“War On Two Fronts” Pt.5

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“War On Two Fronts” pt.2

Captain Rex x Reader X Commander Bacara

Christophis shimmered beneath a cold midday sun. The siege held steady for now, but you knew what the silence meant—another droid push was coming.

You stood outside the Republic command center as the wind curled through the crystal-laced streets, arms crossed over your chest as General Kenobi stepped beside you.

“You’re tense,” Obi-Wan said mildly, hands clasped behind his back.

“I’m Jedi,” you replied. “Tense is the brand.”

He chuckled softly. “You sound more like your former Master every day.”

You side-eyed him. “Don’t insult me.”

Kenobi smiled, and the two of you shared a brief, familiar quiet. He was warmth where Mace was fire. Less demanding, more wry. But you never doubted his strength.

He gestured for you to follow him back inside. “Cody and Rex have uncovered something troubling.”

⸻

Inside the war room, the holomap flickered with overlapping reports of enemy troop movements—ones the Separatists shouldn’t have been able to predict.

Cody looked up. “We’ve been compromised.”

You frowned, stepping beside Rex. “Hacked?”

“Worse,” Rex muttered, jaw tight. “Someone inside fed the droids our plans.”

Kenobi’s brow furrowed. “You’re certain?”

“We checked the comms logs, troop assignments. It had to be someone in the barracks,” Cody said.

You exchanged a glance with Rex.

“This wasn’t a droid slicing into our systems,” you said. “This was betrayal.”

Obi-Wan and Anakin headed out shortly after—to track down Ventress, whom they suspected had made direct contact with the traitor. You watched them vanish over the ridge, then turned back toward the barracks.

Cody nodded to Rex. “We do this quiet.”

You, Rex, and Cody questioned each of the troopers in the unit, keeping it routine. Nothing tipped you off—until Rex noticed something Slick had said.

Cody turned to you, “General,” he said, furious, “he knew the layout. Accessed the codes. Blasted his own squad’s quarters to cover his tracks.”

The rest came fast—tracking him to the weapons depot, where he’d set explosives to destroy Republic munitions.

Slick ranted as Cody and Rex finally brought him down. You stood at the edge, watching the aftermath, pulse still hammering.

“I was freeing myself!” Slick yelled. “We’re slaves—bred for war, thrown into battles without choice. You’re all too blind to see it!”

“You betrayed brothers,” Rex bit out. “Not just orders. Us.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t—not right then. You looked to Cody, who was already organizing a sweep of remaining supply caches.

“Reinforce the northern sector,” you told Rex, your voice steady. “We can’t let them think this rattled us.”

“Yes, General.”

He started to move, but paused. “Do you think he was right?”

You looked at him, really looked.

“No,” you said quietly. “You aren’t slaves. You’re soldiers. But that doesn’t mean the Republic treats you right.”

A small flicker passed over his face—something like surprise. And something else beneath it.

Respect.

You didn’t linger. You turned back to the ruined depot and the traitor being dragged away.

But the next time Rex looked at you, it was different.

⸻

The air over Christophis was charged with static and tension—thick enough to choke on. The Separatists had dug in deeper, the front line stretching like a fraying wire. Crystal shards and smoldering wreckage dotted the skyline.

You stood atop the forward command platform beside Rex and Anakin, squinting through macrobinoculars as waves of droids advanced, relentless.

“Cody’s holding the right flank,” Rex reported. “But not for long.”

Anakin shifted beside you. “Then we take the pressure off.”

You lowered the binocs, nodding. “We push up the main thoroughfare. Hard and fast. Break their rhythm.”

Rex gave a short nod. “I’ll get the men ready.”

As he turned, Anakin glanced sideways at you. “Not bad, General. Starting to think you’re enjoying our messes.”

“I was trained by Windu. Messes are my baseline,” you said, arching a brow.

Anakin grinned. “You ever get tired of being reassigned?”

You opened your mouth to answer—but the sudden thrum of a descending transport drew your attention skyward. A Jedi cruiser broke the cloudline, dropping a low-altitude shuttle near your position.

A moment later, the boarding ramp hissed open—and out strode a young Togruta girl with fire in her stride and determination on her face.

“Jedi reinforcements?” Rex asked, squinting.

You stepped forward as she approached. “She’s just a kid…”

“I’m not ‘just a kid,’” the girl interrupted, planting herself in front of you and Anakin. “I’m Ahsoka Tano. Jedi Padawan. Assigned by Master Yoda.”

Anakin blinked. “Assigned to who?”

“To you,” Ahsoka replied, chin lifted proudly. “Master Skywalker.”

You looked between them, watching the shock play across Anakin’s face, and bit back a smile.

“Well,” you said quietly, “have fun with that.”

But Ahsoka wasn’t done. She turned to you next, eyes bright with news.

“And you, General,” she added. “I have orders for your redeployment. The Council needs you on Jabiim.”

Your heart skipped.

Jabiim.

The mud planet. The fractured native clans. The ghosts.

“I served there as a Padawan,” you said. “Years ago.”

Ahsoka nodded. “The Council said your connection with the local resistance could help rebuild diplomacy. They’re trying to avoid civilian casualties. You will be aiding Master Mundi and his men”

You didn’t answer right away. The weight of it pressed into your chest—not just another mission. Not just more fighting.

But Bacara.

And Mundi.

Anakin folded his arms, expression darkening. “You just got here. They’re moving you again?”

You glanced at him. “It’s war, Skywalker.”

He shook his head. “It’s bad planning.”

Rex was quiet beside you, unreadable behind his helmet.

You finally turned to him. “You’ve got good people, Captain. You’ll win this without me.”

He hesitated for the briefest beat before nodding. “Safe travels, General.”

You turned back toward the shuttle, Ahsoka falling into step beside you. “They’re expecting you to land by nightfall.”

“And I expect to be muddy by morning,” you muttered.

You didn’t look back.

But you felt it—that unmistakable flicker of attachment. The way a battlefront had started to feel like home. The way one quiet, steady clone had started to make you hesitate before stepping onto a ship.

You swallowed it.

And walked away.

⸻

The rain on Jabiim hadn’t changed.

It greeted you like an old foe—relentless, icy, and soaking through every layer of your robes before you even stepped off the gunship. The scent of wet metal and rot filled your lungs, the familiar churn of mud underfoot as clone boots squelched around you.

You blinked against the downpour, lifting your hood as a group of Jabiimi locals approached. Dressed in patchwork armor and soaked tunics, they looked rougher than you remembered—but their leader, a grizzled woman with salt-and-pepper braids, smiled the moment she saw you.

“Jedi!” she called out. “I didn’t believe it when they said it was you.”

You moved forward and clasped her arm, shoulder to shoulder in the Jabiimi way. “Reya. Still not dead?”

“Disappointed?” she asked with a sharp grin.

“Honestly, yeah. I was sure you’d be the one to get pancaked by an AT-TE trying to punch it.”

She barked a laugh, and a few of her men chuckled behind her. The rain ran down your face, but you didn’t care—not here.

“Still the same sharp tongue,” Reya said. “But older. Heavier.”

You looked toward the ridgelines beyond the base, where smoke curled from recent skirmishes.

“We all are.”

⸻

The command tent was warm in comparison, though the heat came mostly from tension.

Master Ki-Adi-Mundi was hunched over a holomap, his long fingers tapping as he scrolled through topography. Bacara stood at his side, arms folded, helmet tucked beneath one arm. He glanced up as you entered—and then promptly looked away.

“General,” Mundi greeted without looking up. “Your arrival was later than expected.”

You raised a brow. “Nice to see you too, Master Mundi. The diplomatic welcome from the Jabiimi slowed us down.”

