“Steel & Stardust”

Omg! I saw you take requests! I love your work especially bad batch! I was thinking a Hunter x Fem!Reader where the reader is new to the ship, like medic or maybe even a soldier? But she uses like perfumes and obviously a different soap and he’s obsessed with trying to figure out what she smells like and with how nice it smells? You’re amazing! :))

Absolutely - sometimes I run out of ideas so love getting request! I hope you like it x

⸻

Title: “What Is That Smell?”

Hunter x Fem!Reader

⸻

The Marauder had always smelled like metal, boot polish, and testosterone. Maybe a little like burnt caf on bad days. It wasn’t bad—it was just what Hunter was used to. Predictable. Familiar.

Until you showed up.

Fresh off an assignment with a battalion on Christophis, you were the newest addition to Clone Force 99—medic, technically, but you could hold your own in a fight too. The regs had spoken highly of your skills. That’s all Hunter needed to approve the transfer.

What he hadn’t anticipated was you.

Not your skills, not your sharp tongue or how fast you could stitch a man back together mid-firefight.

No, what Hunter hadn’t anticipated—what was currently driving him up the kriffing wall—was how good you smelled.

⸻

It started on the first day.

You’d walked up the ramp in your gear, throwing a satchel over your shoulder, hair pulled back, confidence in your step. The moment you passed him, it hit Hunter like a punch to the senses.

Sweet. Warm. Not too strong. Not floral, not fruity. Something clean. Something… familiar but elusive. He couldn’t place it.

His head had snapped toward you like a damn hound on instinct.

You hadn’t noticed—too busy joking with Tech about the medbay setup.

Hunter had clenched his jaw and focused. Or tried to. You walked past him again and—there it was. A whisper of something rich and soft. Stars, what was that?

⸻

The next few days were worse.

Every time you were near, his senses lit up like a battle alert. The scent of your soap after a shower. The subtle perfume that lingered on your neck and collarbone when you leaned over the holotable. Even the way your gear smelled—fresh, clean, nothing like the usual musty armor worn too long.

Hunter could track someone through a jungle with a five-day head start, but your scent was all he could think about, and you were right there—constantly in his space, brushing shoulders, handing him bandages, laughing at something Wrecker said.

He was losing it.

⸻

He caught you in the galley one night, the ship quiet, everyone else asleep.

You were perched on the counter in sleepwear and a hoodie, cradling a cup of caf like it held the secrets of the galaxy. The scent hit him again—stronger this time. No armor, no barrier. Just you, soft and warm and godsdamn intoxicating.

“You okay?” you asked, eyes flicking up to meet his.

Hunter blinked. “Yeah. Just… couldn’t sleep.”

You tilted your head. “Too much stimcaf or just the usual war trauma?”

He smirked. “Bit of both.”

You chuckled, then held out the cup. “Want some?”

He stepped forward—and nearly flinched when the scent hit him again. His jaw tightened.

“You good?” you asked, raising a brow.

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What do you wear?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Hunter rubbed the back of his neck, ears flushing. “I mean, you smell… different. Not in a bad way! Just… I can’t place it.”

You stared at him for a beat—then burst into laughter. “Is that what’s been bothering you?”

He scowled, only mildly embarrassed. “It’s been driving me nuts. I can’t figure it out.”

You hopped off the counter, still laughing, and came to stand close. Too close. He tensed when you leaned in just a little, tilting your head.

“It’s amber and sandalwood. Little bit of vanilla. And my soap’s just some fancy one I stole from an officer’s shower kit. Want me to make you a batch?”

Hunter’s brain short-circuited.

The scent was right there—intimate, surrounding him, and your voice was low, teasing.

“I—uh…” he stammered, then pulled back just slightly. “No. No, I think I’ll go insane if everything smells like you.”

You smiled slowly, eyes dark with amusement. “So… it’s a problem?”

He gave you a flat look. “Yes.”

You leaned in again, grinning. “Guess you’ll just have to get used to it, Sarge.”

Hunter’s voice was gravel. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

⸻

“Crossfire” pt.8

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

The twin suns of Tatooine dipped below the horizon, casting a soft, fiery glow across the sand dunes. The planet’s desolation had an eerie beauty to it—one that had become a quiet refuge for the reader and the child. For months now, they’d kept to the edges of this forgotten world, far from the eyes of the Republic and Separatists alike.

The loth cat, whom they’d found scrabbling through the dust on the outskirts of their makeshift farm, had become an unlikely companion. Its sleek, blue-grey fur had started to grow back, its eyes glinting with a sharpness that matched the desert itself. It was, without a doubt, a symbol of something still clinging to life in the emptiness of their exile. And, despite the grueling hardships they’d faced before this, there was a strange comfort in its presence.

The mechanic shop was a far cry from the quiet isolation of a farm. The reader had quickly adapted to the new environment—fixing speeders, engines, and droids. It was more familiar to her than the tedious cycle of planting crops and praying for a harvest. Tatooine had no shortage of broken-down machines, and the demand for repairs was constant. It kept them busy.

The small, makeshift shop was wedged between a cantina and a market stall. Despite its modest size, it was functional. She’d painted a faded sign with crude lettering—Repair & Salvage. Inside, the shop was a cluttered paradise of parts and tools. The air always smelled faintly of oil, rust, and the heat of the desert sun that relentlessly beat down on everything.

The child, now quietly watching her work with his small hands, had started to pick up bits of the trade. He was clever, inquisitive—his Force sensitivity seemed to lend itself to the work, too. But there was still that feeling of unease lingering in the air, something unspoken between them. Despite their time together, she hadn’t fully explained why she’d saved him, why she’d taken him in. And in return, he hadn’t pressed her for answers. Perhaps he didn’t need them.

“Fixing things feels easier than farming,” she muttered one evening, wiping oil from her hands as she glanced over at the boy.

He didn’t respond immediately, focused on cleaning a small tool he’d just finished using. He’d been learning quickly.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he finally said, his voice a mix of curiosity and the wariness he’d developed over time. “But, do you miss… I mean, we could’ve been anywhere, right?”

She paused. The sound of the desert wind whistled faintly through the cracks in the shop walls, but she didn’t answer immediately. There was a silence in the room as the loth cat padded over and jumped onto a nearby crate, curling up into a ball. The child’s question hung in the air.

“Do you miss it? Being with them?” he repeated, voice quieter this time.

It took her a moment before she spoke. She stood and leaned against the workbench, looking out toward the open door. The desert stretched endlessly beyond, quiet except for the distant hum of a passing speeder.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But we’re safer here. And it’s… simpler.” Her voice faltered for a moment, her gaze lingering on the horizon before it shifted back to him. “We can keep you safe here. That’s what matters.”

The child nodded slowly, but she could see the wheels turning in his head, the lingering doubt. He was old enough to understand that safety wasn’t always as simple as finding a new place to hide.

But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that hiding was only temporary, that the world would eventually catch up to them. She wouldn’t let that happen, not if she could help it. And she wasn’t sure if that made her a fool, but it was the only thing she could do to atone for what she’d dragged him into.

Their quiet life in the desert was their only solace. She’d gotten used to the sound of the loth cat’s purring in the corner, to the child’s shy attempts to fix things beside her, and even to the heat of the desert sun that felt like it never stopped beating down on the sand.

But as days bled into months, the feeling of being watched—of being hunted—never quite left. She couldn’t shake the sensation that someone, somewhere, knew where they were. Even on this barren world, she couldn’t escape what had been set into motion. The ghost of the Republic, of the Jedi, of Palpatine and his web of lies, was still out there, waiting for her to slip.

One day, while she was working on a speeder engine, a familiar sound—a crackle through the comm—broke the stillness of the shop. Her hand froze, mid-repair. Her eyes shot to the communicator on the counter.

“Don’t even think about it,” she muttered under her breath, hoping it wasn’t what she feared.

The transmission crackled again, louder this time. She wiped her greasy hands on a rag and sighed, reluctantly walking over to the comm. Her fingers hovered over the switch. She hesitated. The child’s curious gaze fixed on her, but he didn’t say anything.

With a deep breath, she pressed the button.

