the Guard today.”
You looked up slowly.
“About me?”
“About all of it. You. Chuchi. Hound. Fox.”
You leaned back in your chair, lacing your fingers together. “So the Council knows?”
“They suspect,” he clarified. “But they’ve already made up their minds. No direct interference. But they’ll start pulling strings. Reassignments. Surveillance. Sudden policy shifts.”
You exhaled slowly. “Let me guess. The clones are the ones punished.”
Anakin’s jaw tightened. “Always.”
He came closer, leaning against the wall by your window. “Whatever this is, [Y/N], if you want to protect them—you keep it behind closed doors. Don’t give the Council an excuse.”
Your eyes narrowed, flicking up to him. “And what would you know about secret relationships with forbidden attachments?”
Anakin looked out over the Coruscant skyline. “More than you think.”
R2-D2 gave a sympathetic beep. At his side, your own droid—R9—rolled out from the side hall, curious as ever. Shockingly, the grumpy little astromech gave R2 a pleased warble. The two machines chirped at each other in low binary, exchanging stories, gossip, perhaps a murder plot. You couldn’t tell.
“Great,” you muttered. “My homicidal trash can made a friend.”
VX-7 entered as well, standing sentinel near the door and giving R2 a quick scan before offering a polite, professional greeting. “Designation confirmed. Diplomatic assistant, Anakin Skywalker. Cleared for temporary access.”
“You really upgraded them,” Anakin noted.
“They’re smarter than most senators,” you said with a dry smirk. “And less dangerous.”
He moved to leave, but hesitated. “Just… be careful. I know you think you don’t owe anyone anything—but Hound’s already in too deep. And Fox? He’s starting to crack.”
“Fox doesn’t even know he’s in love,” you said coolly.
“Exactly,” Anakin said. “That makes him more dangerous than the rest of us.”
You gave him a look. “Including you?”
Anakin’s lips quirked. “Especially me.”
Then he and R2 were gone, and the apartment fell quiet again—except for the low, strangely comforting chatter of astromechs speaking in beeps and secrets.
⸻
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i finished playing republic commando last week and just cannot stop thinking ab them
Tech x Mechanic Reader
Summary: After the war, you reprogrammed a troop of abandoned B1 battle droids to serve with kindness—not violence. When Clone Force 99 shows up for a supply run, Tech questions your methods, and you challenge his logic.
You found them half-dead in the sand. Twenty B1 battle droids, dumped in a sun-scorched wreck outside the outpost, like bones picked clean by time and war. Most folks would've scavenged the parts, maybe sold off a few limbs if the servos were still functional.
But you? You were a little lonely, a little dangerous, and very, *very* good with code.
Rewiring them took weeks. You erased what the Separatists left behind, built your own parameters from scratch, and gave them something they'd never had before: choice.
You taught them to wave. To carry groceries. To call you "Friend" instead of "Master."
And when people flinched at the sight of battle droids strolling through town, you dipped your brush in paint. Mint green, lavender, sunflower yellow. You gave them smiley faces, heart decals, flower crowns made from leftover wire. You made them soft. Funny. Endearing.
They were still capable of violence—so were you—but they only used it when you gave the order.
Which wasn't often.
---
Clone Force 99 didn't arrive with blasters drawn, but the tension clung to them like dust. The mission was simple: a supply pickup for Cid. In and out. But this planet made Wrecker's nose wrinkle, and Echo kept his blaster low and ready.
Hunter spotted the droid first—lavender chassis, daisies painted across its plating, an old satchel slung over one shoulder as it meandered through the marketplace humming something vaguely cheerful.
"Is that... a B1?" Echo asked, narrowing his eyes.
"It appears to be carrying coolant," Tech said, scanning with his datapad. "And whistling."
Wrecker let out a low chuckle. "Guess the war *really* is over."
"Something's off," Hunter murmured. "Let's follow it."
They kept their distance as the droid turned off the main strip and waddled down a side alley, past a half-crumbling sign that read *THE FIXER'S NEST* in flickering neon.
