Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Try to imagine water: it fits the shape of its container. It flows to fill the holes. It is powerful, flexible, but unassuming in appearance. That is what your mental shields need to be,” Master Che coaches him. He takes a deep breath and tries again. He tries to imagine a barrier of water around his mind: adaptive, flowing, free, powerful. It starts to form, molding into shape, only to fall apart. Rex sighs. After using blunt-force shielding for so long, it feels vulnerable to use the flexible mental shields of the Jetti. 

“You keep trying to ‘form’ and ‘mold’ your shield, Captain. It isn’t a wall, it just is. Your shielding should be an extension of your mind, as natural as breathing and as self-adjusting as your heart rate.” Rex tries again. The shields almost settle into place before fragmenting and falling away. A sharp spike of pain races through his head but is just as quickly chased away by Master Che’s soothing shields. 

“That was closer,” she encourages. Rex just sighs and tries again. They have been working on shielding techniques all afternoon, and Rex feels like he has gotten as far as he would trying to dig a hole in water. That is to say he has gotten nowhere. With every failed attempt, he thinks Master Che is closer to yelling at him, punishing him, or declaring that he is a lost cause and leaving him to figure out flexible shielding sink-or-swim style. The pressure makes a difficult task even harder. Rex can’t help but feel she is secretly tiring of his inadequacy. 

Master Che frowns. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the growing headache you are trying to hide, Captain. You are clearly tired and getting stressed, and I think we have worked on this enough for today. Get some rest, and we can pick up where we left off tomorrow.” The Chief Healer leaves to complete her rounds. Rex sinks back into the medical cot and sighs. He’s not used to failure. Master Che is a strict teacher, but so far has been quick to praise, much to his surprise. She has yet to punish him for the mistakes he has made, or even do so much as verbally insult him. But in Rex’s experience, grace is limited, and the Chief Healer’s praise can’t last. He needs progress. He needs results. 

He tries again. 

He imagines a dome of water around his mind, shifting and powerful like the Ocean. There are waves that rise and fall, but the motion of water is constant, adapting. It fills holes, it goes where it is needed. As natural as breathing. Steady. 

Hold. The barrier shivers. Steady. The barrier holds. 

Rex smiles. The barrier falls. He sighs. There is nothing to do but try again. Sharp pain races through his mind again. Rex flinches. He can rest after he figures this out. 

A dome of water. Always shifting to cover the weaker spots. Fluid, adaptive. As natural as breathing. As self-adjusting as his heart rate. The barrier forms. He keeps it for a few seconds before it slips again. His head pounds with effort. 

Rex keeps trying, even when the pain becomes constant. He can’t fail. He won’t fail. He tries, fails, tries again. He needs progress. He needs proof that he’s worth keeping around. He won’t be a failure. Failure means death and he won’t—

The door opens. 

“Captain!” Master Che strides in, hands immediately going for his head. “I believe I told you to get some rest,” she chides. Rex flinches, whole body trembling. She looks at him, and her face softens. “You have already made an impressive amount of progress today. Much farther than I expected. But you are still recovering, and now is not the time to push your limits.” The headache begins to ebb away, soothed by the gentle touch of the Healer’s hands. 

Rex breaks eye contact, shame thrumming through him. Not listening to the healers is half of what got him into this mess. “I’m sorry. I just—I couldn’t—“ live with my failure. 

“It took me two weeks of practice to get to where you are after one afternoon,” Master Che informs him. Rex’s eyes widen in surprise. Part of him finds it difficult to believe her. The other part of him soars at the praise. 

“Now, if you promise to leave the shielding be for now, we can do one of two things,” The healer offers. 

“I promise” Rex says. 

“You can rest, as I’ve told you to do. Or, since you have demonstrated the energy for it, you can begin strengthening your muscles. Whatever we do, it will have to be in here.”

Rex grins. “Can I start PT?” 

Vokara Che has a smile of her own. “Dear Captain, I hope you aren’t thinking that the physical exercises are going to be easy?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Rex is more than ready for a hard workout. The Chief Healer smiles, showing the points of her teeth. Rex decides to ignore the predatory feeling he gets from it. 

As promised, the exercises are anything but easy. By the time he’s done, Rex is shaking, sweating, and more than ready for that nap Master Che originally offered. The Chief Healer helps him settle back onto his cot with a fond, fiercely proud smile, as if Rex had walked a mile, and not the two meters of shuffling-hobble steps he could manage before his legs started to buckle. His legs haven’t felt this unsteady since his run-in with the Blue Shadow Virus. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up first, before you fall asleep Captain,” Master Che offers. Rex wants to say no—he’s tired, and he’s slept while coated in mud and sand and swamp and dust before. But Vokara Che is already sitting him up on the edge of the cot to run his face over with a damp cloth. She hands him another one, so he can reach his legs and arms and chest. By the time he’s wiped down, he does feel much better. 

“Not yet Captain,” Master Che stops his descent into sleep once more. “I still have to clean your hair.” She wets his head with a sponge, careful not to let the water drip down too far. She lathers up something on her hands that smells wonderful. A little like General Kenobi’s incense, but sweeter. 

Hands card through his hair. It’s got to be nearing a month since he has last shaved it down, making it long and unruly. Someone has been shaving his face for him—probably Kix—the medic knows he absolutely hates facial hair, far too itchy under the bucket and it feels wrong, (not to mention it is against regs). 

Fingernails scratch just right along his scalp. Rex feels himself involuntarily falling asleep. His eyes are closed, and he doesn’t have the will to open them again. He almost whines when the hands retreat. The sponge runs over his head again, followed by a towel. Warmth hums through his body. Hands guide him into a comfortable position. 

“Alright Captain, now you can rest,” Rex can hear the fond smile in her voice. The hands start running through his hair again. Rex wonders what he did to deserve this level of care. 

He sleeps. 

After a few more days of this, Skywalker brings Ahsoka to visit. The Togruta nearly sits on him in her excitement to choke hug him. “We get to train together!” She whispers conspiratorially. Rex gives Skywalker an uncertain look. The General just smiles and nods in a way that means ‘just go along with it.’ Something tells Rex that Skywalker hasn’t told her the details of their deal. He’s probably waiting for Rex to tell her himself. Great. Thank you, General Skywalker.

Master Che squeezes her way into the now cramped office. “He will have to leave tonight,” she informs them. Rex shrinks a little. “His shields are strong enough to be self-sustaining, and I can’t keep his presence here hidden for much longer before the other healers become suspicious.” The healer sounds… disappointed. Personally, Rex isn’t fully confident that he has figured out shielding well enough. Though he’s much quicker at building the shields now, he still tends to drop it if he gets distracted enough. Or he instinctually falls back on blunt-force shielding. He’s been maintaining his current one for the last few hours, but his shields definitely haven’t been tested under fire. Master Che hasn’t had him sustain his shields through getting shot or stabbed, extreme exhaustion, interrogation, or starvation and dehydration yet. He can keep them steady through a conversation and his exercises now, but he doesn’t know if he is shielding himself in his sleep well enough either. 

But Master Che seems to think he has a sufficient grasp of shielding, and he trusts her. If she says he’s ready, he’s ready. 

“Captain?” Rex nods. “If I release you from my care, can I trust you to follow the recovery plan I  will put in place for you?” Rex considers the question. He’s quite tired of Med Bays and bedrest at this point. Besides, he’s pretty sure the Twi’lek healer would be able to sense it if he was being reckless again, and would find a way to chew him out herself.

“Elek. I will behave,” Rex promises. Master Che hums with approval. 

“I will be giving instructions to your medic, and I expect you to listen to him as you would me.” Rex should have expected that. Hopefully Kix won’t be too insufferable when he plays the ‘with all due respect I’m just following the Chief Healer of the Jetti Temple’s instructions, Captain,’ card.

“In fact, I will give you your list of instructions and expectations now,” the Healer gives him a look that dares him to disagree. Rex likes to think of himself as a fairly smart vod. He just nods and resigns himself to his fate. While he hasn’t actually seen it yet, he can imagine that Master Vokara Che is fearsome to behold when angry. Skywalker and Tano not-so-subtly inch towards the door of the office, not wanting to be part of the talk that follows. Rex wishes he could join them. 

“I expect you to remain on bedrest for at least one more day, through you are allowed to run through the strengthening exercises I have given you once per rotation. And you may do them only under a medic’s supervision. I expect you to to be getting proper sleep and enough food to be recovering. That means minimum 9 hours of sleep and enough nutrient-rich food to leave you feeling full. Once you can walk around, I expect you to use a cane to support the muscles in your ilium, which are still weakened from injury and lack of use. Have your medic tape or brace it for further support if you cannot walk comfortably with a cane after three rotations, or stand for more than an hour at a time. Do not push yourself to stand or walk around to prove to yourself that you are recovering. The second you begin experiencing sharp pains, numbness, or excessive fatigue and trembling in your muscles, sit yourself down. I will be sending a data pad with you in which you will be logging your recovery process where I can see it. If I deem it necessary, you will be stopping by for a check up while you are still on Coruscant. Before you leave planet-side, I expect you to stop by for one final check-up, regardless of recovery progress. I want you to continue using the shielding I have shown you. Fostering a safe connection to The Force is necessary, especially since your body is not used to it. Unguided channeling of The Force as you have been doing is hard on your whole body, and leads to Force Exhaustion faster. 

“Finally, I want you to learn how to bake.” Rex blinks. She wants him to what?

“Knight Skywalker and Padawan Tano will hopefully demonstrate some meditation techniques to strengthen your connection and control of The Force, but I want you to learn a form of active mediation or reflection that is not necessarily connected to The Force. I suspect baking would suit your tastes, but it can be embroidery, knitting, sculpture, paining, drawing, poetry, whatever you feel called to. The only stipulation is that it cannot be connected to the art of war or survival, and it should be minimally physically active. It should work your mind more than your body, but give you something to do with your hands.” 

Rex blinks again. “I don’t know how to bake or do any of that, ma’am.” 

“You didn’t know flexible shielding four rotations ago, and yet here you are, with a new skill. You are a smart man, Captain. You can learn.” The way the Healer is pushing this, Rex thinks that she knows something he does not. 