“They do have a flair for unnecessary tradition,” he replied, dry as bone.

You stifled a sigh and stepped closer. “They trust me. That’ll matter when this turns ugly.”

Mundi didn’t argue—but didn’t agree either.

Instead, he gestured toward the glowing red marks on the map. “Separatist forces have split across the valley. We’ll need a two-pronged advance.”

You exchanged a brief glance with Bacara. “I assume I’m taking one side?”

“Yes,” Mundi said. “And Commander Bacara will accompany you.”

You didn’t miss the subtle way Bacara’s jaw shifted.

Later, outside the command tent, the rain had lightened to a misty drizzle. You and Bacara walked in silence through the makeshift perimeter. Troopers moved past, saluting. The mud clung to everything.

“You’re quiet,” you finally said, side-eyeing him. “More than usual.”

“I prefer action to small talk,” he replied, eyes scanning the treeline.

You folded your arms, then smirked. “Well. I’d try to get you to like me, but it’s clear you already hate Master Mundi more.”

For the first time since you’d arrived, Bacara blinked—and something flickered across his face. A twitch of the mouth. Maybe even a grin. You weren’t sure. But it was enough.

“He’s… not ideal,” Bacara said at last.

You raised a brow. “That was practically gossip. Careful, Commander.”

He didn’t respond, but the tension between you had eased. Slightly.

You stepped up beside him. “You don’t have to like me. But we fight better when we understand each other.”

“I understand you fine, General,” Bacara said, looking forward. “You don’t like being told what to do. You take risks. You talk too much.”

You hummed. “And yet, somehow, you haven’t shot me.”

“There’s still time.”

The ghost of a smirk tugged at your lips as you looked out across the field. Rain still fell. The mud still swallowed boots whole. But something was shifting. Just a little.

You’d crack his armor eventually.

One way or another.

⸻

The dawn on Jabiim was little more than a pale bruise behind stormclouds.

Visibility was poor. The mist clung to the ground like a second skin. The entire platoon moved like wraiths over the muddy terrain, their white armor dulled with grime. Bacara led the charge, as always, silent and swift. You followed at his flank, your saber unlit for now, your mind scanning for movement through the Force.

This mission was simple: flush out a Separatist munitions outpost built into the cliffs east of the valley before reinforcements arrived. Quiet, fast, sharp. That was Bacara’s way.

And there had been no room for questioning it.

He hadn’t assigned you anything. He’d informed you. “You’ll be on overwatch. Do not break formation unless ordered,” he’d said back at camp, his voice clipped and precise. “This is not a Jedi operation. This is military execution.”

You weren’t used to being spoken to like a cadet.

As you crested the final ridge, you crouched next to Bacara. He was scanning the outpost below, HUD flickering, speaking quietly into his comm to his men.

“Squad A—flank left. Squad B, take high ground on that outcrop. We breach in five.”

You watched him for a beat, then leaned close.

“Got a plan for the anti-armor cannons on the eastern side?”

He didn’t look at you. “They’ll be dealt with.”

“Your definition of ‘dealt with’ usually involves body bags.”

Bacara finally turned, visor gleaming. “My definition of ‘dealt with’ ends with mission success. You’re on overwatch, remember?”

You exhaled slowly, not wanting to escalate. “I’m trying to work with you, Commander. If you’d communicate—”

“Trust is earned, not given,” he said sharply. “And so far, all I’ve seen is impulsiveness, disobedience, and sentimentality.”

You stared at him, something sharp catching behind your ribs.

“I save lives,” you said. “You bury them.”

Bacara’s tone went cold. “And yet, you’re here. Assigned to my unit. That should tell you something.”

He turned without another word, barking orders to his troops as they began moving into position.

⸻

The assault was brutal.

Explosives lit up the fog, and Separatist fire screamed through the air. Bacara’s unit moved with terrifying coordination—drilled to perfection, ruthless in their advance. You provided support, covering fire, strategic pushes—but nothing too visible. Bacara didn’t want theatrics. He wanted precision.

It worked.

By the time you moved into the outpost interior, only a few scattered droids remained. You slashed through them with clean sweeps, the hiss of your saber illuminating the narrow halls.

But something still sat sour in your gut.

Back at camp, you wiped grime from your face and walked straight into the makeshift command tent where Bacara was debriefing.

“You reassigned Trooper Kixan.”

Bacara didn’t look up from his datapad. “Yes.”

“He saved three men today,” you said, stepping in. “Took a blaster bolt to the shoulder and kept moving. He’s loyal. Smart. Brave.”

“And slow. His reaction time compromised the left flank. He will be reassigned to support detail under a different unit.”

You stared at him. “You can’t treat them like parts, Bacara.”

“I don’t, General,” he replied, eyes finally lifting to meet yours. “I treat them like soldiers. And I do not have room for anything less than excellence.”

Something cold lodged in your throat. “You’re going to push them until they break.”

“They were bred for this,” he said flatly. “If they break, they weren’t made for war.”

You hated how calm he sounded. You hated how efficient he was. You hated how much it reminded you of everything Mace warned you about when Jedi strayed too far into command and left their compassion behind.

You turned to leave, stopping just at the tent flap.

“I thought Mundi was the hardest man in this battalion to like,” you said, not looking back. “But congratulations. You’re winning.”

⸻

The storm had broken sometime after midnight. Rain battered the tents with rhythmic violence, and the air carried that sharp, post-battle scent: metal, ozone, blood.

You couldn’t sleep.

Your boots sank into the sludge outside your tent as you paced, the glow of the communicator clenched in your hand like it could anchor you.

You stood still beneath the overhang of a comms tower and keyed in the encryption sequence. The signal buzzed—delayed, flickering—and for a heartbeat, you thought it wouldn’t connect.

Then, Master Windu’s image shimmered to life, projected in pale blue above your comm.

“[Y/N],” he said, voice like gravel smoothed by a river. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders relaxed the slightest bit. “You’re up late. I assume this isn’t a scheduled update.”

You scoffed. “No. This is a tactical emergency.”

Mace didn’t react. “You’re bleeding?”

“Emotionally,” you said, dryly. “From the brain. And the soul.”

He stared. “Explain.”

You leaned in like you were about to spill secrets forbidden by the Code. “Master, I swear, if I spend one more minute on this cold, miserable rock with Commander Iceblock and High Council Saint Arrogance, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Mace blinked slowly. “I take it you’re referring to Bacara and Master Mundi.”

“Who else would I be referring to?! One of them speaks like he’s permanently inhaled a blaster cartridge and the other talks to me like I’m still a youngling who can’t lift a cup without supervision!”

Mace’s brow twitched slightly. “You are still young.”

You pointed a stern finger at the holocomm. “Don’t do that. Don’t Jedi me. This is a venting call, Master.”

“I gathered.”

You slumped back in the chair, groaning. “Bacara reassigns clones like they’re sabacc cards. He told me I was ‘failing to meet operational discipline standards.’ What does that mean?! I beat his training droid record last month!”

“You are… not a standard Jedi.”

“I’m not even sure he likes Jedi. And Mundi just nods at everything he does like they’re some cold, creepy war hive mind! At least you used to tell me when I was being annoying. They just silently judge me like two frostbitten gargoyles!”

There was a long pause. You half expected Mace to give you a lecture. Instead, his voice was low. “You’re frustrated. That’s not wrong. What do you want from them?”

You sighed, all the energy draining out of you. “I don’t know. Respect? Trust? Maybe a little acknowledgment that I know what I’m doing?”

Mace’s eyes softened ever so slightly. “You want them to see you the way I do.”

You didn’t answer right away. But yeah—maybe.

