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Chapter Text

Her heart thumped in her chest, sweat slipping down her temple as she sprinted through the dim corridors of a once-hidden Separatist base.They weren’t supposed to know about this place. Not this fast. Something had gone wrong.

She skidded to a stop at a junction, three corridors of durasteel and exposed wiring split in different directions. Her eyes flicked from left to right. No clones. A quick glance upward. Landing Bay 4C. She bolted left.

The floor trembled beneath her boots as an explosion rocked the compound, slamming sound through the walls. She stumbled, caught herself, and kept running. The sharp whine of blaster fire echoed somewhere in the distance.

Then…

Up ahead, from another hall, an explosion of sparks. A mangled B2 battle droid crashed against the wall, its arm clattering in a heap. A beat later: footsteps.

She slid to a halt as clones turned the corner in front of her, armor pristine white and streaked with blue. They saw her. Weapons came up. She swore under her breath and turned right, pushing her legs harder down the last stretch to the landing bay.

The door was already ajar, she could only see the yellow skies beyond it. There was no ship. Still, it would have to do. Whether she jumped to the water below, or chanced it with another platform. Landing Bay B4, most likely. 

She stopped, turning around as she heard hurried footsteps. They were closer than she would’ve liked. Were clones fast? She didn’t remember them being that quick on their feet. They raised their blasters and quickly fired in her direction. 

Without hesitation Detta deflected. The blaster bolt ricocheted off her orange-red saber, into one of the wires, causing it to hiss upon impact, steam erupting from the panels that framed it. The heat caused her to recoil for a moment, before another impact. Another explosion went off. This one closer, knocking her to the cold durasteel beneath her.

Blaster fire pierced the fog now filling the hallway, searing through the air inches from her head. Then sudden silence.

Detta rose, breath catching and ready to bolt. When she did, something heavy knocked her onto the ground, dislodging the saber from her hand. The light retracted. “Don’t move. By order of the Republic, you are under arrest,” the voice commanded behind her.

The words were enough.

Detta twisted sharply, wriggling free. She turned and kicked the clone with blue paint streaked across his armor, his gear marking him as a figure with higher rank. A captain, a commander? It made no difference. 

She bolted, hand outstretched, her lightsaber snapped back into her grip with a Force pull as she burst onto the open platform. In the distance, ships clashed against yellow skies, exchanging fire in sharp flashes of light.

She turned slightly. Blaster fire.

Detta spun, deflecting the bolts with quick, practiced motion. The shots ricocheted off her saber, sparking against the metal frame of the door behind the clone.

He was nearly on her.

Another explosion. This one from behind.

The force of it launched the clone forward, straight into her. The impact knocked her to the ground. For a moment, the two tumbled into one another.

But the momentum gave Detta the upper hand. She rolled, ending up on top of him, his helmet knocked partially askew.

She froze, eyes catching the curve of his exposed jawline. She had never seen one under the helmet before.

Curiosity tugged at her. Her hand moved before she could stop it, nudging the helmet the rest of the way off. His face was revealed. Close. Still unaware of how near she was or that she could still strike.

She leaned in slightly, assessing. Not gravely injured. Dazed. Then his eyes focused and locked with hers.

A beat. Two.

Neither moved. The moment stretched, equal surprise written across their faces. His eyes. He was certainly no droid, Detta didn’t know what she expected. Then movement. A shadow to her left, growing rapidly. Detta reacted instantly, grabbing him and rolling the both of them to the side.

A split-second later, a chunk of debris slammed into the platform where they’d been. The impact rang in her ears, a dull metallic thud echoing in her bones. She blinked. A piece of the base, maybe. Or shrapnel from the battle overhead.

Disoriented, she realized she was still holding on to him, finding herself hovering over him once again.

The clone looked up at her, confused. Silent.

Detta, for a beat, was lost in the moment, surprised there was a human underneath the helmet at all. It was stupid, in hindsight. A part of her mind never ventured further than the glint of their white armor or the hands that held blasters. But, here this clone sat, completely human.

The silence between them snapped apart as the unmistakable roar of a Republic gunship cut through the air. She glanced behind. The LAAT hovered behind them, boarding doors already open, the troopers inside pointing straight at her.

That was her cue to leave. Detta sprang to her feet, the clone still beneath her. He didn’t reach for his blasters. She darted to the right, heading for the closest edge of the platform. Her saber ignited again with a hiss, catching and deflecting the first flurry of blaster fire.

Shouts rang out. Footsteps thundered behind her. Ships descended through the smoky sky. Republic, not Separatist. The base was lost. Punishment surely to follow.

At the edge of the platform, she hesitated just long enough to glance down. Another landing pad below. It was narrow, maybe a five-meter drop. If it didn’t hold, she’d be headed for the gorge at the bottom of the valley.

Still better odds than staying here. Detta turned for one last look. The clone stood up. Helmet still off, cradled under one arm.

He watched her. Never raised his weapon.

Detta held his gaze for a heartbeat. Then jumped.

Chapter Text

The room was dim. Cold. A single light hummed above her, casting long shadows against the durasteel walls. Detta sat at the table, wrists bound in magnetic cuffs. She didn’t struggle. Didn’t speak. She’d surrendered herself willingly to those who would consider her an enemy. It was a gamble, but some gambles were worth the risks. Especially when there was nothing left to fear and nothing left to lose. 

Across from her stood four men. Familiar faces. Some from battlefield reports, others from war propaganda: General Kenobi, arms folded. General Skywalker, pacing like a predator. Commander Cody, as they called him, impassive. And the clone she had spared and in turn spared her, Captain Rex. She hadn’t seen him for some time, but she immediately recognized the markings of his armor. Now, she had a name to go with the face that quietly lingered in her mind since they ran into one another. The clone that gave all of the others a face where none before existed.

What none of them knew was that this had been in motion for a long time. She'd fed the Sith hollow truths. Whispers through encrypted channels. A performance. A role. A spy within the Republic. A Separatist turncoat. The kind Sidious could exploit without dirtying his own hands. She made it seem like the idea was his own machination. But, it wasn’t going to work that way. Not after what happened to Maul, her mentor in secrecy, what she believed could’ve been her new home; her survival. 

Detta had surrendered herself hours earlier, no resistance, no weapon drawn. She’d come willingly. A war criminal by most counts. And yet she sat like a diplomat awaiting a meeting that had long been scheduled.

Across from her, Kenobi stepped forward. “Let’s start simple,” he said. “Your name. Rank. The command you served under.”

“That’s simple to answer. Detta Kylon, no rank. No command, but his command.”

Kenobi tilted his head, his brows furrowing. “Whose command would that be? Count Dooku?”

“Not him. No,” Detta replied coolly.

Anakin Skywalker took a half-step forward, arms crossed. “She’s a Separatist. I don’t know why we’re even entertaining this.”

Detta tilted her head. “I was stolen from my home by the man who commands the Separatist army from the shadows. I never asked to be a involved in this war."

Anakin’s eyes narrowed. “You mean Sidious.”

“You know of Sidious then,” Kenobi half-inquired.

Detta nodded. “Of course, but I never met Sidious in person, only through holo. Everything was always through intermediaries, like the Count. He didn’t trust me enough, but he realized I had other uses that went beyond my original purpose.”

“Which was?” Kenobi asked, placing his hand under his chin.

“My dreams. Up until recently, I had many vivid Force visions. He thought it would help further his plans. I was tested on for a time, until the visions faded. When he learned I could wield a weapon, I was used for war instead.”

General Kenobi pondered. "Intriguing that the Force now eludes you on this matter. I wonder—"

“None of this explains why you’re here,” Skywalker said, impatiently. Detta paused, searching his expression. His aura was louder than his counterpart. It was evident that he wasn't a standard Jedi.

She paused, breathing in. “I want to join the Republic, earn my place here. And kill Sidious.”

There was a shift in the air. A flicker of confusion. Surprise, even. All of them shared a glance amongst themselves. “This is ridiculous! Why would we trust someone like you? It doesn’t even sound like you’ll be of use if you can’t tell us where the Sith are hiding,” Skywalker said, raising his arms in frustration. Impatient. Quick to anger. A problem in this discussion. Detta’s eyes darted to the clone in blue who had been studying her in silence.

“Any questions you have, I’ll answer. There’s information I’m willing to part with, things that will be of use,” she said. “But I’ll only pass them through him.”

She nodded to Rex.

The room tensed.

Detta’s eyes never left the Captain’s. Stoic. Unmoving. But a flicker in his eyes so brief it might’ve passed unnoticed by anyone else. Mild confusion. Surprise. A crack in the armor.

A smirk tugged at the edge of her mouth. Not smug, but thoughtful. It might be fun, to test that shell, to see what lay beneath the perfect soldier. But that wasn’t why she was here.

“Why him?” Commander Cody asked, sounding marginally confused.

Detta’s mouth curled just faintly. “We have history.”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed as he turned towards him. “Is this true, Captain?”

Rex stepped forward slowly, jaw tight. “It is.” He didn’t elaborate at first. A beat. “She saved me on Mel’mor 7. Saved me when she didn’t have to. Could’ve left me. Or killed me. She didn’t.”

Silence.

Obi-Wan’s gaze lingered on Rex, then Detta. “We’ll give you a moment.”

“What? I don’t think leaving the Captain here alone is a good idea.” Skywalker said, his tone sharp. 

“I think Captain Rex is more than capable of handling a prisoner in chains, besides we’ll be right outside should anything go wrong. Isn’t that right, Captain?” Kenobi’s gaze fell on Captain Rex for a moment. 

“Yes, Sir.”

Skywalker sighed. “Just say the word and we’ll come right back,” Anakin said, patting him on the shoulder as he passed the clone to leave. He motioned for the others, and they stepped outside, the door hissing closed behind them.

Chapter Text

Detta sat straight-backed in the chair, her wrists resting loosely in front of her. She watched Rex walk over to the chair like she had been waiting for him all along.

After the others left, the door hissed shut behind him. Likely they were going to a room adjacent to this one so they could observe them. Rex didn’t sit right away. “What do you have to tell me that can’t be said to them?” the Captain asked with a small wave of his hand. His question was rooted in curiosity, wrapped in professionalism. Detta needed to be good, not prod him too early in the conversation. Stay focused.

Detta leaned back, holding eye contact with the clone in front of her. “You saw them. Scrambling to define me, full of conclusions and suspicions. It's understandable given the circumstances, of course. But it’s frustrating, I haven’t even made an offer and the door is already half-closed.”

The Captain finally sat down in the chair opposite her. He didn’t relax. ”With all due respect, you’re not in a position to be bargaining.”

Detta crossed her legs. “I’m here because I want to be. Let’s not get confused. But you wear confidence well, I’ll give you that.”

The Captain gave a quiet scoff, eyes narrowing slightly. “You said you had information to offer. What do you expect in return?”

“I don’t expect to be given full autonomy, but I want to be part of the fight.”

“Look—don’t take this the wrong way—but out there, you’d be more of a distraction than a help. Besides, the Chancellor will never give you a pardon for your crimes.”

“The definition of crime changes every few parsecs, as well as reasons to be pardoned. Was it a crime for me to be taken from my home? To be twisted into something useful for someone else's war?
What other choices was I given?” Detta’s tone was sharp, but not aggressive.

