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Older troopers mingle, slapping gloved hands on scratched, scorched armor plates and laughing together in familiar, low rumbling chuckles. They have tattoos and scars and some have even dyed their hair.
Further, side by side with the General, Commander Cody stands observing the proceedings. He doesn’t smile but he maybe isn’t completely unimpressed either. Possibly.
The Commander is a hard man to read.
Rex straightens his shoulders and keeps his bucket on. Covering his shiny-like regulation face and that one feature that will always mark him as something different. Deviant. He walks through the mass of men and stink of sweat and dirt and blaster discharge and exhales slowly when he arrives into a quieter hallway, away from the commotion of hangar bay.
He’s a Lieutenant now. Shit. It doesn’t feel real.
He shoulders open a side door and slips inside of a supply closet his men –fuck, his men– have told him about while babbling in euphoric, post-battle high. ’Sir, definitely should get more paint on; you’re a fucking amazing shot Sir; Commander, we made it through the ambust, Lieutenant Rex managed to push back the droids and we didn’t fucking die.’ Their words are ringing in his head as Rex leans on a crate and eyes his vambrace cautiously.
Yeah alright, maybe he could use some extra paint. In their –his– colors. His men would be thrilled and he likes them, their belief in him and their quick clever thinking and their absolutely batshit crazy tactics. They suit him, he has found.
Rex ambles about, finding everything just as described. He sighs, removes pieces of his armor and after a while his bucket. He sits on the floor and sets to mix the paints, watching as a drop of reddish orange swirls around in bright yellow, tinting it slightly until the result is the color that for him marks the 212th. He stops his brush and inhales sharply.
Where to start.
His mind is empty. Blank. He tries to encourage imagination by swirling the brush over a small piece of flimsi he found on one of the shelves. There’s already some doodles and sketches there, done by others, so maybe he’ll get an inspiration if he stares at the figures long enough.
He has a sudden impulse to add his own.
Time stands still and Rex finds his focus, hand moving over flimsi in light movements, mind very far away.
On the battlefield, he spotted the Commander as he leaped out of a carcass of a tank and proceeded to slam shoulder-first onto a line of droids, kicking and punching them and making a small space for himself and General Kenobi who materialized next to the Commander like a wraith, all flowing robes and blur of lightsaber.
It had been quite a sight.
He refocuses on the flimsi in front of him and stares at his handiwork, horrified and surprised. He swallows, clears his throat, feels flushed and hot and incredibly happy he’s alone. He takes more paint and drowns the brush in it, dipping it deep. Paint is dripping and Rex sets to paint over his original sketch, hastily, face burning. His gut tingles from something he doesn’t want to think about. He makes the form he is painting into a roundish planet-like shape. Starts to really work on it, taking interest in making it more round, adding shadows. On one side, it looks like it’s illuminated by direct sunlight while the other side is in the shadow, the color blending from yellow through hues of orange into deep red.
He looks at the result, contemplating. It’s actually… something he could work with.
Rex lets himself think about the Commander’s stern face and his scar, of the way he handles fleet maneuvers and stealth attacks with equal efficiency. The Commander is… inspiring.
Beautiful, something inside Rex whispers.
He shoves the piece of flimsi in one of his pouches but not before he’s memorized the design. To have that painted on his armor feels… right.
When he comes into the mess the next morning, his men compliment the new paint and make several guesses at which planet was the inspiration for the design. Rex smiles and explaines vaguely it was just artistic freedom, earning approving chuckles and a couple of brotherly claps on his back.
He drinks his caf and eats his portion of some kind of porridge – Kenobi insists on it for some reason even though the average ration bars would probably work just as well. He trains with his men and makes preparations and plans for the next campaign.
The showers are half-empty by the time Rex walks through the doors. He chooses a stall by the far wall, sighing as the water starts to flow over his head, stretching his neck.
“I noticed you’ve got some new paint on your plates, Lieutenant,” trooper next to him comments and Rex grunts acknowledgement, closes his eyes. He’s in no mood for small talk and even less for a random hookup.
“It looks good, I like the design.”
Rex hums, doesn’t engage. After that, the man is quiet, concentrating on washing himself and Rex rinses off the suds from his hair and face. He leans on the wall, stalling until the last of his water ratio is spent. As he opens his eyes, he finds himself face to face with his commanding officer.
Fuck. He didn’t know the Commander uses communal showers.
”Um. Sorry. Sir. Didn’t recognize you.”
Didn’t look. The Commander’s scar is hardly difficult to miss. Rex swallows.
“Thank you. For the compliment. Sir.”
The Commander waves a hand. “It’s alright. I – um. I don’t usually come here but mine – the shower – is broken.” He seems to be undecided at what to do and Rex lingers, watching as the Commander’s brows furrow a little. He glances at Rex, and it’s maybe something like curiosity in his eyes.
“I really do. I mean, like the design. It’s strong. Brave. Like you.” The Commander frowns and then nods, as if by himself.
“Enjoy your rest, Lieutenant.”
Rex nods back and salutes as is proper.
The Commander likes his paint. It feels…nice. Something inside him flutters, making him feel warm. He can feel his face heat up.
In the bunkroom he shares with three other officers, he sets the vambrace and chest piece he painted with the planet-like design on a crate by his bunk. He watches them, liking the way the color blends from bright to darker.
What is underneath – well, it’s only for him to know. Hidden from sight. But it maybe could be noticed in some parts, where the lightest yellow is dominant. If you knew what to look for.
The hidden image of a rising sun.
With a sunburst.