“Whatever you decide to do, I expect to see a sample of it during your final checkup,” the Healer finishes. Rex wants to sigh. There’s no getting out of it, then. The Healer was right that baking sounds the most appealing of those options, but the last time Rex tried to bake was during a particularly bad bout of insomnia, and he tried to use the kitchen on The Resolute in the middle of night shift while running on 3 hours of sleep in 5 rotations. In short, Rex passed out from exhaustion while waiting for the cake to finish, the kitchen caught on fire, the whole ship had to resort to eating battlefield rations for two weeks until the kitchen was sufficiently repaired, Kix’s face turned as red as the Coruscant Guard, and Rex has summarily been banned from so much as stepping foot in The Resolute's kitchen, or getting anywhere near any kitchen equipment. Still, it might not hurt to try again.

If he destroys another kitchen though, he will never hear the end of it.   

Tano and Skywalker come back to pick him up at the end of the day, and with the Chief Healer’s help he is snuck out of the Temple. Master Che makes him renew his promises to follow her recovery plan and to learn how to bake or do something of the equivalent. 

Before he leaves, she places a small crystal in his hand. “This is a healing crystal. You can use it to amplify The Living Force when healing someone. I trust you will have use for it,” she smiles in that way of hers, where she definitely knows something, but will not explain because she wants him to figure it out himself. Rex is going to miss the Twi’lek healer. She also hands him the linked data pad with his recovery log and a cane to use. 

“I will be keeping in touch with your medic, Captain, so I expect you to behave as long as you are under his care,” she warns him. Her mind nudges against him, sending flares of fondness and warmth down his spine. 

Ahsoka slings his left arm over her shoulders, supporting his weaker side. They walk side by side all the way to the barracks. Kix meets them outside the doors, taking his other side. Rex would normally protest, but he’s caused Kix enough grief over the last few rotations. 

“With all due respect, I hope you have learned a valuable lesson, sir,” his medic greets him. Or, he can still make Kix run those laps. At least 6, but Rex is thinking more in the range of 10. It would be 20 by this point, but Kix did save his shebs a few times. Together Ahsoka and Kix march him all the way to his quarters, where he is met by Jesse, Hardcase, and the Twins. The Jettise not-so-subtly take their leave once again. Rex recognizes a trap when he has been led to one. 

“All right Cap, spill it,” Fives declares without preamble. “What’s been going on in that head of yours?” The words are supposed to sound light, flippant, unworried. Fives is doing a terrible job of hiding his concern. 

“That’s not how I would have gone about asking the question,” Echo mutters. “The men have been asking questions, and we wanted to be clear on how we should address them,” the ARC clarifies. It’s a much more professionally worded version of “What the hell is going on with you??” but Rex appreciates it all the same. It helps to put everything that has happened in context of need-to-know and the official story. The only problem is that Rex doesn’t know what anyone’s working knowledge is. 

From what he understands, the group before him were constantly in and out of the Med Bay while he was recovering on The Resolute, and Fives managed to sneak into the Jetti Temple at one point, so there is no telling what they saw when he was not in control of himself. Maybe they saw nothing. Maybe everything. He can’t question them directly without giving away the fact that he has The Force. 

“What do you know?” Rex knows he is avoiding the question. His brothers know too. They glance at each other, trying to strategize without speaking. Fives and Echo are flicking fingers at each other, trying to use their Domino-specialized system of shorthand to communicate. Rex pretends he doesn’t notice them signing to each other, or further—that he can’t understand what they are saying. 

He’s got to keep up the illusion that he can read minds somehow. Otherwise, Fives and Echo might actually successfully prank him. At the very least, they will get smart enough not to openly plan pranks in front of him—their target. 

Jesse clears his throat, trying to draw Rex’s attention away from the twins. Smart man. Not successful, but smart. 

“We, ah. Fives and I were there when you,” he loosely mimes something exploding with one hand, and Rex getting flung away from the explosion with the other. Rex already knew that. That was, quite literally, the problem that started this whole mess of problems. “I tried to help the medics prep you for the bacta tank before you—“ Kix stomps on Jesse’s foot in the least subtle display of shutting someone up Rex has ever seen. “Ow, Kix! What was that?— I mean, I tried to help the medics prep you for the bacta tank before it… malfunctioned.” 

“Fives and I were there when you stopped breathing,” Echo mentions. Rex frowns. No one ever told him that he stopped breathing. At what point had he—? “And I think we were all there for… for Teth.” No, Rex and Coric were there for Teth. Everyone else must’ve been there when Rex… relived it. Through The Force. Oh kriff. Were all of his dreams acted out unconsciously? He hopes Ahsoka wasn’t there. He told Skywalker about Ventress because the General is the superior he reports to, but he doesn’t want the Togruta to know exactly what happened on Teth if he can avoid it. 

“We know that Kix has been worrying more than usual—practically hovering like a mother—“ Kix stomps on Hardcase’s foot as well. The heavy gunner yelps and hops on one foot for a second. “What! I didn’t say anything about—“ Kix stomps on his foot again. Hardcase falls on his shebs, nursing his bruised foot and pouting at Kix while the others snicker at his misfortune. 

Rex suspects that they are all dancing around the same conclusion that Rex has been forced to come to. He sighs. He meant what he said to Anakin—he really wanted to keep his newly realized powers secret as much as possible. But, if his brothers already know, or already suspect—it might be nice to have a group of vode who can cover for him, to fall back on. Especially since he can’t rely on Cody to be his support system like he usually does. 

(Kriff, does he wish he could tell Cody.) 

“What I’m about to say does not leave this room, got it?” Rex uses what his brothers lovingly refer to as his ‘captain voice.’ His brothers sober immediately, sensing the seriousness of Rex’s tone. Rex sighs again. He wishes he could keep this burden from them. But, better a handful of vode know than a whole company. Better he have some support curbing or misdirecting the rumor mill before the whole galaxy starts hearing about a blue-eyed blond-haired Jetti clone. 

He can trust these brothers. He can. 

‘You need not fear what you are,’ Master Che had told him. But he does. He fears what his connection to The Force can mean for him… for his brothers. The Force hums steadily in the back of his mind, buzzing in his chest. 

The truth is, Rex is always afraid. 

He can’t meet their eyes as he admits what he is out loud. “I… I have… I have The Force,” Rex confesses. His eyes are resolutely on the floor, not wanting to see their reaction. Is it disgust? Confusion? Fear? As long as he breathes and keeps his focus on the floor and on his mental shields, he doesn’t ever have to know. 

“We know,” Fives says. Rex’s eyes snap up to meet his, shock overcoming fear. His shields waver, but hold. All of his brothers look utterly unsurprised by Rex’s revelation. 

“Y-you know?” Rex’s voice does not squeak. 

“That’s what got you so worked up this whole time?” Hardcase asks from the floor. He says it so casually, like it was supposed to be obvious. Like Rex didn’t just have to re-evaluate his entire life. 

“What—how did—when did—?” Rex buries his face in his hands. How many people knew he had The Force before he realized it himself?! 

“If it makes you feel better, Cap, I didn’t know until Valtameri,” Jesse offers. “It’s kind of hard not to recognize The Force when your CO starts throwing you and everyone else around the Med Bay without touching them.” Rex winces. He remembers Skywalker mentioning something along those lines happening. 

“And malfunctioning a bacta tank?” Rex asks with a wry smile. Jesse roughly elbows Kix in the ribs, a smug smirk on his face. 

“You know about that?” Kix asks weakly. 

“The General might have mentioned it,” Rex answers. “But when did the rest of you find out?” 

“It was Valtameri for me too, sir,” Fives reports. “You kinda… threw me across the Med Bay and into a cot.” Rex winces. 

“I started to suspect after Rishi,” Echo says after a moment. Fives squawks with disbelief, but Echo continues before his twin can start complaining. “The way you shot that eel was smooth—quick, clean, and incredibly accurate. Almost like you had anticipated where it would be even before it burst from the rock. I had never seen any vod shoot like that before. It stuck in my mind for awhile, but it wasn’t unusual enough by itself. But combined with other moments—our battle with Cad Bane, how quickly you scaled the wall to assist the Jetti during the Second Battle of Geonosis, some other stories the boys were sharing about Naboo and the First Battle of Geonosis. Skywalker mentioned that you kicked a spider assassin droid over your head when he was telling the story of your trip in the Duchess of Mandalore’s cargo hold. I looked up the schematics, and those things have to weigh at least half a ton. Just so you know sir, some of the boys swear by their blasters that you have some sort of Jetti luck. I didn’t have more concrete evidence to confirm my suspicions until after Valtameri. You kinda showed me… images… of sorts.” Rex is going to question Echo about that later. 

“It was Valtameri for me too, sir.” Kix says simply. 

Everyone looks at Hardcase, who is still sitting on the floor. He gets a sheepish smile on his face, running a hand over his bald head. 

“You ah, kinda saved my shebs during the First Battle of Geonosis, Cap. I was part of the group captured with Commander Ox. You and your squad kinda… had to go get us.” Actually, Rex had recklessly talked some vode into disobeying orders and crossing enemy lines to go get them.“Pretty embarrassing, but on the way back I saw you kick a grenade into an enemy tank’s main canon turret from at least 80 yards, and it inspired me to work towards becoming a demolitions expert on top of being my squad’s heavy gunner, so yeah.” Rex blinks. He’s the person responsible for making Hardcase decide to become the best demolitions expert in Torrent? 

“We were all shinies then, and I never heard your name or saw you with your helmet off, so I didn’t realize you were that vod until I transferred to the 501st and heard you bark orders.” Some of the boys snicker at that. Rex just rolls his eyes, exasperated. “I didn’t say anything ‘cuz, well, I wasn’t sure you recognized me. I had never had a conversation with you, so you wouldn’t have known my name.” Rex is well aware he is staring at Hardcase. Everyone is staring at Hardcase. He has never considered that he might have actually met some of his brothers before they joined the 501st. Rex is combing through his memories of the First Battle of Geonosis, trying to remember his first meeting with Hardcase. He’s got nothing. 

“I want to hear that story,” Fives signs to Echo. Echo gives a small nod, trying to be subtle. 

Hardcase fidgets, misinterpreting Rex’s silence. “I also kind of saw the shot bend on… on Saleucami. It was like watching a holovid in slow motion. I still thought I was seein’ things until Kix said something about the shot missing your heart by two inches. Then I thought ‘I might be crazy, but so are some of the other things I have seen the Captain do’.” Rex can’t believe this. 