“I can’t make them see it,” Mace continued. “But I can remind you that you’ve earned everything that put you where you are. Don’t twist yourself into someone else to win their approval.”

You smiled faintly. “Not even for peace and quiet?”

“Especially not for that. You’ve never been quiet.”

You laughed, resting your chin in your hand. “I miss Coruscant.”

“I miss not having to take comm calls at two in the morning.”

You beamed. “But you still answered.”

His mouth twitched. “Always.”

You grinned, wide and unapologetic.

“Get some sleep,” he said, his tone softening. “You’ll outlast them both.”

“I’ll try. Thanks, Master.”

The transmission ended, and for the first time in days, you felt like your balance had returned.

⸻

The frost crunched beneath your boots, thin white cracking like old bone as you followed the squad through the craggy ravine. The sky above was overcast—grey, as always—and your breath fogged with every exhale.

It was the first coordinated mission with just you, Bacara, and the squad. No Ki-Adi-Mundi. No diplomacy. Just a recon op on the edge of hostile territory. Quiet. Tense. Frozen.

You liked the clones. Most of them, anyway. Kixan—freshly reassigned—offered you a small nod as you passed. You gave him one back.

Bacara hadn’t spoken to you directly since the debrief.

You didn’t know why it irked you so much. He was never exactly chatty—but there was something pointed about his silence now. And it was beginning to wear on your nerves.

You kept pace beside him anyway, trudging over uneven rock as the squad spread out behind you.

“Terrain levels off another two klicks ahead,” you said. “If we angle the scan here, we can avoid the ridge entirely and still get clean readings.”

He said nothing.

You blinked. “That wasn’t a suggestion. That was a tactical note.”

“I heard you,” he muttered, gruff and unreadable.

You narrowed your eyes. “Did I do something to upset you, Commander?”

There was a beat. He didn’t look at you. “No.”

Liar.

You frowned, your hand brushing the hilt of your saber. “Okay. So it’s just me. Got it.”

“Don’t start something mid-mission,” he snapped. Not loud—but sharp enough to cut.

Your nostrils flared. “You’re not my master, Bacara.”

“No. But I am your commander on this op. And your opinion of me has been made… abundantly clear.”

You froze mid-step. “What?”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t hear all of your conversation with Master Windu,” he said, voice low. “Just enough.”

Oh no.

Your mouth opened—and closed. You felt your stomach twist.

“How much is ‘enough’?”

“‘Emotionally bleeding from the soul,’” he quoted flatly.

Maker.

You looked away, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks despite the cold. “You were spying.”

“I was passing the comm tent.”

You made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a swear. “Fine. Look—maybe I vented. A little. But you were being impossible.”

You made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a swear. “Fine. Look—maybe I vented. A little. But you were being impossible.”

“I was doing my job.”

“At what cost?”

Bacara stopped. You nearly walked into him.

He turned to you fully, expression unreadable behind the harsh lines of his helmet. “I don’t have the luxury of trial and error, General. I don’t get to make emotional calls and hope they work out.”

You swallowed. “You think I do?”

He didn’t answer.

You took a step forward, eyes locked on him. “I feel things. That’s not a weakness. And maybe I complain. Maybe I rant. But I’ve never abandoned the mission. I’m here. I’m fighting. Same as you.”

There was a moment—a flicker of something in his stance. Tension. Conflict. Maybe even a touch of guilt.

“I don’t dislike you,” he said finally.

You blinked. “You’ve got a strange way of showing it.”

A silence stretched between you.

He added, quietly, “I dislike Mundi more.”

You snorted before you could help it. “Well, now you’re just trying to flatter me.”

“No,” he said dryly. “That’s not what that was.”

And just like that, a crack formed in the durasteel.

Not enough to change everything.

But enough to start.

⸻

The wind came down from the northern slopes in sharp, whispering currents, cutting through every seam of your robes. The battle might have been quiet today, but the land was still loud—with frost, with silence, with the kind of stillness that meant something was always waiting.

You sat cross-legged near the squad’s makeshift fire, arms wrapped around your knees, watching embers dance. The clones had begun to relax, little by little. Helmets off. Gloves loosened. There was even the soft clink of a thermal flask being passed around.

Bacara hadn’t joined them yet. He stood off a few meters, half-silhouetted in the dark, arms folded, visor turned toward the stars—or the silence. You couldn’t tell.

You didn’t press him.

Instead, you looked at the men.

Gunner was talking with Varn, low-voiced but animated. Kixan nodded along, his smile tired but real. Even Tekk, the quietest of them, had cracked a dry comment earlier that got a snort from the group. You liked seeing them like this. Human.

You passed your own ration tin to Kixan and leaned back, letting the heat of the fire work on your frozen spine.

And then Master Mundi joined the circle.

He sat down with the composure of a politician, robes perfectly arranged despite the mud at the hem. He gave a slight nod to the men, then turned his attention to you.

“General,” he said. “It is good to see you integrating with the unit.”

You arched a brow. “They’re good men. Not hard to like.”

He gave one of his tight, unreadable smiles. “Affection must never cloud judgment. Familiarity breeds attachment. Attachment clouds the Force.”

There it was.

You smiled, tight-lipped. “I’m aware of the Code, Master.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said mildly, but it still grated. Like you were a student again. Like the weight of your lightsaber and the stripes on your armor didn’t mean anything.

The silence that followed was awkward—until Gunner coughed and redirected with a story about a wild nexu they’d seen in a jungle op once. The others followed his lead.

You joined in too—offering a few memories from a chaotic campaign with the 501st that involved a collapsed bridge, a flock of angry bird-lizards, and Anakin Skywalker daring a clone to drink glowing fruit juice.

That got real laughs.

Even Tekk chuckled, and Varn snorted loud enough to attract Bacara’s attention. The commander lingered, glanced at the fire, then slowly made his way over.

You noticed. So did the men.

He didn’t sit, but he stayed. Close enough to hear. Close enough to be seen.

That was something.

And then, quietly, Gunner passed him the flask.

Bacara hesitated—just for a moment—then took it. No words. Just a nod. But the men noticed. So did you.

The conversation rolled on. Light. Easy. Full of battle scars and ridiculous injuries and even a poor attempt at singing a Republic marching song. The cold wasn’t gone—but it felt distant now. Dull.

You met Bacara’s eyes briefly through his helmet, and offered a small, genuine smile.

He didn’t return it.

But he didn’t look away, either.

And somehow, that was enough.

⸻

The war was never really over—not on Coruscant, and certainly not in your head. But the campaign was.

The treaty was signed, the separatist stronghold had been dismantled, and the native leadership, thanks to your careful negotiations, had agreed to provide intelligence and safe passage for the Republic.

It was a hard-won, smoke-stained victory. You’d survived. So had the squad. Even Bacara.

Back on Coruscant, the base was bustling with returning battalions. Steel corridors echoed with familiar voices and heavy boots, but everything felt strangely muffled to you. It always did after a long campaign. Like you were half out of your body, trailing somewhere between systems and decisions you couldn’t take back.

You were exiting the debriefing chambers when you heard the voice—steady, familiar, a little softer than usual.

“General.”

You turned—too fast.

Rex stood there in casual gear, one hand loosely on his belt, the other behind his back. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, which meant you got the full impact of that steady, level gaze and the faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Standing just behind him was Ahsoka Tano, arms crossed, an amused but knowing expression on her face.

“Well, look who made it back in one piece,” you said, heart lurching before you could stop it.

Rex nodded. “Didn’t doubt you would, General.”

You walked toward them, easing into the reunion like slipping into an old coat. Comfortable. Familiar. Too comfortable?