“There’s always a choice.”

Detta’s gaze pinned him. “Says the clone born into a war he didn’t create or ask to be a part of.”

For a moment there was a heavy silence between them. His jaw tightened. She struck a nerve. Much more controlled than his General. 

“The Republic is my home. I choose to fight for it.”

“They say it's not a prison unless you believe it to be. Maybe you’re right. We get a choice. I made mine. I’m here, aren’t I? Or does making the right choice come with a time limit?” She needed to pivot, clearly the Republic was important to him. Whether he was bred that way or not, she couldn’t afford to lose a potential ally in this moment. For a beat, the clone said nothing. “If you and your allies give me a chance, I can make things right,” Detta continued, her eyes studying the stoic figure in front of her. His expression was unreadable. Was she losing him?

“You said it yourself, you’re here because you have a personal vendetta against this Sidious. I’d hardly call that making things right,” the Captain said pointedly. 

Detta smirked. “It’s one and the same. Ending the Sith ends the war.”  

“The others think this is a trap. Can’t say I blame them,” Rex said, with his hands on the table. His hands were slightly more relaxed than when his comrades left the room. Good. 

“Appearances can be deceiving. Listen, I know better than to expect trust outright. That is something I’m willing to earn here, if you let me. The onus is on me to prove myself, which is why I came bearing gifts in the form of two separatist bases that are manufacturing enhanced targeting systems for General Greivous’ droids.” She was given places to exploit with SIdious’ permission, a cost he was willing to bear to earn the Republic’s trust. Detta couldn’t help but to feel the glee of his eventual rage, knowing Detta had deceived him.

“I’m willing to hand over the coordinates, but if you want more than these two bases, I need to be in this fight.”

Rex studied her. No longer dismissing her outright, but he still wasn’t entirely convinced. However, she saw a glint of interest in his eyes. “We would need to verify any information you hand over. And we’ll need time to speak to the chancellor.”

Detta smiled. “Verify away.”

Later…

 A briefing room just off the interrogation suite. Monitors were still running. Cody leaned against the console with his arms crossed, Obi-Wan seated with fingers steepled in thought, and Anakin paced back and forth restlessly. 

“Seems this one came to play. I already sent the coordinates through to my men, we'll know soon if shes lying,” Commander Cody said, his tone gruff.

Anakin came to a halt. “I still don’t like this, it feels like she’s playing us.”

Obi Wan crossed his arms. "Perhaps. But people rarely risk themselves unless the stakes are personal. I believe she is genuine in her anger towards the Sith. The question is... does that align with our goals long enough to trust her?"

“And will the Chancellor be okay with it?” Anakin added.

"I trust Rex’s judgement. If he thinks there’s something to this, I’ll back it. But she’s not here out of guilt. That much is obvious,” Commander Cody added. 

"She doesn’t believe in the Republic. She just believes in killing Sidious. What happens after that? You think she’s going to just hand over her lightsaber and retire?" Anakin asked.

Obi Wan smiled faintly. "Few ever do."

The door to the briefing room hissed open, Rex entered with his helmet tucked under his arm. Everyone turned to him as he came in, glancing at the monitor showing Detta sitting patiently in the chair. 

“It looks like you two had a good talk,” Obi Wan says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“So what do you think, Rex? Should we trust her?” Cody asked.

Rex stepped into the center of the room. “I wouldn’t go that far. But, despite my better instincts I think there is sincerity there. At least on some level.”

“Yeah, fat chance,” Anakin muttered, scoffing.

Obi Wan turned to Rex, his arms still crossed. “Why do you believe that, Captain?”

Rex paused, reflecting on the conversation. Her tone. “There seems to be something personal there, Sir. She’s trying to be in control, but it’s how she says things that gives her away. I don’t say we trust her right away, but if she has intel to offer, we should use it, especially if helps out the men out there.”

"So we’re doing this? We let her fight alongside us?" Cody asks, still at the monitor station. 

“First, we need to get approval from the Chancellor. If he agrees, I don't see why not. After we have verified both coordinates,” Obi wan answered. “Then we use her… carefully.”

“Carefully, riiight. Carefully into a trap,” Anakin muttered, just loud enough to be heard.

Chapter Text

Some days had passed since her interrogation. The pardon was accepted, in part. Detta knew it wouldn’t come easy. In fact, there were many stipulations including that she would be under constant watch by the clone army. When she wasn’t on active duty, she would be confined to a small apartment within the clone’s barracks. Away from the army, but under their thumb. They set a curfew, as if she needed one with constant supervision. Only ever leaving her new residence with two quiet clones who barely acknowledged her existence. Fair enough. It was as she expected. She couldn't have her own lightsaber unless given to her by the commanding officers in her charge, to top everything off.

The weapon that was given to her, by Maul. A red saber that fractured in her care, turning the red a more orange hue. It hummed more loudly than in its original form. Fitting since Detta’s mind hardly quieted enough to dream anymore. Parts of the Force felt dulled since Maul’s death. Hollow under the weight of her losses. Maybe it wasn’t the Force, specifically, but how she felt in a world that didn’t have a home for her. The bustle of Coruscant certainy hadn't helped. She wondered how the Jedi could manage to meditate in such a place. Even in a silent room, the world around her felt loud. 

Detta was on her way with a group from the 501st aboard a LAAT. A few of them stared at her through their helmet visor, likely unsure of what to make of her presence. It was clear what she was: a prisoner of war, even if she had been informally pardoned. They saw a Sith, a Separatist, an enemy. Their opinion was their own to bear. She would change their minds.

In time.

The engine of the LAAT softened before it swayed, steadying itself for landing. The doors slid open, allowing Detta to see one of the bases they were trying to infiltrate just ahead. It was one of the bases from her given coordinates. Detta saw the long stretch of blaster fire in the distance. A blockade of droids on a narrow bridge over a river full of toxins that would kill anyone who decided to test its temperature.

The clones stepped out onto the landing area. Detta followed. She looked up at the orange hues of the sunset in the distance. Tropical trees sprinkled around their current forward base of operations. Another LAAT landed beside the one she exited. Captain Rex and Anakin Skywalker exited, both carrying a battle focused expression. 

Skywalker glanced at her, his expression soured at the sight of her, but was quickly interrupted by Obi Wan Kenobi, who was here before they arrived. “We can’t take much more here, we need to find a way across that bridge. They have a shield that our ships can’t penetrate.”

Anakin turned to Detta, marching across the empty space between them. His index finger came up pointing at the center of her chest like it was a blaster meant to fire. “This is your fault, you gave us these coordinates so we could fail. You didn’t say anything about their shields.”

“Anakin,” Obi Wan uttered, Captain Rex following behind.

Detta’s jaw tensed. She didn’t like appearing the fool. Perhaps Sidious wanted her to truly earn their trust, or die trying. Perhaps the joke was on her after all. “I didn’t know about their shields, besides I never said to only go with one battalion either. If you let me I can find a way in, many of these bases have similar modelling. If I can get a read on the durasteel—”

“No, you’ll stay right here where the clones can keep an eye on you. Rex, Obi-Wan, and I will find a way in.”

Detta glanced at Rex and Obi-Wan, their expressions not nearly as upset as Skywalker’s. Did this guy run hot all the time? Detta clenched her teeth. Swallowed her pride and stepped back. Detta watched the three walk away, meeting up with Commander Cody in the distance, until they left the area entirely, seemingly leaving Cody in charge. 

Detta observed Republic forces against the droid army across the bridge, presumably with the trio looking for a way in. If Detta could see the architecture up close she could make a better guess at where the entrance might be. Many of the contractors for Separatist bases functioned like droids. They were predictable at worst, if at best, reliable.

Blaster fire continued in the distance along with explosions that came eerily close to where she stood, causing her to flinch on impact. Another explosion in the distance sent a few clones over the bridge, into the toxic water below. Their shouting descended until they were heard no more, causing her to wince at the thought of falling into the horror below. 

An hour had passed in chaos. Detta was forced to watch the Republic bleed men she could’ve saved, if only they had listened to her from the start. Was this how they fought? Throwing clones at the enemy like expendables, like droids, expecting them to be rebuilt from scrap. Worst of all, Skywalker had made her feel personally responsible for this mess. The longer this dragged out, the more lives were lost. The more the blame would shift to her and prison would be all but inevitable. Clearly, they needed time. Time Skywalker and Kenobi weren’t using wisely. 

Her gaze snapped to Commander Cody behind a barricade, visor turned toward the front lines as he gave out orders. She jogged to his side and crouched beside him.

“Can you reach them?” she asked, she didn't need to say who.

He nodded. “General Skywalker reports they’re near a maintenance shaft. Could be an access point.”

“How close?”

“Close,” he said, scanning the lines again. “But we’re losing ground. We’ll need to pull out.”

That was all she needed to hear. Detta broke from cover at a sprint.

Cody’s voice chased her. “What're you doing? You don’t even have—!”

She already knew what he was going to say. Her lightsaber was still in Skywalker’s possession.

Great.

The bridge ahead was chaos. Blaster bolts zipped past her, droids clashed with clones, tanks on both sides roared and fired. As she closed in, a bomb hurtled toward her and a nearby squad of troopers. She thrust out her hand, yanking the clones toward her with the Force.

The explosion hit. They were thrown back into the busted shell of a downed tank. Metal slammed into her back, driving the air from her lungs. Dazed, Detta turned her head. The clones were groaning. But alive.

“Tell the rest of the men to retreat. I’m going to need some space.” She didn’t wait for permission. Pushing to her feet, she darted back into the fray. Blaster fire rained around her. She dove behind a fallen B2 battle droid, metal hot from combat.

Across the bridge, a heavy squad of droids was advancing. Too many to take head-on. Her chest was tight. The clones nearby began pulling back, but slowly, too slowly. Then her eyes caught something: a cracked fuel line on a ruined Separatist walker. And behind it, a neat firing line of droids.

Detta sprang up, waving her arms to draw their attention, and dove left just as their bolts pierced the walker.

The explosion ripped through the droids in a fireball. Shrapnel tore into the air. Two clones were tossed off their feet. A third barely scrambled behind cover, shielded by the smoke.

Detta pressed on, weaving through debris. The bodies of the fallen surrounded her. Men she couldn’t save. Or rather, didn't save.

Was this her fault? Anger surged. Gritting her teeth, she stepped out into the open.

With a fierce cry, she reached out with the Force, seizing as many droids as she could to stall them from advancing. Or worse, destroying the bridge before the survivors had a chance to flee. She hurled them over the edge of the bridge. One she crushed mid-air, trying to tap into Maul's teachings about anger. It was harder than it seemed. Exhausting. With a wave of her her hand, she flung the wreckage into another. Sparks and oil burst across the walkway. The ground cracked beneath her. A fissure opened wide and her boots slipped.

She dropped, arms flailing and a jagged edge tore into her side. She caught a dangling cable at the last second, gasping. The pain flared, sharp and hot. Smoke blurred the world around her.

Then blaster fire. Republic blasters. A hand reached down, strong and steady. A gloved grip closed around her wrist.

Cody.

