Chapter Text
Rex knew about Anakin’s slave brand.
He knew the man’s body better than his own, after all. He memorized all the blemishes and scars, and the stories behind them like one would with a religious text and its teachings. And that particular scar was something that Rex’s eyes always seemed to be drawn to.
It was on the back of Anakin left hand, the skin there discolored and rough to the touch. The brand was indecipherable now, after so many years of the man scratching at it, trying to purge his skin of that painful reminder. Most days, it was hidden by a black glove or the sleeve of the senator’s tunic, like a dark and shameful little secret he intended on taking to his grave.
And he certainly would, if it wasn’t for the clone’s curiosity causing him to finally ask.
“Why do you hide it?”
They were in bed, huddled close to one another, taking advantage of the senator’s empty schedule to sleep in for once and take their sweet, sweet time before having to get up.
Rex’s voice was thick with sleep as he laid with his head on Skywalker’s chest, not quite awake yet not quite asleep, but somewhere between, his arm wrapped tightly around the man.
The sudden question gave the senator a momentary pause, his right hand that has been playing with the clone’s short hair coming to a stop. He blinked, before glancing down at his partner in confusion.
“Hide... what, exactly?” he retorted to the question with one of his own.
“Your brand. Slave brand.”
“Oh...” it was obvious by the way his voice trailed off that he wasn’t expecting that. “That’s...”
His breath hitched almost imperceptibly and the silence that followed spoke volumes.
Rex cursed himself: he’d touched something raw, something that wasn’t supposed to be touched. It was obvious why the man hid it, yet there he was, poking and prodding! But before he could try to apologize and change the topic, Skywalker let out a sigh, his hand slipping from Rex’s hair.
“For a long time...” Anakin traced the old burn, inspecting it closely, like he was searching for the answer that was hidden beneath the layers of scar tissue. “I guess... I thought that if I covered it, it would go away. But, it doesn’t work that way, does it?”
He let out a tired chuckle, his gaze shifting from his hand to a distant, unseen point on the ceiling. Rex stayed silent, still hugging the senator, listening intently, giving him the room to unfold. He could feel the man’s heartbeat under his cheek, the steady rhythm matching his own.
Anakin’s thumb brushed over the scar absentmindedly, his voice coming as a quiet murmur.
“It’s... complicated.” he admitted. “When I was younger, it felt like... a curse. A mark that told everyone what I was. Someone’s property.”
The clone’s hold around Anakin’s waist tightened slightly as he continued speaking, like he was hoping to comfort the man. Or maybe himself.
“...I tried... reclaiming it. Or something like that.” the senator swallowed thickly, his voice wavering slightly. “I wrote an entire speech about it. I can’t count just how many times I reread it, thinking to myself ‘Today’s the day, I will finally speak up, share it during the meeting’, but... I never had the guts to follow it through.”
Rex lifted his head to look at the man, catching the flicker of sadness and pain behind the man’s practiced calm. It made him furrow his brows in worry and his heart ache.
“...what did it say?” he asked after a long moment of silence, letting his head fall back to where it was resting on the man’s chest. “The speech, that is.”
He reached out and took Skywalker’s hand into his, squeezing it gently.
“Well, it started off something like... ‘The first time a slave runs away or disobeys direct orders, they’re branded with this mark. Second time, they’re hamstrung. Third time, killed. When I was a boy, I was taught to be frightened of people with this mark on their body. Of troublemakers.’” Anakin paused for a second, his distant gaze still locked on the ceiling. “’But after I escaped myself, I saw them differently. The people with this mark, they are the people who know intimately just how much freedom can cost. They wear it every day. So do I. If I’d let my past terrify me, I’d never be free of it.’”
Silence once again fell upon the two, as the clone mulled over the man’s words carefully.
“It’s... nice.” was all that he managed to say.
He didn’t really know how to approach this situation he put them into. On one hand, he wanted to comfort the man, tell him that he was sorry that he had to go through that and try to make him feel better, but on the other he knew that Anakin hated when others pitied him.
So, he simply brought the senator’s hand up to his lips and kissed the scar tenderly, gently, like he was afraid of causing him any additional pain.
“I really did want to make that speech, you know.” Skywalker added. “Every time I thought about reading it aloud, though, it felt like tearing open a wound for everyone to see. Like standing bare and saying ‘This is what I was... what I still am in some ways.’ I-I know that it’s not true and that it doesn’t define me, but...”
He trailed off, waving his hand dismissively and letting out a sigh.
“Maybe you can read it to me?” Rex proposed. “I... maybe it will help you, in a way?”
“I just might take you up on that offer.” Anakin hummed, before leaning in and giving the man a kiss on the forehead. “And... thank you. I think I needed to get this off my chest.”
“No problem, love.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”