“And you all just… accepted this conclusion?” Clones weren’t supposed to have The Force. They were told that they were made not to. Rex still sees The Force as something meant for Jetti, and he's the one who has it. As part of an army of identical men, being different is dangerous. Being different is defective. 

“Respectfully, Captain, if anyone was going to have The Force, it would be you,” Fives chirps, breaking him out of his spiraling thoughts. 

“It definitely explains how you always manage to keep up with our Jetti,” Jesse adds. 

Rex just shakes his head. They all make him out to be bigger than he is sometimes. He can only keep up with the Jetti half of the time. The Force hums with amusement. 

Echo shifts and clears his throat. “So Cap, what is the official story we are telling?” Rex appreciates Echo’s task-oriented mind. The vode all settle down on the floor, listening intently as Rex lays down the cover story. 

“Remember, it is of utmost importance that we keep this as quiet as possible, and keep the circle small. I don’t want you talking about it anywhere you might be heard. Absolutely no one outside of Torrent should know, not even Commander Cody.” His brothers frown at that, but don’t challenge it either. They know that there is strength in secrecy. If word got out to the long-necks—

“How should we explain your eyes, sir?” Jesse points out. Rex turns to Kix, trusting his medic to take point. Kix nods and sits up straighter. 

“I’ve been saying it is a result of extreme stress, but I think we can take it a step further. I’ve been reading med logs specifically targeted at eye trauma, and there are a few documented cases where a patient’s eyes have turned from brown to blue due to a loss of pigment in the irises. If we say the Captain lost pigment in his irises due to a combination of severe stress and head trauma, well, it’s purely an aesthetic change now that the head trauma has cleared up, and has no bearing on ability,” Kix smiles, pleased with his science-backed cover story. Rex is impressed. 

Hardcase’s eyes are slightly crossed as he tries to wrap his head around Kix’s explanation. That the heavy gunner can quickly figure out complex demolition charges and trajectories in his head, but can’t repeat ‘eyes changed due to head trauma and stress’ is amusing. Jesse slaps his back encouragingly. “Don’t try to think too hard, ‘Case. Just tell them to ask someone else. Anyone who’s been in Torrent for a ten-day knows you only keep explosions in that head of yours.” 

“Ah man, does this mean we can’t joke about the Captain having Jetti luck anymore?” Fives whines. Rex raises an eyebrow at him. Fives has enough situational awareness to at least try to look abashed. 

Rex does seriously consider the question. He wishes, not for the first time, that he was more aware of the gossip vines running through Torrent. He sighs. “No, that might be too suspicious.” He sighs again. “And… as long as it stays a running joke, it can make a good cover, or keep vode from questioning too deeply. But if any vode start making claims or asking questions, they either need to be redirected or sent to me to deal with. If all else fails, we blame Skywalker, Tano, and their Jetti Osik.” The brothers before him nod. 

Battle plans drawn up, they trade stories and banter for awhile. Rex is mostly content to listen to his brother’s antics. He missed this. Lately he’s been too drawn in by his injuries and his existential crises to just unwind and watch his vode be the chaotic disasters Torrent is proud to claim. 

Echo pointedly marches into his barracks with a can of paint and arms overflowing with loose pieces of armor. 

“Stoped by the QM today, sir,” Echo chirps around the paintbrushes in his mouth. He carefully sets down the contents of his arms, spreading the plates, pauldron, and Kama out for Rex to inspect. He recognizes some of the pieces as his own, but most of it is shiny and new. Gingerly, Rex lowers himself to the floor so that his legs can stretch out comfortably and his back is supported by the bed behind him. Looking at the old vs new pieces, he realizes just how much of his shell had been destroyed or lost in the explosion. He still has his pauldron, Kama, bracers and greaves, and one of his gauntlets. 

He feels a small pinch of grief—other than his chest plate and pauldron, all of his armor had been his original shell, and had saved his shebs countless times. He had spent hours maintaining the plastoid, filling and smoothing scuffs and dents and inspecting the surface for cracks, and now it was gone. Rex takes a breath, and lets it go. There is no point in getting attached to broken armor. It served its purpose. The Force hums in agreement. 

He picks up the helmet, inspecting it carefully. The plastoid is smooth under his fingers—pristine. Unscuffed, unworn. 

Echo scoots the can of paint closer and hands him a paintbrush. Rex takes the brush and gets to work before he starts thinking too much. 

Vokara Che’s challenge surfaces to the forefront of his mind again. Painting has always been relaxing to him, but is too tied up in war to fill the healer’s requirement. With a steady hand, he forms the familiar Jaig Eyes over the T-slit. He can feel Echo’s burning curiosity, but the younger trooper does not ask, and Rex does not offer. The story itself is famous, but it is not one Rex tells. Unlike most vode, Echo has enough tact to recognize that the story might come with unpleasant memories. A few rotations before, he would have been right—but Hardcase’s revelation has put the whole ordeal into new light. 

Which reminds him. “Echo?” 

“Yes sir?” The ARC looks up from where he is touching up his own armor. The stripes down his bucket shine wetly in the low light, efficient and neat. Textbook straight. Some vode like Jesse and Fives get intricate and symbolic with their paint job, but Rex always has admiration for vode like Hardcase and Echo who keep their paint lines narrow and perfectly precise. It’s a sign of a steady hand. 

“You said you… you said I showed you some images. Would you elaborate what you meant?” 

Echo shifts uncomfortably, keeping his eyes on his armor. After a moment he sighs. “It was when you were in your first coma, sir. We were keeping guard and waiting for you to wake up. The Commander was painting our nails, and Kix left to go get some food from the Mess, when you started becoming agitated. The straps meant to keep you still began to snap, you were thrashing, and yelling orders, and when I went to help calm you down, it was like I was suddenly inside the dream with you,” Echo says quietly. Rex can tell he’s trying to choose his words carefully. His stomach twists. 

“It was dark, and there were bodies and scrapped droids everywhere. There was a woman—her presence felt like rot.” Rex’s blood runs cold. He never wanted anyone to have to experience what he did on Teth. He wants to tell Echo he can stop. He wants Echo to confide every last detail so he knows the damage he caused.

“It was cold,” Echo whispers softly. Rex shivers. “You refused to tell her where the General was and she… did something. The hand around your neck. It felt like ice and fire. But it was more than that. Something slithered against your mind. The air was heavy around your chest. Like breathing lead. You thought you were going to die. So you said the most defiant thing you could think of, even though it felt like speaking around a vibroblade shoved in your throat. She let go. You thought, for a brief moment, that Skywalker had shown up to save you. And then she tried to pry your mind apart. It was like being unraveled. And then it was over. I was in the Med Bay, and you were silent.”  Echo shrinks in on himself, looking at Rex with something solemn in his eyes. Rex feels his chest ache with the weight of his grief. He never wanted to relive Teth. He would relieve it a thousand times if it meant none of his brothers had to experience the horror and dread, the desperation and despair and boiling rage that he had felt. 

“That was the bad one. You also showed me…” Echo places a hand over his own chest plate, covering the mostly faded blue handprint. There is reverence and awe in the movement. A life-debt of gratitude reflected in Echo’s eyes, swelling into the air like a storm. The Force buzzes and hums in his head. Rex dips his hand in the bucket of paint. Echo watches with wide eyes as Rex repeats the same motion he did all those rotations ago. The new handprint covers the old one perfectly. It feels like an old promise renewed. 

Echo is his soldier, and Rex will make damn sure his soldiers have the best possible chance of surviving. There will not be another Teth. Not as long as Rex breathes. 

“Thank you, sir,” Echo whispers. Rex gestures to a spot by his side. Echo immediately clambers to press up against him, leaning his head against Rex’s shoulder. They continue to paint in companionable silence. 

“Captain. Rex. Captain.” There’s a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly. Rex opens his eyes. At some point, he must’ve fallen asleep. Echo is still curled up into his side, fast asleep. There is a blue handprint on the floor. 

“Captain,” Kix whispers. Rex blinks up at the medic. 

“Yes Kix?” Rex whispers back

“Respectfully, what are you doing on the floor?” 

“Painting,” Rex gestures at the supplies scattered across the floor. 

Kix frowns. “You would get a more restful sleep on the bed than against it,” Rex shrugs, glancing at Echo. His shiny-ARCS really are so young. It seems strange that they are only a cycle or so younger than he is. 

Kix rudely crouches down and pokes Echo in the forehead. 

“Kix!” Rex hisses. Echo blinks his eyes open, taking a moment to absorb his environment. He tries to sit up when he realizes he’s still leaned up against Rex. The Captain tightens his arm around his ARC, holding him in place. Echo relaxes. 

“The Captain needs to complete his exercises,” Kix says, unimpressed. Oh, that’s what this is about. Reluctantly, Rex lets go. Echo stays crouched, gathering up his now dry armor and sliding his plates back on. The finished armor looks sharp. His handprint stands out clearly on the chest plate, almost glowing in the light. 

Rex looks at his own pieces of armor still on the floor. He moves to start picking them up, but Kix levels him with a stern glare so harsh The Force can feel it. The medic starts to pick up his shell for him, storing the pieces in his locker. 

Once the armor is cleaned up, Echo stands to leave. Kix catches him with a hand on his armor, leaning in to whisper something. Echo nods and leaves. 

“Alright Captain, let’s get you to your feet so we can start,” Rex groans and takes Kix’s offered hand. His cane is pressed against his free hand. His knees are already trembling. Kriff, Rex hates recovery. 

They work through the exercises, Kix humming or clicking his tongue every now and then as Rex sweats and grunts and curses. While his injuries are almost fully healed, his muscles have lost a great deal of strength and conditioning, and it’s going to be a bantha’s ass to work his way back to his old physique. 

“You are doing great, vod,” Kix encourages. “Try to give me three more.” Rex grunts and counts in his head. “Alright, try one more,” Rex gives him a look. Kix just shrugs and waves the data pad. Rex sighs and does one more. By the time they finish, the muscles in Rex’s legs are trembling even though he is sitting down. 

“Would you like to use the sonic, sir?” Rex nods. Kix helps him in, and then waits for him when he’s ready to get out. It’s a little embarrassing, but Rex appreciates the help. 

“Kix?” 

“Yes sir?”