The shop was a bunker of welded panels and salvaged Separatist tech. Outside, another B1—bright pink with a lopsided sun painted on its chest—was sweeping the doorstep and chatting to a GNK droid.
"Friend says no sand in the workshop," it explained, very seriously. "Sand gets in the gears. Sand *hurts feelings*."
The Bad Batch exchanged a look.
Hunter stepped forward and tapped twice on the doorframe.
You didn't even look up from where you were elbow-deep in a deconstructed astromech.
"You're late," you said, voice calm. "Tell Cid her coolant's in the crate by the wall. So's the power cells, bolts, and the weird candy she likes."
There was a pause.
"We didn't say we were here for Cid," Echo said slowly.
Now you looked up—smirk sharp, eyes sharper.
"Didn't have to. You've got that *'we work for someone mean, grumpy and morally grey'* vibe. Plus, you match the order details she sent me yesterday."
Wrecker moved to the crate and peeked inside. "Yep. All here."
"Of course it is," you muttered. "I run a business, not a guessing game."
Tech, meanwhile, was still staring at the droids—two were dusting the shelves with actual feather dusters, and another had just handed you a datapad while humming.
"These are B1 units," he said, voice laced with something between awe and concern. "Fully functional. Active. Painted."
You stood, wiping your hands on a rag. "I call that one Sprinkles."
"They're dangerous," he said immediately. "You realize they could revert to their original programming at any time—"
"Not mine," you cut in. "I rewrote them myself. Erased every combat subroutine. They're coded to help, protect, and be as non-threatening as a bowl of soup."
Tech stepped forward, clearly bristling. "Their hardware alone makes them capable of violence. You cannot override thousands of lines of military protocol with flower decals and whimsy."
"No," you said coolly, "but I can override them with skill, precision, and an understanding of droid psychology that clearly surpasses yours."
Hunter winced. Echo muttered something under his breath. Wrecker made the universal *oooooh, burn* face.
Tech, however, pushed up his goggles like you'd challenged him to a duel. "I would very much like to inspect your code."
You arched a brow. "What, no dinner first?"
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
You grinned. "Don't worry, Professor. I'll even let you use the comfy chair."
Sprinkles chirped and handed Tech a cup of caf with perfect comedic timing.
"Welcome, new Friend!" it said cheerfully.
Tech took the cup automatically, staring down at it like it might explode.
You leaned on the counter and gave him a slow once-over. "You gonna tell me how unsafe I am again, or are you here to learn something?"
He met your gaze, thoughtful now. Curious. "...Both."
You smiled, victorious.
---
Tech hadn't stopped talking for fifteen minutes straight.
Not that you minded. His cadence was quick, his mind quicker, and his goggles fogged slightly whenever he got excited. Which, it turned out, was often—especially when discussing battle droid memory cores, sub-routine overrides, and how you managed to build a loyalty system based on *empathy* instead of authority.
"You replaced their original fail-safe with a social dependency loop," he said, practically glowing. "That's... innovative. Risky. But brilliant."
"I try," you said, leaning against your workbench. "It helps that they trust me. Most people don't trust anything unless they can control it. Droids aren't any different."
Tech nodded slowly, examining the code you'd opened for him on your terminal. "You used a behavioral reinforcement system. Repetition and reward. This is similar to clone trooper training methodology—except applied to machines."
You gave him a sly look. "Are you comparing yourself to a B1?"
"I am acknowledging structural parallels in behavioral learning patterns," he replied, completely straight-faced.
You grinned. "That's what I said."
Tech paused, frowning slightly. "You are... amused by me."
"Observant, aren't you?" You stepped closer, brushing your shoulder against his as you leaned in to point at a line of code. "This part here—subtle failsafe. If they ever encounter an override attempt from an external signal, it loops them back to me."
He blinked, eyes darting from the screen to your face. "That is... impressively cautious."
"I've been told I'm full of surprises."
He didn't respond—just squinted closer at the screen.
