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The gentle breeze set the crystal tear drops tinkling and you look up at the immense chandelier above you. It’s one of five that runs the length of the ball room, casting soft muted light on everything it touches.
It’s beautiful.
A quick glance out of the full height windows shows you the Coruscant skyline, and again you’re struck by the beauty. As dusk falls, the lights start to come on, and the city sparkles.
It’s all so beautiful.
And here you stand in your uniform that is at least a size too small, the white shirt pulling on the buttons at your chest (you’ve moved the tie enough to not make it too obvious) and the black pencil skirt hugging your hips just a little too tightly.
These high society events are always a pain but they pay well, and when else would you get to spend the evening in such splendid surroundings.
The guests start to arrive and you move forward with the rest of the staff to offer tall flutes of sparkling champagne. The women all look so wonderful in there dresses of silk and satin, jewels twinkling at their necks and wrists.
You tug self-consciously at your shirt, for a few seconds paying more attention to your wardrobe than paying attention to where you are walking.
You heart leaps right up into your mouth when you bump into someone and you can just thank your stars the tray you’re holding is empty of drinks. These Coruscant socialites could have you fired on the spot if you so much as spilled a drop on them.
Getting ready to apologise you look up and stare blankly at the man in front of you.
Living as close as you do to the clone barracks you would recognise a clone anywhere, and this is definitely a clone, although you had to admit you’ve never seen a clone in dress uniform before.
You look him up and down, and he shuffles awkwardly at your inspection.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” you say at the same time, and then: “why are you sorry?”
He shuffles awkwardly again.
“I walked into you.”
“I think it was me that walked into you.”
You both stare at each other awkwardly.
It is all very awkward.
“Rex,” someone calls, and you look over as another clone walks over to you. “There you are. We’re meant to be mingling.”
“You know I’m no good at these events, Cody. I never know what to say.”
The other clone, Cody, puts a hand on Rex’s shoulder and begins to lead him away: “Just smile and answer their questions. That’s all.”
“Why are we here again?”
“Because our Generals said so.”
Rex glances back over his shoulder at you and then disappears into the crowd.
But you see him several times throughout the evening and each time he makes you smile.
An hour ago you passed him explaining to a group of young debutants the workings of a DC-17 hand blaster, going into minute detail about how it is superior to the DC-15s side arm blaster, it being a more powerful variant and capable of a much higher rate of sustained fire than its predecessor. The look of bemused confusion on the debutants faces was enough to keep you smiling for a good while afterwards.
And just now, you pass him describing to an older couple, the woman in a fur wrap and the man in full evening dress, what sounded like the best way to beat a super battle droid, explaining that the most efficient way he’s found is to use an EMP grenade to temporaily subdue them and lower their armor durability, then follow that with a thermal detonator under the feet, and finish them off with focused and sustained blaster fire. The older couple looked as bemused and confused as the young debutants had and this time you have to stop yourself from laughing.
Cody on the other hand knew exactly how to work the floor, and you’ve heard him say something along the lines of: “your money has contributed a lot to the war effort.” numerous times, and each time you hear him say it, it makes you want to throw something.
These rich people, in this glittering ball room, have donated money to the Senate, and now they want to see what their money has brought.
They want to see the merchandise.
It is enough to make you want to cry.
Rex disappears at some point and it’s only when your break rolls around and you step out onto the secluded balcony, that you find him, in a block of shadow, staring out at the city. He seems just as mesmerised by its beauty as you had been earlier that evening, and you don’t know if you should stay or duck away.
You just decide that you should leave him alone, when he turns to look at you, and when he realises it’s you and not one of the socialites, he relaxes again.
You edge closer and lean over the balcony a little to look over. The height suddenly makes you dizzy and disoriented and you step back quickly.
“Are you okay?” He asks at your sudden pale face, and you laugh.
“I’m not good with heights. Vertigo. I shouldn’t have looked down.”
He looks thoughtful for a moment, as if wondering what it must be like to be scared of something so trivial, and you feel silly for bringing it up. You bet he wasn’t scared of much at all.
“Which part of the city are you from?” He asks, still taking in the view.
“I actually live by the barracks.”
He glances at you again.
It’s a poor area, little more than slums compared to the opulence of the rest of the city, and the room you rent isn’t exactly up to modern health and safety standards, but it is yours.
“How long have you been there?”
“A couple of years.”
You’ve seen a lot in that time though: the life and bustling excitement prior to battle, and the broken and dejected quiet of what came after; the piles and piles of abandoned armour at the back of the barracks, burned and bloody and useless; the singing, low and mournful and so full of loss that it breaks your heart, knowing that the deaths had been high and many clones had not made it back.
Rex is looking at you, studying you, and you shake yourself out of your melancholy and smile.
“It does mean I’ve gotten quite good at telling rank from armour though. I bet, if you were in armour, I’d be able to tell.”
“Hmm, okay, so tell me then,” he mutters, playing along. “pauldron, one sided, and kama.”
You stare at him, your mind ticking over what you knew.
“Single sided pauldron is either … a Captain?” You look at him for any clue that you’re correct, you get nothing. “… or a Commander ..?”
He still gives you nothing, but there is a smile in his eyes.
“What about two-sided pauldron, kama, crossing gun belt?”
“Oh, I know this one, for sure, Advanced Recon Commando.”
He laughs.
“You have been living by the barracks too long.”
“So was I right?” You ask after a few moments silence, “Are you a Captain?”
“Yes.”
“Yes!” You pump your fist, victorious.
This time the smile reaches his lips.
“Y/l/n,”
You physically jump and spin around to look at your supervisor.
