Work Text:
Rex had hoped that his first visit to Mandalore would have been like coming home, but it wasn’t.
He was a man used to disappointments, great and small. Lost battles. Fallen brothers. Rain when there was supposed to be sunshine. He was well-versed in swallowing back his grievances and pressing on, no matter the burden he bore. Being one of the oldest clones, his burdens were some of the heaviest - but for the same reason, he was also one of the best at hiding it.
Even so, there were few disappointments that hit so hard, so unexpectedly, as his first visit to Mandalore.
Mandalore, to put simply, was complicated. For some clones, it was a collective memory of home that they had never been to - a sense of culture and identity that filled them with both pride and longing. For younger clones, Mandalore meant nothing at all. The only culture they had was the one they shared with their brothers, which was self-referential. Their history was carved within the battles they fought and the drinks they shared. A clone set himself apart from the others by rattling off the achievements of his company, or the planets he’d been to. The brothers that went with him were brothers for life; the brothers who didn’t were the ones to tell the tales to.
Their cultures were full and rich despite their newness. It meant nothing at all to anyone who wasn’t a clone already, and no one who wasn’t a clone understood it.
Even so, there were a few clones that were set apart from the others: the oldest of the clones, the ones that were trained by Mandalorian militiamen. They were the clones who still spoke Mando'a and still remembered Jango Fett.
Some clones, like Rex himself, had even learned Mando’a before learning Galactic Basic. But after Fett died, everything had changed. The Kaminoans had prioritized hiring the cheapest mercenaries - and Mandalorians weren’t cheap.
So Rex had adjusted, because he had to, and turned instead to the shared identity of the clones. The jaig eyes on his helmet were the only mark of remembrance for the culture that he had once thought himself a part of. His dreams were the only place that Mandalore resided now - especially now that he had seen it, and realized there was nothing there.
Rex would be hard pressed to remember an uglier planet than this one.
Mandalore was a barren wasteland. He knew it in his heart, of course, because they’d heard the stories… but seeing it was another matter. It wasn’t like he’d imagined - torn up, full of old buildings and broken cities, the remnants of long forgotten battles.
Ugly, but in an interesting way.
Mandalore was ugly, but it wasn’t interesting at all. It was completely, irredeemably mundane. The planet was so completely decimated that nothing more than ash remained. It stretched into a featureless horizon, dull and dreary despite its sterile brightness. There were durasteel domes that punctuated the miserable flatness, but they were unsightly tumors that did little to detract from the barren emptiness.
It was all gone, Rex realized. The planet was so broken that not even the scars remained. All the lands he had heard of, from Keldabe from Norg Bral, were gone. And all the battles fought over those lands were meaningless. Everyone who had died for them had turned to dust right along with them.
What a bore, he thought miserably.
“Are you alright?”
Rex started. He had been staring out the viewport of their ship, lost in thought, for probably five minutes now. He realized they must have been getting close to Sundari; the ship was descending far more quickly now, and the dismal horizon was closing in fast. He felt an unpleasant lurch in his stomach at the thought that they were about to land on this dustball.
He was already regretting agreeing to this mission - very much.
“Sir?”
General Kenobi was sitting, his legs crossed, a holopad in his hand. He wasn’t interested in the view - after all, he had seen it before. But he probably hadn’t cared enough to be disappointed by it.
“Are you alright, Captain?” Kenobi repeated.
“Yes, sir.”
General Kenobi didn’t look convinced. He set down his holopad, his pale eyes catching the cold, sterile light that streamed in through the viewport. He looked deeply tired, and perhaps a little worse for wear himself. That was no surprise.
“Are you alright, General?”
“Oh, quite alright,” said Kenobi, the heel of his palm rubbing against his eyes. “But I daresay I won’t be soon enough.”
Rex, who was less familiar with General Kenobi, was at a loss about how to respond. So he fell back on the ever safe reply: “yes, sir.”
The interiors of the domes didn’t prove to be much better than the empty flats. Not to Rex, at least.
The art was beautiful, yes. The geometry of the architecture was grand and harsh, just like he’d hoped… but the city was sparse. Quiet. Most of the Mandalorians in it did not wear armor, and many more did not speak Mando’a - at least not that he heard. As Rex toured the city with General Kenobi, he felt his heart sink and sink and sink, until it settled right in the pit of his stomach.
He really couldn’t remember the last time he felt quite so depressed.