Ahsoka stepped forward first. “You smell like three weeks of burned jungle and bad rations.”

You snorted. “It was three weeks of bad rations, but certainly wasn’t burned jungles.”

She grinned, then leaned in to give you a quick hug. “Welcome back.”

You were about to respond when you felt it—eyes. On your back.

You turned, just slightly, and saw Bacara in the distance, halfway across the hangar bay. Still in full armor, helmet under his arm, face unreadable.

He didn’t approach. Just… watched.

You blinked, heart thudding a little too loud in your chest, then turned back to Rex—and that’s when you saw it.

A tiny shift. A twitch of his jaw. The faintest flicker in his expression.

You weren’t sure what it meant.

But Ahsoka did.

She looked between the two of you, her brow furrowing slightly as she took a half-step back and crossed her arms again. Observing.

“Commander Bacara?” Rex asked, casual in tone, but not in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you said. “We worked… closely this campaign.”

Rex gave a small nod, then glanced over your shoulder briefly. “He doesn’t look thrilled.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Ahsoka did, though. “Neither do you.”

The silence that followed was tight.

You tried to lighten it. “You’re both just mad I didn’t die out there.”

Rex gave a thin smile. “Not mad, General. Just surprised.”

That one stung. Not because it was harsh—because it wasn’t. It was honest. And distant. And something you couldn’t quite read.

Before you could say anything else, a summons crackled over your comlink—Council debriefing.

“Guess I’m wanted,” you said, already backing away.

You turned and started walking. You didn’t look back.

But you could feel two sets of eyes watching you go.

One like a shadow. The other like a tether you weren’t sure you could still follow.

⸻

Previous Part | Next Part

(A/N, I had to make up a few clone ocs as I could not find one clone name for the Galactic Marines)

Tech x Mechanic Reader

Summary: After the war, you reprogrammed a troop of abandoned B1 battle droids to serve with kindness—not violence. When Clone Force 99 shows up for a supply run, Tech questions your methods, and you challenge his logic.

You found them half-dead in the sand. Twenty B1 battle droids, dumped in a sun-scorched wreck outside the outpost, like bones picked clean by time and war. Most folks would've scavenged the parts, maybe sold off a few limbs if the servos were still functional.

But you? You were a little lonely, a little dangerous, and very, *very* good with code.

Rewiring them took weeks. You erased what the Separatists left behind, built your own parameters from scratch, and gave them something they'd never had before: choice.

You taught them to wave. To carry groceries. To call you "Friend" instead of "Master."

And when people flinched at the sight of battle droids strolling through town, you dipped your brush in paint. Mint green, lavender, sunflower yellow. You gave them smiley faces, heart decals, flower crowns made from leftover wire. You made them soft. Funny. Endearing.

They were still capable of violence—so were you—but they only used it when you gave the order.

Which wasn't often.

---

Clone Force 99 didn't arrive with blasters drawn, but the tension clung to them like dust. The mission was simple: a supply pickup for Cid. In and out. But this planet made Wrecker's nose wrinkle, and Echo kept his blaster low and ready.

Hunter spotted the droid first—lavender chassis, daisies painted across its plating, an old satchel slung over one shoulder as it meandered through the marketplace humming something vaguely cheerful.

"Is that... a B1?" Echo asked, narrowing his eyes.

"It appears to be carrying coolant," Tech said, scanning with his datapad. "And whistling."

Wrecker let out a low chuckle. "Guess the war *really* is over."

"Something's off," Hunter murmured. "Let's follow it."

They kept their distance as the droid turned off the main strip and waddled down a side alley, past a half-crumbling sign that read *THE FIXER'S NEST* in flickering neon.

The shop was a bunker of welded panels and salvaged Separatist tech. Outside, another B1—bright pink with a lopsided sun painted on its chest—was sweeping the doorstep and chatting to a GNK droid.

"Friend says no sand in the workshop," it explained, very seriously. "Sand gets in the gears. Sand *hurts feelings*."

The Bad Batch exchanged a look.

Hunter stepped forward and tapped twice on the doorframe.

You didn't even look up from where you were elbow-deep in a deconstructed astromech.

"You're late," you said, voice calm. "Tell Cid her coolant's in the crate by the wall. So's the power cells, bolts, and the weird candy she likes."

There was a pause.

"We didn't say we were here for Cid," Echo said slowly.

Now you looked up—smirk sharp, eyes sharper.

"Didn't have to. You've got that *'we work for someone mean, grumpy and morally grey'* vibe. Plus, you match the order details she sent me yesterday."

Wrecker moved to the crate and peeked inside. "Yep. All here."

"Of course it is," you muttered. "I run a business, not a guessing game."

Tech, meanwhile, was still staring at the droids—two were dusting the shelves with actual feather dusters, and another had just handed you a datapad while humming.

"These are B1 units," he said, voice laced with something between awe and concern. "Fully functional. Active. Painted."

You stood, wiping your hands on a rag. "I call that one Sprinkles."

"They're dangerous," he said immediately. "You realize they could revert to their original programming at any time—"

"Not mine," you cut in. "I rewrote them myself. Erased every combat subroutine. They're coded to help, protect, and be as non-threatening as a bowl of soup."

Tech stepped forward, clearly bristling. "Their hardware alone makes them capable of violence. You cannot override thousands of lines of military protocol with flower decals and whimsy."

"No," you said coolly, "but I can override them with skill, precision, and an understanding of droid psychology that clearly surpasses yours."

Hunter winced. Echo muttered something under his breath. Wrecker made the universal *oooooh, burn* face.

Tech, however, pushed up his goggles like you'd challenged him to a duel. "I would very much like to inspect your code."

You arched a brow. "What, no dinner first?"

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

You grinned. "Don't worry, Professor. I'll even let you use the comfy chair."

Sprinkles chirped and handed Tech a cup of caf with perfect comedic timing.

"Welcome, new Friend!" it said cheerfully.

Tech took the cup automatically, staring down at it like it might explode.

You leaned on the counter and gave him a slow once-over. "You gonna tell me how unsafe I am again, or are you here to learn something?"

He met your gaze, thoughtful now. Curious. "...Both."

You smiled, victorious.

---

Tech hadn't stopped talking for fifteen minutes straight.

Not that you minded. His cadence was quick, his mind quicker, and his goggles fogged slightly whenever he got excited. Which, it turned out, was often—especially when discussing battle droid memory cores, sub-routine overrides, and how you managed to build a loyalty system based on *empathy* instead of authority.

"You replaced their original fail-safe with a social dependency loop," he said, practically glowing. "That's... innovative. Risky. But brilliant."

"I try," you said, leaning against your workbench. "It helps that they trust me. Most people don't trust anything unless they can control it. Droids aren't any different."

Tech nodded slowly, examining the code you'd opened for him on your terminal. "You used a behavioral reinforcement system. Repetition and reward. This is similar to clone trooper training methodology—except applied to machines."

You gave him a sly look. "Are you comparing yourself to a B1?"

"I am acknowledging structural parallels in behavioral learning patterns," he replied, completely straight-faced.

You grinned. "That's what I said."

Tech paused, frowning slightly. "You are... amused by me."

"Observant, aren't you?" You stepped closer, brushing your shoulder against his as you leaned in to point at a line of code. "This part here—subtle failsafe. If they ever encounter an override attempt from an external signal, it loops them back to me."

He blinked, eyes darting from the screen to your face. "That is... impressively cautious."

"I've been told I'm full of surprises."

He didn't respond—just squinted closer at the screen.

You sighed, lips twitching. "Nothing? Not even a blush? Stars, you *are* all business."