“Yes?”

It was Rex’s voice. Strong. Familiar.

“Hey,” he said, his tone almost tentative. “Where are you?”

She glanced back at the child, who was now fidgeting with a broken droid part. He didn’t look up, but the tension in the room was palpable. She bit her lip.

“Somewhere safe,” she replied, her voice cold. “Not where you want to be.”

There was a pause on the other end, Rex’s voice quiet for a moment, like he was weighing his next words. “We’ve been looking for you. You’ve been gone a while. The Jedi are still—”

“I’m not interested in the Jedi,” she interrupted sharply. “I told you, I’m done with that. You should be, too.”

Another silence, heavy, before he responded again, quieter now. “Look, I don’t care where you are. I don’t care about the Jedi or the Separatists. I care about you.”

She exhaled sharply. She could hear the weight in his words, feel it pull at the corners of her heart. But she had to stay strong.

“I’m not the same person you knew, Rex,” she said, her voice softening but still firm. “I can’t—”

“We’re coming for you,” Rex cut in, a promise hidden beneath his words. “Wherever you are. We’ll find you.”

The line went silent again, but this time, she didn’t reach for the comm to hang up. She stood still, her eyes drifting to the child, who had now stopped fidgeting and was staring at her intently. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say next.

But the choice had already been made. She couldn’t let the past come for them—not now.

“Stay where you are, Rex,” she said, her voice low. “This life… it’s the only one we can have now.”

The transmission ended abruptly, and as the static faded, she felt the weight of her decision sink deep into her chest. She couldn’t outrun her past forever, but she had to try. For the kid’s sake. For hers.

The comm clicked off, and the desert wind whistled through the cracks in the walls once more.

⸻

*After order 66*

The heat of Tatooine never relented, always oppressive, always relentless. The twin suns glared down, but in the small mechanic shop, the air was thick with the hum of droids and the scent of oil. The faint noise of the desert outside was a constant, but it had become part of her rhythm now. The shop was her sanctuary, her space of peace—and for a while, it had felt like the world had forgotten her.

She had heard the whispers, of course—the rumors of Rex’s death, of Cody’s desertion from the Empire. The news had spread in quiet circles, murmured over cantina tables and in back-alley conversations. But she hadn’t believed them—not fully. She couldn’t. She’d mourned them, both of them. And with that mourning, something cold had settled in her heart. The truth she couldn’t face, the possibility that both men, once so important to her, were lost to her forever, had nearly shattered her.

But now, in the stillness of her shop, as she wiped grease from her hands, she heard the sound of footsteps outside the door—two sets, both heavy with purpose. A faint chill ran down her spine, her senses on alert, even after all this time.

She wiped her hands again, her mind racing. It had been months—years, even—since she’d had a real visitor, someone who wasn’t just passing through the dusty town, looking for a quick fix. Her first instinct was to ignore it, to retreat into the silence of her world. But she couldn’t. Not this time.

She turned her back to the door, taking a deep breath, unsure whether to brace herself or pretend nothing was coming. But then the door creaked open, the soft jingle of the bell above signaling an arrival.

“Morning, ma’am,” a voice said.

She froze.

It wasn’t just the familiarity in the voice—it was the tone, the cadence, the weight of it. A voice she hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime.

Her heart stopped, her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she turned, her eyes locking onto two figures standing in the doorway. Two familiar figures—no, too familiar. One was tall, his hair a bit longer than she remembered but still as worn as ever. His posture was stiff, but there was that same quiet intensity in his eyes. The other was just as imposing, broad-shouldered, his face still marked with the same stoic expression, though his gaze now held something darker. Something more… raw.

“Rex?” she whispered, unable to believe what she was seeing. She looked at Cody, and her throat tightened as recognition flooded her.

They stood there, like ghosts come to life, wearing the familiar gear of the Republic clones, but now twisted, aged, and worn by time. They were still wearing the armor, but it was scratched, weathered, and battered, not the pristine white she had once known.

“Not the best welcome we’ve had, huh?” Rex said, his voice laced with a dry humor she remembered too well, though there was something hesitant in his tone.

Her knees nearly buckled as she stared at him, her heart thumping in her chest. “How—how are you here? How are you both here?” she stammered, stepping back slightly, unsure of what to make of it all.

“We heard a lot of things,” Cody replied, his voice deep and serious. “About the kid. About the Empire. We couldn’t… we couldn’t stay away any longer.”

“Is it really you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t want to believe it. Part of her didn’t want to face the possibility that this was real—that they were truly standing there in front of her.

Cody stepped forward, his hand reaching out as if to steady her, but she backed away instinctively.

“I swear, it’s us,” Rex said quietly, watching her carefully. “We’re still alive, still standing. After all this time… we couldn’t let you stay alone. Not anymore.”

She swallowed hard, feeling something warm and painful flood her chest. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her words caught in her throat.

“How? What happened?” she asked, finally finding her voice again, but even her tone was filled with disbelief.

Rex and Cody exchanged a look, their expressions heavy. There were so many things they both needed to explain—too many things. But neither of them was sure where to start.

“We’re deserters now,” Cody said flatly. “The Empire doesn’t want us anymore. After what happened… after Order 66…” He trailed off, his words thick with the weight of their shared past. “We couldn’t stay loyal to them. Not after all they did. Not after we saw the truth.”

“We couldn’t stand by and let them control us,” Rex added, his voice quieter, filled with regret and guilt. “The Republic turned into something else. And we both walked away. We couldn’t just pretend it didn’t happen. We tried to move on, but… we couldn’t forget you. Or the kid.”

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you were… I thought you were dead. I mourned both of you. I believed the rumors.”

Cody’s jaw tightened, and Rex’s eyes softened with something like sorrow. “We had to keep our distance,” Rex said. “We didn’t want to lead anyone to you, especially after what happened. We thought… we thought if we stayed hidden long enough, it might be safer for you. But we didn’t want to lose you, either.”

She nodded slowly, as if processing everything at once. The shock, the disbelief, the pain. It had been so long. Too long.

“Why come here now?” she asked, her voice steadying as she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “What’s the point of all this?”

Rex stepped closer, his gaze intense. “We just want to be with you. Help. If you’ll let us. We can’t go back to what we were. But maybe we can move forward, together. The three of us.”

The child, who had been quietly watching from the corner, suddenly walked over, looking up at them with wide eyes. “Are they… the ones from before?”

She looked down at the boy and then back at Rex and Cody, a soft, bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Yes,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “They’re the ones.”

Cody gave a small nod in return, his face unreadable but soft. “And we’ll do what we can to keep you both safe. If you’ll have us.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their shared past, and the unspoken understanding that nothing was ever going to be the same as it was before. Yet, despite everything, here they were—alive, standing together once again.

Her heart, which had been a tangled mess for so long, slowly began to settle, and with it, the promise of something new. Something that, despite all the pain and the losses, felt like it could be worth fighting for.

“Then stay,” she said, her voice steady. “Stay with me. Stay with us.”

The sun had set on Tatooine, the twin moons casting long shadows across the desert. The familiar, yet bittersweet weight of the night settled over the small mechanic shop, but something was different. There was an unspoken tension, a fragile peace woven through the air.

Inside the shop, the hum of tools and machines was the only sound, the soft whirring of droids as they worked on various repairs. The child, now safely nestled in the corner with a toy in his hands, had grown accustomed to the rhythm of life here, as had she. But tonight was different. Tonight, there was a quiet anticipation—one that stirred within her chest, making her feel both hopeful and uncertain.

Rex and Cody were here, standing by her side in a way they hadn’t been before. The space they shared wasn’t just that of comrades or soldiers—it was the space of something far more complex, fragile, and yet, somehow, stronger than anything she had known before.

They hadn’t talked much about the past, not yet. Not everything. The war, the betrayal, the chaos—they still lived in their memories like ghosts. But there was time for that later. Tonight wasn’t about the past. It was about rebuilding, about forging something new.

Cody stood by the door, his posture relaxed, though his eyes still carried the weight of everything they’d all been through. Rex was sitting at the table, his gaze drifting between her and the child, a hint of a smile on his lips. The same quiet intensity lingered in his eyes, but tonight, it felt less like a burden and more like a promise.