When he entered the palace and found himself surrounded by Death Watch, he was just a little ashamed of how relieved he felt to see familiar faces - so to speak. They were fully armored and only spoke Galactic Basic sparingly. And although the conversations that Rex overheard were not flattering for either himself or General Kenobi, he was still heartened to find that he could understand them perfectly.
Of course, that was why the general had asked Rex to accompany him in the first place.
“We could be on Mandalore for some time,” Kenobi had said. “I’m afraid my own Mando’a is quite rusty. The Duchess only used it sparingly.”
Rex had been deeply reluctant to leave General Skywalker’s side for the special assignment, but Cody had taken his place. Rex was satisfied with that arrangement, secretly eager to see the planet and culture that had been so integral to his upbringing.
What a mistake that was, Rex thought.
The disappointments just didn’t stop, either. Instead of being useful to the mission, Rex mostly found himself standing guard outside the door while Mand’alor Maul (or so he called himself, Rex supposed) and General Kenobi negotiated. Argued. The door to the meeting hall was thick and impressive, and Rex couldn’t even entertain himself by eavesdropping. He only heard muffled shouting.
He could only stand there, and sigh, and stare at a featureless wall in front of him. For hours.
Rex wasn’t even alone, which meant he couldn’t lean or sit on the floor or even browse the holonet on his comm while he waited. Maul’s brother stood at the opposite side of the door, arms crossed, leaning against the metal frame with catlike languor. He was quiet and still, and said nothing.
He radiated malice.
It was a tense, unpleasant atmosphere. Rex couldn’t relax, but he couldn’t also stop himself from being unbelievably bored. When the shouting stopped, he hoped it meant that the meeting was almost over - but it only stretched on and on and on. He supposed the negotiations were proceeding, then.
Either that, or they’d killed each other.
When they finally left and went to their rooms, Rex threw himself down onto his bed and conjured every swear in every language he could think of into his pillow. But once he woke up and ate a hearty breakfast, he swallowed his disappointment and prepared himself for the dreadful mission before him.
Honestly, he didn’t know what he was doing here. But here he was, and he wasn’t in the habit of questioning orders.
The door of the meeting hall was becoming a familiar place. Maul’s brother was becoming a familiar presence, too.
Rex was used to the routine after three days of it. The meetings inevitably began with shouting, followed by a silence that became increasingly suspicious. Rex fidgeted and twirled his guns, and the zabrak to his left was silent apart from the occasional growl.
The longer they stood at opposite ends of the door, the more Rex began to feel a camaraderie with the man. They were, after all, stuck in the same miserable situation. The oppressive malice from the zabrak settled into grim boredom, which had the added benefit of being bitterly funny.
Rex took care not to laugh about it, though.
The meetings stretched into hours. Rex didn’t know much of what was going on, but from what he had gleaned, the Mand’alor had information that was relevant to the Jedi. And the Jedi wanted the release of Duchess Satine. And, perhaps, they wanted to come to some sort of coexistence between Death Watch and the New Mandalorians.
Neither of this seemed particularly likely, but it wasn’t Rex’s place to speculate. The best he could hope for was that a proper fight would break out, and then maybe he could do something.
Really, Rex really had no idea what they were offering in exchange for any of this. Maybe nothing at all. Maybe that was why there was so much shouting.
Or maybe it’s because…
Rex shook off the thought. He had spent far too much time with General Skywalker. He was seeing things that weren’t there. General Kenobi was the last person on the planet to have a secret partner. And it was impossible that it would be Maul.
The boredom’s getting to me, he thought. I’m going mad.
How many hours had it been now? Two at least. Rex, increasingly indifferent to the threat of his zabrak companion, could not resist the urge to spin his pistols again.
Boring missions were hardly a novelty, and Rex - like any clone - had spent his time learning how to show off to his brothers. Pistol spinning was something all the clones did, but few of them were half as good as Rex himself.
When Rex was beginning to feel a little more adventurous, he flipped the pistols into the air and caught them with his index fingers, spinning them right down into their holsters. He did this a few times without thinking, juggling them between his hands, all while keeping the momentum of the spin.
“I didn’t know clones could use the Force,” came the zabrak’s voice.
Rex started, the pistols immediately stilling. He had been so distracted that he had altogether forgotten about Savage. Hours of utter silence had a way of making a man complacent. He looked over, and thought: this might be the first time I’ve ever heard him talk.