Before he could answer (or continue missing your very obvious flirting), a loud crash echoed from the street outside, followed by the unmistakable hiss of a thermal disruptor and the annoyed squawk of one of your droids.

You were already moving.

Outside, a low-rent bounty hunter—tatty armor, one glowing eye, and an attitude that outpaced his ability—was holding one of your B1s at blaster point.

"Move, scrapheap, or I'll scrap you myself," he snarled.

The droid blinked. "Friend said no yelling. Friend also said no blasters unless you bring candy."

"*Candy?*"

You stepped into the street like a storm cloud in boots.

"Is there a reason you're threatening my droid, or are you just bored and stupid?"

The bounty hunter turned to you, smug. "This thing walked in front of my speeder. I don't care how shiny you paint 'em—B1s are still clanker trash. I'm just doing the galaxy a favor."

You gave a slow whistle.

Three more droids stepped out from alleyways and rooftops, all armed with repurposed but deactivated blasters—they didn't need live ammo to intimidate. One even had a frying pan.

The bounty hunter backed up a step.

You raised a hand.

"Engage," you said simply.

They moved like a synchronized swarm. Two pinned his arms while the others knocked the blaster from his hands and dismantled his boots with surgical precision. The frying pan droid stood back and provided color commentary.

"Friend says don't be mean! Friend says fix your attitude!"

The bounty hunter was on the ground and begging within seconds.

You stepped forward, crouched down, and grabbed him by the collar.

"You threaten one of mine again, and I'll let them finish what they started. You hear me?"

He nodded frantically.

"Good." You turned to your droids. "Escort him to the edge of town. Gently."

They saluted with cartoonish enthusiasm and dragged him off, half-hopping as they went.

You stood, dusted your hands, and turned back to find Tech watching with an unreadable expression.

"Well?" you said, folding your arms.

"That was... efficient," he admitted. "But highly aggressive."

You raised a brow. "They followed my orders exactly. Didn't fire a shot. Didn't kill. Didn't even insult his boots. I programmed them to protect what's mine, not wage war."

"But the capability—"

"*Exists.*" You cut in. "Just like yours does. Just like mine. The question isn't what they *can* do. It's what they *choose* to do. And what I program them to choose."

Tech looked at you then—really looked at you. A flicker of something passed behind his eyes. Understanding. Respect.

Maybe even admiration.

"They're not like the others," he said, finally.

You smirked. "Neither am I."

He hesitated, adjusting his goggles. "Would you... allow me to assist you in refining their motor skills protocols? I have a few ideas."

You leaned on the workbench again, grinning. "You wanna help me teach battle droids ballet?"

Tech blinked. "Not... precisely."

"Come on, Tech," you said, voice low and teasing. "Live a little."

He didn't answer, but he did roll up his sleeves and pull out a datapad, already scribbling new subroutine formulas with a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You might not have cracked the flirtation firewall yet—but the code was definitely compiling.

_-~-_

Read more works

Hiya! I absolutely love your writing and always look forward to your posts

I saw that request about the commanders catching you with their helmets on and I was wondering if you could do that but with the bad batch?

Again, love your writing. I hope you have a great day/night!

Hey! Thank you so much—that means a lot to me! 💖

I actually was planning to include the Bad Batch too but wanted to start with just the commanders first.

⸻

HUNTER

You weren’t expecting to get caught.

You were standing in the cockpit, wearing Hunter’s helmet—not for mischief, really, but because you were genuinely curious how he functioned with his enhanced senses dulled. You wanted to know what it was like to see through his eyes. To feel what he felt.

The helmet was heavy. Too heavy.

He walked in mid-thought, and you froze.

Hunter didn’t speak. He just stood there, half in shadow, his brow furrowing slowly like he was processing an entirely new battlefield situation.

You didn’t say anything either. You just… stood there. Helmet on. Stiff-backed. Guilty.

Finally, he stepped forward.

“…That’s mine.”

You took it off and held it out sheepishly. “I wanted to see what you see. It’s filtered. Muffled. How do you live like this?”

Hunter took the helmet from your hands and gave you a long, unreadable look.

“I don’t. I adapt.”

Then he brushed past you—close, deliberate—and you swore his fingers grazed yours just a little longer than necessary.

⸻

WRECKER

“Whoa!”

You heard the booming voice before you could even turn.

You were in the loading bay, helmet pulled low over your face as you tried to figure out how the heck Wrecker even saw through it with one eye. It was like wearing a bucket with a tunnel vision problem.

He charged over with the biggest grin you’d ever seen.

“Look at you! You’re me!”

You pulled the helmet off, grinning. “I don’t know how you walk around with this thing. It’s like being inside a durasteel trash can.”

“I know, right? But it looks great on you!”

He took the helmet back, turning it in his hands, then gave you a wide-eyed look.

“You wanna try my pauldron next?! Or lift something heavy?!”

You laughed. “Maybe next time, big guy.”

Wrecker beamed. “You’re so getting the full Wrecker experience.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but you were both strangely okay with it.

⸻

TECH

You had only meant to try it on for a second.

But you made the mistake of reading one of his datapads while wearing it. And once the internal HUD booted up? Well, curiosity took over.

Tech returned from the cockpit to find you hunched over in the corner, still wearing his helmet and scanning system diagnostics.

His voice was clipped. “You’re tampering with active interface systems.”

“I’m learning,” you shot back, not looking up.

He blinked, then stepped closer, fingers twitching in that nervous way he did when he wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or horrified.

“You activated my visual overlay filters.”

“I figured out the encryption pattern.”

Now that caught his attention.

He slowly knelt beside you. “How long have you had it on?”

“…Twenty-three minutes?”

He swallowed. “And you’re not… disoriented?”

“Nope. Just slightly overstimulated.”

There was a pause.

Then, quietly: “You may keep it on. Temporarily.”

You turned. “You trust me with your helmet?”

He cleared his throat. “Don’t make it a habit.”

But he was already adjusting the fit at the sides of your head.

⸻

ECHO

Echo did not find it cute.

He found it concerning.

The helmet wasn’t just gear. It was part of his reconstructed identity—a thing he wore not because he wanted to, but because he had to.

So when he saw you on the edge of his bunk, wearing it—your legs swinging slightly, gaze distant—his chest tightened.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You looked up, startled. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I was just… wondering what it’s like. Living with this.”

He stepped forward slowly, kneeling to your eye level. “It’s not something I’d want you to understand.”

You pulled the helmet off, placed it in his hands. “I didn’t think about that.”

He let out a quiet breath, then shook his head. “No. You did. That’s why you’re here thinking about it.”

You gave a soft smile. “I wanted to know you better.”

He swallowed hard. “You already do.”

⸻

CROSSHAIR

You knew exactly what you were doing.

And that was the problem.

You sat in the sniper’s perch in the Marauder, elbow on one knee, head tilted just slightly as you stared down at the deck below—wearing his helmet.

You heard the footstep. The sigh.

“Really?” His voice was lazy, drawled out like he wasn’t fazed, but there was a subtle tension underneath.

You didn’t look at him. “I wanted to see what it was like. Looking down on the rest of the world.”

He chuckled once, dry and sharp. “And? Is it satisfying?”

“No. It’s lonely.”

Crosshair was quiet for a long moment. Then he climbed the ladder halfway, leaned against the edge of the platform.

“Don’t get comfortable in it.”

You turned your head, voice just a little softer. “Why not?”

“Because if you wear it any longer, I might start to like it.”

You handed it back.

But you were both thinking about that line for the rest of the day.

TBB Echo x Senator!Reader

The Senate was silent—eerily so. Your voice echoed as you stood center-stage, the holocams rolling, senators holding their breath.