He hauled her up, dragging her across the cracked floor. They fell back together. She gasped, the cut on her side painting red across his white armor.

Clones surged forward in her defense, firing through the smoke. She stared, stunned. They came back for her. When they didn’t have to. The droids wouldn’t have come back for her.

Since Maul, she had learned to rely only on herself. 

Cody helped her behind cover, easing her down with a firm hand.

“You don’t quit, do you?”

She pressed a palm to her wound, breath unsteady. “I was buying time.”

“Well, it worked. You saved my men out there. Rex and the generals took the shield down.” His tone softened. “Now let’s get that wound looked at.”

After the battle was won…

In the quiet aftermath, clone medics moved briskly between the wounded. Off to the side, Detta sat slumped against a fractured barrier, her side torn open. A medic crouched beside her, wrapping her in gauze, and administering medicines.

A short distance away, Anakin paced. “She disobeyed a direct order,” he said, low but sharp. “No weapon. No backup. She charged the line anyway.”

“She drew fire off the flank and broke their formation,” Cody replied. “Without her, the droids would’ve boxed in our forward units.”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t gutsy,” Anakin said, “but that’s not the point.”

“She saved lives,” Rex added, arms crossed. “Clones we’d be burying right now if she’d waited for permission.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze was calm. “You’re angry she went off-script,” he said to Anakin, “Yet its something you do everyday.”

Anakin exhaled, tension still heavy in his frame.

Obi-Wan continued, “We’ll debrief her when she can stand. But for now? She did what we ask of every soldier out there: she acted. We won and that’s good enough for now.”

Silence.

From across the field, the four of them looked out toward Detta. She was quiet, expression unreadable, blood crusted on her gear, the medic finishing the last wrap around her ribs.

Chapter Text

It had been a month since the battle at Haelis.

Little by little, Detta had begun to carve a space for herself, not as a Jedi, not as a commander, not even as one of them. But something between. A ghost in the hallways, sometimes a shield on the battlefield.

The stares were still there. The quiet ones, the ones that passed like a shadow over her presence. But a few of the clones had started to nod, speak, even sit near her in mess. She hadn’t asked for it. She didn’t expect it. But it was happening all the same.

More and more, she was under Captain Rex’s direct supervision. Only when battles allowed. Only in a supportive role, as if they still didn’t trust her to lead. Fair.

But those missions gave her something else: time to learn him. Or try to.

In fact, there were a few times she had gotten under his skin. At least, his version of it. That disciplined, stiff-soldier routine. She liked finding the hairline fractures. It had become a sort of game, a quiet one, played in the moments between blaster fire. Sometimes during. Her confinement to that sterile little room didn’t help, not with the silence. Not with the ghosts. But maybe the soldier would be distraction enough to keep the louder parts of her mind at bay. The doubts, the questions that danced in her mind, asking why she didn’t just return to her home planet, resume the life that was destined for her at birth. But, her father was dead as well as the daughter that was taken that day. And as was Maul.

Walking away was weakness.

Regarding the Captain, however, there was the time she commented that he had made blasters look appealing from behind a trench. He fired a few more shots. No words at first. His head turned slightly, the black of his visor angling her way. Silent beat. “Stay focused,” he said, before continuing to fire. She pictured the confusion behind the helmet. Amusing.

When she brought it up again after the fight. “So when are you going to teach me to fire one of those?” Detta asked. 

“You’d probably shoot me the first day in,” he quipped, a slight smirk playing on the corner of his lips. 

“I’m wounded,” Detta replied, holding her hand over her heart, exaggerating the drama.

Comments like this gave him pause. What seemed to move him most, though, weren’t the jabs or jokes. It was when she put herself in harm’s way for his men. Rex took notice of that and Detta took notice of his notice. It seemed the path to trust in the Republic ran through him, through all of them. If her goals had aligned with Sidious, manipulating them might have been simple. Well, not entirely simple. She’d taken a few hits for clones. She hadn’t faked that. And this was only the beginning. The more trust she earned, the more they would rely on her and the more freedom she could have in defeating Sidious, and putting an end to his ambitions.

It was strange, saving men who looked like the Captain. Who sounded like the Captain. She wasn’t used to that yet. But she was learning. Learning to tell them apart, by personality, movement, weapon preference. Jarring. And interesting.

Chapter Text

Detta no longer needed an escort to and from the mess hall on Coruscant. It seemed unnecessary since the clones constantly walked these halls. Although Detta avoided the mess when she could. While some clones were more comfortable with her presence, she still felt eyes wander to her as soon as she stepped into the room. She understood why, but there was something unsettling in being watched when you were trying to eat. 

As she departed, She saw Rex moving down the hall past her. His shoulders slightly slumped, barely noticeable if you weren’t paying attention. “Bad day?” Detta called over to him, stopping him in his tracks. 

There was a beat of silence before he turned around, as though slowly pulling away from his thoughts. His expression was hardened, something had disturbed his peace. Detta could sense him through the Force, sadness rippling in empty space. Dulled.

“Something like that,” Rex replied, tepidly. 

Detta nodded. “Interesting. So, anyway, let’s keep this between us. I was about to sneak out into Coruscant and get some air. But since you’re here...”

Rex’s brow furrowed. “Not without an escort, you know you can’t leave the premises without supervision.”

“I’m glad you see it my way. Let’s get out of here.”

“I wasn’t. Wait—” he began, but Detta already turned heel to leave. 

The city hummed around them, low and endless, like a machine breathing. High above the congested airlanes and neon-drenched towers, the top levels of Coruscant gleamed under a muted sky, dyed a soft blend of purples and steel-blues. The light pollution obscured the stars, but the skyline itself artificially replaced them. Cold and luminous, like circuitry stretched into the distance.

The wind had a bite to it. Not natural air, but filtered and pressurized, like everything else on Coruscant, manufactured comfort that barely disguised the weight beneath the surface, hiding away the darker portions of the planet.

“I don’t think this counts as proper supervision,” Rex muttered behind her, voice low. 

“Why not? You’re a captain. Unless that means something else to you Republic types.” Her eyes scanned the slow bustle around them. Senate aides, civilians, merchants packing up their stalls. Politely distant from two people wearing military greys and silence like armor. It had been a while since she had been around the sort. 

“You’ve got a lot to learn about the way things work around here,” Rex said, partially sighing.

“And yet, you let me walk out those doors. Could've had your men stop me,” Detta said, still walking ahead. 

“Didn’t realize you were looking to get arrested,” Rex retorted. “Might’ve saved me the trip.”

Detta came to a halt and turned around. He mirrored her, stopping in his tracks and looked up at her, doubt behind his eyes. Like he said something he shouldn’t have. Detta wasn’t offended. A smirk formed at the corner of her mouth. “I think you wanted to come. In fact, you needed it. Truly, I’m flattered.”

Rex didn’t respond right away. His eyes darted away. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just keep moving.”

Detta strolled up to a dessert shop, still open. The white lights bled through glass onto the durasteel walkway. Through it Detta observed the various treats decorating the shelves behind the window. One of them was from her homeplanet, a delicacy in certain respects, if a dessert could be considered as such. “I haven’t had one of those in years,” she nodded towards the one in front of her. A frozen creamed-cake with Narok-berries decorating the top. The sight of it took her back. “My father would make sure the chefs always had an abundance of them during his soirees.”

Rex sidled up next to her, and gave her a glance. “I read your background report. Merchant’s Colonies, Lord Vernah Kylon’s daughter. That was a surprising read. I, uh... I'm sorry about your father, by the way.”

Detta ignored the sentiment. She didn’t really like thinking of her father, not in any sort of depth that would bring back feelings of regret and at times, disdain. She had often told herself, he did what he had to do to keep the colony safe from Sidious. Another side of her wished he had fought harder to keep her by his side. She was destined to marry a neighboring family. A boy who was her childhood friend. Now, he was a stranger. Her home had become someone else’s, no longer open for Kylon legacy. 

“Yeah…” Detta uttered. She could feel Rex's gaze as her mind began drifting to the past.

“Wait here,” Rex said, then turned and walked toward the entrance.

Detta watched as he entered and exchanged a few words with the owner, who handed him a small cup filled with a purple frozen substance. Moments later, Rex reemerged, the doors sliding shut behind him as he returned to her side.

He held the cup out. “It’s not the one you were eyeing, but the locals say this one’s popular.”

Detta glanced down at the offering, then back up at him. She took it gently, caught off guard by the gesture.

They sat on a bench not far from the shop, bathed in the blue and purple hues of Coruscant’s nightlife. The world moved around them. Speeders zipping overhead, people laughing in the distance, but the moment felt still. Detta took a tentative spoonful of the iced-cream. Cold, a little too sweet, but surprisingly good. She kept her expression neutral, unwilling to give Rex the satisfaction of seeing her enjoy it. Not that he’d gloat. He didn’t seem the type.

But still… Wasn’t that the game she’d been playing since day one? Testing his patience, tugging at his mask of composure, unraveling the myth of the perfect soldier, if only by a thread. Something about watching him adjust to her presence made her feel noticed. Real. Like she still had some kind of power in this new life of hers.

Rex broke the quiet. “The boys appreciate the help lately. They see it.”

She glanced over, catching the weight behind his words. They see it.

“Oh?” she said lightly, feigning disinterest. “Is that why I’ve been getting all those stares in mess?”

Rex gave a low chuckle. “I don't blame them. You’re not a Jedi, not a Sith, not a soldier. You’re a bit of a question mark for the boys. Something they can’t easily define. Don’t take it personally.”

“I don’t,” Detta replied, her gaze dropping to the iced-cream in her hand. “But it can be… unnerving.”

Another soft laugh from him, like he understood exactly what she meant. "Speaking of the boys," Detta said, twirling her spoon, watching the dessert melt. "Rumor has it there was a traitor."

Rex's expression darkened. “Slick. Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not much to say,” he replied. “He betrayed everything we stood for. His brothers.”

“I saw he made a deal with Ventress. I’m surprised he thought he could trust her.”

Rex frowned. “You saw? I thought you said you heard a rumor.”

Detta shrugged, not looking the least bit guilty. “I may or may not have read the file.”

Rex gave her a sharp look. “You’re accessing military reports without clearance.”

“How else am I supposed to know how you're doing when I’m not around?”

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “Try asking.”

A beat of quiet passed between them.

“We should get you back,” he said, tone gentler now.

As they stood, Detta glanced at him. “You’re still angry about it.”

Rex didn’t deny it. “I trusted him.”

“That’s not a weakness.”

“Right now, it feels like one.”

Chapter Text

The mess hall was busy but quiet in its own way. Forks scraped against trays, the low murmur of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter from one of the long tables. Detta sat at the far end, hunched slightly over her tray. She didn’t pick at the food so much as move it around, eyes on the tray more than the room.

A shadow fell across the table. “You’ve got no business in here.” She looked up. The clone standing there, broad-shouldered, scar along his cheek who didn’t bother lowering his voice. “You’re not one of us. Never will be and I’m tired of pretending like we’re okay with you being here.”

Detta’s gaze was steady, almost bored. She scanned the room, eyes steadily falling on them. She looked back at the clone. “Pretty sure this is Republic property. Didn’t see your name on the door.”