“I want to… apologize, for my earlier—hey!” Kix has a hand on his forehead, like he’s trying to check for fever. 

“Apologies sir, but the last time you said something like that you were suffering from severe Force Exhaustion and trying your right best to regurgitate your whole stomach. Just want to be safe.” 

Rex huffs and smacks the medic’s hand away, rolling his eyes. “I’m trying to be serious, you know.” 

“I’m being perfectly serious as well sir. Now, do we need to go over the questions for a concussion check? Do you know where we are?” Kix might have an osik-eating grin on his face, but Rex can see the way it doesn’t reach his eyes. He pats the spot next to him on the bed. Kix sits, looking more than a little uncomfortable. 

“I should have been better about listening to you and Coric. I know you two have enough work as it is, without me repeatedly putting you on extra monitoring shifts and adding to your stress. It is not fair of me to make your jobs more difficult than they need to be. It was unprofessional and unbecoming of me and led to problems for everyone, and I’m sorry. Whatever you decide is best for my recovery from this point, I am going to listen and respect that decision. I promise.” Kix is still looking at him like he’s itching to check for a fever. Rex isn’t used to apologizing, at least not directly—he’ll assign a more favorable shift here, skip over them for ‘fresher duty there, add an extra day off duty there, or maybe requisition wanted supplies that weren’t originally in the budget or some preferred ration flavors. 

The medic sighs. “Captain, if you are going to apologize, it's only fair that I apologize as well,” Kix says. What? no—

“I have been…obstinate, about your recovery. And I’ve been focused on your physical recovery at the expense of your mental health and emotional well-being. I knew you would be stubborn, but instead of trying to understand why and find a compromise, I used your recovery as a punishment by keeping you in the Med Bay and confining you to your cot. I tried to limit your control of the situation, and I believe that was the worst possible thing I could have done—“

“We both weren’t listening to each other, Kix. I know you wanted what was best for me, and I thought I knew what was best for me. Yes, being in the Med Bay wasn’t the most… comfortable, but you and the rest of the vode made sure I wasn’t alone. I was the one who kept pushing. I didn’t make myself easy to deal with—“

“And I abused my medic override by sedating you against your consent on multiple occasions. When you called me out on it, I still didn’t listen. With the way I have been treating you, I’m surprised you still trusted me enough to—“ Kix breaks himself off. Rex waits, not wanting to push the medic. 

“You… called to me… during your last bout of Force Exhaustion, when we were searching for the General. I could just… feel your panic, and I knew you were in trouble.” Rex wonders how many ways he has touched his brothers with The Force at this point. Maker, if he keeps sending vode feelings and images, his secret is not going to stay that way for very long. He supposes that is what Master Che and General Skywalker are trying to teach him—intentional and controlled use of The Force. 

He can’t learn it soon enough. 

“I wouldn’t have known otherwise, Rex,” Kix has his medic mind-reading powers engaged, apparently. 

“You mean you don’t have a secret sixth sense that magically lets you know when I’m going to be trouble?” 

“Why would I need a magic sixth sense when you are just easy to predict? Trouble follows you like any other Jetti. You know, I probably should have connected the dots sooner, by that logic.” 

“I do not get in nearly as much trouble as the Jettise!” Rex exclaims. “I just get them out of all the trouble they start!” 

“Same thing, sir. If there is trouble, you are in the thick of it with the Jettise.” Rex can admit that is a fair point. Still—

“I think I should get bonus points for trying to end the trouble.”

“Get yourself and the Jettise out of the trouble uninjured, and I will give you a kriffing medal, sir. The biggest and shiniest one I can find.” 

Echo returns with his arms full of blankets and pillows. A shiny follows after him, carrying even more blankets and pillows. Both of them stumble to the side as another vod comes barreling in. 

“Rex’ika!” Rex doesn’t even have time to blink before he is surrounded, arms squeezing him uncomfortably into a plastoid-bound chest. He wheezes as his ribs (which are mostly healed but still tender) are crushed by the force of the hug he has been trapped in. 

“Ponds,” Rex wheezes. “Ribs,” his ori’vod disengages the hug, but keeps a firm hold on his shoulders. The Commander gives him a stern look before pulling him into a Keldabe kiss so fast they almost slam foreheads together. They stay like that for a long moment. Rex hadn’t realized how much he missed his ori’vod until that moment. 

“Rex,” Ponds murmurs. “Are you aware that your eyes are blue?” And just like that, the moment is over. Rex huffs and pushes his ori’vod away via a hand to the face. 

“I have seen myself in a mirror, vod,” Rex rolls his eyes. Ponds gives him a osik-eating smile and ruffles his hair. 

“Is that why you let your hair grow so long, vod’ika? Trying to hide your ugly mug?”  

“Kriff off, at least I actually have hair.” Ponds smacks him upside the head. 

“You do know I’m already terribly injured, right? There’s no need for you to add abuse to the list.” 

“And whose fault is that, hmm?”

“Are you blaming me for getting blown up?” 

“Of course not! That would be insensitive, Rex’ika. I’m blaming you for the di’kutla decisions that came after it!”  Ponds growls. “You are lucky Cody’s hair hasn’t gone prematurely gray yet. Kark, you’re lucky I don’t have hair, or it would be gray! Just what has been going through your di’kut mind, huh? We all had to learn everything from Cody.” Ponds smacks him upside the head again. “That’s from Wolffe, by the way. He wishes he could be here to do it himself, but General Koon and the Wolfpack were diverted to Ryloth for another relief mission.” Ponds looks ready to smack him again. Rex raises his hands, trying to ward off further abuse. 

“Ponds,” Rex says weakly.

“Don’t ‘Ponds’ me, Rex’ika. When were you going to tell us that you had been going in and out of critical condition for the last month? Cody thought you were dead when he realized you never checked in after Valtameri and saw that your Lieutenant filed your report for you. Your medic Coric says you were in a coma for a ten-day. I hope you understand that you are never allowed to do that again, by the way.”

“What am I not allowed to do?” Rex wants clarification. 

“Let your Lieutenant write and file official reports. He’s horrible at it—made it sound like you were dead. Also, you are not allowed to land yourself any more comas. Those are bad for your health.” Rex sighs in exasperation. Ponds smacks him upside the head again. 

“That’s from Bly. He wants to know that hiding that blaster wound was stupid and reckless. And he’s the one who walked on a broken ankle for a whole ten-day.” 

“Hypocrite.” Rex distinctly remembers reaming Bly out for that. They had all feared that Bly had pushed himself to the point of decommissioning. He had broken his ankle sparring right before an important campaign, and out of shame or guilt or stupidity hadn’t wanted to worry his General. So he hid the fact that his ankle was broken until he broke it even worse during a skirmish. The di’kut had almost gotten his foot amputated. As it was, he needed multiple surgeries, intensive PT, and a whole month’s medical leave on Coruscant. General Secura had not been happy. The Shebse had been even less pleased. 

“No no, I’m with him on this one. You should have learned this lesson from him.”

Rex sighs, rolling his eyes. “Any more loving messages from the Shebse?” 

“Fox said you were the pet he never wanted anyway. But he also offered to pull some strings and get you a job escorting unimportant officials if the 501st ships out before you are fully recovered. He says it’s a hard job, but not a difficult one. Also.” Ponds tries to slap his head again, but Rex blocks. Ponds slaps him with his other hand and clicks his tongue. 

“You know better than to try and escape punishment like that Rex’ika. I know I raised you better than that.” 

“Cody and Alpha 17 raised me,” Rex snarks. 

“Wrong. I adopted you the moment you bit Wolffe. And you are the one who decided I was the mom of this family, so now you have to live with the consequences of that decision.” 

Ponds smacks him one more time. “That one’s for Cody.” 

“I can slap him myself, thank you,” Cody has a massive pile of blankets wrapped around his arms and shoulders. Hardcase, Jesse, Coric, and Fives trail in after him. Rex glances around Ponds and realizes that Echo, Kix, and the shiny have been spreading out their supplies all over the floor of his quarters and pretending to ignore the conversation going on between the Shebse in the room. 

“Rex’ika,” Cody smacks him upside the head. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’m going to sit on you and force you to watch as I paint your armor yellow and transfer you back to the 212th where I can keep an eye on you.” 

“I don’t think General Skywalker would let you, Codes.” 

“He would if I convince General Kenobi to increase his fighter plane allowances for the cycle. He’d trade you in a heartbeat.” 

“I’ll lick all of your ration bars,” Rex threatens in return. “And I’ll start reciting your poetry in front of the men at mealtimes.”

“The Commander writes poetry?” Fives whispers to Jesse. The scout hushes him and smacks him on the shoulder. Truly, the finest soldiers in the 501st, those two. 

“You’re a menace,” Cody informs him. Rex shrugs, failing to hide the osik-eating grin creeping across his face. 

“The ground is solid under my feet, but the sky gapes wide—“ Cody’s hand slaps over his mouth. Rex licks it. Cody gives him a grimace of disgust and wipes his hand off on Rex’s shoulder. 

“Come on, menace, let’s get you in the nest then, shall we?” Ponds slips his hands under Rex’s knees and back, clearly planning to carry him. 

“That’s Captain menace to you,” Rex corrects. 

“Menace’ika, I am perfectly capable of dropping you on your shebs, especially if you continue to struggle,” Ponds loosens his grip, prepared to carry out his threat. Rex waits until Ponds has set him down in the center of the nest to stick his tongue out. He does have a brain, after all, no matter what his older brothers say. Cody and Ponds look at each other. Coming to a consensus, they both flop onto the nest and sprawl across him, pinning his arms, legs, and chest with their bodyweight. 

“Oof! Get your karking shebs off me!” Rex snaps, trying to squirm out from under them. For his efforts, he gets elbowed in the stomach.

“No, I don’t think we will,” Cody says from where he is smugly draped across Rex’s legs. 

“You could at least take off your shells,” Rex mutters. 

“Or you could listen to us the first time,” Cody reminds him. 

“With all due respect, Commander, listening is not the Captain’s strong suit,” Kix helpfully informs them. Ponds chokes on a laugh. Rex pouts. As the vode begin to settle, Rex feels the exhaustion he had been pushing off. The Force is a warm buzz in the back of his head. It’s almost…peaceful. 

“Private Span?”

“Yes Lieutenant Kix?” 

“What’s wrong with your thumb?”

“Oh! I uh— I broke it?” 