And then: his voice is really deep.
“Sorry?” asked Rex.
“The Force,” said Savage, his arms still crossed. “I didn’t know that clones used it. Is it on purpose?”
“On purpose?”
“Were you made like that?”
Rex, utterly flabbergasted, didn’t really know what to say. Of all the things he could have been accused of, this had to be the strangest. “I’m not a Jedi.”
Savage tipped his head. “You’re a clone.”
“Yeah.”
“How did you do that, then?”
Rex looked down at the pistols. He spun them once and holstered them again, suddenly feeling just a little bit self-conscious.
(Perhaps flattered?)
“No, not the Force,” said Rex. “It’s just practice.”
Savage looked skeptical. His yellow eyes were narrow, his chin tilted upwards. It was an expression that reminded Rex a little bit of Maul, a show of disdain and arrogance. It was the expression that Maul often fixed General Kenobi with. It was a way to look down on him, Rex supposed.
(An impressive feat, given how much shorter Maul was than the General.)
From Savage, though… it didn’t seem quite like that. From Savage, it seemed more like a challenge.
“Do it again,” said Savage.
Rex looked at the zabrak dubiously, but he nodded slowly. It was better, he supposed, than just lapsing into awkward silence for the next three and a half hours. And while Savage wasn’t a brother, Rex still found himself a little bit eager to show off.
He decided that yes, he was indeed flattered that Savage had thought he was using the Force.
“Sure.”
Rex continued the demonstration, and he added just enough unnecessary flair to the show to impress. He spun both pistols, juggling them over his arms, holstering and unholstering them in the blink of an eye. Rex was so attuned to his weapons that he couldn’t imagine dropping them. It was a fun little game, and it wasn’t often he had a captive audience. Usually, his brothers would try to catch the guns in midair or distract him. Fives in particular loved to jab him right in the ribs when the pistols were in the air.
But no, Savage was completely absorbed. He watched in observant, focused silence. It honestly looked like he was either trying to understand it, or learn it for himself.
Eventually, Rex’s hands grew tired. It wasn’t nearly as easy as he made it look.
“You wanna give it a shot?” he asked.
Savage paused, his head tilting to the side. “...perhaps,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “But I don’t think I can.”
“Not without trying, no,” said Rex. “Here - give me your hand.”
Savage remained predictably wary. However, he did reach out obediently. Rex looked down at his hand - larger than Rex’s, and sporting long, sharp nails. They looked deadly. Rex was both disturbed and impressed.
“Huh.” Rex took Savage’s hand. “You’ll probably have to do it on the tips of your fingers, ‘cause your uh - your nails are long.”
“Mh.”
Rex couldn’t help himself. “You don’t talk much, do you?”
And again: “Mh.”
Rex grinned, and he slipped a pistol onto Savage’s index finger. “Alright,” he said. “You’ll want to keep your finger relaxed, though most of the motion is gonna come from your wrist and elbow. Just keep your finger hooked so you don’t lose it.”
Savage grunted his acknowledgement. When the pistol was on his finger, he gave it an experimental twirl. It moved jerkily, catching awkwardly on his nails and fingers. Rex reached out to straighten out his fingers.
“Like this,” he said. “Keep them straight.”
Rex stopped, and a small smirk crossed his face.
“And no using the Force,” he added.
Savage glared at him, but it wasn’t an angry glare. It was a challenge, the hardening of resolve. He nodded curtly and began to move his hand, gradually gaining confidence with the gesture. Rex took off his helmet and tucked it under the crook of his arm, glad to have an excuse to be free of it for a little while.
Savage was stubborn and determined, which Rex supposed he might have expected. He seemed dead set on learning the technique, although he seemed about half as patient as he ought to have been. He growled a lot, and Rex found himself regretting taking his helmet off. He was having a hard time not smiling.
Eventually, Savage did seem to get the technique. The pistol spun on his finger smoothly, although Rex imagined he was going to have a hell of a time trying to figure out how to flip it with his claws blocking the way. Whatever the solution, Rex didn’t think they were going to find it before his mission was over. Savage would lose interest, surely.
They were both just bored. Immensely bored.
“That’s it,” said Rex. “You’re getting the hang of it.”
His voice was warm and strong, authoritative without being overbearing - just like he was when training a shiny. It took a lot of practice to get the tone just right, and he was proud that Savage only growled a little bit.