He leaned forward and pointed. “The Jedi and the Chancellor might’ve given you a pass, but that doesn’t mean I do. You killed my brothers. You will never be one of us.”

A few more heads turned at nearby tables, conversations faltering. Across the room, Fives and Echo caught the shift in the air. They exchanged a look, one of those silent agreements, and stood.

Fives was the first to close the distance, his tone casual. “Problem here, Ralo?”

“She’s Separatist,” Ralo shot back. As if her past hadn't been obvious by now.

“She’s ex -Separatist,” Fives corrected, drawing out the ex. He leaned up against the table, as though he were ready to throw himself between the two. “And we’re in a war. We don’t get to pick all our allies. I mean, look at me and Echo, half the time we don’t even like each other.”

Echo gave him a flat look. “I like you fine. I just don’t like your mouth,” he said, standing beside Fives now.

Detta might’ve smirked at the comment, but Ralo was right. She had killed his brothers, in another life. It was self-defense, or maybe that was an excuse. Another part of her past that needed to be buried in her mind. She wasn’t trying to cause anyone pain, not when she was trying to survive another day, each one bringing her closer to her eventual escape.

The argument was cooling until the familiar weight of silence swept through the crowd near the door. Captain Rex stepped in, scanning the room. His eyes landed on Ralo, then Fives, then finally Detta. He read the scene in a heartbeat. Ralo tense, Detta equally tense. His jaw tightened. “What’s going on here?” he asked, approaching the table.

Ralo straightened, glancing between Rex and Detta. “Just reminding her of the brothers she put in the ground, Sir.”

Rex’s gaze hardened, but his voice stayed even. “You made your point. Now make yourself scarce.”

Ralo hesitated, then gave a curt nod and pushed past. Rex turned to Fives and Echo, then to Detta. “You alright?”

“Nothing I don’t deserve, Captain,” Detta replied, her tone strained but even. She stood up, glancing at Fives and Echo before departing from the mess hall entirely.

Rex’s eyes followed Detta as she walked out, his jaw tightening just enough for Fives to notice.

“Ralo’s wound up,” Fives said after a moment, standing straight. “Lost a couple of his squad in the skirmish a couple days ago. Not that it’s an excuse for being a nerf herder, but…” He shrugged.

Echo glanced toward the doorway. “Still doesn’t give him the right.”

Fives drummed his fingers on the tabletop, a small grin forming. “Maybe we ought to get her out for a change. She’s always cooped up here. 79’s might do her some good.”

Echo raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously thinking about bringing her into that chaos?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Fives said with a smirk. “Might even convince some of the doubters she’s not the monster they think she is.”

Rex continued to gaze at the door she exited, wondering if he should speak with her about what transpired. Eventually he turned to Fives and Echo. “I’ll let you get back to it. Let me know if something like this happens again,” Rex said. He left the two of them to finish their meals, exiting the way she had left earlier, once again thinking about whether or not to speak up. However, he turned right and continued his duties. 

Chapter Text

Another month passed, marked by battles won and lost. Detta kept to the path she had carved for herself: saving clones. Ralo’s words still lingered, a quiet weight in her thoughts. She had never truly acknowledged the damage she might have caused, never offered apologies. Words felt hollow coming from her. Frail, insufficient. They wouldn’t undo harm already done. All she could do was what she did now: throw herself into the fight, keep more of them from dying. It was less a mission than a penance.

This hadn’t been her goal. Her original goal. It wasn’t why she was here. But in some hidden corner of herself, she wanted their approval. Some small sign that she belonged somewhere. Anywhere.

Maybe then the Republic could feel like home. Perhaps it was a pipe dream. Still, she kept putting herself in harm’s way. Sometimes under Kenobi’s battalion, sometimes with the 501st. More often than not, they became her handlers. Skywalker’s command style able to bend enough to fit another wildcard into the mix. Even so, Master Windu had voiced his concerns to the Council. As Kenobi recounted it, Windu feared that Detta and Skywalker’s reckless natures might feed one another.

The problem was, Skywalker still didn’t trust her. Likely never would. Pity.

Now, on the long transport ride back to Coruscant, Detta sat with her arm bound tight against her side, her shoulder dislocated, a hairline fracture along the bone. She hadn’t anticipated the tank that came barreling toward her after she’d leapt in to pull a Shiny clear. Rex had been tense about her recklessness of late, though she never listened. If there was a chance to save a life, she took it.

What else was she to the Republic? A prisoner of war, pardoned, if only marginally. Freedom was not hers to claim; she doubted it ever would be. Her fate, as far as she could see, was already written. A bargain she made born from grief.

The LAAT hovered onto the platform, allowing Detta to step off, following some of the clones. Captain Rex already landed and was seen with Anakin Skywalker across the circular landing pad. When he turned he saw Detta in the distance, excused himself from Anakin’s side and made his way towards her, helmet under his arm. His expression dropped down to her arm, already placed in a cast. His expression flat.

When he was within earshot he said, “I need a word.”

Detta said nothing, but followed him so they were out of earshot from the other clones making their way down the ramp. “I feel like I’m about to be scolded. What did I do?” Detta asked.

Rex glanced around before fixing his gaze on her. Sunlight caught in his irises, lending them a fleeting, almost pleading glint. The rest of him was all rigid lines and parade-ground posture, except for the subtle shift of his weight, the faint restlessness in his stance. He was nervous, Detta realized. That surprised her enough to give him a wry smile.

“Leave it to you to find amusement in reprimand,” he said dryly. 

“So I am being reprimanded. How cute.”

“Detta, I’m being serious,” he said. He wasn’t amused. 

“Yaaawn. Listen, I know what you’re going to say. Its about the arm. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“What I think is that you let Ralo get into your head. You’ve been more reckless than usual. Every battle you come out with an injury. I need to make sure you’re not going to be a liability, to yourself or my men,” Rex said, his tone authoritative. It was difficult to take him seriously in that tone. At least the way he intended. That was the part of him she liked to toy with, but she knew he’d snap if she made a joke of it now. 

Detta shook her head. “I don’t think that Shiny thought I was a liability when I saved him.”

“That’s not the point I’m trying to make. What I’m trying to say is you're no good to the Republic if you’re dead.”

“Ahhh, so it’s about my usefulness,” Detta said, feigning offense at his choice of words.

“That’s not—” Rex paused, adjusting his stance. “That’s not what I meant,” Rex said, his voice steady but softer now. He ran a hand over his head, an uncharacteristic gesture of unease. “It’s not about usefulness or how many missions you’ve pulled off. It’s about the fact that every time you come back with an injury, it puts everyone on edge. Not just me, but the men who fight alongside you.”

He paused, searching her face, as if trying to read if she understood the weight behind his words. “You don’t have to prove anything. Just come back in one piece. You’re not alone out there, try and remember that.”

“Will do, Captain,” Detta said, trying to keep her from sounding ironic in the moment. He gave her a skeptical look before returning to Anakin’s side. 

Rex’s footsteps were steady as he rejoined Anakin, who looked up, eyes narrowing slightly.
“Trouble?” Anakin asked, voice low but sharp.

Rex gave a subtle nod, his jaw tightening for a moment. Anakin smirked knowingly. “That’s one word for her,” Rex finally said.

“Don’t let her get under your skin,” Anakin added casually, though his gaze suggested he already knew she did. Rex’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his attention back to the mission debriefing, leaving the words hanging between them.

Chapter Text

The sterile hum of the medical bay was a low drone in the background. Detta sat rigid in the corner, fingers clasped tightly, eyes flickering to the door every few minutes. The news had hit her harder than expected, Captain Rex was injured, unconscious through the night after a battle gone awry. The medical droid said he was stable, and likely fine, but still. Just when she was getting used to his presence, she thought.

She hadn’t meant to stay this long, but something kept her rooted in place, a vigil she didn’t allow herself before. The room was cold, clinical, but the weight of worry made it feel heavier.

Footsteps approached, light but purposeful. The door slid open, and Anakin stepped inside, his eyes immediately finding her. For a moment there was a brief flash of surprise, the unpleasant kind before his gaze softened. 

Detta stood up. “What’re you doing here?” Anakin asked, not in an accusatory tone. 

“I heard about what happened. I didn’t mean to stay this long. I’ll uh…head back now.” She kept her voice steady despite the tension curling in her chest. Seeing Rex like this bothered her, after all. The clone captain that stood tall at every mission, immovable and steady. Here he was, out cold, vulnerable. Detta gave him one last glance before she nodded in Anakin’s direction and exited the hospital room. 

Rex’s eyes fluttered open, the sterile light of the medical bay blurring at first. As his vision cleared, Anakin’s familiar silhouette stepped into view.

“Hey, you’re finally awake,” Anakin said with a grin.

Rex blinked, then shifted slightly, wincing. “How long?”

“Long enough for the whole squad to start gossiping,” Anakin replied, shaking his head. “Also, you had a visitor.”

Rex frowned. “Visitor?

“You know, the trouble,” Anakin answered, intentionally vague.

Rex leaned up, slowly, digesting the information before he understood where his General was going with this. “Detta?”

Anakin smirked. “Yeah. Guess she’s got a thing for you.” He chuckled lightly, enjoying Rex’s brief flush of discomfort.

“Hardly,” Rex muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You say that, but I think she was here a lot longer than ‘hardly.’” Anakin was still smiling, as if he too, got entertainment from teasing Rex. Great. Thats what he needed, two Force users laser focused on him.

“Its not like that,” Rex added, sounding more defensive than he intended. He regretted it immediately, but the grogginess and the pain in his side was more present than his wits at the moment. Not only that, but it caught him off guard, both Anakin’s comment and learning of her presence.

Chapter Text

Rex watched Detta from across the hangar bay, talking with Fives and Echo. They were all gearing up for deployment, and this time, she was rolling with those two and a small squad for an infiltration mission. He noticed how easily Fives connected with her. Her sharp wit seemed to spark him rather than rile him up.

Rex, on the other hand, kept his distance. He wasn’t blind to her attitude, her casual disregard for rank and protocol. That should’ve been enough to push him away, yet he never told her to stop. If anything, that unsettled him more than anything else. He didn’t fully trust her, but he couldn’t bring himself to push her out either.

Still, he watched her save lives. His brothers. She’d hurt herself more times than he could count, despite his warnings, yet she was earning their trust. In a strange way, that gave him a flicker of pride to see her finally bonding with the men.

Even so, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being an observer, like she was reaching out to him, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to catch. Her staying by his side in the medical bay, her concern after what happened with Slick… Could the General be right about her?

No, that wasn’t possible. 

Fives was already pulling her into the plan. “You’ve got to come with us to 79's when we get back on Coruscant,” he said with enthusiasm. Around them, clones were gathering and boarding transports, preparing for the next deployment.

Hevy passed by, nudging Detta’s shoulder with a rough grin. “You sure you can keep up with us?”

She smirked without hesitation. “I’d drink you under the table, Hevy.”

“Oho, I'd like to see that!” Hevy laughed, tightening his belt. Tup followed close behind, shaking his head. “I can hear Dogma now, whining about regulations—’No prisoner of war allowed in a clone bar,’” Hevy said, mocking up the most uptight tone he could manage.