“You broke it? And you didn’t think to report to medical??” 

And just like that, the peace is gone, like stardust in solar winds. The CMO grabs the shiny by the ear, continuing his rant as he drags Span to medical. He’s just glad Kix’s ire isn’t directed at him for once. 

“Poor Span,” Hardcase says solemnly. 

“He will be missed,” Fives agrees. 

“Shut up, some of us are actually trying to sleep,” Cody grumbles. He already sounds halfway there. Rex wonders how much sleep his ori’vod has been getting recently. 

Not enough, apparently. 

After a few minutes, Cody and Ponds are both asleep on top of him. Both are still in their armor. Rex sighs. Pond’s backplate is digging uncomfortably into his ribs, and he’s pretty sure his whole left side is going numb from lack of circulation. He huffs and closes his eyes, allowing himself a small smile as he drifts off after them. 

His brothers are all busy, and Rex is bored. 

In the course of the last hour or so, Rex has beaten every single game Kix uploaded onto his data-pad to “keep him occupied.” He is bored. He is so kriffing bored he might die. He’s itching to do anything, even read reports and file formwork, just to keep his sanity intact. There’s always flimsiwork. Always. It’s like, the first rule of command. 

Unfortunately, Kix seems to have anticipated this. Sometimes he wonders if the medic doesn’t also have some bantha osik Force powers. Or maybe Rex really isn’t as subtle as he used to be. Rex is scowling at his work-proofed data pad when he hears the doors to his quarters swish open. Span awkwardly shuffles his way into the room, the door almost hitting him as it closes. He has a splint around the thumb of his right hand. 

“Captain Rex?” Rex straightens up as much as he can against the cushions at his back. There is not enough dignity to be found on the floor. The poor kid’s back is ramrod straight at attention, but his eyes and feet shift nervously, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. They really are sending them out younger and younger these days—Rex misses when he was the exception, rather than the rule. 

“At ease private. We are on shore leave.” Not to mention the fact that Rex is a little incapable of formality at the moment. The shiny only half-relaxes. He reminds Rex a little of himself—unsure, tightly wound, afraid to offend. “Wolffe is the one who bites, not me,” Rex grins, letting his eyes glint. The shiny replaces his awkward stiffness with utter confusion. There, that’s better. 

“Sir?” Span stops himself, brow furrowing as he tries to piece together what Rex just said. 

“Yes, Span?” Rex lets amusement color his voice. He can practically see the gears grinding to a halt in the shiny’s head. 

“Is it true that you are squamates with Commanders Cody and Ponds?” He blurts. “Obviously, you all seem to be close, but some of the vode were saying that you grew up together as cadets, but that can’t possibly be true because they are all CCs and you’re a—“ Span trails off, a blush trailing across his cheeks. Some officers get offended by the emphasis of CC vs CT designation. Rex personally doesn’t mind—after all, he was the first CT to be slotted for officer training, to have that possibility even considered for “regular infantry” troops. 

“At ease Span. I can see why you would be confused. You’re right that I’m a CT, not a CC. But I also grew up in Squad Shebs with Commanders Cody, Wolffe, Ponds, Fox, and Bly.” Span’s eyes grow wide in amazement. 

“If you don’t mind my asking, how did you manage that, Sir?” Span’s face is wide with hero-worship. It’s something Rex will probably have to knock out of him later, but for now he lets himself feel amused fondness at the shiny’s eagerness. 

“I snuck onto the advanced training grounds to run some combat sims, and managed to get so caught up in it that I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone. Squad Shebs had shown up for their scheduled practice, only to find a brat CT doing their sims for them. Wolffe tried to fight me, and I bit him. Ponds and Cody tried to adopt me right then and there. Fox was a little less enthused, but I like to think he’s warmed up to me by now,” Span is practically vibrating with glee. 

“Is that where the CC-CT adoption tradition started?” He asks. Rex blinks. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” Span’s face falls a bit, but he lightens right back up. 

“The Kaminoans started allowing CCs to observe CTs and select some they found “worthy” to train with them or get specialized instruction. A lot of those CTs eventually get command-tracked, so it's considered a high honor to have a CC's attention. I never was much better than average, but my old batch-mate Spades is a Captain in the 810th now.” Rex blinks again. 

“When the long-necks saw me interacting with the Shebse, they threw me into the ocean,” he deadpans. Span freezes, eyes wide and uncertain. Rex feels a little bad. The poor shiny looks completely lost for words. 

“I can’t tell if you are joking or not, sir.” 

“Probably for the best, Private.” Rex helpfully does not elaborate. Span awkwardly clears his throat. 

“If you don’t mind my asking, sir, what are the Commanders like?” Span’s eyes are shining again, probably expecting heroic tales of competent, brave, natural leaders. 

Rex is trying very hard not to laugh. He doesn’t want to crush the shiny’s dreams like that. But his ori’vode are all di’kuts. Every single one of them. Highly competent Commanders—the best in the GAR, even, but “insane. They are all about as sensible as the Jetti they are stationed with.” Span has been in the 501st long enough to realize that a sensible Jetti does not exist, at least not in their near vicinity. Except for maybe Mace Windu. Ponds really got off lucky with that assignment. 

Span blinks, surprised at this revelation. “Even Commander Cody, sir? He seems so level-headed?” 

“Commander Cody is probably the most competent vod you will ever meet,” Rex agrees. “And yet he also prefers to fight droids hand to hand. He has broken his leg kicking the head off a droid before.” Span actually looks impressed at that. That is not at all something the shiny should be inspired by. Rex now understands Kix a little better. 

Before the conversation can continue, the doors swish open and Kix stalks in. The frown on his face evaporates when he meets eyes with Rex. “You’re still here?” Surprise is heavy in the medic’s tone. 

“I did promise to behave,” Rex huffs. 

“Respectfully Captain, you also agreed to behave on two separate occasions on the way back to Coruscant, and yet I believe you said you were 0-11 on listening to me,” Kix reminds him. 

The medic rounds on Span. “You were supposed to report to the Med Bay over an hour ago, shiny.” Span shrinks, eyes flickering to Rex for support. Rex shakes his head. Span is about to learn the hard way that the medics are inevitable. There’s a reason Rex has been in the Med Bay for the last month, and its not because he was winning his battles. 

“Oh, uhm, sorry, Kix sir?” Span fumbles out. 

“Oh, you will be,” Kix agrees. He grabs Span’s hand, twisting the broken thumb this way and that. Span yelps and tries to yank his hand away, only to freeze when Kix levels him with a hard glare. 

“You’ve been using this hand, haven’t you?” Kix accuses him. Span’s wide-eyed stare is more than enough proof. Kix sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just. Go see Coric. I don’t have the energy to deal with you right now.” 

“Yes sir,” Span retreats as quickly as he can, running like a fire has been set under his boots. Rex doesn’t blame the poor kid. 

“So, what brings you here, Kix?” Rex eyes the bundle Kix is holding in his hands. The medic grins and lays out his package on the bed. Metal tools glint in the low light of the room.  

“I thought you might appreciate a shave and a haircut, sir,” Rex runs his fingers through his hair and hums. He hasn’t had his hair grow this long since after Naboo—the last time he spent the better part of a month on med leave. 

Kix drapes the cloth around Rex’s shoulders and leads him to the office chair stored in the far corner of the room. Rex hums as Kix runs the razor over his head. It only takes a minute, and yet Rex feels much more like himself when Kix is done. He looks at the long strands of curly hair now abandoned on the floor. It really was getting too long. Kix sweeps it up with a small broom and deposits it in the small waste bin Rex keeps by his desk. He then helps Rex shave the little bits of stubble that were beginning to grow along his jaw. 

“Much better, sir,” Kix approves his own handiwork with a satisfied hum. Rex nods. 

“Kix, do you think I can move to the commons for a few hours?” 

“If you promise to stay on a couch, I don’t see why not,” Kix agrees amicably. He hands Rex his cane, watching with careful eyes as Rex hobbles the stretch to the communal section of the barracks. Along the way, brothers stop their games and conversations to watch. Rex resolutely keeps his legs steady as he shuffles towards the couch. Kix hovers a little too close, but lets him do all the walking under his own power. By the time Rex makes it to the couch, he sinks into the cushions with a sigh. 

The vode around him erupt into cheers. 

Kix grins at him, “the boys are glad to have you back, Cap.” The Force is buzzing in his head, in his chest, warm and excited. 

Rex gives the medic a grin of his own. “Glad to be back, Kix.” 

“Aw man, the Captain cut his hair!” Fives bounds up to the couch, disappointment clear on his face. “I never got a chance to pet it! It looked so soft and fluffy,” Rex quirks an eyebrow, unimpressed. Fives raises a hand towards Rex’s head, mourning the loss of “fluffy haired Cap,” Rex smacks his hand away. 

“No,” Rex warns him. Ignoring the subtle cue to back off, Fives goes in for attempt number two. Rex firmly plants a hand on Fives’ face and whacks him in the ribs with his cane. Fives backs off with a yelp, the vode around them snickering at his misfortune.

“Aw man, Rexter cut his hair? I was just about to try and braid it!” Ahsoka jumps over the back of the couch, landing right by his side. 

“What would you know about braiding hair, vod’ika?” Rex asks, pointedly poking at her lek. 

“Skyguy has let me braid his hair before,” the Togruta sniffs. “I’ll have you know that I am very good at braiding!” She scratches her fingernails through the short fuzz of his hair. Rex sighs and lets himself relax at the comforting touch. 

“No fair! The Commander gets to pet your hair, but I don’t?” Fives whines. Rex opens one eye to glare at the ARC trooper. Fives promptly shuts his mouth. Damn straight. 

“You cut your hair?” Great, now the General has an opinion on this too. 

“Yes sir. It was getting long, and Kix offered to cut it so..” Rex shrugs. Skywalker pouts. 

“It was so fluffy though,” the General continues to pout. Rex feels his eye twitch. No one made this big of a deal when he shaved his hair down after Naboo. Granted, he was also a constantly sweaty pile of half-dead clone with greasy, matted hair for the better part of that stint of Med Leave. 