“It takes time. If you just keep trying you’ll be able to throw and catch them. Though it’s more important to be able to holster them - kind’ve the point, actually.”
Savage seemed less optimistic. He hummed out a low sigh, his nose scrunched with frustration. “I still do not believe you were not using the Force.”
Rex grinned. He felt a funny warmth settle in the pit of his stomach, a kind of anxiety that he wasn’t altogether accustomed to.
“I’ve been doing it since I was decanted,” he said. “You’d be just as good if you just practiced.”
The answer was predictable: “Hmm.”
The meetings seemed to go faster, after that.
Savage didn’t talk much, but they spent the time nevertheless interacting. Rex continued to show Savage how to spin pistols, and Savage likewise showed Rex some of his saber techniques. It was not Rex’s place to ask General Skywalker about lightsabers and Force powers, but he could ask Savage.
The first question that burst out of Rex was predictable.
“How do you stop yourself from taking your own head off?”
Savage was bemused. “I don’t really think about it.”
A Force thing, then. Fair enough.
The hall that they were waiting in was wide enough for a good demonstration, and Rex found himself sincerely enjoying the diversion. Savage wielded his saber like it was a club, which was strange but still seemed effective - but he did lack the finesse of a lifetime’s training. Even so, Rex couldn’t fault Savage’s skill. Brute force could go a long way.
Rex was especially surprised by how determined Savage seemed to master the blaster tricks, too. Savage was unwilling to give it up, not even after the fourth or fifth time a blaster flew off his finger and clattered across the floor.
All of this was to the backdrop of muffled shouting (and long stretches of increasingly suspicious silence).
When Rex and General Kenobi walked back to their quarters after a day’s session, Kenobi seemed duly exasperated. It didn’t take a Jedi to see that the negotiations weren’t going well - obvious enough, since Duchess Satine remained presently in the custody of Death Watch.
“I’m beginning to think he’s drawing out these negotiations just to keep me here,” said Kenobi.
For the first time, Rex wasn’t altogether displeased to hear they would be staying a little longer.
“Try it.”
Rex couldn’t. When Savage held out the saber hilt, Rex felt a profound sureness that he was going to behead himself by accident. Perhaps if it was single-bladed, he could have at least relied upon the idea that he could just aim it away from himself. The dual-blade troubled him. He could lose track of one blade and cut his leg clean off. And even if it would net him a cool prosthetic, the story was gonna be too embarrassing to tell.
And if that was the case, then what was the point?
“I’ll die,” Rex said, because he had no idea how else to refuse without sounding rude.
Savage uttered a low, resonant chuckle… or a growl. Hard to say.
“You won’t.”
“With all due respect, I might.”
Savage shook his head, and he pushed the saber into Rex’s hands. Rex, who found it difficult to say no to Savage, held the saber hilt as if it might blow up, careful to keep his fingers away from the switches.
Savage moved behind him. With his considerable height, it was easy enough for him to reach over Rex’s shoulders and correct his form. Rex felt suddenly very short, and deeply flustered.
“Put your right hand on the side opposite of the switch,” said Savage. “You won’t activate it by accident.”
“How do you know?”
Savage shrugged; Rex felt it more than he saw it. “You won’t.”
Rex sighed, and did as he was told. The grip felt natural enough. The saber was heavier than he thought it would be, which felt oddly reassuring.
Normally, a dangerous weapon didn’t bother Rex in the least. But he’d seen what sabers could do. They were wielded only by the Jedi because anyone else would make a mistake with them, eventually. They went against the rules that every other weapon abided by. Lightsabers were completely devoid of failsafes.
“Alright,” he said. “Now what?”
“Left hand on the middle. Thumb on the switch.”
“You’re sure that’s for the top blade?”
Another chuckle-growl. “I’m sure.”
Rex nodded, and he exhaled a slow breath. Wielding the saber of a Jedi was, as he understood, something of a taboo. But Savage didn’t seem to treat this exchange as anything other than ordinary. To Savage, a lightsaber really didn’t seem to be any more sacred than a blaster.
If Rex was going to save face, he had to play along.
And besides, he didn’t want to be a coward.
“Okay,” said Rex. “Here goes nothing.”
Rex flicked the switch. The blade shot from the hilt, strangely heavy (which made no sense, but it was). He felt the subtle vibration against his palm, warmth that spread from the metal - all the way to his heart. Rex knew he wasn’t a Jedi, nothing like that, but the saber was an artifact of power and energy.