Tup leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “To hell with Dogma. Besides, they lifted some of her restrictions. She can come with us for a night out.”

“Dogma’s not really the going-out type,” Echo said, arms crossed, eyes scanning the busy hangar.

“No, but we are,” Hevy shot back. “Haven’t been out in ages, I'm going stir-crazy here. Plus, watching a former Sith drunk has to be prime entertainment. No offense, Sith,” he added with a teasing smirk.

Detta smiled softly. There was no offense to be taken. Hevy was the most casual of them, hard to dislike. Echo stepped forward, then passed her and Fives. “We should gear up and get moving.”

“Agreed,” Tup said.

Fives’ eyes lingered on her as they headed toward one of the transport ships near the cargo. “You’re coming with us, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she replied.

“Good. Then it’s a date.” His voice faltered slightly before he added, “You know what I mean.”

Detta smiled again, watching him walk away. His words were endearing rather than awkward.

Before she could savor the moment longer, a presence loomed behind her. Rex stood there, rigid and silent. For a moment, he said nothing, as if weighing his words. When he finally spoke, he avoided her eyes. “Make sure to watch your six out there.”

She tilted her head, studying him carefully. “Yeah… you too.”

Without waiting for a response, Rex turned and left, but the slight tension in his stance betrayed a quiet worry beneath his exterior.

Chapter Text

Music spilled out in heavy bass and bright synths at 79s, pulsing through the air and rattling the glassware. Laughter rolled from table to table, clone armor gleamed under blue-purple lights, but most of them donned their civvies. 

Detta slid into the booth between Fives and Hevy, a glass already in her hand before she’d settled. Fives must’ve ordered on her behalf. Whatever it was, it burned good on the way down. Though, Hevy giggled watching her expression, likely believing he had already won their unofficial game.

“You’re late,” Hevy said, grinning wide.

“A lady needs more time getting ready for a night out, or I got a little turned around,” Detta replied, smirking. “What did I miss?”

“Just Echo beating Fives at sabacc,” Hevy said.

“Lies,” Fives countered immediately, throwing an arm along the back of the booth. “He’s delirious from the ale.”

Hevy turned to Detta. “That reminds me, you need three to catch up.”

Detta tilted her head. “Well, I better get started then,” she replied, throwing a glance at Fives as if to suggest: What have I gotten myself into?

Five drinks in and Detta was already feeling the edges of the room blur. Across the way, Hevy was draped over a clone she didn’t know, his other hand swinging a drink dangerously close to sloshing over. The two of them were practically shouting about tanks and heavy cannons like they’d personally invented them.

Tup, standing nearby, had his head tipped back with a look that said he’d rather be anywhere else, preferably somewhere quiet and far from Hevy's volume.

A chair scraped towards the edge of the table, and Fives dropped into it, leaning forward with a bright grin. “You know you’re allowed to stand up and mingle, right?”

Detta snorted. “I’m aware. I’m just weighing my odds of walking straight versus tripping over the nearest table.”

“When’s the last time you even drank?”

She swirled the last sip in her glass. “Since I was fifteen, stealing Corellian vintages from my father’s cellar.”

Fives arched a brow. “You’re telling me you talked all that big game about beating Hevy, and you’re gonna let him win? You know he’ll never let you live it down.”

Before she could retort, Echo appeared at the edge of the table between Fives and the empty part of the booth, cutting through the crowd like he’d mapped the route in advance. “Hevy is sitting at eight. No idea how you’re gonna catch up.” He glanced at her glass and smirked. “But I believe in miracles.”

Detta groaned but held the empty out to him. “Fine. Bring me another. But if I go down, you’re carrying me back.”

“Not it,” Echo and Fives said in unison.

Hevy slammed his empty glass down like a victory gong. “Ten!” he declared, nearly toppling over the clone beside him. “Top that, Sith!”

Fives leaned across the table toward her, elbows braced, his grin pure challenge. “You heard the man. Unless you’re going to back out and let him put this in his victory log.”

“You have a victory log?” Detta asked, already taking the next shot Echo had dropped in front of her.

“It’s more of a… mental list,” Hevy said, pointing to his temple and sounding more serious than he actually was. 

Detta coughed once at the burn of her drink, then smirked at Fives. “That’s nine. Your turn,” she said, placing the empty glass near Fives.

Fives raised his brows. “Oh, so now it’s me you’re challenging?”

“Truthfully? I don’t even know what’s happening anymore,” Detta admitted.

“Aha! I win!” Hevy said, ending his declaration by tumbling into a table and onto the floor behind him. The area around him abrupted in cheers and laughter.  

“Alright, I think it's time to call it a night. At least for Hevy. Tup and I should bring him back,” Echo said, crossing his arms, while looking down at their brother who was struggling to get up on his own. Echo then shifted forward, lending out a hand. "C'mon, let's go."

Fives and Detta made their way down the dimly lit corridor of the Coruscant clone base, the muffled echoes of distant footsteps and distant hum of machinery surrounding them. As they neared the worn stairwell, Detta suddenly slowed.

“Put me down right here, my legs are turning to jelly,” she slurred slightly, a small grin tugging at her lips as Fives lowered her onto the first couple of steps.

Fives stepped back, hands settling on his hips with a half-smile, though his gaze flicked sideways in mild concern. “It’s past curfew now, and I don’t see any manhunts yet.”

“Curfew smurfew,” Detta murmured, leaning back with a relaxed sigh, eyes drifting upward to find a familiar silhouette standing above them.

“Sir,” Fives snapped to attention, voice crisp and militaristic as he straightened. “We were just headed in, sir. It was a long night.”

Rex’s arms remained crossed, his stance firm yet not unkind. “You got her back in one piece, I’ll take that as a success,” he said, his gaze flicking between them. “But we should get her inside before brass starts asking questions.”

Without hesitation, Fives and Rex moved forward, gently lifting Detta between them. She swayed slightly but didn’t resist, leaning her head toward Rex’s shoulder as they walked. The corridor was sparsely populated, clones passing in quiet conversation or going about their duties. Each nod or glance they received carried a subtle mix of curiosity and camaraderie.

As they drew nearer to her quarters, Detta’s voice broke the quiet. “I can’t believe I lost to Hevy,” she said, her words slightly slurred but teasing.

“Technically, it was a tie, you had two more rounds after the others left,” Fives added with a grin in his tone.

Detta blinked, surprised. “I did?”

"No, but Hevy won't know that."

Rex’s brow furrowed slightly, voice measured. "Sounds like it was an eventful night."

“Yeah,” Fives chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Hevy went a little too hard tonight. Fell right into a table. Echo and Tup had to bring him back before he started decorating the place with his insides.” He glanced at Detta with a playful smirk. “It was a good night out. I think some of our brothers got to see a different side of her.”

Rex said nothing, but his eyes lingered on Detta’s head as it rested lightly against his shoulder. He felt the warmth of her presence there, steady and familiar in a way he hadn’t expected. He shrugged off the notion as quickly as it came. It didn't feel appropriate.

When they reached her door, they helped her steady on her feet. She shuffled inside, giving a lazy wave over her shoulder as the door slid closed behind her. Moments later, a soft thud echoed from within.

Rex turned back to Fives, voice low but resolute. “I’ll handle this. You should get back to your night. We have a mission brief at 0900.”

Fives gave a respectful nod. “Yes sir.”

As Fives departed, Rex’s gaze lingered on the closed door for a beat before entering. 

Inside, Rex found her tangled against the edge of the bed, one knee on the frame, the rest of her off-balance.

“Come on,” he murmured. Swooping in, he slipped a hand under her arm and hauled her gently to her feet towards him. She steadied herself with both hands on his shoulders as if her legs could give in at any moment. Then she reached up, fingers brushing the line of his jaw.

“Everywhere I look,” she said, her voice softened by the haze of drink. “I see this face. It’s a good face.”

Rex froze for just a beat, eyes locked on hers before clearing his throat. His eyes darted to the corner of the room. “Okay. Let’s get you into bed.”

He guided her the last few steps, helping her down onto the mattress. She didn’t say anything else, just sank back into the sheets, but her eyes lingered on him in a way he didn’t understand. 

“Try and get some rest,” he said quietly as he turned to make his exit. When he stepped out, the door hissed closed behind him. 

Rex stayed there a moment longer than necessary, palm still hovering near the door panel as if holding the air in place could keep everything neatly contained. He told himself he was only making sure she was settled. 

Silence.

He exhaled slowly. Too slow. Like he was bleeding air. It’s fine. She’s fine, he thought. Just drunk after a night with the men. That’s all. The feel of her hand on his face lingered. Warm. Careless. No. Doesn’t matter. She’s under his command. But, she wasn't like the others. Not one of his brothers. Not a jedi. Not a civvie, either. Regardless, she was dangerous. She could be dangerous. To the enemy. To him. He tried to shake off his thoughts and started down the hall.

Then his mind drifted to other things. Reports due, gear to check, the mission brief the following morning. There was plenty to keep him busy and keep whatever this was out of his mind. However, his thoughts circled back to her.

Chapter Text

Rex hit the call panel beside her door. A chime sounded from inside.

A moment later, it slid open. Detta stood there with her hair damp, a cup of tea in one hand. She looked tired, but alive.

For a second, Rex forgot what he’d come to say. The memory of her touch the night before still lingered in the forefront of his mind despite his protests. He cleared his throat. “How’d you sleep?”

Detta gave a small, crooked smirk then looked away. “Better than when the cadets are running training marches through the halls.”

Rex smirked back. “Sorry to cut your morning short, but you’re needed in the briefing room in two hours. The generals want your input on a Separatist base.”

“Oh, grand,” Detta said flatly.

“Fortunately for you, it’s just an advisory role this time.”

“That’s a shame. Means you and I won’t get more of that quality time,” she said, a hint of her usual spark returning.

Rex smirked. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“Yeah, but will you ?” Detta replied, not a single hesitation in her tone. 

Rex paused for a moment, unable to think of a reply. No, he did think of something to say. Better not to say it. She enjoyed getting a rise out of him and he knew it. Leave it to her to keep him scrambling like this, weighing whether he’d be stepping out of line if he entertained her. That was the other thing that he pegged from the start: words to her were like weapons. Not out of malice or manipulation, that seemed above her. But, she got enjoyment from finding the cracks in his armor. Ultimately, she was aware they were there.  

 “Two hours, don’t be late,” Rex said finally. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”

Rex turned and made his way down the hall. Yeah, definitely trouble.

Chapter Text

Rex had gone down hard on the mission to intercept Grievous. The shot had nearly killed him, and when the others carried him to a nearby farm to be treated, Detta lingered outside the barn while Kix worked his magic. She wouldn’t let herself look worried in front of the others. Still, the wait unnerved her. Situations she couldn’t control always did.

It was too close. Too much like losing Maul. Again she had failed to see it coming, again she was powerless to stop it. Maybe visions were never warnings at all, just curses of what could not be changed. And now Rex was hurt. On her watch.

A Twi’lek, had come out with water and supplies, quiet and kind. Inside, the clones tended to their captain with practiced efficiency, but when they emerged, it was to leave him behind. Kix reassured her he would recover, Jesse insisting they had to move on.