You stared up at the massive screen where Palpatine’s hologram flickered with dispassionate cruelty.

“You may rule through fear, Emperor. You may bend systems, strip rights, and silence voices. But the power you believe you wield is nothing more than mere arrogance, left unchecked for far too long. And every tyrant who’s mistaken fear for loyalty has eventually learned the same truth: fear fades. Resistance doesn’t.”

Gasps rippled through the chamber. One senator spilled their drink. Another ducked behind their chair like you’d just tossed a thermal detonator.

The Emperor said nothing. Just smiled.

You finished your speech, spine straight as a durasteel blade. And when you left the chamber, you knew your days were numbered.

~~~~~~

Stormtroopers swarmed the upper districts now. Rumors had spread fast. A senator going rogue? Publicly? That kind of dissent couldn’t go unpunished.

So you went to the one person you hoped still remembered how to keep people off the radar: Cid.

She responded with a single message:

“You’re lucky I owe you. Got a crew incoming. Don’t get dead before they get there.”

~~~~~~

Blasterfire lit up the alley as a squad of troopers chased you through the lower levels. One shot narrowly missed your shoulder as you turned a corner, lungs burning. You weren’t trained for this. Your boots slipped on the slick metal flooring—and you stumbled, crashing against a wall.

A trooper raised his blaster, finger tightening on the trigger—

Then a blue bolt slammed into his helmet.

You blinked. He crumpled. And standing just behind him, face tight with focus and eyes locked on you, was Echo.

“Senator,” he said calmly, extending his arm, “Time to go.”

You grabbed his hand, letting him haul you up.

“Am I glad to see you,” you breathed.

“I know,” he said, smirking slightly. “You’re welcome.”

More troopers rounded the corner, and Echo pulled you behind cover, activating his comm.

“Now would be a great time, Hunter.”

“Exit’s two blocks south. Wrecker’s waiting with the ship. Move fast.”

“Copy that.” Echo glanced at you. “Can you run?”

“I’m a senator, not a senator’s aide,” you snapped, brushing off your robes. “I’ll manage.”

“Then keep up.”

~~~~~~

Wrecker was waving them in, Omega already at the ship’s edge, hair windblown and face alight with curiosity.

“Is that her?” she asked loudly. “The senator who told the Emperor off to his face?”

“Yep,” Tech said, not looking up from his datapad. “I analyzed her speech. Statistically, she’s either incredibly brave or terminally reckless.”

“Those are not mutually exclusive,” Echo muttered.

You darted up the ramp beside him, chest heaving.

Omega grinned. “You’ve got guts.”

You gave her a breathless smile. “And you’ve got a very large clone glaring at me. Should I be worried?”

Wrecker beamed. “That’s my welcome face!”

Hunter approached, giving you a once-over. “You’re lucky Echo was close. Another second and you’d be space dust.”

You turned to Echo, heartbeat still thundering. “You saved my life.”

“Let’s make a habit of not needing that,” he replied, voice softer now. “But… yeah. I did.”

The ship lifted, and you finally allowed yourself to sink into the bench beside him, the weight of your speech, your betrayal of the Empire, and the sudden turn your life had taken crashing down on you.

“You’re not safe anymore,” Echo said after a beat. “They’ll hunt you.”

You met his gaze. “Then I’m in the right company, aren’t I?”

He nodded, his hand resting lightly on yours for a moment longer than necessary.

From across the ship, Omega whispered loudly to Wrecker: “Told you they’d be into each other.”

Wrecker: “Do I owe you credits again?!”

~~~~~~

The Marauder rumbled to a halt just outside Cid’s bar. It still smelled like sweat, spilled ale, and wet carpet. You wrinkled your nose as you stepped off the ship, scanning the place like a senator inspecting a back-alley establishment—which, to be fair, was exactly what this was.

“You sure this is the right place?” you muttered to Echo under your breath.

“Unfortunately,” he replied, offering a small smirk. “Welcome to the galaxy’s finest example of poor life choices and questionable hygiene.”

Cid looked up from behind the bar, munching on what looked like a pickled frog. “You made it. And with all your limbs. That’s new.”

You gave her a tight nod. “We need to talk.”

She waved her stubby fingers toward her office. “Go on then. Let’s discuss what this little favor is gonna cost you.”

As you disappeared behind the door, the Batch headed for a corner booth.

Wrecker slid in first, already eyeing the snacks Cid had laid out. “So…” he said around a mouthful of something crunchy, “Echo’s got a thing for the senator.”

Echo’s head snapped toward him. “What?!”

Tech adjusted his goggles without even glancing up. “Your heartrate elevated approximately twelve percent every time she spoke to you. Statistically speaking, that suggests attraction. Possibly infatuation.”

“I do not have a thing,” Echo muttered, looking around like someone might hear—besides the four people very obviously hearing.

Hunter raised an eyebrow. “You did dive in front of a blaster for her.”

“I would’ve done that for anyone.”

Wrecker grinned. “Yeah, but you didn’t look that heroic when you saved me last week.”

“That’s because you dropped an entire crate of detonators on your own foot.”

Omega slid into the seat beside Echo, kicking her legs casually. “She is really pretty.”

Echo stiffened. “Omega…”

“I saw the way you looked at her,” she said with that knowing look that made even Hunter flinch sometimes. “Like she was a sunset and you hadn’t seen one in a long time.”

Wrecker blinked. “Wow. That was poetic.”

Echo scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t—look, she’s a senator. I’m—”

“A clone with a heart,” Omega finished for him. “She saw it, too. The way she smiled at you? She likes you back.”

Echo opened his mouth, then shut it. Then sighed.

“I hate it when you do that.”

“I love it,” Omega chirped. “You should tell her.”

“I just saved her life. I’m not gonna flirt with her right after that.”

Hunter leaned back. “Might be the perfect time, actually. Emotions are high. Could work.”

Tech blinked. “Are we… encouraging romantic entanglements mid-fugitive status?”

Omega grinned. “Yes.”

Echo shook his head, cheeks tinged with color. “You’re all impossible.”

From behind them, the door to Cid’s office creaked open. You stepped out, looking just as poised and stubborn as you did in the Senate—but your eyes immediately found Echo’s across the cantina.

You offered a small, grateful smile. “Still alive, thanks to you.”

Echo stood, clearing his throat. “Anytime.”

Omega elbowed him hard as you approached.

“Ask her about sunsets!” she whispered.

As you made your way back to the booth, you caught the tail end of Omega’s whispering to Echo, her grin too wide and mischievous.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Sunsets?” you asked, stepping closer. “What about sunsets?”

Echo stiffened, clearly scrambling for an explanation. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth, only for Omega to literally jump into the conversation.

“Echo wanted to show you the sunset!” she blurted out, her eyes sparkling with that cheeky mischief only she could get away with. “He said they’re beautiful on the outer rim. He even said you might like them.”

Echo turned bright red, his mouth working soundlessly for a moment as his brain tried to catch up to Omega’s open confession. “I—wait, I—no… That’s not what I said—”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips at his obvious discomfort. “Sunsets, huh?” You cocked an eyebrow, leaning on the edge of the table. “That’s a pretty romantic gesture for a soldier.”

Echo quickly waved his hands, as though trying to physically push the words back into his mouth. “It’s not like that. I—I just—Omega, you—you…!”

Omega leaned back in her seat, arms folded with the smug satisfaction of someone who knew exactly what they’d just done. “You should definitely go watch a sunset with her,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s perfect. You’re both already really good at staring at the sky.”

You gave Echo a playful look. “Well, I don’t mind the idea of a sunset. It’s been a while since I’ve actually seen one.”