She looked at them, her heart catching in her throat. For so long, she had feared she was alone, that the world had moved on without her. She had convinced herself that the bonds they once shared were lost to time, erased by the chaos of the galaxy. But here they were, standing before her—not as clones, not as soldiers—but as something more. Something that might just survive.

“You know,” she said, her voice quiet, but firm. “I thought I was done fighting. Done running. I thought the past would always catch up to me.”

Cody tilted his head, his gaze softening. “We all thought we were done fighting.”

Rex nodded, his expression serious but warm. “But sometimes, the fight isn’t over. Sometimes, we get a chance to do things differently. And we’re here, for whatever comes next.”

She took a deep breath, letting the words sink in. Her heart ached with the weight of everything—everything they had lost, everything they had fought for. But as she looked at Rex and Cody, something settled in her chest. She realized that while the war might have shaped them, it didn’t define them. They were more than just soldiers, more than just their pasts. They were a part of something new.

The child looked up at her, his bright eyes filled with hope. “Are you going to stay with them now?”

Her heart fluttered, and she nodded, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’m going to stay. We’re all going to stay.”

She turned back to Rex and Cody, her gaze lingering between them. For a moment, the weight of everything they had gone through felt like it was fading. It was still there, lingering in the background, but it no longer defined them. Not anymore. They had a future, one they would build together, in this quiet corner of the galaxy.

The quiet hum of the shop filled the space around them, a steady rhythm that was somehow comforting. They had been through war, through loss, through pain—but here, in this small mechanic shop on a distant desert world, they had found something else. Peace. Hope. And maybe, just maybe, a chance to heal.

As the night stretched on, they sat together, the world outside growing darker and quieter. But inside, there was a warmth that none of them had felt in a long time.

And for the first time in years, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

They had survived. Together. And they would continue to, one step at a time.

The future was uncertain, but for once, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were together. And that was enough.

Previous Chapter

A/N

I absolutely hate how I ended this, but tbh I also absolutely suck at endings so this makes sense.

Tech. ⚡️💀⚡️

Got the inspo from Sana. Kinda figured

he mostly yells this phrase at Wrecker.

We interrupt your regularly scheduled political tragedy to bring you SPACE PIGEONS.

Thranduil weekly bitch mood 🫣

Hi! I love your works! I was wondering if you could write a fic about the 501st who is in love with their female Jedi general?

“Hearts of the 501st”

501st x Reader

Felucia was vibrant and lethal in equal measure—towering mushrooms filtering alien sunlight, thick air buzzing with unfamiliar insects, and a dense undergrowth that clung to your boots like molasses. You pushed aside a broad-leafed plant and stepped into a small clearing where the 501st had already begun establishing a temporary perimeter.

“General on deck,” Jesse called, half out of breath, tossing a lazy salute.

You waved him off with a faint grin. “At ease. Just scouting ahead.”

“Thought we told you we’d handle that,” Rex said as he approached, already brushing bits of foliage off your shoulder with practiced familiarity.

You smiled faintly at the gesture. “You did, and I ignored you. As usual.”

“Yeah, we’re used to that,” Fives muttered to Tup under his breath. “Still doesn’t stop us from trying to keep her alive.”

“She thinks it’s loyalty,” Jesse murmured with a chuckle. “Adorable, isn’t it?”

Hardcase, lugging a heavy case of thermal charges, barked a laugh. “More like tragic. This whole squad’s gone soft.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dogma grunted. “I’m focused.”

“Focused on what? Her ass?” Kix quipped without looking up from his medical kit.

You, of course, had no idea what they were whispering about. The clones had always been close with you—professional, dedicated, respectful. If you noticed the way conversations halted whenever you walked into the room, or how they always seemed to compete for your attention in subtle, strangely personal ways, you chalked it up to a particularly tight-knit unit. One bonded through battle. Through trust.

After all, you shared the front lines. You slept in the dirt beside them. Bled with them. Saved them—and been saved by them more times than you could count.

“General,” Tup said quietly, stepping up beside you, his cheeks dusted pink despite the heat. “Hydration. You haven’t taken a break in hours.”

You took the canteen with a grateful nod. “Thanks, Tup. You’re always looking out for me.”

He looked like he’d been knighted.

⸻

That evening, near the field base You sat cross-legged in the command tent, analyzing the terrain projections while the familiar hum of clone chatter drifted in from the campfire outside. Anakin and Ahsoka lingered near the entrance, arms crossed, watching you work.

“She really doesn’t know,” Ahsoka said quietly, shaking her head.

Anakin followed your movements with an amused glance. “Nope. Not a clue. I don’t think she even realizes she could have the entire 501st building her a temple if she asked.”

“She did ask Fives to carry her backpack last week and he nearly cried.”

“I remember. Jesse said it was ‘the most spiritual moment of his life.’”

They both stifled their laughs as you looked up. “Something funny?”

“Nope,” they said in unison.

“Just, uh…” Anakin motioned vaguely toward your datapad. “Hope that’s got better answers than the last one.”

You raised a brow, but let it go. “We’ll hit the eastern ridge at dawn. I’ll lead the recon.”

“Of course you will,” Ahsoka said, grinning.

The fire crackled low in the center of the camp. Most of the men had finished maintenance checks and settled into their usual banter.

“I swear she said my name differently today,” Jesse said, eyes half-lidded like he was remembering a song. “Like, softer.”

“She says everyone’s name soft,” Kix argued. “It’s called being kind.”

“No, she looked at me,” Jesse insisted.

“She handed me her lightsaber to inspect,” Fives cut in. “Do you hand your saber to someone you don’t trust with your life?”

“She asked me if I was sleeping enough,” Dogma added with a hint of reverence.

“Pretty sure she just worries about your death wish, brother,” Hardcase quipped.

“You lot are pathetic,” Rex muttered, but there was no bite to it. He was staring into the fire, silent for a moment. “She trusts us. That’s enough.”

But even Rex didn’t believe that—not really. Not when you laughed that easy laugh after a mission went right. Not when your shoulder brushed his during strategy briefings and his thoughts short-circuited for a full five seconds. Not when you called him by name, soft and sure, like it meant something more.

⸻

You lay awake in your tent, the soft drone of Felucia’s wild night barely louder than the murmured clone banter outside. You smiled faintly, listening to the comfort of their voices, and whispered to yourself:

“Best unit in the galaxy.”

You really had no idea.

⸻

The jungle had closed in tighter the deeper you went. Trees loomed like ancient sentinels, their bioluminescent vines casting blue and green hues across the mist. Your boots squelched through thick moss as you signaled the squad to halt, raising two fingers to point toward a cluster of Separatist patrol droids sweeping the ridge ahead.

“Fives, Jesse, flank left. I want eyes from that outcrop,” you whispered. “Dogma, with me. Kix, hang back with the heavy—just in case this gets loud.”

They all moved in sync. Always so responsive. Always so ready.

What you didn’t notice was the flicker in Jesse’s eyes when you called Fives’ name first. Or the way Dogma’s jaw tensed when you brushed close to him as you moved up the ridge. Or how Kix lingered a beat too long, watching your retreating form before shaking his head and muttering something under his breath.

The skirmish was over in minutes—clean, quiet, surgical. A dozen droids scattered in pieces across the clearing.

You turned to Fives, heart still beating fast. “That was textbook work. Great movement on the flank.”

He beamed. “Just following your lead, General.”

But something about the way he said it made your stomach flutter. That grin was too… warm. Too personal.

You blinked, trying to shake it off. He’s just proud. That’s normal. Right?

⸻

You sat by a small portable lamp in the command tent, jotting down notes from the recon while the jungle buzzed around you. The flap rustled and Jesse ducked inside, holding a steaming cup.

“Thought you might want some caf,” he said, offering it with a smile—less playful than usual. Quieter.

“Thanks.” You took it, letting your fingers brush his without meaning to. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he said simply.

You paused. The heat from the mug had nothing on the warmth spreading up your neck.