Even a clone could appreciate that.
He really had no idea why he had been so reluctant before.
Using a lightsaber was, admittedly, very cool. And Rex was definitely going to brag about it later to his brothers.
Rex didn’t get to cut anything (neither he nor Savage dared, although they considered finding out whether the pillars in the corridors were really load-bearing or not), but he did get to learn some of the kata.
“Where did you learn this, anyway?” said Rex.
It was best to keep talking, because Savage was guiding him through the motions step by step, and it involved a lot of touching. Rex didn’t mind touching, not usually, but from Savage it was actually flustering him. The zabrak was tall and imposing and uncompromising, and Rex found that he was getting a little too eager to mess up and be corrected.
That probably wasn’t a good instinct while wielding a lightsaber.
“I’ve always been raised to fight,” said Savage. “Ever since I was a child.”
“Oh. Me too.”
“...I know.”
“Oh. Yeah, I suppose that’s obvious, huh?”
“Mm.”
The kata was much more difficult than either of the zabraks made it look. By the time Rex had a few core moves down, his forehead was beading with sweat and he was winded.
“And this is the easy part?”
“No,” said Savage. “The easy part is taking off someone’s head with the blade. You just sweep it.”
“Ah.”
“It’s very straightforward.”
Rex didn’t manage to hold back his grin. Savage’s sense of humor was understated, but it was definitely there. He had no doubt in his mind that Maul was completely blind to it, being the unbearable killjoy that he was.
Reluctantly, Rex powered down the saber and handed it back to Savage. He felt reluctant to part with it. The second his fingers left the metal, he lost the thin connection to the pulse of energy, the intimate warmth.
He didn’t have much time to reflect on that, though, because Savage grabbed Rex’s outstretched wrist and lifted it. Rex didn’t really think to pull away - he was worn out and, honestly, used to being manhandled by Savage at this point. So he just looked up at the zabrak in tired bemusement.
“What--”
Savage bit him. Right on the wrist. It wasn’t a hard bite, but Savage’s teeth were needle-sharp. Rex jolted, tingling all the way from his wrist to his cheeks, startled by the sudden nip.
And just as quickly, Savage let his hand go.
Rex held it up, staring at it for a long, dumb moment. He could see the little teeth indents on his skin.
“I’m sorry, but - did you just bite me?”
Savage lifted his eyebrows, as if to say: why are you asking stupid questions?
Rex rubbed at his wrist, completely dumbfounded. He didn’t have a follow-up question. Why would have made sense, but Rex was still stuck on the part where Savage bit him. It was so completely inexplicable that any attempts to apply logic - and therefore ask for a logical explanation - felt completely wrong.
“Right,” said Rex. “Um. Did you want to practice more with the pistols?”
“General,” said Rex. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
General Kenobi looked harried, as he had for this whole mission. Rex had seen the man be far less burdened on the battlefield. Negotiations were a talent of the General’s, but Maul had a talent for being difficult. No one was surprised.
Kenobi rubbed his eyes and smiled warmly, as he always did.
“No, no, not at all,” said the general. “Sit, please. Have some tea.”
Kenobi pushed aside a stack of datapads and leaned back in his chair.
“It won’t take long,” said Rex, not moving from his place at the door. “I actually just had one question that I thought you might be able to shed some light on.”
“Fire away.”
“What does it mean when a zabrak bites you?”
Kenobi blanched. His right hand moved to his collar, tugging it self consciously tighter around his neck.
“What brought this on?” he asked, his voice climbing a pitch.
It only took a moment for Kenobi to get himself back under control. He cleared his throat, sipped his tea, and smiled again. But it was too late.
Rex’s face didn’t even twitch. He was professional, through and through. But a whole lot of things clicked for him very quickly. He spent too much time covering up Anakin’s indiscretions not to see right through those sorts of lies.
“It’s just something I heard.”
“Well. I suppose it depends on the location of the bite. And how much of you is missing after you’re bitten.”
Rex did indulge a smile then, bowing his head. “I meant a superficial bite, sir.”
“Broken skin?”
“No, sir. On the wrist.”
“Ah.” Kenobi smiled knowingly. “That’s perfectly common. Zabraks will often bite each other's wrists in greeting, but also in gratitude. Or so I have been led to believe.”
“I see.” Rex frowned. “...just that?”
