Chapter Text
Rex starts out in the ARC attachment to the 212th. The legion is a little bloated, but he’s been told that leadership anticipates their Jedi Commander being promoted to a General soon enough that prepping a legion to work with her makes more sense than acting as if it’s otherwise.
She’s scheduled to join up with the ship today, having been delayed several weeks by a medical hold due to… severe injury in the course of the Battle of Geonosis, he thinks.
He’s scanning the hangar when she finds him.
“Captain Rex? Hi, I’m Padawan Skywalker.”
He’s standing straight and saluting before he processes the greeting. “Sir!”
She blinks at him. “Uh. Hi?”
Oh, she’s pretty. That’s new. Kind of. Rex still isn’t used to seeing faces his own physical age that aren’t identical to his own. All the not-brothers on Kamino were Prime’s generation.
His brain catches up with him. “Er, would you prefer we refer to you as ma’am?”
Commander Skywalker blinks at him. She tilts her head. “I think so, yeah. Should I call you Captain, or is just Rex fine?”
“I would prefer Captain,” he says. It’s more professional that way. “I’ve been asked to show you to specops barracks so you get an idea of the troopers you’ll be working with.”
“Neat,” she says, and falls into step with him as he turns for the habitation wing. “Specops is ARCs, right? They had me drilling battle tactics more than actual military structure when I wasn’t working on the prosthesis.”
“ARCs are rare,” Rex corrects. “I’m the only one with the training under your direct command right now. Most of the company has specialized for the role, of course, but not actual ARCs.”
“Does Obi-Wan get any?”
“There are four fully-trained ARC troopers under General Kenobi’s purview at this time.”
“Hm,” she says. “Well, let’s see my team.”
--
Commander Skywalker usually keeps most of her hair in braids. One is long and thin, right behind her ear, and the rest of her hair is gathered into a single long plait that she rolls up into a low bun whenever on active duty. It’s always interesting to see her pull the pins after a lengthy engagement as they all head to the mess hall, letting the length of it uncurl and fall down her back.
“You’re staring,” Coric mutters, bumping his shoulder to Rex’s. “Maybe try to keep your eyes in your head, Captain.”
Rex kicks at his ankle. Coric hops over it, sloppy with the same exhaustion they’re all carrying this late in the campaign.
“Just still not used to seeing long hair,” Rex defends.
“You know she eats bugs?” Coric asks. “She’s done it like five times in the last tenday that we’ve seen. General Kenobi keeps making faces about it, so it’s not just a natborn thing.”
“So she’s not afraid to get down and dirty like the rest of us,” Rex says. “That’s a good thing.”
Coric rolls his eyes.
“Besides, she’s splitting off from Kenobi in a few weeks,” Rex adds. “Won’t matter what he thinks, then.”
“Rex. Vod. Listen to me.” Coric drapes an arm over Rex’s shoulders and turns them both to face the Commander. “She is drinking pickle juice. Straight.”
It takes impossible effort to keep a straight effort, but Rex manages it. “A good source of electrolytes.”
Coric pokes him between the leg and hip plates, right where he can actually access flesh. “Stop.”
“Never.”
A hand on Rex’s shoulder drags him to the line, and they get food, and then Coric pushes him so they can both sit with the Commander.
Jesse, the scout they picked up in the latest batch of shinies, seems to have gotten there only a bit before they did. Rex knows because he picks up the tail end of a question about the pickle juice.
“Drank it a lot when I first started taking spironolactone, kept up the habit when I grew a taste for it,” she says.
“Taking… spiro-what?” Jesse asks. Coric kicks him under the table.
Commander Skywalker laughs. “Spironolactone. It’s a transition medication.”
Rex is not the only one that looks confused. Coric is probably the only one at this table that doesn’t, and since he’s a medic, he doesn’t count.
“Aaaaaand that’s why I brought it up,” Commander Skywalker says. “I’m guessing Kamino didn’t really touch on gender identities?”
They did not.
She grins at them. “Right. I’ll give you the Gender 101 class, and you can share with the rest of the troopers.”
--
It’s not uncommon to see troopers talk to Commander Skywalker, one on one, and come away looking… thoughtful. Confused. Worry is rarer, but not unknown. Those troopers usually end up with a new name or hairstyle a few weeks down the line, and Rex gets it. He gets why the Commander positioned herself to share this.
There are sisters, now. And the in-between vod. They’d never had that option, on Kamino, but they do with the Jedi.
“Did you have someone like that?” Rex asks one night, just days before they get confirmation that Commander Skywalker is going to be General Skywalker. “A person like you to help you figure it all out? The gender stuff?”
“Mm-hm,” she half-hums, looking up from her field desk in the command tent. They’ve each got a cot here, behind a curtain that separates them from the ‘public’ part of it. “Master Umika Sesseni. She was my engineering teacher, and every time Obi-Wan panicked about how to do things, he asked her about it.”