He stayed, quiet, hands tucked behind his back like a soldier at parade rest. But he didn’t leave, and you didn’t tell him to.

Not until Fives walked in.

“General,” Fives said, a little too loudly. “Just checking if you’ve eaten. You’ve got a nasty habit of forgetting.”

Jesse straightened slightly. “She’s fine. I brought her caf.”

Fives’ smile faltered. “Right. Well… I made stew. Her favorite.”

You glanced between them. “You two okay?”

“Peachy,” Jesse muttered, stepping out of the tent without another word.

Fives watched him go, lips thinning. Then he turned to you and said, “Don’t let him guilt-trip you. He gets weird about stuff.”

You looked at him sideways. “Stuff like me?”

Fives blinked, like he hadn’t expected the question to come so directly.

“I didn’t mean—nevermind. I’ll just eat later. Thanks for the stew.” You stood, grabbing your datapad and pushing past him, mind whirling.

Something was shifting. You weren’t sure what, but you weren’t imagining it anymore.

The fire was lower now, casting shadows over their faces as the clones gathered close. You sat among them, quiet, watching the way they moved. Noticing things you hadn’t before.

Jesse sat closer than usual, shoulders brushing yours. Fives kept shooting glances your way whenever you laughed at one of Kix’s jokes. Dogma didn’t say much—but his eyes barely left you the entire night. And when you stood up to grab your bedroll, Rex was already there, unfolding it with a softness that caught in your throat.

“Thanks, Rex,” you said.

He hesitated, eyes searching yours. “Of course, General.”

And that—that was what did it.

Something in his voice. The way he said your title like it hurt. Not because it was formal, but because it wasn’t enough.

You barely slept that night.

⸻

The next morning you stood at the front of the squad, explaining the route to a newly discovered Separatist supply outpost when you noticed them: Jesse, Fives, and Dogma—all standing just slightly apart. Not fighting. Not even speaking to each other. But the air between them was tense.

Kix noticed too. He leaned in as the others filed out. “You might want to watch that triangle you’ve unknowingly wandered into, Commander.”

You blinked. “Triangle?”

He gave you a long, knowing look. “More like a pentagon, if we’re being honest.”

You stared after him as he left, that fluttering in your chest blooming into something a little heavier. A little realer.

You thought you understood them. Thought they were just loyal. Just dedicated.

But maybe…

Maybe there was more to this than you let yourself see.

And now, you weren’t sure what to do about it.

⸻

Felucia hadn’t gotten any cooler overnight. The muggy heat clung to your skin like armor, but it wasn’t just the weather that had you feeling unsteady lately.

The clones had always been devoted—but now, their focus on you felt sharper. Their glances lingered longer. Their voices dropped when they spoke your name.

You weren’t imagining it anymore.

And that… scared you more than it should have.

⸻

You crouched over a portable console with Rex, fingers brushing as you both reached for the same wire.

He paused. Just a second too long.

You looked up. “You okay, Captain?”

“Fine,” Rex said. But he didn’t move. Not right away.

“I’m not fragile, you know,” you said gently, trying to smile.

“I know,” he said, voice low. “That’s… kind of the problem.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Hardcase stomped up, practically glowing with pride and holding two ration bars.

“Brought the last of the chocolate ones! And look who I’m giving it to,” he said with a wink, tossing you one.

“You’re too good to me, Hardcase,” you laughed, catching it.

“I try,” he said, puffing out his chest before flicking his gaze toward Rex. “Captain looked like he needed one too, but I figured you deserved it more.”

“Subtle,” Rex muttered.

Hardcase just grinned wider.

⸻

Later that night you paid a visit to the medical tent. Your wrist was bruised. Not bad—just a scuffle with a tangle of thornvine—but the medics insisted on a check-up.

“I told you not to block a shot with your arm,” Kix muttered, gently applying salve as you sat on the edge of a cot.

“I didn’t block it. I intercepted it creatively.”

He snorted, soft. “You know you scare the hell out of us sometimes?”

You looked up. “Us?”

“All of us,” he admitted, quieter now. “Rex won’t say it, but he barely sleeps when you’re on mission. Fives gets twitchy if he can’t see you in his line of sight. Jesse doesn’t even pretend to hide it anymore.”

You blinked at him.

“You too?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Kix held your gaze. “Would it really surprise you?”

You didn’t answer. Because it did. And it didn’t. And that was… confusing.

Before he could say more, Coric stepped into the tent.

“Everything good?” he asked, glancing between the two of you.

“Fine,” Kix said shortly. “She’s taken care of.”

Coric raised a brow but said nothing, just gave you a faint smile and left.

The silence afterward buzzed like static.

⸻

The morning started off normally enough.

Warm-up sparring. Partner rotations. But when you paired off with Rex, things shifted.

He was precise, careful, calculated. He always had been. But when your saber skimmed a little too close, and he reached out to stop your momentum—

His hand settled at your waist. Not for balance. Not for combat.

You froze.

So did he.

“…Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse, withdrawing quickly.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Because your heart was pounding.

And then came Hardcase, throwing himself between you two, laughing as he tossed you a training staff. “Mind if I cut in?”

Rex stepped back without a word.

You sparred with Hardcase next, but the smile you gave him didn’t quite reach your eyes. Not anymore.

Next chapter

“Crossfire” pt.7

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

The camp was quiet now. The chaos had died down into murmurs, tired footsteps, the clatter of armor being stripped off and stacked beside sleeping mats. She wandered through it like a ghost, feeling out of place but… not unwelcome. Not entirely.

She spotted him near the supply crates, still in his blacks, helmet off, hair mussed from the fight. Rex looked up as she approached, his posture straightening slightly like muscle memory kicked in before the rest of him caught up.

“Hey,” she said.

He didn’t smile, but his expression softened—just enough.

“Didn’t expect you to come find me,” Rex said. “Figured you’d be off the minute your boots cooled.”

“Yeah, well…” she kicked a rock with the toe of her boot. “Running hasn’t exactly worked out great for me lately.”

Rex folded his arms, waiting.

“I wanted to check on you,” she added. “See how you were holding up. After today.”

“After everything, you mean?”

She met his eyes. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause, not uncomfortable, just… heavy. She leaned against a crate beside him and crossed her arms to match his posture, head tilted up to the stars.

“You still got that scar?” she asked casually. “The one on your jaw. From the skirmish on Felucia?”

He gave her a look. “You remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things about you, Captain.”

She offered him a crooked smirk, the kind she used to wear like armor. Playful. A little bold. A spark in the rubble.

Rex didn’t return the smile—but the way he looked at her made her throat tighten.

“You think flirting with me is going to fix this?” he asked quietly.

She lost her grin.

“No,” she said. “It’s just… easier. Than everything else.”

His shoulders dropped a little, some tension leaving his frame even if the rest stayed knotted. He didn’t look angry. Just… tired.

“I missed you,” she admitted, more earnest than she meant to be. “Even when I was running. Especially then.”

Rex looked down at her—really looked—and she saw the conflict written across his face like ink on skin.

“I didn’t know where you were,” he said, voice rough. “Didn’t know if you were alive. If you were working for the Chancellor still, if you were working for anyone. It’s hard to miss someone when you don’t know if they’re already gone.”

That one hit. She nodded, eyes flicking away for a moment.

“I was scared,” she said. “Of what I was doing. Who I was becoming. Of what you’d see if you looked at me too long.”

“I saw someone who gave a damn,” Rex said. “Still do.”

She looked at him then, and for a moment, everything else—Palpatine, the Council, Cody, the kid—blurred out into silence.

He stepped closer, just slightly. She didn’t move away.

“I’m not saying it’s fixed,” he said lowly. “But I’m still here.”

She reached out, fingertips brushing his hand, testing the water like she was scared it would burn her. He let her.

“I missed you too,” she whispered.

They stood there for a while, in that silence. The tension still coiled, still unresolved—but different now. Softer.

The kind that might, with time, unravel into something real.

⸻

The shuttle touched down on Coruscant with a low hum, metallic feet clunking into the hangar platform. The ramp hissed open, revealing the cold blue glow of the Senate District skyline in the distance. She breathed it in—familiar and suffocating all at once.