You sighed, lips twitching. "Nothing? Not even a blush? Stars, you *are* all business."
Before he could answer (or continue missing your very obvious flirting), a loud crash echoed from the street outside, followed by the unmistakable hiss of a thermal disruptor and the annoyed squawk of one of your droids.
You were already moving.
Outside, a low-rent bounty hunter—tatty armor, one glowing eye, and an attitude that outpaced his ability—was holding one of your B1s at blaster point.
"Move, scrapheap, or I'll scrap you myself," he snarled.
The droid blinked. "Friend said no yelling. Friend also said no blasters unless you bring candy."
"*Candy?*"
You stepped into the street like a storm cloud in boots.
"Is there a reason you're threatening my droid, or are you just bored and stupid?"
The bounty hunter turned to you, smug. "This thing walked in front of my speeder. I don't care how shiny you paint 'em—B1s are still clanker trash. I'm just doing the galaxy a favor."
You gave a slow whistle.
Three more droids stepped out from alleyways and rooftops, all armed with repurposed but deactivated blasters—they didn't need live ammo to intimidate. One even had a frying pan.
The bounty hunter backed up a step.
You raised a hand.
"Engage," you said simply.
They moved like a synchronized swarm. Two pinned his arms while the others knocked the blaster from his hands and dismantled his boots with surgical precision. The frying pan droid stood back and provided color commentary.
"Friend says don't be mean! Friend says fix your attitude!"
The bounty hunter was on the ground and begging within seconds.
You stepped forward, crouched down, and grabbed him by the collar.
"You threaten one of mine again, and I'll let them finish what they started. You hear me?"
He nodded frantically.
"Good." You turned to your droids. "Escort him to the edge of town. Gently."
They saluted with cartoonish enthusiasm and dragged him off, half-hopping as they went.
You stood, dusted your hands, and turned back to find Tech watching with an unreadable expression.
"Well?" you said, folding your arms.
"That was... efficient," he admitted. "But highly aggressive."
You raised a brow. "They followed my orders exactly. Didn't fire a shot. Didn't kill. Didn't even insult his boots. I programmed them to protect what's mine, not wage war."
"But the capability—"
"*Exists.*" You cut in. "Just like yours does. Just like mine. The question isn't what they *can* do. It's what they *choose* to do. And what I program them to choose."
Tech looked at you then—really looked at you. A flicker of something passed behind his eyes. Understanding. Respect.
Maybe even admiration.
"They're not like the others," he said, finally.
You smirked. "Neither am I."
He hesitated, adjusting his goggles. "Would you... allow me to assist you in refining their motor skills protocols? I have a few ideas."
You leaned on the workbench again, grinning. "You wanna help me teach battle droids ballet?"
Tech blinked. "Not... precisely."
"Come on, Tech," you said, voice low and teasing. "Live a little."
He didn't answer, but he did roll up his sleeves and pull out a datapad, already scribbling new subroutine formulas with a faint smile tugging at his lips.
You might not have cracked the flirtation firewall yet—but the code was definitely compiling.
_-~-_
Read more works
“War on Two Fronts” pt.4
Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara
The skies of Aleen burned amber with the coming dusk. Ashen winds carried whispers through the forests — voices of a people you’d once sworn to protect. Now you were back again, years older, far more jaded, but somehow still the same.
Your boots pressed into soft moss as you walked alone through the dense forest paths. Lanterns swung overhead, casting warm halos across carved stone shrines and winding wooden bridges. You knew every bend of this land—every whisper between the trees.
It was surreal returning here without a battalion behind you. No clones. No Jedi. No command structure. Just you, your words, and your past with these people.
You passed a familiar tree with painted markings—children had once drawn them when you’d last been stationed here. A flutter of warmth struck you as an elder spotted you.
“Master Jedi,” their leader said with a soft smile.
You bowed your head. “It’s good to see you again.”
Your mission was simple in theory: rekindle an alliance with the people before Separatist influence reached them again. But nothing about this place, or this war, was ever simple.