“Breaks over.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
She disappears back inside, giving you a look over her shoulder.
“I’d better —“ you point in the direction of the ball room, he nods and you’re sure you feel his eyes on you as you duck back inside. You don’t really see him again after that and you’re sure, by the end of the evening, when all the guests have drifting away, that he must have just made a run for it at some point, taking his chance to leave while Cody’s back was turned.
The thought makes you smile as you begin to collect the glasses from the high tables around the room. Most of the other staff had also miraculously disappeared, but you didn’t mind too much; it was nice to have a little peace and quiet after the noise.
You turn back to the bar, tray leaden with empty and half empty glasses and almost trip over your feet as you see Rex leaning against the polished wood, his arms crossed and then uncrossed and then crossed again, as if he has no idea what to do with his body.
You smile to yourself and then go join him, sliding the tray on to the bar.
“I thought you’d gone.”
“No.” He replies simply.
“I’m glad,”
He uncrosses his arms again and starts to help you empty the tray. Your fingers touch and you both pull away awkwardly.
“Do you want a drink?”
“Can we?”
You shrug.
“There’s nobody here, who’s going to know?”
He shrugs.
You riffle around behind the bar and then pull out a bottle of something that looks like it might cost more than your monthly paycheque.
You pour two glasses and slide one of them across the bar to him, dipping your glass in salute to him as you take a sip. It burns wonderful, all the way down, and you briefly close your eyes; he’s staring at you when you open them again.
He puts down him empty glass and you refill it, before moving around the bar to perch on one of the stools beside him.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
You’re once again referring to the ball room and the crystal chandeliers, the red and gold brocade. There’s only one chandelier still burning, in the middle of the room, but it’s more than enough light to fill the room.
“There are more beautiful things,” he mutters and you turn to look at him, but he’s looking away from you, and you’re not entirely sure what he means.
“You must have seen so much … out there. I mean, I can’t imagine what it’s like. I’ve never left Coruscant. I’ve never even been to the lower levels.”
He takes a sip from his drink.
“We don’t usually get the chance to sightsee, usually we’re too busy fighting for our lives.”
You could kick yourself.
“I didn’t mean —“
“But some planets,” he continues, “they stand out. Like Felucia. It has these giant brightly coloured mushrooms and plants the size of mountains. And Hoth. The snow just goes on and on for ever, white on white on white. And Naboo. It’s so green and lush and the water glistens in the sun.”
He looks a little wistful.
“I’ve never seen snow.” You say.
“Neither had I, until Hoth. It’s very cold and wet, and absolutely no fun when you’re in full armour and keep sinking into it up to your knees.”
You laugh.
“I think I’d like to see it though, all the same.”
“My boys enjoyed it.”
“Your boys?” You ask, suddenly unsure if he means his soldiers or if he has actual kids.
“Sorry, I mean my troops. Once we’d set up camp, they let loose with the snowballs and I think by the end of the campaign we had no less that 60 snowmen around camp, standing guard.”
You smile.
“That’s nice. I like it when they’re happy.”
Rex looks at you, and you blush slightly.
“It’s just, y’know, living by the barracks, it’s not always, nice. It’s good to hear there’s sometimes something nice...” You trail off and put your glass down a little too heavily on the bar.
“Do you want to dance?”
“Dance?” He sounds horrified and you laugh at the look on his face.
“C’mon.”
You take his hand and pull him away from the bar.
“I wasn’t trained to dance.”
“I never learned either, but how hard can it be if all those rich buffoons can do it?”
“There’s no music.”
He had a point there, but you had a clue on how to activate the automatic play feature on piano in the corner. It wouldn’t be as good as a live band, but it’d do nicely.
The piano instrumental begins to play, and proud of yourself, you spin back over to Rex. He’s removed the jacket of his dress uniform, and rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, and you almost trip over your feet at the perfectly sculpted sight in front of you. Damn, he was fine.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, yep, absolutely. You’re hot .. I mean you got hot. It is hot in here, isn’t it?”
You fan yourself with your hand to illustrate your point, and before you can embarrass yourself even more say: “Let’s dance.”
“I’m not sure about this.”
“Have you ever danced in a sparkling ball room, with the Coruscant skyline twinkling around you, so high you can almost touch the sky?”
“I have not.”
“Neither have I.”
You both look at each other.
“Okay, what do I do?”
“Put one hand here,” you place one of his large warm hands on you waist. “And the other here.” You take his other hand in yours. “And we just sort of … glide to the music.”
You step on his foot.
He steps on your foot.
You both laugh.
It is fun.
It is nice.
It is surprising how quickly he picks things up! It must just click in his head, exactly how this dancing thing works, but before you know it, he’s leading you expertly across the ball room floor.
Maybe to him it’s just another form of strategy, you think, but whatever the case, you like it very much. You are beneath the only lit chandelier, in a pool of light, and the only sound in the room is the softly playing piano.
His hand is warm on your hip and, if you move just a bit closer you’ll be able to feel the warmth from his body, the press of his tight abs against you.
Your hand, the one held in his, becomes warm and clammy, and your heart beats just a little bit faster. You look up at him and his eyes are closed, the expression on his face peaceful; lost in the pure enjoyment of simply dancing.
You look back down and smile.
You never thought, at the beginning of the evening, that you’d end it dancing in the arms of a fit blond clone Captain, but life surprises you like that sometimes.
This is a perfect moment, one of those rare and fleeting things and, even though you know the music will eventually stop and you’ll have to say goodbye to Rex, and pretend that you hadn’t just fallen a little bit in love with him, it is a moment you will cherish forever.