Rex had disappeared into a sea of 501st troopers. Anakin and Ahsoka had gone to debrief. The kid—the kid—was somewhere out there now, no longer hers to protect, though the phantom weight of responsibility still clung to her shoulders like wet armor.

And Cody…

Cody had been quiet the whole way back. Not cold, not rude—just restrained. Professional. Distant.

She knew that look. It was the same one she wore when she was hurt but too proud to bleed out in public.

So she went looking for him.

The GAR barracks were quiet this time of day, most men off-duty or in mess. She spotted Cody’s armor first, piled neat outside a side room, the door half-cracked. She knocked once—light—and pushed the door further open.

Cody was sitting on the edge of his bunk, bare-chested, arms braced on his knees, deep in thought. He looked up, startled at first, and then his mouth pulled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“You look like you’re about to deliver bad news,” he said, voice low and wry.

“I’m not,” she said. “I just wanted to talk.”

He nodded, gestured to the spot beside him on the bunk.

They sat in silence for a beat. The air between them tense but not hostile.

“I don’t want things to be weird,” she said. “Between us.”

“Kind of hard for them not to be,” Cody replied, tone not sharp, just… tired.

“I know,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “But I’m trying. I’m done running. I just—I want to fix things. Or at least make it so we can be in the same room without all the oxygen leaving it.”

Cody huffed a small breath. “You don’t need to fix things. Just stop acting like you can flirt your way out of every mess you cause.”

That one stung, but she accepted it.

“I know,” she said softly. “I know.”

He turned to her. His eyes didn’t hold anger. They held ache. And something else—something deeper. Something he wasn’t saying.

She opened her mouth to say more—

—and the door slammed open.

“There you are!” Quinlan Vos strode in like a tide, full of unfiltered charisma and absolutely no awareness of personal boundaries.

Obi-Wan followed, much slower, brow furrowed with concern. “Apologies for the intrusion, but we’ve been looking for you.”

Cody stood, arms folding tightly across his chest, clearly not thrilled.

She didn’t move from the bed. “I’m a little busy.”

“So it seems,” Obi-Wan remarked mildly, eyes flicking between her and Cody.

Quinlan plopped down on Cody’s empty chair like he owned the place. “The Council wants to talk. They’ve got questions. About Palpatine. About the kid. About you and your… pattern of disappearing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why do I feel like I’m constantly on trial.”

“Because you kind of are,” Quinlan said with a grin.

Obi-Wan sighed. “We’re not your enemies. But we do need to understand why you made the choices you did.”

She stood up now, shoulders stiff. “And I’m trying to explain those choices—to the people who matter to me. But you keep showing up like two banthas at a tea party.”

Cody, behind her, almost smiled.

“Can it wait?” she asked Obi-Wan directly.

He hesitated.

“…Fine,” he said at last. “But not long.”

He and Quinlan left with far more noise than they entered.

She sighed and turned back to Cody.

“…See what I mean? Never a quiet moment.”

Cody studied her, his expression unreadable. “You don’t owe them your soul.”

“No,” she said. “But maybe I owe them a piece of the truth. Just… not before I say what I need to say to you.”

Cody gave her a slow nod. “Then say it.”

She looked at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the words that clawed to the surface.

But for once—maybe for the first time—she let them stay unspoken. Let them sit there in the space between them, heavy and real and understood.

The door had long since shut behind Obi-Wan and Quinlan, the echo of their presence still lingering. But now, it was quiet again. Just her and Cody. And the weight of what she hadn’t said.

She looked up at him, heart hammering harder than it had in any firefight.

“Cody,” she began, voice low, almost unsure. “I need to say something. And it’s not fair, but it’s honest.”

He raised a brow, still standing a few feet away. Guarded, but listening.

“I love you.”

That stopped him. His arms slowly uncrossed.

“But—” she continued before he could react, “I love Rex too.”

Cody’s face didn’t shift. Didn’t wince. Didn’t soften. Just—stilled.

She took a step closer. “And I don’t know what that says about me, or what it means, but I’m tired of pretending I only feel one thing at a time. I tried to choose. I did. But every time I think I have, I see the other one and it just—breaks something in me.”

He let out a long, quiet breath.

“I’m not asking you to be okay with it,” she added quickly. “I’m not even asking you for anything. I just needed to say it. To stop lying about how I feel and hoping it’ll get easier if I just shove it down hard enough.”

A long silence passed.

Then Cody finally spoke. “You’re right. It’s not fair.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“But it’s real.” His voice had softened, barely above a whisper. “And I’d rather have your truth than someone else’s lie.”

Tears burned her eyes, sudden and hot. She didn’t cry. Not for years. But this—this kind of vulnerability? This was harder than bleeding out in the field.

Cody stepped forward, gently touching her cheek with a calloused hand. “You deserve a love that doesn’t make you choose.”

She leaned into his touch, even as guilt twisted inside her.

“Rex deserves to hear it too,” Cody added after a beat. “But for now—just… thank you. For being honest.”

⸻

The Jedi Council chamber was quiet in the way only heavy judgment could make it.

Sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting long shadows across the room where the Masters sat in their semi-circle. Windu, Yoda, Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Luminara, Kit Fisto, and Obi-Wan.

She stood in the center, still dressed in half of her mission gear, the other half forgotten in the chaos of being summoned straight off the landing pad.

Mace Windu leaned forward first. “We appreciate your cooperation, though your presence here is long overdue.”

“I didn’t think I was a priority,” she said dryly.

“You’ve been a priority since the moment you vanished with a Force-sensitive child under mysterious circumstances,” Ki-Adi-Mundi snapped.

She raised her chin. “I didn’t kidnap him. I saved him.”

“From whom?” Luminara pressed. “From the Chancellor himself?”

“No,” she lied smoothly. “From a bounty. Someone—anonymous—put a price on the kid’s head. I took the job, found the kid, couldn’t go through with it. So I ran.”

Windu’s gaze was steel. “You expect us to believe a bounty hunter with personal access to the Chancellor just happened to take that contract?”

“I was close to Palpatine,” she admitted. “He trusted me. I never asked why. But I’m not loyal to him—not anymore. I saw enough to know I was a pawn. I just didn’t know what kind of game.”

“And the child?” Yoda asked softly.

“I gave him up. To the Republic. He’s safer now than he ever was with me. But I won’t apologize for keeping him alive.”

Kit Fisto watched her with new eyes. Quieter than before. Maybe… less suspicious. Maybe not.

“You told me once you feared the Chancellor,” Windu said, looking at her directly. “Do you still?”

“I fear what he’s capable of,” she said. “But I fear myself more. I made too many decisions in his shadow. I want to start making my own.”

The room was silent for a long moment.

Then Yoda turned to the others. “Much darkness clouds the future, but truth… glimpses of it, I sense in her words.”

Windu nodded. “We will deliberate. In the meantime, you are not to leave the planet. Is that understood?”

“Crystal,” she said, and turned to walk out, her heart thudding.

She had told some truth, enough to avoid chains—but not enough to put the game to rest. Not yet.

⸻

The summons came before sunrise.

No official escort this time. Just a short, encrypted message on her private channel—a voice she knew too well, cold and commanding:

“Come. Now.”

She hadn’t slept anyway. After the Council interrogation, after saying too much to Cody—and not enough to Rex—her nerves were frayed like wires sparking against metal.

The Senate building was quiet when she arrived, its corridors dim and eerie. Palpatine’s chambers were even darker—lit only by the soft red of Coruscanti dawn bleeding through heavy curtains and the low hum of security panels locking behind her.

He was waiting, seated in his throne-like chair, hands folded, hood drawn low over his brow.

“You lied to the Council,” he said without preamble. His tone held no accusation—only satisfaction.

She didn’t respond.

“You said nothing of my involvement. Not a single hint. You protected me.” A faint smile curled at the edges of his mouth. “That kind of loyalty is… rare.”

She shifted her weight, unsettled. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“But you did it well.” He stood slowly, walking toward her with quiet, measured steps. “The Jedi are grasping at shadows. And now they trust you just enough to leave their guard down. Perfect positioning, wouldn’t you say?”