And as the nights stretched on, you missed… them.
Bacara. Rex. Each so different. One who rarely spoke but always saw. One who listened, even when you didn’t speak. Neither here. Just you—and the echo of everything unspoken.
⸻
Commander Bacara stood at parade rest beside Master Ki-Adi-Mundi as mission projections flickered across the holotable. Opposite them, Rex stood beside Anakin and Ahsoka, arms folded, helmet tucked under one arm.
None of them spoke at first. The map of the outer rim planet hovered between them—a quiet reminder of who wasn’t in the room.
“She’s managing well on her own,” Ahsoka said lightly, breaking the silence. “The locals trust her. That’s half the battle already won.”
Mundi offered a nod, but Bacara’s gaze never shifted from the holo. “It’s dangerous. Alone.”
“She’s not alone,” Rex said, just a little too sharply.
Anakin caught it.
So did Mundi.
A beat passed before Ki-Adi-Mundi turned, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Commander Bacara, has General [Y/N] reported any signs of Separatist movement?”
“Negative,” Bacara said without pause. “But she’s a Jedi, not a negotiator. These types of missions require—”
“She’s handled far more volatile diplomacy than this,” Rex interrupted. “And better than some council members.”
Mundi raised a brow. “Careful, Captain.”
Rex’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more.
Ahsoka looked between the two clones, then stepped forward, trying to ease the tension. “She’ll be fine. She’s got that Windu resilience.”
Bacara’s shoulders barely moved, but Anakin noticed the tick in his jaw. “You don’t agree?” Skywalker asked.
“She’s not indestructible,” Bacara said.
“No,” Anakin replied, coolly. “But she’s not your burden, Commander.”
The room quieted again. Cold. Sharp-edged.
Finally, Mundi spoke. “Personal entanglements have no place in war. This is why Jedi do not form attachments.”
Neither Rex nor Bacara responded.
But Ahsoka’s eyes flicked between them—both still as stone, both burning with something just beneath the surface.
The kind of storm you didn’t see until it was already overhead.
⸻
You hated caves.
You hated the stale air, the way sound echoed wrong, the weight of stone pressing down on your shoulders like a ghost. The Aleena had guided you this deep to show the root of the problem—something poisoning the waters, causing tremors in their cities, and killing their sacred roots.
You knelt beside the cracked fissure, reaching out with the Force. What answered was not nature.
Something foreign slithered beneath. Something droid.
You rose quickly, turning to the elder at your side. “The Separatists are here,” you said. “Or they were.”
The elder clicked his tongue anxiously. “Many of our kind are trapped deeper down. The tremors sealed the path. We can’t reach them. We cannot fight.”
Of course. That was why you were here. No army. No squad. Just you.
You weren’t enough this time.
You stepped away, pulling out your comm and staring down at it for a long moment.
Your gut said Rex. He’d listen. He’d come. He’d believe you.
But this… this wasn’t a clone problem. This wasn’t about blaster fire or tactics.
This was about digging, about seismic shifts and local customs. This was about the Force.
You hated what came next.
You toggled to the channel you never used.
“Master Mundi.”
A pause.
“Yes, General?”
“I need assistance on Aleen.”
A beat passed. Long enough for you to imagine his smug expression. But when he replied, his voice was firm, professional.
“What’s the situation?”
You relayed the details quickly, keeping emotion out of your tone. You didn’t need him judging your fear or frustration.
“I’ll divert reinforcements immediately,” he said. “Commander Bacara is with me. He’ll lead the extraction.”
Of course he would.
“Understood,” you replied. “Coordinates sent. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”
“You won’t have to for long.”
You hated that he sounded almost… kind.
You ended the call and stood still, listening to the rumble of distant tunnels. Soon, Bacara would be back in your orbit. And despite everything between you, you were more afraid of what you might feel than what you’d face below ground.