“Is she a general now?”
“Technically,” she says. “I think she got assigned to a search and rescue legion. Cleanup, you know.”
Ah, the ones that have to crawl into unstable buildings and risk horrible deaths even after the droids have gone.
“She was very publicly trans, so kids knew there was someone safe to talk to,” Skywalker continues, “and I wanted to do that too. Make sure all your siblings know that there are at least a few Jedi that get it, and can help.”
--
Working with Skywalker as his general instead of his commander shouldn’t be very different.
It is.
Skywalker without the leash of a nominally responsible adult, namely Kenobi, is like a tornado. The plan is gone, the building is on fire, and the Seppie general is screaming. Somehow, it also started in the middle of the main sleep cycle, so they’re all fighting at about ninety-five percent instead of a round hundred.
The General is fighting a Zabraki darksider and has a head wound. At least half her vision must be gone due to blood getting in the eye.
“Medic!” Rex calls through comms. “General is going to need patch-up in a sec, head wound.”
“On my way,” Coric confirms.
“Laying down cover fire,” Rex says, hoping at least a few people join in. They do.
Ventress doesn’t go down easy, but she does scarper. It’s close enough to a win for Rex. Coric grabs the general and gets her to cover to start on the treatment of what might be just a cut, but also could be a concussion.
By the time the battle reaches a lull, they’re all annoyed and bothered about it.
“Ugh, there’s blood in my hair,” the general complains. She scratches at her scalp, making a face. She’d had to pull her hair into a high nerftail instead of her usual braids—Rex remembers a trooper saying she’d learned them from the Nabooan senator, but someone else said she did Alderaani ones, too—and there are loose strands and wisps all over the place. The blood and dust are caked in, and probably still sticky. There’s mud and blaster char all over her.
General Skywalker pulls off the elastic and shakes out her hair.
Rex promptly walks into a wall.
Coric catches him before he can fall. His batchmate is definitely laughing at him.
“Rex, are you okay?”
She said his name. She didn’t call him Captain, she said his name.
“Fine,” he manages. “Just didn’t get much sleep, and the battle was a pain. I’ll be fine with latemeal and a nap.”
Her brow furrows—a flake of blood comes off—and she claps him on the shoulder. “Get some rest, Captain.”
She walks off, probably to her quarters for a nap before they have to do reports, and Rex gets a smack to the back of the helmet.
“She’s a Jedi.”
“I know—”
“Rex, come on.”
--
There is a child on the battlefield.
She is.
She’s.
She’s so small?
“I didn’t order a padawan,” General Skywalker says, oddly blank. “Obi-Wan did. Are you sure you heard right?”
“Master Yoda said my Jedi Master was to be you, Master Skywalker.”
Rex half-watches them, more concerned with the constant bombardment, and only catches snatches of the conversations that aren’t pertinent to the battle.
“Ma’am,” he greets, once they wander over to him. “Thought you said you’d never take a padawan.”
She grimaces. “There’s been a mix-up. The youngling isn’t with me.”
The youngling in question stomps her foot. “Stop calling me that! You’re stuck with me, Skyguy.”
“What did you just call me?” General Skywalker makes a face. “Don’t get snippy with me, little one. You know, I don't even think you're old enough to be a Padawan.”
The baby fumes. “Well, Master Yoda—”
“What if it was Skygal instead of guy?” Rex interrupts.
Anakin shoots him a look. “That’s maybe two percent better. Not the main issue! Anyway, Master Yoda isn’t here. I am.”
“And you don’t want a kid on the battlefield.”
“Does she even have bones?” Anakin asks. Rex thinks he can hear a note of real anxiety.
“I’m right here! And yes, I have bones!”
--
“You called me by my name to alert me to the fact that Ventress was fripping with your head.”
Rex looks up from his helmet, now half-cleaned, and blinks at General Skywalker. “I did.”
She settles next to him, humming contemplatively. “You can call me that normally, if you want. Or Ani.”
Does he—but that’s—the rules—
“Rex?”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” he says reflexively. “Maybe—maybe when we’re off duty.”
“Oh,” she says, the brightness in her face fading just a touch.
“I mean, you mostly call me Captain in the field,” he tries. “It’s just. Duty.”
“No, no, I get it,” she says. “I, um… I’ll be gone for a bit, by the way. Obi-Wan said we have a few hours on Tatooine before we have to leave, so I’m going to go visit my mom.”
“You remember her?” Commander Tano pops up out of nowhere. “I only sort of remember mine.”
“I didn’t leave her until I was nine,” the general says. “Obi-Wan’s coming, said he wants to meet her. You wanna come, Snips?”
The girl nods rapidly. Skywalker turns her smile to Rex again. “You in?”
…sure?