“I didn’t come here to be your spy.”

He chuckled. “No. You came here to survive. And you’ve done that—exceptionally.”

She said nothing, jaw tight.

Palpatine clasped his hands behind his back. “The child you so kindly spared… he will serve a greater purpose than you could ever imagine. The Force hums in him—volatile, angry, raw. He will be an excellent assassin one day.”

Her throat went dry. “He’s not a weapon.”

“He’s an asset,” he corrected coolly.

“He has a name,” she snapped, louder than she meant to. “Kes. His name is Kes.”

Palpatine paused. Then, slowly, he turned to face her fully. “Names,” he said, voice lower now, more dangerous. “Names are tools. Just like loyalty. Just like you.”

Her hands curled into fists.

“I spared him,” she said, steadying her voice. “I hid him. I protected him. That doesn’t make me loyal to you.”

“No,” he said, almost fondly. “But it proves you can be used. Even against your will.”

She flinched. Because it was true.

Palpatine leaned closer, his presence overwhelming. “The boy will be trained. Molded. And when the time comes, he will take a life with his own hands. You will see.”

She met his gaze. “Over my dead body.”

The Sith Lord only smiled. “If necessary.”

⸻

She didn’t remember much of the walk back from the Senate building. The city buzzed around her, speeder traffic whipping by overhead, durasteel walkways trembling with the movement of life, but she moved through it all like a ghost.

Palpatine’s words still burned behind her eyes.

He will take a life with his own hands. You will see.

No. No, not if she could help it.

She barely registered her fists slamming against the barracks door until it opened. Rex stood there, still half-dressed in blacks and greys, fresh from training. His expression shifted from surprise to something more serious the moment he saw her face.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, pushing past him into the room.

He closed the door slowly behind her. “I figured.”

She paced the floor, hands on her hips. “I told Cody I loved him.”

Rex blinked, stiffening slightly. “Okay…”

She turned toward him, eyes sharp, voice louder now—heated. “And I love you, too. I love you, Rex. Not in some vague, flirty way. I mean it. I feel it in my chest like a damn explosion.”

He stared at her, caught off guard. “You’re angry.”

“I am angry,” she said, voice cracking. “But not at you.”

He stepped closer, expression softening as he tried to piece her together. “What’s wrong with you?”

Her mouth opened. Closed. The breath that came out after was shaky, jagged. “It’s the kid. It’s Kes. I don’t trust he’s safe.”

“I thought—he’s with the Republic now, right?”

She gave a bitter laugh. “Safe? From him?” Her voice dropped. “He wants to train him. Turn him into some twisted weapon. He called him an asset, Rex.”

Rex’s brows furrowed. “Who?”

“He’s not a tool. He’s a child. And I think… I might be the only person who can actually keep him safe.”

Rex looked at her for a long time, something unreadable in his eyes. “You still working for the Chancellor?”

“No,” she said quietly. “Not in the way I used to. But I can’t just walk away from this, not now. I know too much. And I know what he’s planning.”

Rex reached out, gently taking her arm. “Then what are you going to do?”

She looked at his hand, then into his eyes.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But whatever it is… I don’t think I’m coming back from it.”

⸻

The barracks were still, the artificial lights dimmed to simulate night. Most of the 501st were out or asleep, and for once, no one was shouting over a game of sabacc or sparring in the hall.

Rex sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, her words echoing in his skull like distant artillery.

I love you, Rex.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight. There were thousands of things he wanted to feel about it—pride, warmth, something like victory. But it came with a storm he didn’t know how to name.

She’d told Cody the same thing. She didn’t want just one of them.

He could’ve handled that. Maybe. They were soldiers—brothers—used to sharing everything. But this wasn’t a blaster or a battlefield.

This was her.

What kept him anchored to the floor, instead of pacing the room or sending a message to Cody to yell at him for no good reason, was the other thing she said. The thing that mattered more than love or jealousy or pride.

He called him an asset. I think I’m the only one who can keep him safe.

Kes. The kid. The Force-sensitive child she’d stolen, protected, run with, lied for.

And now she was talking like she’d disappear again. Like she had to.

Rex leaned back, exhaling slowly, head resting against the cool durasteel wall. He stared at the ceiling, mind ticking over the gaps. She hadn’t just been a pawn. Not really. She’d been close to Palpatine. Trusted. Useful. And now she was unraveling from the inside out, spiraling between duty, guilt, and love.

He didn’t blame her for loving Cody.

Didn’t even blame her for loving him, if he was being honest.

But what was killing him was the way she looked when she said she might not come back. Like it was already decided.

Rex sat forward again, elbows digging into his thighs. He could still smell her on his skin—warmth and dust and a hint of whatever Corellian brandy she’d drowned herself in last night.

He didn’t know what scared him more.

That she’d leave again.

Or that she wouldn’t.

And when she finally did make her move—when she ran headfirst into whatever hell she was walking toward—he wasn’t sure if he’d chase after her, or let her go.

But he was sure of one thing.

She didn’t have to face it alone.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

⸻

Cody stood in the shadow of the veranda outside the Jedi Temple. It was late. Not quite night, not quite morning—the sky caught in that soft, silver pre-dawn hue. And Coruscant, the city that never truly slept, hummed below like it didn’t care about anyone’s heartbreak.

He hadn’t gone back to his quarters. Couldn’t. Not after what she’d said.

I love you.

And then—I love Rex too.

He leaned forward, arms braced on the railing, the wind tugging at the edges of his armour.

The words weren’t what haunted him. Not really. He knew her. Knew how fiercely she loved—how wildly her loyalty curved into everything she touched. Of course she’d fall for Rex too. Of course it wouldn’t be clean, or easy, or fair.

He didn’t even blame her for it.

But it stung, deeper than blaster fire. Not because she loved them both—but because even now, after everything, she still looked like she was halfway out the door. Like her mind had already started packing bags she didn’t plan to unpack again.

Kes.

Cody’s fingers flexed on the railing.

The boy’s name hadn’t been spoken when she’d told her lie to the Council—but he’d heard the truth in her voice, beneath every beat of it. She’d kept him alive. Protected him. Cared for him in a way no bounty hunter had any right to.

Palpatine’s orders or not, she’d chosen the kid. Chosen to lie, run, risk everything.

That terrified him.

Because if she was willing to walk away from him for the kid… she’d do it again. In a heartbeat.

And he didn’t know if he could survive her leaving twice.

He exhaled slowly, the wind catching the breath like smoke. He could see himself from the outside—Commander Cody, poised, sharp, unreadable. A model soldier.

But inside? He was chaos.

He wanted to go to her room. Say something—anything. Ask her to choose him. Or don’t. Or promise to come back. Or stay.

But he wouldn’t beg.

She had enough people trying to pull her in opposite directions. She didn’t need another weight on her shoulders.

Still… he couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking about him now. If she was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, just as lost.

Don’t run again, he thought. Not from this. Not from me.

And if she did?

He’d find her.

And bring her home himself.

⸻

The air in her apartment was heavy.

It was always quiet before a storm. Before chaos. Before death.

She moved like a shadow, deliberate and silent, pulling her gear piece by piece from beneath the floorboards. Her knives. Her blaster. Her comm jammer. Her datapad with every possible layout of the facility burned into its memory.

She was going in alone.

There was no other way.

Kes was being held somewhere deep within the restricted levels of the Republic Intelligence Annex—a place so far off the grid it didn’t technically exist. He hadn’t shown up on any of the usual rosters. No holos. No files. Just whispers. Rumors.

She didn’t trust anyone else to get him out.

And the Chancellor… Palpatine.

She didn’t care if it was madness. She didn’t care if it meant her own death. The moment he’d looked at Kes like he was a tool, a weapon, an asset, something in her broke.

She wasn’t a Jedi. She didn’t have to play by their rules.

She’d already made up her mind.

The door panel chirped, breaking the silence.

She froze.

One hand gripped the vibroblade still resting on the kitchen bench. Her heart pounded hard, but her face remained unreadable.

Another chime. This time more insistent.

She took a breath. Stepped toward the door.