Detta followed, but not without a final glance at the barn. Her chest tightened, breath caught in her throat. An inhale, an exhale. She turned away and forced her steps to match the squad’s, but the image of Rex on that cot stayed with her long after.

The farmhouse smelled faintly of roasted roots and woodsmoke, the kind of warmth Rex rarely found anywhere outside of a barracks heater. The oil lamp on the table flickered, casting soft amber light across the worn grain of the wood, over Suu’s gentle smile, the kids’ drowsy fidgeting, and Cut’s steady; measuring eyes. Outside, the crickets hummed in the cool dusk.

Rex sat with one arm cradled in a sling, posture straight despite the ache in his shoulder. His armor lay in a neat stack by the door, plates cleaned and ready—because even here, on some backwater farm, he couldn’t quite stop being Captain Rex.

Cut set down his fork, leaning back in his chair. “You ever think about what life could be like if it wasn’t for the war? You could start a family of your own.”

“I haven’t put much thought into it,” Rex said, though he found himself glancing briefly at Suu and the children before forcing his gaze away.

“Yes you have.”

“How do you know?” Rex asked, brow drawing down.

“Because I’m the closest thing to you in this whole galaxy,” Cut said, voice calm but sure. “C’mon—I’ve seen the way you look at my family.”

Rex’s mouth tightened. “I already have a family… with the Republic.”

Cut didn’t look convinced. He picked up his cup, took a slow sip, then set it down. “I heard there was a woman outside the barn, waiting for your men to patch you up.”

Rex’s eyes narrowed a fraction, uncertain where this was going. “There was. What about her?”

“Suu said she looked more worried than your own brothers, having to leave you behind. Sounds like there’s something there.”

“It’s obvious she cares about you,” Suu added gently, her tone free of judgment.

Rex shifted in his seat, stammering faintly. “I… It’s not like that.”

Cut gave him a slow, knowing look. “You sure about that?”

Rex stiffened. “Of course I’m sure. My duty… my responsibility is to the Republic. Clones can’t—”

“Clones can feel, Rex,” Cut interrupted gently, standing and walking over to him. He placed a firm hand on Rex’s shoulder, still offering that knowing expression. “And it doesn’t make you any less dedicated to your duty. It doesn’t mean you’re weak. It just means you’re human.”

Rex exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “I… I don’t know if I can do that without it complicating everything.”

“Sometimes care doesn’t complicate. Sometimes it just reminds you what you’re fighting for,” Suu said, glancing at her children. Cut turned to them, a look of pride etched on his face.

Rex’s gaze softened slightly, flicking toward the door as if Detta were just beyond the threshold. The thought of her worrying for him made the ache in his shoulder dull just a fraction. He nodded, though only subtly. “Maybe,” he muttered.

Cut gave him a half-smile, retreating back to his chair. “Maybe is a start. Just don’t shut yourself off entirely, Captain.”

Rex watched the lamplight flicker over the quiet farmhouse, over the warmth and the simple life around him. Thoughts of her lingered, unspoken, but impossible to ignore. 

The following morning Rex set off to return to the fold—his brothers, his family. That much was certain. The Republic was his purpose, the reason he kept fighting. Nothing Cut had said would change that.

But when he saw her waiting with them, the worry still in her eyes, something caught in him. He told himself it was nothing—just concern for a comrade. Still, his mind lingered. Maybe family wasn’t only the men who wore his colors. Maybe there was room, however small, for someone else who chose to stand with them. Maybe there was still room in his family for another, if nothing else.

Chapter Text

The recon had gone sour. They drove off the droids but couldn’t risk a full retreat. Orders kept them watching the enemy staging ground overnight. The squad split into two teams, leaving Rex and Detta to find shelter from the unexpected wind storm. The planet was known for erratic weather patterns, so it couldn’t be helped. 

Rex and Detta found shelter in the husk of a ruined comms tower, its frame groaning in the cold-night wind.

Rex sat against the wall, his body positioned towards the entrance they came in, his helmet beside him, light casting faint light to see their immediate surroundings. Detta, still standing, noticed his left hand twitched faintly in his lap. A tremor from the blasterfire that bounced off his gun, likely causing some minor damage to his nerves. Rex clenched his fist, likely masking the disturbance. She noticed.  

She didn’t say anything at first, only gauging him for a brief moment before she made her way beside him and sat down. Finally, she shifted closer, lowering her voice:

“Let me see your hand,” Detta said, putting out her own. 

Instinctively, Rex pulled his hand back with a curt shake of his head. ”It’s nothing. Just a graze.”

Her hand lingered in the air between them, palm open, patient. She didn’t press him, not with her words at any rate. He exhaled. Acquiesced. Extending his arm, he began removing the gauntlet from his arm and placed his hand in hers. Detta gave him a glance before she removed the glove, exposing his hand to the cool air that surrounded them.

His knuckles were reddened, and the side of his palm bore mild bruising, nothing extensive. When he flexed, the tremor returned. Detta wrapped both of her hands around his, lightly applying pressure around his palm. Slow. Deliberate. Kneading carefully along his tendons. There was tension. Not in his palms, but the way he held out his arm to his shoulders in her periphery. Perhaps something other than the skirmish was on his mind.  

“You’ve been getting banged up a lot lately, Captain,” she said, attempting to break the ice.

Rex let out a small chuckle. A laugh that sounded more akin to a sigh. His gaze then drifted away to the battered door across from where they sat. “Occupational hazard.”

There was a stretch of quiet. Only the faint groans of metal that disagreed with the storm and the wind whistling through cracked durasteel. Her fingers moved gingerly, tracing the lines of his palms. His hand shook once as she worked closer to the wound, but steadied under her touch.

He glanced back at her, watching her movement. The space between them felt charged even though there were no words that filled the silence. There was a heaviness that Detta couldn’t pinpoint. She looked up from his hand, locking eyes with his. There was a glint of something that needed to be said hidden within.

 A beat. Why was it getting harder for her to see through his exterior?

No. It wasn’t that it was getting harder, it was because of Detta, understanding that it was her that was changing. She knew what it was that needed to be spoken, but somewhere beneath her own exterior was a crack. Deep down, there was a doubt that told her that she was merely imagining what was before her. 

Their gazes held seconds longer than either of them intended. Detta was the first to break, she smirked. A nervous tick this time under the weight of silence and wind. She continued to work his hand.

Detta said nothing, only glanced at the folds of his knuckles, the rigid lines that met his joints. She felt the tension in his hand subside beneath her palms as if easing into comfort.

There were a few more beats of silence as Rex watched her hands move over his.

“I have to admit, I’m surprised you haven’t hit me with one of your jokes yet,” Rex said finally.

Detta’s eyes darted up for a moment before resuming her focus on his hand. “My jokes?”

“I mean the lines you give me—to keep me on my toes.”

Detta smiled. Here he was, admitting defeat in her eyes. That she had gotten under his skin. That his mind lingered on her words. “I do like to change things up from time to time.” A moment passed before she continued. “Do you want to hear one of my jokes?”

“No,” Rex answered quickly. His hand tensed once again. “Not that I mind. I was just…”

Detta stopped, her hands still cupping his in her lap. Her eyes found his, reflecting his helmet's light to the side of them. She waited for the rest of his explanation. He stammered. “But you don’t mind the quiet?” she asked, guessing.

Rex’s shoulders relaxed a little, and his hand followed suit. “Yeah. Something like that.”

As her fingers continued to work, all that could be heard was the wind whistling through the cracks in the metal around them. Rex’s face tilted slightly, his gaze shifting away.

“Something on your mind?” Detta asked.

“A month ago, I heard you stayed in my hospital room. I’ve been thinking about it, and… well, a lot of things. I guess what I’m trying to ask is: Why?”

“Why I stayed in your room? Why wouldn’t I? You were hurt, and I was concerned for your wellbeing.”

“What I mean is…”

Rex’s gaze returned to hers. There was a look in his eyes, a look Detta should have been able to name, but was blind to in the moment.

Her movements came to a stop, not wanting to overwork his muscles now that they needed rest. As she shifted her hands, there was the faintest micro-gesture: a clench of his fingers, as though to keep her hand in place. But it was over in an instant, as if immediately corrected.

Rex cleared his throat. “We should talk about this later. I’ll take first watch. Get some rest. We might be here for a while until the storm clears up.”

Chapter Text

Detta stood in the halls of the Jedi Temple, waiting for a meeting with the masters. They wanted to evaluate her, concerned of her use in battle and the way she was trained in her previous life. In her mind, they feared that she might become a liability for the Republic, uncontrollable, despite her actions. It didn't matter. Detta was no Jedi and no true Sith. There could only be two, afterall. The reason behind Maul training her in secret. She entertained his ambitions, though she never desired them for herself.

“Through passion I gain strength,” was the code. What if there was no passion? The code, her code: Survival. Live to see tomorrow. A small token of revenge in its own right.

Maul would see this as a weakness. But, he wasn’t here anymore. The more the days marched forward, the less her anger became. Her will to kill Sidious shifted from revenge to doing what was right for the galaxy. The clones, in some strange way, became a sort of moral compass that she could emulate. Not that her choices or her beliefs weren’t her own, but she could see the merit behind the impact they desired to have. The merit in changing the world for the better, even if Detta doubted the possibility at times.   

Despite the minor intrusion, Detta’s thoughts couldn’t help but drift to her recent mission with a certain Captain. The silence. The shared glances. The way he stammered. It became increasingly clear that Detta lost her own game. With the amount of time she spent thinking of ways to make the perfect soldier squirm, she equally found herself looking for him at the landing bay, wondering how his next mission panned out if she wasn’t there to protect him. Not that he needed it. Those were the moments that made her squirm, fearing she might lose another when he had begun to feel like something steady in the galaxy.

She hadn’t expected to feel like this. Not again. Though, this time was different from the last man that occupied this space. It was… calmer. Her thoughts drifted to the touch of their hands. 

“What’re you so happy about?” Obi-Wan’s voice cut in, startling her. Not rude, but inquiring. Detta turned, seeing Obi-Wan and Plo Koon standing side by side.  

“Bantha’s balls, I didn’t see you there,” Detta said, her hand over her chest as though she feared they could see right through her. 

Obi-Wan raised a hand to his beard, appearing mildly amused by catching Detta off-guard, but seemed to let the matter slide. 

”Is the Council ready to see me?” Detta asked, her gaze shifting between the two Jedi. 

“Unfortunately, there’s been a change of plans. With the Council’s battles still underway, they won’t be able to assess your connection with the Force. But, Master Plo here volunteered to run an evaluation himself.”

“You mean assessing whether or not I am a slave to the Dark Side?” Detta asked, not taking the matter nearly as seriously. 

“It’s for educational purposes, nothing more. You said it yourself when we first met: That you no longer are able to have visions. The council wonders if there could be a reason behind this,” Obi-Wan replied assuredly.

“Or they wonder if I am to be trusted,” Detta added, not offended by the notion. It was just a matter of fact. 

“Your actions since joining the Republic aren’t in doubt. The Council has taken notice of your concern for the clones and how you selflessly put yourself in harm's way for them. I believe that is something that speaks for itself,” Plo Koon cut in. “Although you may not be a Jedi, you fight for the Republic. You are still one of us.”