--
Rex doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone’s mom before. Quick moments of ‘help the kid find their mother in a refugee evac’ probably don’t count.
He hangs back when Skywalker and her mom hug, and watches older woman be introduced to the Jedi, and then he’s waved forward.
“And this is Rex. He’s a clone captain, one of my finest troopers.”
“A pleasure, ma’am,” Rex says, unsure of how to proceed with the greeting. He holds out a hand the way he would to a brother, but finds himself pulled into a proper hug anyway.
“A pleasure to meet you as well, Captain,” she says. “Let’s get you all inside before the suns come up. I’m sure you’ve little time to be wasting.”
Over a small dinner, they are introduced to General Skywalker’s step-family. Shmi’s husband is a man named Cliegg, who uses a chair to get around due to a leg amputation. There is a stepbrother, Owen, and Owen’s fiancée, Beru.
“Owen almost shot me the first time I showed up,” Anakin gleefully tells the table. “Didn’t believe me about being Mom’s.”
General Kenobi covers a smile, and Owen rolls his eyes. Most of the table seems to find this amusing.
“Why’s that?” Tano asks.
“Shmi always talked about a son,” Owen explains, a touch dry. “None of knew to expect a girl, if the infamous Anakin ever came ‘round.”
“Infamous?” Rex can’t help but ask.
“Absolutely destroyed some bookies when she was nine,” Cliegg says. “Young upstart, dark horse of the Boonta Eve Classic. Almost everyone lost money.”
General Skywalker grins, shit-eating and proud of it. “Got me free, didn’t it?”
Free. Tatooine.
Ah.
They talk on, discussing the war and more. Ahsoka asks about why Anakin came by, if there was recent incident where Owen almost shot her, but the subject is whisked away by Beru and Shmi before anyone can explain. Ahsoka doesn’t ask again.
“And how is Padmé doing?” The General’s mother asks, because she is apparently on a first name basis with the Senator of Naboo. “I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to her the last time you were here.”
“She’s doing fine. Kept putting me in dresses the last time I came by.”
How does Shmi know Senator Amidala?
Dinner ends. General Kenobi falls into conversation with Shmi and her husband. Owen offers to do the dishes, and Ahsoka and General Skywalker are quick to follow. Rex tries to help, but is told that three people are more than enough in the kitchen.
“You really like her, don’t you?”
Rex jolts in his seat and looks to Beru Whitesun.
“Ma’am?”
“Ani,” Beru clarifies. “You like her a lot. I can see it.”
“She’s my superior officer,” Rex says, “but I’m honored that she considers me a friend.”
Beru smiles. There is a knowing edge to it that Rex isn’t sure how to read into.
She leans close enough to whisper in his ear, “you know, most girls like flowers, from the boy trying to catch their attention.”
Rex blushes.
--
“Bly, no—Bly! Wait up!”
It takes a hot second for the other commander to turn around. “Captain Rex? You’re… Cody’s tagalong.”
Rex does not twitch at this. Barely. “Yeah. Listen, can I get a word with your general? In private?”
Bly stiffens, voice going hard, “about what?”
Ah, right. Most brothers asking for a private moment with General Secura are probably trying something inappropriate. Technically, what Rex wants isn’t exactly by the book either, but it should be fine. “She used to babysit General Skywalker, apparently. I just hoped she had some advice about my general.”
Bly still looks suspicious, but eventually sighs and waves Rex on. “She’s in commissary, I think.”
Rex offers a grin and a verbal thanks, and runs to find General Secura. Find her he does, and apparently the Force lets her know that his request to speak in private is above board. Sort of.
She hears him out.
That’s a relief. He was rather expecting some kind of excuse about Jedi being removed from such things as romance.
“See, the thing is…” she says, “Ani’s never been big on the whole flowers thing. She’d appreciate it, definitely, but maybe not as an opening gift to show your intentions.”
“Oh,” Rex says. He’s not sure what else to say. “I was… well, I know she likes speeders and droids, but given that those interests are often stereotyped as masculine, I was worried that it would seem… tone deaf? To get something in that vein, especially since I definitely don’t know enough on either topic to know what an appropriate gift would be.”
“Well, you did stay up for days keeping her safe after a crash,” General Secura teases. “I think she knows you genuinely care for her.”
Rex flushes and looks down. “Can I message you when I come up with something to know if it’s a good idea?”
“I’d be delighted.”
--
General Skywalker looks tired. Even Ahsoka’s unsure of how to help. The general’s just sitting on a low bench against the wall, watching the room and occasionally answering a message on her comm.
Rex brings her a cup of fresh caff. She smiles up at him, exhausted but still pleased to see him.
“You’ve got really pretty eyes,” he blurts out, and immediately wants to shoot himself in the foot.
“Oh,” Skywalker says, staring up at him. “Uh. Thanks, man.”