⸻
The gunship kicked up waves of dust and gravel as it touched down on Aleen’s rocky surface. Commander Bacara descended the ramp first, helmet sealed, pauldron stiff against his broad shoulders. Behind him strode Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, robes whipping in the wind, brows drawn tight as he surveyed the landscape.
“Where is she?” Mundi asked, stepping up beside Bacara as clone troopers fanned out to secure the perimeter.
Bacara didn’t answer right away. He was already scanning the data feed on his wrist, synced to the coordinates you had sent. When he finally spoke, it was short and clipped. “She went in alone.”
Mundi’s tone sharpened. “Of course she did.”
The tension between the two men crackled like static in the charged Aleen air. Bacara said nothing more, but the slight shift in his stance suggested something deeper than frustration. He’d read the logs. He’d heard the tail end of your conversation with Windu. He’d heard everything.
“Troopers!” Bacara barked. “Sub-level breach—two klicks east. Move out.”
The team entered the caverns in formation. The air was thick, choked with the scent of burning oil and scorched stone. Laserfire echoed ahead.
Then, they found you.
You stood alone at the center of a collapsed chamber, half your robes burned, saber lit and crackling. At your feet were the remains of a Separatist tunneling droid. Around you, the wounded Aleena were huddled in the shadows, their eyes wide with awe and fear.
Bacara moved first.
He didn’t speak—just stepped forward, rifle raised as another wave of droids charged through a side tunnel. You looked back only briefly, the flicker of recognition passing quickly.
“Finally,” you said, flicking your saber back up. “Miss me?”
Bacara didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.
He opened fire.
Mundi moved next, stepping past you with deliberate purpose. “You disobeyed protocol,” he said, even as he slashed down a droid mid-step.
You parried a blow, spun, and exhaled. “Tell me after we survive this.”
The last droid fell. The smoke lingered.
You sat on a low stone, wiping your bloodied hand with a torn sleeve. Bacara stood nearby, silent as always, his armor dusted with ash and black carbon scoring.
He finally turned to you.
“You should’ve waited.”
You didn’t look at him. “I didn’t have time.”
“You could’ve died.”
You finally met his eyes.
“And you would’ve what? Reassigned me posthumously?”
He stiffened, jaw flexing behind the helmet. Mundi, overhearing, shot you both a look of utter exhaustion.
Bacara didn’t answer your jab. Instead, he just said:
“You held the line. Noted.”
He walked off, leaving you staring after him with a knot in your stomach—and a question in your chest you weren’t ready to ask.
⸻
The camp was quiet under the fractured sky. Fires burned low in shielded pits, and the wounded slept in narrow tents beneath emergency tarps. You sat apart from the clone medics and Jedi tents, nursing a shallow burn on your forearm with a stim salve. The adrenaline had worn off; all that was left now was the ache and the silence.
Heavy footfalls crunched the dirt behind you. You didn’t look. You already knew it was him.
“Commander,” you said softly, eyes still on your bandaged arm.
“General.”
A beat passed. You waited for him to walk away. He didn’t.
You finally turned to see Bacara standing there, helmet off, held against his side. His expression was as unreadable as ever—sharp eyes, tighter lips, a soldier carved from ice and iron.
“You need something?” you asked, voice thinner than you wanted.
He studied you. Not in the way a soldier sized up a threat—but in the way someone searched for a word they weren’t used to saying.
“You did well.”
You raised a brow. “Is that praise?”
“It’s an observation,” he replied.
You didn’t look up. “If you’re here to defend your spying again, don’t. We already did that.”
“No,” Bacara said. His voice was calm. Flat. “I’m not here for that.”
You glanced up at him. “Then what?”
He stood for a beat too long before finally sitting down on the opposite crate, across the fire from you. No one else was nearby. The clones had given you space—not out of fear, but respect. You’d earned that today. Even if Bacara hadn’t said a word about it.
You sighed. “You gonna judge me for my actions like Mundi too?”
“No.”
You finally looked at him properly. He wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t closed off, exactly. Just guarded. Like a soldier on unfamiliar terrain.