“Respectfully sir, what did you want to see me for?” If Skywalker says formwork, Rex might actually take him up on it. He still has another day of bedrest under Kix’s version of Master Che’s recovery plan. Frankly, he’s bored. Ponds and Cody have been locked in meetings with their Generals and the rest of the Jetti Council—apparently the Chancellor wants Skywalker to go to Malastare to help stop a Separatist advance and work out a treaty with the Dugs for fuel. Kenobi tried to offer the 212th to go in their place so that the 501st could extend their leave, but the Chancellor was insistent, and with The Negotiator still undergoing repairs they are unlikely to be battle-ready in time. So now the 187th is also volunteering to accompany the 501st. 

Overprotective ori’vode. Rex doesn’t know whether he wants to thank them or strangle them. 

“I think it is time we started your training, student mine,” Skywalker smirks around his poor imitation of General Kenobi. “We’re just going to start with a simple Force Bond to solidify your apprenticeship.” Rex feels a twinge of uncertainty. Part of him thought that the General was going to put off their training, the way he put off most important projects. He hasn’t had nearly enough time to mentally prepare himself. Acknowledging he has The Force is one thing. Purposefully training and learning to control this power is another. It makes it feel too real. Too important. He’s in entirely foreign terrain when it comes to The Force. 

“Force Bond, sir?” He squeaks out instead. 

“Don’t worry Rex, it’s just a training bond. It helps me get a sense of your emotions and regulate your shields if you are unable to. It’s supposed to help us be closer as master and pada—student.” Skywalker grins, but Rex does not feel that assured. He just got used to having The Force in his head, and he’s not sure he wants the General rooting around his emotions and thoughts and feelings. 

The General must sense some of his hesitance, because he begins to backtrack. “Of course, we only need a training bond if you want one. Totally up to you. I just thought it was the first logical step because, well, that’s what Ahsoka and I did, and what Obi-Wan did with me. But your situation is a bit different, and if you don’t want to I’ll find another work around—“ 

Rex holds up his hand, stopping Skywalker from continuing his attempt at explaining his reasoning. 

“Is a Force Bond permanent?” Skywalker shakes his head no. Rex lets out a sigh of relief. That makes this decision a lot easier. “I trust you, General. If you think a Force Bond is the right place to start, then that’s where we will start. If it doesn’t work out, we can always try a different approach, no harm done.” The General visibly relaxes. 

“Yeah, yeah, I can work with that.” 

“Okay, so how does this work?” 

“We have to start by entering a light meditative trance,” Skywalker’s face scrunches up with disgust. Rex is right with him on that one. Sitting still for too long makes his skin itch. They sit on the floor of Skywalker’s quarters, knees almost touching as they face each other. “Take my hands, and try to feel my presence in The Force,” Skywalker instructs. Rex sighs, but does as the General says. 

“I can’t feel you,” he says after a moment. 

“Oh right. You need to open a pathway in your shield. Kind of like a door.” That sounds incredibly complex. He can feel something poking at his shields, a gentle nudge. Rex concentrates on opening his shield at the point of contact. 

Instead of opening a path, his shields drop entirely. Pain flashes through his head so quickly and violently that Rex physically reels back, cursing. His old shields immediately slam up out of instinct, cutting him off from The Force entirely. “Karking Sith’s hells,” he hisses through his teeth. After a few deep breaths he trusts himself enough to put up the flexible shields again. 

“You almost had it,” Skywalker encourages. “Try again.” 

Rex does not want to try again. Failure kriffing hurt. But, Skywalker is staring at him with that earnest expression of his, and Rex isn’t one to give up after one failed attempt. He takes a deep breath and tries again. 

As natural as breathing. As self-adjusting as his heart rate. Rex extends his shields, opening a door where he feels Skywalker’s presence pushing against his own. The shields open, and The Force swarms in, buzzing and roiling and sparking. He gasps at the overwhelming flood of information. Pain trills in, drilling into his temples. He tries to pull away, to put the barrier back up, but he can hardly focus, and it burns.

“Almost there Rex,” Skywalker assures. The words barely register. Rex doesn’t think he can take one more second of this. He claws for some anchor in his own mind, something to ground him so he can put up his shields. This was a mistake. He’s not good at this whole being Force-Sensitive thing. He should give up now, try to shove The Force into a corner of his mind and keep it where it cannot touch him. Cannot hurt him. He finds his ground, ready to pull back—

Then the bridge connects, and Rex can feel his mind settle, a new space in his head that feels distinctly like his General nestled up in the greater part of his mind that hosts The Force. 

“Good job Rex, just like that,” Skywalker praises. Rex feels a flush of pride flare through him. Skywalker chuckles, and the pride is replaced with embarrassment when Rex realizes that the General felt that. 

This is going to take some getting used to. 

“At ease Rex, I know it can be a little strange at first,” Skywalker’s presence retreats slightly, so that he is doing the mental equivalent of standing in the doorway. “If you want, we can go back and forth to adjust the Bond to where you feel most comfortable.” Rex nods, not sure he remembers how to speak yet. 

“Master, you promised that you would help me through the first forms of Jar’Kai three hours ago!” Ahsoka slips into the room without knocking, stopping for a moment to blankly stare at Rex. “Oh, hello Rexter!”

“Commander,” Rex nods, suddenly feeling very out of place. 

“What are you doing in here?” The Togruta presses.

“Ahsoka! Rex and I were just forming our Force Bond!” Skywalker looks pleased with himself. 

Ahsoka suddenly looks less sure of herself. “Oh. If you’re busy with Rexter, I guess I can wait…”

“Don’t worry about it vod’ika. I think I’ve had enough for today. Feel free to continue bullying the General into actually teaching you,” Rex pushes himself to his feet, exhausted. He misses his old stamina. Ahsoka brightens up, even as Skywalker looks more resigned. Serves the General right. 

He scoops up his cane, already planning to retreat to his quarters and sneak in a nap. Maybe then he can start planning how to convince Kix to let him anywhere within a standard mile of a kitchen. 

“Oh, Rexter, Cody was looking for you,” Ahsoka chirps. Rex sighs. He has a feeling that he’s in for another round of interrogation. So much for that nap, he mourns. 

Skywalker tries to hide a snicker. 

This Force Bond thing is going to get old really quick.

Cody, as it turns out, is waiting for Rex in his quarters. 

“You cut your hair?” Cody doesn’t quite whine the way Fives did, but he does sound disappointed. 

Why, in the Sith’s favorite personal hell, does everyone feel the need to have an opinion on Rex’s haircut? “Yes, I cut my hair. Very good observation,” Rex huffs. 

“Thank you, I take immense pride in my observation skills,” Cody unceremoniously pulls Rex into a headlock and down onto the bed with him. “Which is why I want you to spill. What is going on in that di’kutla head of yours?” 

Rex was hoping Cody would at least have the grace to shoot around the droid for a bit. But, as always, Cody goes straight for the kill instead. 

“Cody…” Rex wants to tell him. Cody is his ori’vod—he’s never hidden his problems like this before. It’s almost a physical ache in his chest. It’s okay, Little One, The Force soothes. But Rex bites his tongue. 

Keeping his secret in the upper ranks of the 501st is one thing. His vode work with him side-by-side, and Skywalker has always walked a fine line between following orders and doing his own thing. Cody, despite being his ori’vod, is also his CO, and is therefore duty-bound to tell Kenobi if he believes that Rex’s powers are either an asset or a liability. And Kenobi is a member of the Jetti Council, and likely also required to bring something like a Force-Sensitive clone to the attention of the whole Jetti Order. 

The lines between brotherhood and duty have always been hard to balance. Rex knows Cody better than he knows anyone else, but even he does not know what his brother would do. He can’t ask his ori’vod to put Rex above his duty. Above his commitment to the GAR. 

Is he selfish for keeping this to himself? For hiding the whole range of his abilities from the GAR, from the Jetti? How many brothers could Rex save if he could openly use his connection to The Force? Is he right to prioritize keeping himself safe over making himself a greater asset to the GAR?

Is it smart to be cautious, or is Rex being a coward? 

“I believe an explanation was supposed to follow my name,” Cody huffs. He pulls Rex further into the headlock, shaking him lightly. “Now, spit it out, or I’m dragging the rest of the Shebse in here to help me pry it out of you.” Cody tightens his grip, lightly choking him. 

“What do you want to know?” Rex gasps out around the headlock. Cody shakes him roughly for his stubbornness, but Rex just grits his teeth. 

“There’s something going on with you beyond just physical injury and recovery, and we are going to get to the bottom of it right now,” Cody growls. 

Rex can feel Cody’s determination, and knows the Marshall Commander is not going to back down. His mind races. He’s never been good at lying. Cody reaches for his wrist comm, clearly about to make good on his threat to drag in the rest of the Shebse. 

“My eyes are blue,” Rex blurts. Cody’s hand still hovers above his comm. “Kix says its due to a combination of severe stress and head trauma, but—“ 

“But it makes you think the Kaminii are going to find out and try to do something about it?” Cody fills in for him. Rex nods, relieved that his brother is drawing his own conclusions. It makes it easier to misdirect the conversation. If he can lead Cody into making his own answers based on half-truths, Rex doesn’t have to outright lie. Cody finally moves his hand away from his comm, rescinding his threat. For now, at least. 

“I’ve also been on Med Leave for longer than is typically allowed,” Rex admits. “You know how they ship in vode who take too long to heal?” Cody tightens his grip on Rex. 

“No one is sending you to Kamino, Rex. Not me, not Kenobi, and not Skywalker. You know that.”

“But, if the 501st leaves before I’m off Med Leave, I’ll be shipped to a Med Center to carry out the rest of my leave anyway,” and outside of the protective circle of the 212th and 501st, Rex doesn’t say. 

“That’s why Fox offered to adopt you into the Guard for a bit, Rex’ika,” Cody flicks him in the center of his forehead with a fond huff. “You’re not going anywhere we can’t keep an eye on you.” Rex can feel Cody’s protectiveness, burning through the room like the Sun painted on his shell. It just makes his chest feel heavier. 

“Now, is that all you’ve been thinking about? Or are there more di’kutla thoughts we need to knock out of your head” Cody elbows him in the tender spot of his ribs. Rex hisses and swats Cody right back, but there is no real heat in the movement. He just feels tired, heavy in a way sleep can’t fix. 

“I—I thought I was going to die, when I was drowning,” Rex admits, before he can stop the words from spilling out. He doesn’t know what specific instance he is even talking about. He has been drowning for a long time. 