Kenobi lifted his eyebrows. “Well. Just think of it as a Mandalorian headbutt. It can mean a lot of things. It can be an act of violence, an act of respect, an act of passion. The action is contextual.”
Rex inclined his head. “That’s all I wanted to know, sir.”
“Are you certain you won’t stay for tea?” asked Kenobi.
“No, sir, I’m…” Rex flustered for a moment in search of an answer. “It’s been a long day.”
“Oh, tell me about it,” sighed Kenobi. “Maul’s going to keep me here as long as he can get away with it. I think we’re getting close to the end, though.”
Secretly, Rex wouldn’t have hated that. But he knew that this diversion couldn’t last forever - there were places to be, and battles to fight. As much as the break was appreciated, he was longing to get back to his normal duties. Playing with Savage was starting to feel woefully indulgent.
Rex turned to go. He hesitated.
“Sir, one last question?”
“What is it?”
“What does it mean if a zabrak bites your neck?”
Rex felt a little guilty, deep down, for the brazen question.
Thankfully, Kenobi chuckled. There was color in his face, but he otherwise remained perfectly composed… although Rex noticed that his hand was fidgeting, the stylus held between his index finger and thumb twirling.
“I’ve wondered that myself,” he said. “From what I can glean, it’s either a threat or a marriage proposal.”
“I see,” said Rex. “Thank you for indulging me, general. I’ll take my leave.”
“If you find out what it means, Rex,” said Kenobi, “do let me know.”
The negotiations ended sooner than Rex would have preferred, but he was glad to be released from ambassadorial duties and cleared to finally leave Mandalore. Duchess Satine was to be released into Republic custody - but someone else would have to come back to retrieve her.
“Maul is paranoid,” Kenobi had complained. “Really, it would be much quicker if she just came with us!”
Rex understood Maul’s reasoning. He discreetly did not say anything about it, though.
Mandalore would remain neutral, provided that Maul’s influence remained contained and uninvolved in the war. It was a significant concession, but Maul did agree, in the end. Rex doubted that neutrality would last, but he didn’t concern himself overmuch. It felt as inevitable as the dawn, so why fight it?
Even with that in mind, Obi-Wan Kenobi was due a great deal of recognition for his success. Rex suspected that the general would be happier if everyone just forgot about it entirely.
Either way, Rex was eager to leave. He missed his unit. Mandalore hadn’t been the homeworld he was looking for, and being here made him long instead for Kamino; for the familiar and beloved. He missed General Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano, too. He could hardly wait to see them again.
But he would miss Savage. Rex didn’t even bother trying to rationalize that in his own thoughts. After all, why should he? They might never see each other again.
(Or maybe we will, when all this is over - but that’s not worth thinking about, Rex told himself.)
When Rex made his way out to the landing platform with General Kenobi, he was surprised to find Savage waiting for him there. The general gave Savage a sideways look before moving past him, leaving Rex to speak with Savage in private.
“Don’t take too long,” the general said.
“Yes, sir.”
Rex stopped before Savage, his hands behind his back. Under his helmet, he was smiling.
“You’re leaving,” said Savage. His baritone voice was difficult to read - he was always growling at least a little bit.
“I’m afraid so,” said Rex. “I’d offer for you to come with if that wouldn’t break several treaties. Or lead to your arrest.”
For a moment, they were both silent - awkward. Rex reached out a hand. Savage looked down at it, as if unsure what to do with it. Rex didn’t lower it.
“You’ll keep practicing?” said Rex. “With the pistols?”
“Yes.”
Savage took the hand, eventually.
Impulsively, Rex blurted: “I know what the bite means now. From before.”
Savage was inscrutable. He gazed at Rex. He was still holding his hand, his clawed fingers like a vice. Rex didn’t even consider trying to wriggle free, because he knew he would fail.
“And what do you think it means?”
“It’s like a Keldabe Kiss.”
“What?”
“A Mandalorian headbutt,” said Rex. “It’s a way of expressing… uh. The same thing as the bite.”
Savage considered him. His yellow eyes narrowed, his lips twitching into an unsettlingly mischievous expression. Rex tugged at his hand uncertainly, suddenly worried.
“I think so, anyw--”
Savage slammed his forehead so hard against Rex’s helmet that it cracked. Rex felt his brain rattle around in his skull. He reeled, stumbled, and fell flat on his ass.
Two thoughts crossed his mind in that moment:
I might have a concussion.
This was followed swiftly by: I think I might be in love.