He dithers a second. Without another word, he turns and marches off.
(“Snips, did you tell him to say that?”)
(“No, I think he actually meant it.”)
(“…huh.”)
--
It’s a diplomatic event that gives Rex the idea.
It’s a standard mission. The 501st is recovering from a major battle. The 212th is relatively fresh and hunkering down for a longer siege. General Kenobi is needed for a negotiation with a planet of undecided loyalties that has useful resources.
Ahsoka is left with the 212th, and the adults make their way to the planet with a senator—and several lower-ranking politicians—to negotiate. A relatively small contingent of the 501st come along as guards.
Anakin spends most of the dinner spinning a knife around her fingers, badly hiding her boredom. She only puts it down once it’s time for everyone to get up and dance.
(Not the clones. The clones are here as guards and, unlike the Jedi, are not psychic enough to dance and guard at the same time.)
Knives. Knives are good. Rex knows knives, and he thinks he’s seen Anakin play around with them as a backup weapon in case of saber loss.
He just… needs to make it a fancy knife. The pearl thing. Anodi-whatsit. Hardcase will know.
Maybe carve something into it? Laser, or maybe by hand…
Through the bustle of the dance floor, there is a sharp yelp. Rex twitches just enough to zero in on what’s happening.
Kenobi has his hand on the senator’s wrist. The Senator’s fingers are perilously close to General Skywalker’s rear.
“Now,” Kenobi says, with a smile that could cut glass, “you are aware that Knight Skywalker is something of a daughter to me, yes?”
Skywalker is ignoring them entirely.
(She squeals and hugs Kenobi later, though.)
(“You called me your daaaaaaaaaaaughterrrrrrrrrrr,” she coos. “You’re my daaaaaaaaaad.”)
(It’s kind of adorable.)
--
Rex is nervous as shit.
He’d gotten the knife a few weeks back, along with a leather harness. The blade itself was a fancy throwing dagger he’d picked up for a pretty chunk of his meager savings; the Republic has to pay them something for legal reasons relating to the grey area of their citizenship and sentient status, even if it’s not much. He’d gotten the steel inscribed with a floral motif and treated with a pearlescent anodization finish, courtesy of Hardcase.
The younger clone had not stopped giving him shit the entire time, but at least he’d helped actually use the machines Rex was kind of scared to touch.
Maybe flowers would have been better?
They’re on shore leave, or will be in a few hours. He’s got time to ditch once they’re on-planet if she’s not interested. It’ll be fine.
He knocks on the doors to her quarters.
After a few seconds, the door slides open, and she stands before him, curls still wet and dripping, the collar of her bathrobe soaking it up. “Heya, Rex! You need something before we land?”
He does. He’s second-guessing himself, because this is technically deeply inappropriate and breaking regs. General Secura had said to go for it, though, and she’s known General Skywalker pretty much as long as Rex has been alive.
Frip, that’s depressing.
“Can I come in, ma’am?” Rex asks. “Bit of a private matter.”
“Sure,” she says, stepping to the side and letting him through to the small main room to her and Ahsoka’s shared suite. Privileges of rank, or so they say. She sits on the couch instead of at the desk. He takes the chair across from her. “What’s up?”
Rex hesitates. The box, purple with 501st blue ribbon, sits on his lap. “I am… aware that this is not standard, and is in fact against a number of regulations, but…”
“Is someone dead?”
His head snaps up from the box to look at her. “What?”
“That’s always Obi-Wan’s first question. Is someone dead?”
“No,” he says.
He has no idea how to continue.
“Is this about the box?” Anakin asks.
Rex nods. He dithers. “The box is for you. It’s. I got you a courting gift?”
It’s not meant to come out as a question, but at least it came out at all.
“A courting gift,” Anakin repeats.
“Yes.”
“As in… you want to date me?” Her voice pitches oddly high.
“It’s against fraternization rules, but… yes, I’d like to date,” Rex says. “Seems a bit odd to wait until after the war when there’s no guarantee we’ll see it.”
“Like kissing and all that.”
Rex nods. Unsure of what else to do, he holds out the box. “Here.”
She takes it. She opens it. She stares.
“Oh,” she says softly. She pulls the dagger out of the harness and admires it. “It’s so pretty. You got one with flowers?”
“Hardcase helped me use the laser engraver on it,” Rex admits.
The smile that crosses her face is downright goofy. “I love it.”
Score.
She pats the couch cushion next to her, and Rex scrambles to join her.
“Think it would make sense for you to call me Ani now,” she notes. “And yeah, I like you a lot, too. I’d love to date.”
“Ani,” Rex tries, and can’t help but smile back at the way she beams. “Ani, then.”
She leans in and kisses him, just a quick peck, seemingly unable to stop herself.
He’s sure he’s smiling like a moron when she pulls away.