[maybe he was always drowning, and never saved] 

The Force is still and silent in his head. 

He knows this is a heavy burden to place on his ori’vod’s shoulders—death is a reality that every vod must face, but it never gets easier. There are some things they all know, but never talk about. In this war, the vode really only have each other, and even that gets taken from them over and over and over again. 

Has it really only been a year? 

They do not talk about how hard it is to lose. To be the one left to clean up after the battle, knowing they will be sent out to die and lose and fight again and again. That death is the only thing they are guaranteed. After all, each and every one of them was made to die. Sent to the front lines so that nat-borns wouldn’t have to. A meat shield between droid armies and the citizens of the Republic. 

The Vode do not talk about death. 

Cody slips his arm around Rex’s shoulder, pulling him into a one-armed hug. Rex leans into him, trying to ignore the growing sense of guilt and shame churning in his stomach. He should not be accepting Cody’s attempts to comfort him when he’s hiding such a large secret. 

But Cody’s arms are strong, and Rex is tired. 

“I almost died,” Rex chokes out. And maybe this is what he means to say. That he had almost died, and every time, it had almost felt like relief. That deep down, he still feels like he is dying. That at any moment, he could just let go, and sink back into the Empty Sea. 

Cody tightens his hug, and the dam breaks. Rex sobs, mourning everything and anything. The brothers he has lost, and the brothers he will lose. The fact that he has control over nothing, not even his own luck. The cruelty of this war. That he had fought so hard to survive Kamino, and all that awaited him outside that stormy planet was more Death. That he may die before this war even ends—and if he doesn’t, what will be left for him then--what will be left for any of them at the end? The fact that he is not safe, will never be safe. That he has powers that can save lives, but cannot use them without putting his own life at risk. Without bringing Death and Wrath down on his head. That he cannot tell Cody these things, because they were made for war and have a duty to it. He sobs until his head aches, until his ribs hitch with each breath. The Force offers nothing. And then Rex is silent, anchored only by Cody’s arms around him. By Cody’s breaths ghosting through the short fuzz of his hair, and Cody’s heartbeat pounding in his ear. 

They sit in silence for a long time. 

Rex wakes with a gasp, eyes achy and cheeks tight with dried tear stains. Cody has both his arms wrapped tightly around him like a protective shield, and Ponds at some point clambered into the bed on the other side, also wrapping his arms and one leg around Rex. He is effectively trapped in a web of ori’vod limbs. There is so much love and comfort radiating off of them that Rex sinks into it for a few moments. 

But then the thoughts begin to resurface, and Rex can’t push them away. His ori’vode are here now, but what if—

His hands are itching for something to do, but his armor is already clean and painted, and he has no access to the Training Salles or his pistols until Kix clears him from Med Leave. 

Rex slowly and carefully begins to pry his way out of the nest of arms and legs, asking The Force to keep Cody and Ponds asleep—they really look exhausted, and Rex doesn’t want to bother them with such heavy thoughts when there is nothing they can do about it. Somehow he manages, and the end result is him standing at the edge of his bed while Cody and Ponds snuggle the ever living kark out of each other. He makes sure to snap a picture, both for himself and to blackmail his brothers with later. 

In his burning need to do something, he forgets to grab his cane before he starts wandering the halls of the barracks. He ends up in the general barracks first, shuffling down the rows of bunks, checking on each of his sleeping troopers. Fives and Echo are crammed into the same bunk, two standard blankets on the floor. Rex huffs fondly, carefully tucking both blankets around the sleeping ARCs. Hardcase is snoring loudly, the vode next to him all sleeping with their heads tucked under their pillows. Jesse has a line of drool down his cheek and is precariously draped near the edge of his bunk, hand about to brush the floor. Span has his thumb in a cast now, several signatures drawn over the duraplaster. Kix is twitching, murmuring something incomprehensible. Rex waits a moment to make sure it is not a nightmare. When he still can’t tell, he lightly brushes his fingers through Kix’s buzzed hair, pushing peace and calm at him through The Force. Kix immediately settles with a sigh. 

Once he makes sure all his boys are there and settled, Rex slips out to wander the halls again. His feet take him to the Jetti’s quarters next. He sits outside General Skywalker’s room for a few minutes, trying to use his new Force Bond to tell how the General is feeling. Anakin seems to be asleep, but it is light, restless. He is anxious about something, and it is affecting his ability to sleep deeply. Rex concentrates and pushes peace and sleep at him. He smiles when he feels Skywalker make the transition into true rest. Good. The General needs it. 

Ahsoka is next, but the Togruta is already deeply asleep and peaceful. Skywalker must have managed to help burn out some of her boundless energy. 

So now he has checked up on everyone, but he has nothing else to do to keep his mind from spiraling. Rex paces until his hip aches and he has to sit down for a few minutes. Master Che’s challenge comes to mind, and Rex sighs, making his way to the kitchen. Maybe the holonet has some good prep-intensive recipes that are easy to cook. Or even recipes that don’t need to be baked at all (is that cheating? He’s not sure). Last time he tried to make a cake, so he’s staying away from that. 

After looking through the holonet for recipes, he settles on “bread.” It only has a few ingredients—flour, yeast, water, and salt. The directions look straightforward enough, and he won’t be able to confuse salt and sugar this time, or forget to add the eggs. 

After washing his hands, he pulls out a bowl and looks at the recipe, carefully following the directions. Add water to the bowl first, then mix in the flour and yeast. Rex uses his hands to mix it all together, enjoying the feeling of the flour and water becoming bread dough and squishing through his fingers. 

The next step says to “knead” the dough. Rex has no clue what that means. With a sigh, he pulls his hands out of the dough and washes them so he can look up a holovid to demonstrate and explain what it is. 

Kneading, as Rex finds out, is very cathartic. It takes a fair amount of strength to work the dough, and the motions are short and repetitive. He can focus on the feel of the dough under his hands. After awhile, the dough becomes really stiff and dense, and Rex figures that is a good stopping point. He drips water on top of the bread and covers it with a plastic bag. While he’s waiting for the dough to absorb the water, he starts prepping the oven and cleaning up his mess up until this point. He adds more water and the salt, kneading the dough again. By the time he’s done, the dough is hard to shape. He starts the process of letting the dough rise, sprinkling flour, shaping the loaf as he can, letting it sit. 

He didn’t realize there was so much sitting and doing nothing with bread. He wants to go back to kneading. 

By the time the bread is ready to go into the oven, Rex feels much calmer. He finds a pan to put his dough on. The recipe says to put the bread on the middle rack, but they only have a top rack and a bottom rack, so Rex shrugs and slides it onto the bottom rack, figuring he can check on it every few minutes. He doesn’t want to burn this, after all. 

He pulls it out after fifteen standard minutes, and the results are…enlightening. 

The outside is burnt (the bottom is resolutely stuck to the pan), and the inside is dry and dense—the whole thing is as tough as a rock. It didn’t rise nearly as much as the recipe suggested it would. All and all, a catastrophic failure. 

Rex snorts. 

He can shoot a droid from beyond the edge of his pistols’ accuracy range, keep up with Cody in hand-to-hand, and use The Force, but he can’t bake a simple loaf of bread. 

He should be ashamed of himself, but—

But, there is no one judging him on his bread making skills, and failure to properly bake bread won’t hurt him or lead his brothers to their deaths. 

Suddenly, Rex realizes the genius of Master Che’s assignment. She gave him a safe space to fail. He hasn’t felt any of the crushing panic that usually comes with failure, or not meeting standards and expectations. Instead, he’s standing in a kitchen at 2 in the morning, covered in flour and nothing is on fire and nobody is hurt—which is already better than his last attempt at baking. 

Rex grins, and begins pulling out the ingredients again. After all, Rex isn’t one to stop after one failed attempt. 

“Cody,” Ponds hisses. “Cody.”

Cody grumbles softly, trying to ignore the finger poking him in the forehead. 

“G’way P’nds,” he slurs out. 

“Rex is gone,” Ponds hisses. Cody’s eyes snap right open. Sure enough, it is not his blond vod’ika curled up in his arms. It’s Ponds. Cody yelps and jolts back in surprise, falling off the bed in the process. Ponds laughs at him, to which Cody shows his appreciation by flipping him off from his spot on the floor. 

“How in the karking hell did he get out from between us?” Ponds shrugs and shakes his head. 

“His cane is still here,” Ponds notes. He picks it up, swinging it back and forth and rolling it over his hand like a practice stave. “He must have been kidnapped!” Cody rolls his eyes at the theatrics. 

“And what makes you say that Ponds?” 

“Well, someone got Rex out from between us—without waking us, I might add—and didn’t think to grab his cane. I sense a Jetti is at work,” Ponds deduces. 

“Whatever happened, it’s obvious he’s not in this room, so there’s no use standing around.” The door opens, and Cody is hit by the smell of something strange as he steps into the hallway. Cody and Ponds spare a moment to glance at each other before heading towards the commons, where the smell is stronger. 

As they get closer, the smell becomes distinctly burnt. They start sprinting. 

The sound of vode panicking is the first sign that they are heading in the right direction. Cody and Ponds finally round the corner to the commons to find that the communal kitchen is an absolute disaster. Flour coats every surface in sight, white handprints covering the walls as well as the blacks of the vode gathered in a circle around something on the floor. 

“What is burning?” Cody demands. The vode’s heads snap up to meet his eyes. Hardcase, Jesse, and Fives. 

“Oh kark, the bread!” Jesse exclaims. Hardcase yanks the oven open and reaches for something. “Careful Hardcase! Don’t hit him!” 

“Di’kut, grab a towel!” Fives hisses. Hardcase withdraws his hands like he’s been burned, a sheepish smile on his face. He grabs a towel and pulls out a tray, revealing a lump of something that can only be identified as black and inedible. 

“The Captain’s going to be so disappointed,” Jesse mourns. “He really thought he had it right that time.” 

“Where is Rex?” Ponds asks. The 501st troopers look anywhere but the Commander’s faces. 

“Well?” Cody levels them with his sternest Commander Glare. The vode all look distinctly guilty as they continue to avoid eye contact.

“Uhhh, napping?” Hardcase finally says, shifting his weight and keeping his eyes on a spot behind Cody’s left ear. The heavy gunner yelps a moment later when Jesse elbows him in the side. 

Cody finally decides to enter the kitchen and see the damage for himself. 