It slid open.

And there they were.

Cody. Rex.

She should’ve known.

Both of them stood just outside, dressed like they hadn’t had time to change out of their armor. Faces hard, eyes flicking past her to the gear stacked on the counter behind her.

Cody spoke first. “You’re leaving.”

She didn’t answer. Not with words. She turned her back on them both, walking toward her gear like she hadn’t just been caught mid-plan.

“I don’t have time to explain,” she said as she fastened her utility belt.

“We figured,” Rex said. “So explain on the way.”

“No.” Her voice was sharp, steel underneath. “You don’t get to follow me this time.”

Cody stepped inside. “We didn’t follow you. We found you. Big difference.”

She spun, eyes locking onto Cody. “You don’t get to be the voice of reason right now, Cody. Not when I’m going to kill your Chancellor.”

The silence hit like a thermal detonator.

Rex looked at her like he hadn’t expected to hear her say it aloud.

Cody didn’t flinch.

“I’m going to get Kes out,” she said, quieter now. “And then I’m going to end this. Before it starts.”

“You think assassinating the Chancellor is going to stop what’s coming?” Rex’s voice was tight. “Do you even know what that’ll unleash?”

“I don’t care,” she snapped. “He’s using that kid. He’s manipulating all of us. And the longer I wait, the worse it gets.”

Cody took a single step closer. Not threatening—just there. Solid. Like he always was.

“You’ll die,” he said. “You know that, right?”

She nodded. “I made peace with that a long time ago.”

Rex stepped forward now, voice low, fierce. “Then let us help. Let us at least stand with you.”

She stared at them both. Her throat tightened.

She wanted to say yes. Stars, she wanted to say yes so badly.

But—

“If either of you die because of me,” she said, “I’ll never forgive myself.”

“We’re soldiers,” Cody said. “We’ve already made peace with dying.”

“But not with you dying alone,” Rex added.

The silence stretched long. Her eyes burned.

She turned away, back to her weapons. She was shaking, just slightly.

And then… she spoke.

“No.”

They both stilled.

She faced them now, eyes sharper than either had ever seen. “I can’t let either of you come with me.”

“Why?” Rex asked. “Because it’s dangerous? We live in danger. That’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not about danger,” she said. Her voice cracked, just slightly. “It’s about you. About him. About both of you. I love you—both of you—and I will not be the reason your stories end in a hallway you were never meant to be in.”

Cody stepped closer. “That’s not your choice to make.”

“It is this time,” she said. “Because if I lose either of you, I don’t just lose a soldier. I lose the only damn thing I’ve got left in this kriffed-up galaxy.”

Neither of them spoke.

And then, gently, she picked up her blaster, slid it into its holster, and looked at them for what might’ve been the last time.

“You don’t have to understand it,” she said. “Just… let me do this. Alone.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She didn’t want to hear them fight her on it.

She just stepped out the back door, into the night.

And left them both behind.

⸻

She didn’t go to the facility alone.

Not exactly.

She had a contact.

Someone who didn’t care for the Republic, the Jedi, or much of anything beyond credits and personal satisfaction.

Cad Bane.

She hated him.

He’d say the feeling was mutual.

But she also knew he’d show up if the job was dirty enough, personal enough—and promised to make things just complicated enough to be interesting.

So, when she stood in the shadows near the Coruscant underworld comm relay, keyed in the frequency and said nothing but “I’m cashing it in”, there was a beat of silence, followed by his dry, smug voice.

“Took you long enough. Where’s the target?”

She sent him the encrypted drop zone coordinates, along with a note:

If I’m not there by this time tomorrow, I’m dead. Take the kid somewhere safe.

He didn’t respond. That meant he understood.

She climbed the side of the Republic Intelligence Annex like she had done it a thousand times before.

Because she had.

Not this exact building, no. But enough like it. Enough to know how their sensor blind spots layered. Enough to know the door panels ran off an old auxiliary power line she could override with a reprogrammed comlink. Enough to slip past the outer perimeter before anyone ever saw her coming.

The inside was colder. Cleaner. Sharp-edged metal and flickering overhead lights. It wasn’t meant to feel human. It was meant to strip identity. The place was surgical in its cruelty.

She moved like smoke. Swift. Silent. Lethal.

Floor by floor, she moved through the corridors.

Until she saw it.

The hallway. The black-glass door with the lock system coded to bioscans. The child’s name wasn’t on any sign, but she knew he was behind it.

She cracked her knuckles, pulled a thumb-sized detonator from her belt, and slipped it into the seam of the scanner.

A flicker. A soft click. And then—

Boom.

The door gave.

She sprinted in through smoke and static.

There he was.

Kes.

Slumped on the floor, eyes wide, body curled up like he was used to expecting violence. His force signature was alive—but dimmed. Buried.

She dropped to her knees and pulled him into her arms.

He looked up at her. “You came.”

“Of course I did.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Not yet.”

She took out a stimpak and injected it into his arm. “We have to move. Can you walk?”

He nodded. She didn’t wait. She pulled him to his feet and wrapped his small arm around her neck.

The sirens started.

Of course they did.

Guards stormed the lower halls.

Blaster fire lit up behind them, but she didn’t stop. She ran, dragging the kid through maintenance shafts, down an auxiliary lift, bursting into the speeder bay just in time to hijack a transport and shoot out into the traffic lanes above the city.

She weaved and twisted through Coruscant’s sky, sirens behind her, and a fragile hope burning in her chest.

Kes was safe.

For now.

They landed in a scrap yard on the edge of the underworld district, just near the slums. The air was thick with fuel and metal and smoke. She tucked Kes behind a decaying repulsor rig and handed him a stolen ration bar.

“If I don’t come back by tomorrow,” she said, crouching beside him, “Cad Bane will find you. He has the coordinates. You run. You survive. You hear me?”

“You’re not gonna die,” Kes whispered.

She smirked faintly. “Kid, I’ve been trying to die for years. But you… you’re different. You’ve got a future.”

She squeezed his shoulder, then vanished into the shadows.

She had one more stop to make.

And Palpatine wouldn’t see it coming.

⸻

She didn’t knock.

She didn’t need to.

The side entrance to the Chancellor’s private chambers peeled open after her third override attempt, a hiss of smoke and whirring gears inviting her into the lion’s den. Every step she took echoed like thunder through the polished marbled halls, golden-red light casting long, terrible shadows over everything.

It felt wrong.

He wasn’t supposed to be alone.

He never was.

But the throne sat empty in the center of the chamber—its occupant standing by the wide viewport, hands clasped behind his back, city lights dancing across his reflection.

“You’re late,” Palpatine said without turning.

She drew her blaster.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t hesitate.

She fired.

The bolt twisted in midair—curved—like the space between her and him had turned to oil. It splashed against the wall, leaving a crater, and Palpatine finally turned to face her, slow and measured.

He was smiling.

“Predictable,” he whispered.

Lightning surged from his fingers before she could blink.

It hit her like a wrecking ball.

She hit the ground screaming, bones screaming with her. Her blaster flew out of reach. Her limbs convulsed—vision swimming. The pain was like drowning in fire.

“You think yourself above your role? A pawn with a little sentiment?” Palpatine hissed, walking toward her, cloak dragging behind him like smoke.

He leaned down.

“I gave you purpose. I gave you everything.”

Her hand slipped to her boot. Blade.

“You gave me rot,” she spat, and slashed.

The blade caught his cheek.

He didn’t even flinch.

But he bled.

That was enough.

He threw her across the room with a flick of his wrist. She shattered a statue. She couldn’t breathe.

The alarms began to blare.

Corrie Guard. Jedi. Everyone was coming.

“You won’t get far,” he said, voice like thunder, like prophecy. “Run, girl. Run until the stars burn out. They’ll all be hunting you now.”

She didn’t answer.

She crawled, dragged herself to her feet, one hand clutching her ribs. She didn’t even remember how she escaped—smoke bombs, a hidden exit route, a chase through skylanes with every siren screaming her name. The Guard was relentless. She saw Cody. She saw Fox. She even saw Kit—his face torn between duty and disbelief.

She didn’t have time to process it.