Echo exhaled sharply, his gaze dropping to the table, clearly overwhelmed by the situation. His usual calm and composed demeanor was nowhere to be found.

“I—uh—I—” He paused, his hand running over his short-cropped hair in frustration. “I mean… if you want to, I could show you one. I’ve got some good spots, but I really don’t—uh—expect you to—”

Wrecker, always the instigator, leaned forward from the opposite booth. “You wanted to show her a sunset, Echo. Sounds like a date to me.”

“Wrecker!” Echo groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m not asking her out—!”

“Well, someone should,” Wrecker grinned. “It’s a good idea. A beautiful sunset and all that. You know, romantic-like.”

Omega crossed her arms and gave Echo an exaggerated side-eye. “You’re really bad at this.”

You watched the whole exchange with a lighthearted smile, clearly amused by how Echo was fidgeting like he was trying to dig his way out of a hole he’d accidentally fallen into. Finally, you leaned in, lowering your voice to something playful and teasing.

“If you’re really offering to show me a sunset, Echo, I’ll take you up on it,” you said, smirking as you watched his eyes widen in disbelief. “But I’m not making any promises about it being romantic.”

Echo blinked, clearly struggling to hide his relief. “Good. Yeah, good. I can do that. I mean—I can show you the sunset. That’s… normal, right?”

Omega gave him a thumbs up from across the table. “Normal! Totally normal.”

Hunter chuckled from the booth. “I don’t think it’s ever been normal with you, Echo.”

“I’m starting to realize that,” Echo muttered, shooting Omega a glare that barely had any heat behind it. “You’re lucky I like you, kid.”