“What then?”
“I don’t think he sees what you see,” Bacara said, eyes flicking to the fire. “But you’re right about one thing—he sees potential in you that he’s never been able to define. That’s what makes him so… rigid around you.”
You blinked. “That sounds almost like an apology.”
He met your eyes. “It’s not. Just honesty.”
You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “You ever think about just saying what you mean without flanking it like an airstrike?”
“Too dangerous.”
You smiled, but only a little. “So what do you mean now?”
“I mean,” he said, voice lower now, “you’re reckless. Frustrating. You talk too much and question everything.”
You rolled your eyes. “Wow. This is going well.”
“But,” he added, and you stilled, “your instincts are good. Better than most Jedi I’ve fought beside.”
A pause. You stared at him.
“And,” he added again, almost like it hurt, “you weren’t wrong to call for help.”
You tilted your head. “You mean from Mundi, or from you?”
He didn’t answer. That was an answer in itself.
You softened a little, let yourself lean forward over the fire. “I was alone. Outnumbered. You would’ve done the same thing.”
“Probably,” Bacara admitted.
“But you’d still call me reckless for doing it.”
“Yes.”
You gave him a long look. “I said worse things about you to Mace, you know.”
His eyes flicked to yours, unreadable. “I know.”
“I didn’t mean all of it,” you said.
“I know that too.”
Another silence.
Then, from him, just barely audible:
“You’re not what I expected.”
You sat back, a flicker of heat rising to your cheeks. “You either, Commander.”
The silence settled between you again, less like tension this time—and more like something trying to become peace.
⸻
Back on Coruscant, The city-world glittered below, a sea of metal and movement. But inside the Temple, it was unusually quiet.
Rex stood just outside the Council Chambers, arms crossed behind his back, helmet off. His posture was military-perfect, but his eyes flicked to the arched window at the far end of the corridor every few seconds.
The last time he’d stood here, you were beside him, teasing him about being too stiff, too formal. He’d barely responded, but the corner of his mouth had twitched.
“Waiting for someone?”
Rex turned. Ahsoka approached, arms folded. She wasn’t smiling—just curious.
“General Skywalker asked me to debrief after the Christophis campaign,” Rex replied. “He’s late.”
Ahsoka stopped beside him and glanced up. “You seem… off.”
Rex gave her a sidelong look. “Do I?”
“You always do that thing with your jaw when you’re annoyed.” She mimicked him poorly, exaggerating the motion. “It’s like you’re chewing invisible rations.”
Rex chuckled, just barely. “That obvious, huh?”
Ahsoka leaned against the wall. “This about the General?”
Rex didn’t answer at first. Then: “Which one?”
Her smile faded. “So her.”
He looked down at his helmet. “Something changed on Aleen. I can’t explain it. But the way she looked when we saw her at the base… something’s different.”
“She looked tired,” Ahsoka said quietly. “And like she was holding something back.”
“Bacara was watching her the entire time,” Rex said, sharper now. “Like he was waiting for something.”
Ahsoka nodded slowly. “And you were doing the same.”
The silence stretched. Rex didn’t deny it.
“I’ve felt something,” Ahsoka said, lowering her voice. “A kind of… ripple in the Force. Like she’s a pebble that hit water and the waves are just now reaching us.”
Rex turned toward her. “You think she’s in danger?”
“I don’t know.” Ahsoka’s brow furrowed. “But something’s pulling at her. Pulling her toward something big. Or breaking.”
Rex stared ahead, jaw tight again. “If she gets reassigned again without warning—”
“She won’t tell you if she does,” Ahsoka said gently. “You know that.”
“I should’ve said something when I had the chance.”
“Maybe.” She hesitated. “But she knows. Trust me—she knows.”
The doors to the Council chamber finally hissed open. Anakin stepped out, waving them both in. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes flicked to Rex for a beat too long.
Even he had noticed.
As they stepped inside, neither of them said it aloud—but something was coming. And she was at the center of it.
⸻
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