Detta crossed her arms, a slight smirk playing on her lips. “I’d only believe that coming from you, Master Plo. I think Master Windu might feel differently.” 

Obi-Wan shook his head, not unamused. “I will leave you two to it.”

“What? You’re not joining, Kenobi?” Detta asked as he started to walk away. 

He turned and shrugged. “Duty calls,” he said sardonically, and continued on down the hall.

“Come now. I am sure you and I will be able to have plenty of fun without the others,” Plo Koon added, leading the way.

Chapter Text

Their sabers hissed and sparked one last time before Detta twisted aside, letting Plo’s blade pass harmlessly over her shoulder, where he stopped midair, signalling the duel had come to a close. She rolled her wrist and deactivated her weapon in the same motion, chest rising and falling with the exertion spent in the last few minutes. 

His reputation was well-lived. In fact, it was Master Plo that Maul had once named in her presence. Maul once toyed with the idea of going toe-to-toe with him after learning about his mastery with a saber. She would’ve never guessed he was Kel Dor, not that it mattered. Though it was rare to see them, given the air was toxic to them.  

“This wasn’t what I had in mind for an evaluation,” she said, lowering the hilt to her side.

Plo Koon angled his saber down, then thumbed it off with an easy flick. He stepped back, the faint rasp of his breath-filter breaking the silence. Tilting his head, he regarded her with quiet amusement. “Oh? And what did you have in mind?”

Detta relaxed her stance, shoulders loosening as she clipped her saber back to her belt. “Meditation. A lecture. Maybe even a staring contest if things got really intense.”

Plo folded his arms across his chest, the corner of his eyes narrowing with a smile only half-hidden by his mask. A warm chuckle rolled out from under the filter.

“I suspect the others will see to something along those lines. But I find testing wits in a duel can reveal just as much.”

She arched a brow, brushing a strand of hair back where sweat had glued it to her temple. “And? Did I pass?”

“In my eyes,” he said, gaze steady, “you’ve already exceeded expectations.”

Detta tilted her head and smirked. “That’s… good to know. I’ll try and remember you said that in case I need someone to put in a good word for me.”

“Dare I ask, for what?” He asked, only marginally suspicious in his tone. 

“A vacation. Off-world,” Detta readily replied.

He chuckled. “I think that is something I can manage.” Detta was finally at a loss for words, she didn’t know the master well, but he also spoke to her in a way that was as welcoming as the aura he seemed to manifest. The image of lazy waves, gently meeting the sandy shores came to mind. Fitting, considering they came from differing worlds in more than one respect.

The master’s mirth faded only subtly, his gaze falling to the side. He brought his fingers up to his mandibles, pondering. "I have read your reports, including the one that started your journey with the Republic. You alluded that you had been trained by someone other than Sidious. By someone in secret. May I ask who your master was? From the forms I witnessed, it does not seem to be Count Dooku and he already has an apprentice."

That question. She hoped it would never come up. Detta's shoulders tensed. For whatever reason, even though she carved a space for herself among the Republic, she couldn’t help but feel that could change in an instant. If she brought up Maul’s name, would it all disappear? Would they no longer trust her? It might not have mattered when she first surrendered herself. But now, things were different. Her feelings changed. She changed. At least, she wanted to now.

Perhaps the Jedi were right about one thing: attachments could be dangerous. Not that would stop her from forming them. All aspects of life were double-edged. There wasn't any point in avoiding them.

"I… I’m not sure I want to get into that,” Detta replied. Glancing back at Plo Koon, she doubted her own answer. Maybe not answering was also a part of the evaluation. “Your suspicions are correct. It was not the Count. It wasn’t the Dark Lord either. It no longer matters,” Detta added, hoping to convey that her master had died and he was behind her now, apart from her memories of him.

“I see. Very well, I won’t press further. I am curious about your lightsaber, however. The color is unusual for a Sith weapon.”

Detta glanced down at her hip. “Somehow I broke the crystal training with it. That’s why the color is different and it hums louder than before. It seems to put up a fight with me at times. It’s… hard to describe. In a strange way, it feels like a push and pull, an arguement I'm forced to have again and again.”

Plo Koon rubbed the chin of his mask contemplatively. “Curious. A lightsaber is the extension of its wielder and that one was meant for a Sith. You are not. Perhaps… in your heart… you never were.”

Detta’s eyes remained fixed at the hilt of her saber. “You’re right. It is the extension of its wielder. Both the blade and I were forced into something outside of our own destinies. Maybe it’s fitting that we’re stuck with one another.”

“An interesting outlook. For now, I think our evaluation is concluded. Shall we do this again?” Plo asked, turning towards the door.

“Why not? Maybe we should do that dreaded staring contest. 100 credits says I win,” Detta replied, following Plo Koon as he made his way towards the door. 

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Plo replied cooly.

Chapter Text

Fives leaned against a bulkhead, arms crossed, watching the usual bustle of the hangar. The 501st was loading for deployment, every movement practiced: weapons checked, crates stenciled and logged, shinies double-checked by their commanding officers. General Kenobi oversaw one side of the hangar while Anakin barked last-minute orders from the other. Normal. Everything was normal.

Except Rex. Or more accurately, Rex and their strange Force-sensitive tagalong, Detta.

Fives had been watching them for days now, catching little things that didn’t quite add up. At first he thought it was nothing. Rex was Rex, after all. But then the patterns started to stand out.

He jabbed Echo with an elbow. “Hey. Watch this,” Fives said, pointing towards the point of interest.

Across the bay, Rex finished rattling off instructions to a pair of shinies and dismissed them with a wave of his hand. He turned, scanning the hangar, and his eyes landed on Detta sitting alone on a bench, waiting for orders. There was the briefest flicker of something in his expression. Gone almost as soon as it appeared. Rex pivoted on his heel, snatched a datapad off a nearby crate, and buried himself in its contents.

Echo frowned. “What am I supposed to be looking at? That’s just Rex doing his job.”

“Wait for it…” Fives muttered, eyes fixed on the pair as he then pointed to Detta.

A second later, Detta’s head lifted. Almost unconsciously, her gaze drifted toward Rex as if aware of exactly where he was in the room. Not long. Not obvious. But it happened. Then, as if catching herself, she looked away, scanning the hangar with the same detached expression that she always wore. At least, when she was alone. 

“There. You see it?” Fives whispered, triumphant.

Echo looked unimpressed. “Two people glancing at each other isn’t exactly groundbreaking.”

Fives shook his head, grinning like he’d solved the biggest mystery in the galaxy. “No, no. You’re not watching closely. Rex has been doing this all for days, pretending to look busy whenever she’s around. He turns away on purpose.”

“Or maybe,” Echo deadpanned, “he’s actually busy.”

Fives clicked his tongue. “I’m telling you, something’s up with those two.”

Echo rolled his eyes, returning to the datapad in his hands. “You’re seeing things.”

“Mm-hm,” Fives said, unconvinced. His grin only widened. “We’ll see.”

Detta returned to the cruiser after a short but successful strike against the Seppies. She’d hardly seen Rex on the field—he’d been running with Kix and Jesse—while she was thrown in with Fives and Echo to gut a Separatist weapons array from the inside.

Now, with the battle done and the men settling into their bunks, she went searching. The quiet of the halls made it easy to find him alone.

She stepped into his path, close enough that her voice wouldn’t carry. “So… is it time for that little chat you promised me back on Va’run?” Her arms folded, a smirk tugging at her mouth.

His eyes flickered wider before narrowing back into control. She had caught him off guard. Again. “Now’s not the time,” he said flatly.

“It never is with you,” she teased lightly, though the edge was there.

“I’ve got a report to hand to General Kenobi. Just doing my job.” He held up the datapad as proof.

Her brow arched. “I’d almost think you use your job to avoid conversation.”

His jaw tightened. “With all due respect, I have a responsibility. Sometimes, I don’t think you understand what that means to someone like me.” He shifted to move past her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Say no more.” She stepped aside smoothly, letting him pass. “I’ll get out of your way, Captain.”

She had made it a few paces when his voice came from behind.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

Detta stopped. Turned. His stance was rigid, datapad hanging forgotten at his side, his face carved into that same stoic calm he wore in battle. Her brow furrowed as she searched it for a crack.

“I expect you to say what it is you feel,” she said quietly. “Or… don’t feel.”

Her words hung between them. Then she turned on her heel, leaving him standing there, his gaze heavy on her back long after she was gone.

A few hours later, the cruiser was charted for Coruscant. Detta sat in her quarters—sterile grey walls, a single bunk, the hum of engines filling the silence.

The door chime rang. She frowned, rising to open it.

Rex stood beyond the threshold. Unexpectedly.

“Rex?” she asked, brows knitting.

“May I come in?” His tone was softer than in the hall.

She stepped aside, letting him in. The door hissed shut, sealing them in the small room. He moved toward the center, near the small table meant for one, then hesitated. His hand rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry. About earlier. I wasn’t trying to be… like that.”

Detta tilted her head, one hand settling on her hip. His attempt at contrition was almost as awkward as his attempt at honesty. “The man’s even bad at apologies.” The tease was gentle, not biting. At least, she wasn't trying to bite.

“I deserve that,” he admitted, hand dropping. Silence stretched. She didn’t fill it this time, curious to see what words he’d fight his way toward. After all, he hadn’t come in the middle of the night just to stand in her quarters.

“I don’t know how to say this,” he finally managed. “Truth is, I don’t even know what this is.” His hand gestured faintly at the empty air between them. “I just know… if it’s what I think it is, it can’t happen. I’m a clone.”

“A ruggedly good-looking one,” Detta quipped quickly, breaking the tension before it could crush them both.

“Detta,” he said flatly, shutting down the joke.

Her smirk faltered. She shifted her stance, letting the silence breathe, then sighed. “If that’s what you wish.”

“It’s n—” He stopped, frustration flashing as his hands lifted before falling uselessly at his sides. “We have one purpose. Our loyalty is to the Republic.”

Her jaw clenched. The words hit like a slap. “So finally you admit it. Maybe there isn’t always a choice.” Her voice was tight, sharp, an echo of their first meeting. “Good to know I was right all along.”

Always a choice. What a lie.

“I’m not trying to argue,” Rex said quietly. “I’ve just seen what wars do to people. It… complicates things. I wouldn’t want—”

“Want has nothing to do with it. Isn’t that what you’re suggesting?” Detta cut in, voice low, cold. “You’ve made your point. Go.”

He opened his mouth. Stopped. The hurt in his eyes flickered, then vanished behind his familiar professionalism. His shoulders squared, his tone clipped. “Yes ma'am.”

He turned and left. The door hissed shut behind him, leaving the silence heavier than before

Chapter Text

The hangar bustled with activity, gunships humming, troopers running final checks, the clatter of equipment echoing off durasteel walls.

Rex spotted her near the edge of the landing pad, standing with her arms folded as she waited for the Wolfpack to finish their loadout. He’d kept his distance the last few days, both of them had, but now, watching her prepare to ship out with Commander Wolffe and General Plo, he couldn’t stay away. Not when her being under someone else's command unsettled him. It wasn't lack of trust in Wolffe and his men, nor was it a lack of confidence in Detta's own abilities. Still, he couldn't place it.