She just ran.

By the time she reached the rendezvous point—blood in her mouth, cloak torn, and the weight of failure dragging behind her like a corpse—Cad Bane was already there. So was Kes.

“You look like hell,” Bane drawled.

“Bite me,” she rasped, grabbing Kes’s hand. “We’re leaving.”

Bane handed her coordinates to a small craft already programmed and pre-fueled. She didn’t say thank you. He didn’t expect it.

They jumped into hyperspace an hour later.

⸻

The stars faded into the dusty pink of dawn as they crested over the hill that led to the farm.

It hadn’t changed.

Still crooked fences. Still half-dead crops. Still peace in its imperfection.

Kes looked up at her, his big eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

“Why the farm?” he asked softly.

She breathed in the air, cracked and burned and hers.

“We have our Loth cat to find,” she said.

Kes blinked. “That’s… that’s it?”

She half-smiled. “It’s as good a reason as any.”

The war had followed her.

Death had nearly claimed her.

But for now, in this quiet stretch of forgotten land, with the boy she’d risked everything for beside her, she finally let herself breathe.

Just once.

Before the storm returned.

⸻

The silence in the Jedi High Council chamber was so dense it felt like suffocation.

The doors had shut behind Master Windu with a hiss. He remained standing for a moment before stepping into the center, his brow tight with what could only be called restrained fury. Around him, the Masters sat in their usual solemn arrangement—Yoda, Obi-Wan, Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Shaak Ti, Kit Fisto, and the rest. The air was thick with tension, laced with the sharp edges of disbelief and bitter revelation.

“She tried to kill the Chancellor,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said first. Cold. Certain. “This is beyond treason. It’s an act of war.”

“She also escaped,” Master Shaak Ti added, her voice quieter, more contemplative. “From a secure facility. With a child Palpatine has repeatedly refused to explain.”

“The same child she risked her life to hide for months,” Kit said calmly, though his gaze flickered toward Yoda, seeking his temperature on this. “She did not kill him. She ran. Hid. Protected him.”

“She lied to this Council,” Mundi snapped. “On multiple occasions.”

“As do many who fear the truth will be used against them,” Kit countered.

Windu raised a hand. Silence reclaimed the room.

Obi-Wan leaned forward then, voice calm but lined with suspicion. “What was she doing in the Chancellor’s private tower in the first place? Without clearance. Without authorization.”

“She was summoned,” Windu answered.

That landed like a blow.

Even Yoda stirred at that, tapping his gimer stick once against the floor. “Truth, this is?”

Windu nodded once. “The Chancellor requested her presence. Privately. No report filed. No witnesses. Just hours before the attempt.”

A heavy silence followed.

“She did not go there to kill him,” Kit said. “Not originally.”

“She still tried,” Plo Koon said softly. “But perhaps not without cause.”

Yoda closed his eyes. For a moment, the ancient Jedi looked every bit as old as the war.

“Seen much, we have. But seen enough, we have not.”

“Agreed,” Windu said. “The fact that she is still alive… it complicates this. If she had truly wanted him dead, if she had planned this with precision—she wouldn’t have failed.”

“She wasn’t aiming to succeed,” Obi-Wan murmured. “She was desperate.”

“And she escaped with the child,” Shaak Ti added. “Which the Chancellor has referred to, multiple times, as an asset. Not a person.”

Yoda’s eyes opened.

“Uncover the truth, we must. Speak to the Chancellor… again, we shall.”

Mundi stood, disbelief etched across his face. “You cannot be suggesting that he is the problem.”

Yoda met his gaze.

“The Force suggests… many things.”

⸻

The barracks were quiet for once. No drills, no blaster fire, no shouting across bunks. Just the buzz of overhead lights and the low hum of Coruscant’s cityscape outside the narrow windows.

Cody sat on the edge of a durasteel bench, still in partial armor, helmet discarded at his feet. He hadn’t spoken in what felt like an hour.

Rex stood nearby, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly. There was a long, bitter silence between them—one that came after too many emotions had been left unsaid for far too long.

“She almost died,” Rex said finally, voice low.

“She should be dead,” Cody answered without looking at him. “Attempting to assassinate the Chancellor? Alone? That’s suicide.”

“She’s alive,” Rex replied, softer now. “But she ran. Again.”

Cody let out a tired exhale, dragging a hand through his short hair. “She always runs.”

There was no malice in his voice. Just grief.

They were quiet again before Cody finally broke it.

“You loved her.”

Rex didn’t flinch. “Yeah. You did too.”

Cody nodded once, jaw tight. “I kept telling myself it was duty. Obsession. That I could let her go. But I never really wanted to.”

Rex stared at the floor. “She told me she loved me. Right before she disappeared.”

“She told me the same.” Cody gave a humorless laugh. “Then said she wanted both of us.”

Rex looked up. Their eyes met, and for the first time, neither of them looked away.

“And if things were different?” Rex asked.

Cody shook his head. “If things were different, we wouldn’t be in this war. We wouldn’t be soldiers. She wouldn’t be a target. That kid wouldn’t be hunted.”

Silence again.

“She was trying to do the right thing,” Rex said. “Even when it meant becoming the villain in everyone’s eyes.”

“Even ours,” Cody added quietly. “And now she’s out there. Hunted. Alone. Again.”

Rex stepped forward, tension rolling off him like a crashing tide. “I want to go after her.”

“So do I,” Cody said, standing.

The two commanders stared at one another—two halves of the same loyalty.

But they both knew the truth: chasing her meant turning against everything they’d been raised to serve.

The Republic. The Jedi. The Chancellor.

Everything.

“She’s worth it,” Rex said eventually.

Cody didn’t answer right away.

But the look in his eyes said everything.

⸻

The Chancellor’s office was dimmed, blinds drawn. Only Coruscant’s dull, flickering lights spilled shadows against the walls, mixing with the warm glow of red and gold decor.

Palpatine sat with folded hands, the lines in his face calm, unreadable.

Mace Windu stood at the center of the room, flanked by Yoda and Ki-Adi-Mundi. Plo Koon lingered near the window. Kit Fisto remained closer to the rear, saying nothing, watching everything.

“She nearly assassinated you,” Windu said. “And yet you still refuse to pursue her with the full force of the Republic?”

Palpatine offered a diplomatic smile. “She was misguided. Broken. This was the action of a lost, frightened woman.”

“Frightened women don’t break into highly classified facilities with bounty hunters and walk out with a Force-sensitive child,” Ki-Adi-Mundi cut in.

“Nor do they try to kill the Supreme Chancellor,” Windu added.

“Attempt to,” Palpatine corrected softly.

The silence that followed was sharp.

“Tell us, Chancellor,” Yoda finally spoke, his voice calm but piercing. “This woman. Long known to you, she is. Trusted her, you have. But trust her still, do you?”

Palpatine’s eyes narrowed slightly. “She was once loyal. Brave. Unafraid to do what others would not. I used her, yes. But perhaps I was mistaken in believing she could survive the strain of such secrets.”

“Secrets you still refuse to share,” Kit spoke for the first time. “You gave her access to military intel. Brought her into council-level missions. And yet she was never a Jedi, never Republic command, never even vetted. Why?”

Palpatine’s expression darkened, just for a moment. “Because she was effective. Because she could go where others could not. Because she understood what was at stake.”

“And now?” Windu asked.

“She’s dangerous,” Palpatine answered flatly. “And broken. Likely unstable. If she comes for the child again, she will be dealt with accordingly.”

“The child is safe now,” Yoda said.

“Is he?” Palpatine asked mildly. “With a mark on his back and half the galaxy looking for him?”

“You put that mark on him,” Windu said. “You sent her after him to begin with.”

For a moment, silence cracked like ice between them.

Palpatine didn’t blink. “That accusation is as reckless as it is unfounded.”

“We’re done playing blind,” Kit said. “You’ve kept her under your protection long enough. Whatever game you were playing, it’s cost lives.”

Palpatine stood. “I have no more information to offer you. If she resurfaces, she will be arrested. Until then, the matter is closed.”

The Jedi exchanged glances.

But no one believed that.

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