Rounding the counter is worse. Flour coats the floor like a layer of dust, a good corner of it by the sink wet and pasty. Rex is on the floor at their feet. 

Wait. 

“What happened?” Cody gasps, immediately kneeling down next to his vod’ika, hands ghosting over his chest and head as he looks for signs of injury. There’s no visible wound, or at the very least no blood, but Rex’s hair is white, face completely slack. 

“He uh, fell. Must’ve hit his head on the floor,” Hardcase bravely supplies. Ponds kneels down next to Cody, hands already moving under his back and knees to scoop up their vod’ika. 

Rex groans, face scrunching up as his eyelids flutter. His eyes open a crack, gazing blearily at them. 

“C’dy? P’nds?” He murmurs. “Wh’t’r you doin’ here?” 

“The real question is what are you doing passed out on the floor of the kitchen, vod’ika?” Ponds tsks. 

Rex’s eyes go wide. “Jesse, SitRep. How is it?” 

Jesse’s face scrunches in a grimace. “No good Cap. We got a little distracted by you…” the Lieutenant gestures hopelessly at Rex and the floor, “it's burnt. Unsalvageable.” Rex closes his eyes with grief. After a moment he tries to sit up, only to grimace, a hand twitching towards his hip. He gets about halfway into a sitting position before giving up bracing himself on his elbows. A cloud of flour puffs out from his hair at the motion. 

“Forget something, vod’ika?” Ponds asks with a knowing tone, waving the cane within Rex’s eyesight. Rex winces. 

“Now, just what is going on here?” Cody demands. 

“We are, uh, baking?” Rex offers. Cody makes a point of scanning the room before raising his eyebrow at Rex. 

“Didn’t Kix give you an all time ban from kitchens ‘for the health and safety of every man on board The Resolute?’” Cody quotes.

“We aren’t on board the Resolute right now, are we?” Rex grumbles testily. 

“Explain this, then, if you don’t mind,” Cody gestures to Rex’s place on the floor. 

“I slipped?” Rex tries. He uses his hands to finally push himself the rest of the way into sitting. Cody watches as Rex slowly tucks his legs underneath himself in order to stand. Jesse extends a hand, and Rex gratefully takes it, unsubtly keeping his weight off his left leg until he is upright and sways, off balance. The moment he does try to put weight on both feet to steady himself his hip buckles. Rex curses, but Cody and Hardcase’s quick reactions save him from a one-way trip back to the floor. Ponds gracefully steps in and scoops Rex up into a bridal carry. 

“Hey!” Rex squawks. “Put me down!” 

“Cody, would you be so kind as to grab Menace’ika a chair?” Ponds sing-songs. Cody grabs a bar-stool from the other side of the counter, and Rex is not-so-gracefully deposited on top of it. Rex huffs, glares, crosses his arms, and pouts, but he stays on the chair. Ponds ruffles their vod’ika’s hair, a plume of flour creating a halo. “That’s better. Now, what are you baking?” 

“Bread,” Rex grumbles. Ponds blinks. He makes two strides to the counter, picking up one of three misshapen and blackened lumps and banging it against the counter. Black flakes of crust and dusty char leave a ring on the counter. Ponds gives Rex an incredulous look. 

“This is supposed to be bread?” The Commander attempts to yank it into halves, gives up, and uses the edge of the counter to gradually snap the loaf in half. 

“Besides the obvious fact of it being burnt, this is so over-kneaded I don’t even know where to begin my insults,” Ponds declares.

“Kneading is my favorite part,” Rex mumbles defensively. 

“I’m sure it is, but there is a limit to how much you should do it if you want something edible to come out of the oven.”

“What do you know about baking bread?” Rex questions, defensiveness and suspicion openly on his face. 

“Plenty. General Windu makes bread every now and then. Even took the time to show me how once,” Ponds sniffs, playful superiority brimming in the way he holds himself. Cody rolls his eyes—they all know Ponds was most definitely not paying attention to the bread when Windu showed him how to make it. Ponds is an avid gossiper and, apparently, the High General Windu also has a propensity for gossip—they were probably bitching about everything and everything from the Relationship Drama of the GAR to the Jedi Council to the Senate’s politics. “Now, Hardcase, Jesse, Fives, get out the ingredients we need. One of you start sweeping up this mess. None of you are leaving this kitchen until all you di’kuts can produce an edible loaf of bread.” 

“Do I even want to ask what you are doing here, sir?” Coric asks Rex. The medic is standing in what he’s pretty sure used to be the kitchen. Flour and and water make a beautiful lumpy paste on the floor, and several vod are slumped against the counters and each other, asleep, including Commanders Cody and Ponds. There are several scorch marks on the ceiling, and mangled lumps of something on the counter. The microwave is beyond broken, banged up and pulled out of the wall. The smell of burned food and melted duraplastic is distinct. Hardcase has a pieces of dried dough covering his hands and head and lap. Jesse, equally dough-covered, has a noticeable bruise on his forehead. Fives’ hair is more white than dark blackish-brown.

Rex is sitting perched on a barstool, arms crossed and eyes glinting. 

“I believe Ponds was in the middle of showing us how to produce an edible loaf of bread.” 

“Captain, it is good to see you,” Master Che greets. “You are looking much better than the last time we parted.” Despite these words, the healer takes a moment to strip his top blacks and prod his ribs and ilium and back herself, humming with approval. Rex can’t stop the warm smile that pulls at his lips.

“A week is a long time to heal, Master, and I have The Force to help me along,” Rex huffs with amusement. Medics are all the same. 

“Yes, I suppose your physical recovery has come along quite well. I trust you have made similar progress in your other assignment?” 

Rex nods, picking up a special parcel out from a warming bag he had set down during his surprise inspection. He unwraps the layers of cloth to reveal a perfectly golden brown loaf of bread, still warm from the oven. 

“I had to smuggle it out of the barracks, but I managed using a few tricks,” Rex hints with a mischievous smile. He had spent all week studying the science and techniques in order to understand and refine his bread-baking skills. Ahsoka and the men of Torrent were more than willing to be his test subjects once he figured out how to make an edible loaf (Hardcase is willing to eat many things regardless of whether or not they have the traditional label of ‘food’). He’s pretty sure Anakin has already ordered excessive amounts of yeast and various types of flour to store on The Resolute. 

The healer pinches off a section of the offered loaf, humming her approval at the thick, flaky crust combined with the soft, airy insides. She takes a bite, eyes widening. 

“Dear Captain, your talents as a bread maker outshine those of most professionals,” she praises. Rex blushes and offers her the rest of the loaf. She tears off a large chunk and hands it to him. They eat together in silence, The Force warm and happy as it buzzes between them. 

“You are leaving soon then, I take it?” The healer sounds disappointed. Rex can’t help but share the sentiment. Being on Med Leave and shore leave at the same time is the closet Rex has ever gotten to a vacation. 

“We ship out for Malastare tomorrow,” Rex confirms. “Initial reports say a large Separatist invasion force is headed towards the planet. The 501st and 187th are forming a combined defensive, but some scientist is advocating for the chance to use some sort of droid-specific bomb, so we may not see that much fighting. If everything goes right, we will primarily be tasked with peace keeping and treaty negotiation,” Rex says hopefully. He can feel some relief from the Twi’lek at those words. 

“I hope you plan to continue baking?”

“I don’t think the 501st is going to let me stop anytime soon,” Rex admits with a laugh. In all honesty, he doesn’t want to give it up either. Baking has done more for him than sparring and target practice ever has. The restless anxiety that has been tearing him apart is quiet now. He hasn’t felt overwhelmed by grief, or mourned losses that have yet to happen. He feels calm, centered. His chest and shoulders aren’t quite as heavy.

Rex’s comm beeps. “Captain, are you ready to head out?” Skywalker’s voice chirps through the comms. 

“On my way, General.” Rex gathers up his supplies. 

“I expect you to stop by the Temple for a check-up whenever you next have shore leave, Captain. And I may throw in some lessons on Force Healing if you bring a loaf of bread with you,” she offers. 

“I would be honored, Master Che,” Rex salutes the healer, smiling as he turns to leave. 

“Oh, and Captain?” Rex pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “If you push yourself to the point of collapse and sickness again, I will find out, I will find you, and you will answer to me,” the Healer’s smile has too many teeth showing for her words to be anything but a promise.

“Dutifully noted, Master,” Rex finally reaches the doorway. Skywalker and Tano are waiting for him, the Togruta bouncing on her feet. 

“There you are Rexter. Skyguy was starting to worry that you got lost,” Ahsoka grins, all cheek and sass, a burst of sunlight in The Force. 

Rex smiles. Coruscant teems with life around them, hearts and minds buzzing as citizens go about their final tasks of the day. As they head back to where The Resolute has been docked, Rex takes comfort in the steady presence of Anakin Skywalker curled up in his mind, even as his General and Commander take turns pointing out cute kids and interesting foods and favorite shops. 

“Oh Captain! I almost forgot!” Ahsoka excitedly pulls out a vial of something blue. He inspects it carefully. “Commander Cody said you liked having your nails painted, so I got you your own bottle so you can do touch-ups as needed. I got you blue because, well, 501st pride, right? but if there’s another color you like I can get that for you too—“

“Commander, it’s perfect. Thank you, really. This means a lot.” Rex isn’t holding back tears. He’s not. It’s just—no one has ever given him something before just because they thought he would like it. 

Skywalker’s head snaps sideways as he gives Rex an incredulous, slightly horrified look. He looks like he’s trying to figure out how to talk, mouth opening and closing. This General’s face becomes harder to read as his vision blurs. Kark it all, he needs to stop being so emotional. 

“Rex, what’s wrong, why are you crying? I promise it’s okay if you don’t like it!” Ahsoka titters nervously. Rex isn’t sure if the sound he lets out is closer to a laugh or a sob. The Jetti descend on him, holding him tightly and protectively as he breaks into sobs in the middle of the street.

The War has taken its toll on all of them. It has taken the lives of many Rex holds dear. It has almost taken Rex from his brothers. But now Rex can feel what it is that the GAR is protecting. There is so much life here The Force brims with it, bursting and bright like fireworks, even through the protection of his mental shields. Rex sighs and tilts his head up to the sky, letting the tears dry on his cheeks. 

Above them the sky rumbles with the promise of rain.