He approached, boots striking metal, until she finally glanced his way.

“Captain,” she announced upon his arrival. Not Rex. 

Rex hesitated for a moment as though he forgot what he was going to say. The tension between them still seemingly lingered since their last conversation. If it could’ve been called that. He couldn’t help but feel it was his fault even if all he said was the truth. “Just—be careful out there. Wolffe runs tighter formations than the 501st,” Rex said finally.

Her mouth curved in the faintest smirk. “I’ll survive. Always do.”

Rex held her gaze a moment longer than he should have, then gave a sharp nod. “Good hunting.”

Without another word, she turned and walked toward the waiting gunship, her silhouette swallowed by the bustle of clones and the roar of engines, leaving him with the urge to stop her. She'll be fine, he thought to himself.

Rex stood there a moment longer, helmet under his arm, before returning to his own duties.

Detta gripped the overhead handle as the gunship rattled free of the cruiser. Across from her, Wolffe’s gaze hadn’t left her since lift-off. Finally, he spoke over the thrum of the engines.

“Since I didn’t get the chance to brief you in the bay, I’ll do it now. General Plo asked for you, so you’re here. You’ll follow orders—to the letter. Any order from my men is an order from me. Clear?”

Oh, he was going to be a delight.

“Crystal, Commander,” Detta answered evenly.

“Good.”

“Don’t mind him,” Sinker cut in with a grin, braced beside her. “He talks to everyone he likes that way.”

Detta smirked faintly. “Lucky me.”

The gunship touched down on a landing pad of sun-baked red brick. As the engines powered down, the desert’s heat pressed in, dry and heavy. Detta followed Wolffe and his men out, boots crunching against the stone.

The city stretched before them, modest and timeworn. Narrow dirt-and-brick roads weaved between pale stone buildings, their edges softened by wind and sand. The air smelled faintly of dust and heated clay. Great place for a vacation.

This was a neutral world, or had been until the Separatists came. A handful of skirmishes meant to frighten the locals into submission had instead driven the city leaders to seek Republic protection. Now they wanted allies, and the droid garrisons rooted in their outskirts eradicated.

The whine of another engine drew Detta’s attention. On the elevated pad beside theirs, a second ship settled. From its ramp descended Plo Koon, cloak shifting in the wind, with more of the 104th at his back. Beyond the city walls, more troops would be arriving soon to establish a forward camp.

“Good, you’ve arrived,” Plo Koon said as he stepped toward them, his voice calm but carrying over the open space. “Now we can begin. The Prime Minister is expecting us at the town hall. They have intelligence on several suspected Separatist sites… and by their account, another attack is imminent.”

He turned toward the streets, Wolffe falling in at his side. The rest of the Wolfpack followed in tight formation.

Detta lingered half a step behind, her gaze sweeping the city again. The heat shimmered off stone, the weight of the place oddly familiar, as if she had walked streets like these before. She frowned faintly and moved to catch up. As they navigated through the city, people glanced their way, seemingly unused to seeing outsiders.

“What’s their problem?” Sinker asked, glaring at them in return. 

“Maybe they’ve got a nose for trouble,” Comet said, giving him a sideways look. “And right now, trouble looks like us.”

“Cut the chatter,” Wolffe said, ahead of the line. 

They eventually arrived at the townhall, situated in the center of their public quarter, the streets opened all around them as if to guide the eyes on the singular building. Its stone was much more rich with gold that filled the cracks of its old surface, giving it an elegant flare, along with its faintly blue dome overhead. 

Plo Koon and Wolffe led the way inside, Detta stopping to gaze at the building. She had definitely been here before. Why couldn’t she put her finger on when? Her past lives had felt so distant to her now. Every battle she fought, every clone lost, the trust she earned; every second since Maul was taken from her had made her feel displaced amid her own history. 

Comet paused in the archway, the others already filing inside. He glanced back at her, visor catching the desert sun.

“You coming?”

Detta blinked, dragged back from the haze of memory. “Yeah.”

“Good. Cause you didn’t have much of a choice,” he said flatly, before turning to follow the rest.

Once inside, they made their way to the top of the building and were led into a large room with ancient tomes and stylish rugs over stone floors. At the desk, which had a balcony that overlooked the square below. The clones and her corralled near the side of the room, empty of any Prime Minister. 

“He’ll be right in with you,” the assistant said. Master Plo and Wolffe were situated near the desk when the sound of footsteps on stone approached. Everyone glanced at the man who entered.  

The Prime Minister swept in, robes trailing, his green eyes crystalline against the heavy stone walls. He greeted the Jedi first, his tone formal and respectful, as if Plo Koon were the only presence that mattered in the room.

She recognized the figure. Detta shifted back unconsciously, colliding with Comet’s armored chest.

“Easy,” he muttered, steadying her with one hand. Eyes flicked her way; Wolffe’s, Sinker’s, even the Prime Minister’s for the briefest of moments. She dipped her head, murmuring an apology, gaze fixed on the floor until attention shifted again.

If he recognized her, he gave no sign.

The briefing rolled on. Separatist hideouts. Local encampments. Mining facilities left abandoned, now likely nests for droids. Plo divided the forces with quiet efficiency. Wolffe and the General to sweep the larger threat; Detta assigned to Comet, Sinker, and a handful of troopers to investigate the mines.

As they turned to leave, a prickle ran down Detta’s spine. She paused, eyes drawn upward. Behind a vent grille, a faint red light blinked. Her breath caught.

“General—”

Plo’s head snapped up, following her gaze. “Bomb! Everybody out!”

The command hit like a blaster shot. Clones surged for the doorway, hauling the Prime Minister along. As they cleared through the threshold, the walls groaned with sudden pressure, dust sifting from the ceiling as detonators screamed to life. They all made way for the door and rushed as far as away they could, but the roof was caving and everyone wasn't clear of the falling debris. 

Detta braced herself, stopped and threw her arms up to prevent the collapse, arms straining to hold the weight. The structure buckled above her. She couldn’t move without bringing it down on herself.

“Go!” she shouted, teeth clenched.

Plo’s arm lifted, invisible currents wrapping her in an unshakable grip. The support gave way as he yanked her clear, a clone catching her mid-pull and dragging her away from the collapse. The ceiling crumbled in a thunder of stone and dust in front of them.

Coughing, the Prime Minister stumbled into the square. His face was pale, his words broken. “Who—who would do this?”

Before anyone could answer, a voice cried out from the back: “The assistant—there!”

The man who’d ushered them in bolted down the hall. Wolffe and another trooper tore after him, blasters raised, but the traitor slipped beyond sight, vanishing into the twisting passages of the building.

Orders snapped through comms; more clones were called to sweep the district. Some were called to guard the now-shaken Prime Minister.

Ahead, the mining facility still awaited. 

Chapter Text

Engines purred low against the desert wind as five speeder bikes cut across the sand. Heat shimmered in their wake, dust pluming behind them like ghostly banners.

Detta leaned forward into the handlebars, cloak whipping at her shoulders. The canyon walls rose ahead, jagged teeth of stone that framed the rusting skeleton of the mine. Structures of metal thrusted upward towards the sky. Ventilation by the look of it. And scaffold struts and broken lifts clung to its mouth, half-devoured by time and sand.

Sinker’s voice crackled over comms. “Smells like trouble.”

Comet throttled down first, signaling with a raised hand. The formation staggered and slowed, bikes hissing as they skidded to a halt on gritty stone. Two other troopers peeled off instinctively, flanking wide to scout higher ground.

Detta coasted to a stop beside Comet, boots hitting dirt a second after his. The desert wind pressed hot against their armor, carrying with it the faint metallic tang of rust and disuse. The mine loomed dark before them, its shadow stretching long across the sand.

“Abandoned, huh?” one of the troopers muttered.

“Not buying it. Stay on your toes,” Comet said flatly, visor fixed on the cavernous maw ahead.

He gestured forward, blaster rifle in hand. “Let’s move.”

Inside, shadows stretched long across broken machinery. Crates lay overturned, and thick cables dangled like vines from the rafters. The air tasted of rust and dust, the place half-collapsed, yet large enough to hide a small Separatist force.

The squad fanned in carefully. Boots crunched over grit, Detta following their moves. A faint drip echoed somewhere deeper in the tunnels.

Then movement above. Three spindly silhouettes patrolling the catwalk. The metallic click of a droid foot hit steel, followed by the flat voice of a B1: “Hey, I thought this place was abandoned.”

A beat later, blasterfire rained down. Red bolts hissed past, sparking against durasteel.

“Contact!” one of the clones barked. He and the others dropped to cover behind old crates and empty trolleys with their rifles up. Precise blue bolts cracked upward, the air filling with ricochet and smoke as one B1 folded in half and clattered off the rail.

“Roger, roger!” more voices echoed, tinny and distorted, spilling from the dark ahead. Shapes staggered out, half a dozen B1s fanning wide, rifles raised; their fire stuttering wildly across the chamber.

The firefight erupted. Blue bolts cut sharp arcs, slamming into droids. Red fire rained back in uneven bursts, sparking off rusted supports.

Detta surged forward without thinking. Her saber spat to life, a flash of orange in the gloom. She swept a bolt aside, redirecting it into a droid’s chest with a sizzle of metal. Another shot she carved in half, the two halves hissing by her shoulder.

“Careful where you’re firing!” Comet’s voice cut through, clipped but steady. “We don’t want the place to come down on us!”

The squad held their position, unwilling to push further due to the fragility of their environment, with Detta only acting as cover for the men when necessary. 

 Blasterfire lit up the shadows until the last B1 stuttered on its feet, bolts spraying wild. One shot chewed into the rusted rafters overhead.

“Down!” Comet shouted.

The droid went up in sparks, but the damage was done. A groan of metal followed by the shriek of supports giving way. From above, a chunk of durasteel and rock broke loose, cascading toward the squad.

Detta’s eyes caught the movement first. Instinct took her. She launched forward, shoulder slamming into the nearest trooper to knock him clear. They both hit the dirt in a roll just as the debris crashed down, the edge of it biting into her leg.

Pain flared white-hot. Between the darkness of her surroundings and the radiating pain surging throughout her leg, she couldn’t determine where she had been hit. She could only let out a muffled groan of pain, attempting to stifle any sort of weakness like they might criticize her for it. 

“Detta!” Sinker was already moving, Comet right behind him. The clones heaved against the slab, straining, until they managed to shift it enough for her to drag herself free.

Her boot scraped stone as she braced up on one knee, breath sharp through her teeth. When she tried to stand on both legs, she faltered, nearly stumbling till one of the clones caught her in place. 

“Lucky you’ve got quick reflexes,” Comet said, steadying her by latching onto her free arm. The two, ready to carry her out. “Unlucky that it wasn’t quick enough.” 

Sinker gave a short, low whistle at the collapsed mess. “We’re not pushing deeper in here tonight. Not with her hit and half this place ready to fall on our heads.”

Comet nodded once, voice carrying the finality of command. “We’ll hold outside. Get a fire going. I’ll radio Wolffe. You two, get bandages on that leg,” he added, looking down at the warm trickle of blood Detta now felt dripping down her calf. When she looked down, she saw that a fragment of metal was still stuck just above her knee. Great.