“You’re welcome,” Omega chirped, her eyes glimmering with the kind of satisfaction only a matchmaker could feel.

~~~~~~~

You followed Echo out of the cantina and into the wilds of the Outer Rim, the two of you walking side by side in the fading light. It wasn’t a long journey, but Echo was unusually quiet, his usual confident stride now hesitant. You glanced over at him, trying to gauge whether he was just as nervous as he seemed.

“So,” you began, attempting to break the silence, “this sunset better be worth all the buildup.”

Echo glanced at you, his face turning slightly pink as he looked away quickly. “I mean, yeah, it’s a good spot,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s peaceful. Not a lot of people know about it.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

You smiled softly. “You must really like this place. It’s hard to believe a soldier like you would be into something so… serene.”

“Hey, even soldiers need some quiet,” Echo replied, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “I’ve seen enough battlefields to last a lifetime. This? This is… different.”

As you reached a ridge overlooking a vast expanse of orange and purple sky, you stopped. The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long shadows and bathing everything in golden light. The view was incredible. You couldn’t deny that Echo had chosen well.

“This… is beautiful,” you said quietly, letting the moment settle around you.

Echo stood a few feet away, glancing at the sky, but you could tell he wasn’t really focused on it. He fidgeted with his hands, his posture stiff, as though unsure of what to do with himself.

“Yeah. It is,” he said softly, though he didn’t seem to be looking at the sunset himself. His eyes kept darting back to you, and he swallowed hard.

A beat passed, then another, the two of you standing there in the stillness of the moment.

“So,” you began again, a teasing smile tugging at your lips, “Omega told me you’ve been staring at me like I’m the sunset or something. I’m starting to think she might’ve been onto something.”

Echo let out a strangled sound, something between a cough and a nervous laugh, and quickly turned away, his scomp fumbling with the edge of his armor. “I—look, I didn’t mean for her to—Omega… she has a way of—”

You laughed, your voice light and airy. “It’s fine, Echo. I’m just teasing.”

“Right,” he muttered, scratching his head. “You… you’re teasing. Yeah.”

The silence between you both grew, but now it was different—quieter, more relaxed, despite the awkward tension that had settled in. You couldn’t help but enjoy the strange warmth in the air.

Finally, Echo broke the quiet with a heavy sigh. “I’m really bad at this.”

“Bad at what?”

“At… this,” he gestured vaguely, not looking at you. “At not being awkward. You know, with people. I mean, I spent most of my life with clones, and—well, we didn’t exactly do sunsets.”

“Yeah, I imagine that would be difficult,” you said, your voice softer now. You could see how much this mattered to him, how much he was trying to make the moment right.

“You probably think I’m an idiot,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“No,” you said quickly, walking closer to him. “Not at all. You’re just… not used to doing this.”

Echo didn’t meet your eyes. “And I’m not great at… not being awkward around someone I think is way out of my league.”

That stopped you cold. You blinked, processing the words. “Out of your league?”

Echo shrugged, pulling at his sleeve nervously. “You’re a senator. You could have anyone you want. And I’m just—well, I’m just me. A soldier.”

You took a small step closer, closing the gap between the two of you. “Echo,” you said gently, your voice soft but firm. “I’m here because I want to be here. Because I trust you.”

His eyes flicked to yours, searching your face as though looking for any sign that you were just being kind. But what he found was sincerity. You meant it.

The sun dipped lower, the sky ablaze with colors, and Echo took a deep breath, finally meeting your gaze. “I’m really bad at this… but I’m glad you came anyway.”

You smiled and stepped forward, your hand brushing against his—just enough for him to notice. “Me too, Echo. Me too.”

You and Echo walked back in silence, though the tension between you was different now—softer, less painful. The cantina was as busy as before, the dim lights casting long shadows across the floor. The rest of the Batch was already there, and as soon as you and Echo entered, the teasing began.

Wrecker was the first to speak. “So,” he began with a huge grin, “how was the sunset?”

Echo shot him a glare. “I didn’t—we didn’t—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wrecker laughed. “You two were just looking at the sky, right?”

You gave him a playful side-eye. “Why don’t you ask Omega? She’s the one who knows all about sunsets.”

Omega was sitting at the booth, her feet kicked up, looking entirely too smug for someone her age. “I told you it would be perfect,” she said, glancing at Echo with a knowing look.

Hunter raised an eyebrow. “So, Echo, what happened with the sunset? You get all the way out there just to not—”

Echo groaned and covered his face with his hand. “I’m not answering any of you.”

Tech, ever the neutral party, smiled faintly. “I believe this is the point where you’re supposed to express how much you enjoyed the company of your… companion.”

“Shut up, Tech,” Echo grumbled.

Omega leaned in, looking at you, then at Echo, her grin impossibly wide. “Did you kiss her, Echo?”

Echo nearly choked on his drink. “What? No! We—we—”

“I’m just saying,” Omega continued innocently, “there was some serious chemistry, and I don’t think you’ll be able to ignore it for much longer.”

“Omega,” Echo hissed, looking at her like she’d just dropped a thermal detonator at his feet.

But you just laughed, the tension from earlier melting away. “She’s not wrong, Echo. You’re pretty easy to read.”

Echo could only groan in response, his face as red as the setting sun.

A/N

I kinda hate this tbh, but I had an idea but then I had like a million other ideas while writing this and I feel like it’s kinda mix matched.

Salve! I was wondering if you could do a 501st x Fem!Reader where she can comfort the boys after they have nightmares. Cuddly and fluffy fic? Love your work! 💙🇳🇴

“The Warmth Between Wars”

501st x Fem!Reader

⸻

The war was quiet tonight, at least on this side of the stars.

Your bunk was tucked into the corner of the 501st’s temporary barracks, a little pocket of calm in a galaxy always set to burn. The lights were dim, the hum of the base a low lull, and most of the troopers were supposed to be asleep.

But you’d learned that sleep didn’t come easy to men who’d seen too much.

That’s why you stayed awake—your blankets soft and open, arms ready, heart steady.

The first to appear was Hardcase—because of course it was. Loud in everything he did except when he was hurting. You heard his footsteps even before you saw him.

“Hey,” he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Couldn’t shut my brain off. Kept hearing the gunfire… y’know. Just noise. Dumb.”

You patted the spot beside you. “It’s not dumb.”

Hardcase flopped down like a kicked puppy, curling into your side with his head pressed against your chest. “You smell better than blaster fire,” he mumbled.

You chuckled, brushing a hand through his wild hair. “High praise.”

A few minutes later, Echo slipped in like a ghost, eyes hollow.

“Wasn’t even my nightmare,” he whispered. “It was Fives’. I heard him in his sleep.”

“Then bring him too.”

Echo looked back over his shoulder. Sure enough, Fives emerged from the shadows, rubbing his eyes.

“You’re like a kriffing magnet,” Fives grumbled, but he smiled when he saw you and Hardcase.

“Only for broken things,” you teased softly.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Fives replied, nestling in beside Echo, his back brushing yours. You reached back and grabbed his hand, grounding him.

The bunk was growing crowded—but there was always room.

Kix came next, grumbling about how it wasn’t “medically advisable” for this many people to share a bunk, but you knew better.

“You’re not here for medical advice, are you?” you asked.

“…No,” he muttered, surrendering as he slid under the blanket at your feet, resting his head near your knees.

Then Appo arrived, quiet and unsure, his helmet still on.

“You can take it off,” you said gently. “You don’t have to wear the war in here.”

He hesitated… then removed it.

The look in his eyes told you everything: too many losses. Too much weight.

You pulled him down beside you. “Just for tonight, let it go.”

Jesse and Dogma came together—one cracked jokes, the other said nothing. But both of them settled close, drawn by the comfort you offered without needing to ask.

Eventually, even Rex came.

He stood at the edge of the pile like a soldier standing watch. Not ready to be vulnerable. Not yet.

“Captain?” you said softly.

His eyes flicked to yours.

You didn’t pressure him. Just opened your arm, just a little, just enough.

Rex hesitated… then stepped forward and sank to the floor beside your bunk, resting his head against your thigh. You ran your fingers through his hair, slow and steady.

No one spoke for a while. The room was warm with breath and body heat, filled with the soft sound of steady inhales.

For just a few hours, there was no war. No armor. No titles. Just tired men wrapped around someone who loved them.

You pressed your lips to the crown of Fives’ head, gave Jesse’s hand a squeeze, and reached down to cup Rex’s cheek.

“You’re safe,” you whispered. “All of you. Tonight, you’re safe.”

And the nightmares stayed away.

“The Lesser of Two Wars” Pt.3

Commander Fox x Reader X Commander Thorn

The walk back from the senator’s apartment was quiet.

Fox didn’t speak, and Thorn didn’t expect him to. Not at first.

But the silence felt different now—less like calm, more like something that wanted to crack open.

They turned a corner, stepping into the shadow of the senate tower, boots echoing in near-perfect unison.

“She’s sharp,” Thorn said finally.

Fox’s gaze remained forward. “She’s reckless.”

“Reckless, or brave?”

“Doesn’t matter. She shouldn’t provoke like that.”

Thorn huffed. “What, her teasing you?”

Fox stopped walking. Just for a moment.

“She pushes boundaries.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

A pause. Long enough for a speeder to pass by overhead.

Fox turned his head just slightly, just enough to meet Thorn’s eyes.

“I’m not here to indulge senators.”

“No,” Thorn said, quieter now. “You’re here to protect them.”

They walked again.

This time, Thorn’s voice was more level. More careful.

“She’s not like the others.”

Fox said nothing.

“She sees things,” Thorn continued. “Knows when someone’s watching her. Picks up on shifts, silences. She noticed how you walked closer today.”

“I did my job.”

“You changed how you did your job.”

Fox stopped again. Thorn didn’t.

The air between them was a taut wire now, humming beneath the words neither of them would say.

“She’s a risk,” Fox said.

Thorn finally turned. “Or a reason.”

“A reason for what?”

But Thorn didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

They both knew.

Neither man would speak it. Not here. Not now.

But between the edges of their words—beneath the armor, the protocol, the rank—was something alive.

And she was the flame drawing both of them in.

The corridors of the Coruscant Guard base felt colder than usual as Fox and Thorn walked back toward their quarters. The sounds of their footsteps—staccato and measured—echoed around them, a rhythmic reminder of their role, their duty.

And yet, something felt different tonight. Thorn could sense it in the air between them. Fox hadn’t said a word since their conversation on the walk back, and Thorn wasn’t about to press him.

They were just about to turn down the hall leading to their rooms when a trio of figures stepped into view.

Hound, Stone, and Thire.

The trio stood in the shadows of the hallway, their faces hidden beneath their helmets but the casual stance of their posture unmistakable. They were lounging in a way that only soldiers who’d seen too much could manage—relaxed, but always alert.

Hound was the first to speak, his voice muffled but clear through his helmet’s com. “Marshal Commander, Commander Thorn.” He nodded, acknowledging them both. “We were just finishing a sweep of the upper levels.”

Stone smirked, tilting his helmet toward Fox. “So, how’s the senator doing? Keeping you busy?”

Fox narrowed his eyes slightly, but kept his expression neutral. “What’s your point, Stone?”

Stone chuckled under his breath, the amusement evident even through the tone of his voice. “Just saying, it’d be nice if we had the honor of watching over someone a little more… attractive than Orn Free Taa. You know, someone who’s actually worth our time.”

Thorn’s body stiffened, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

Fox’s stance didn’t change. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t give an inch.

But the subtle tension in his jaw was enough to send a ripple of warning through Thorn’s gut. He could feel the charge in the air. He could see Fox’s mind working behind his helmet, weighing his next move.

Thorn opened his mouth to respond, but Fox was faster.

“Get back to your positions,” Fox’s voice was cold, commanding, and unequivocal. “All of you. Now.”

Hound’s helmet tilted slightly, as though he was considering Fox’s words. There was no malice in the moment, but the tone was unmistakable—Fox wasn’t just commanding his subordinates, he was asserting something more.

“Yes, sir,” Hound replied, stepping back and motioning for the others to follow.

Thire, however, raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to bite our heads off, Fox. We were just messing with you.”

Fox’s gaze locked onto Thire. It wasn’t threatening, but it was firm. Unyielding.

“I don’t care what you think about her. She’s not your concern,” Fox said, his voice clipped.

Thorn watched the exchange with growing awareness. He didn’t need to hear more to understand what was beneath the surface. Something was brewing between Fox and the senator. Something Fox didn’t want his men—his brothers—to poke at.

Stone shrugged, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, just making sure you weren’t too distracted, Fox.”

Fox didn’t say another word.

With a final, brief glance at Thorn, he turned on his heel and walked toward the quarters, Thorn following a step behind.

Once they were out of earshot, Thorn allowed himself to breathe. His mind, sharp as ever, raced to piece everything together.

Fox had always been professional, but that reaction—defensive, terse—hadn’t been just about the senator’s safety. There was something else there.

And Thorn wasn’t sure whether he was grateful for it—or jealous of it.

⸻

The air in the briefing chamber was stagnant with politics, but you barely noticed. You’d grown used to breathing it in.

Your eyes, however, had their own agenda.

Fox and Thorn stood across the room—one against the wall like he’d been carved from it, the other with his arms behind his back and a half-step forward, like he was ready to speak but never would unless asked. Both unreadable. Both unnervingly focused.

And both watching you.

Well—not watching. But you knew better than to believe that.

Senator Mon Mothma sat beside you, her voice soft as she leaned in. “You have their full attention, you know.”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

She gave a faint, knowing smile. “Don’t play coy. Half the room’s worried about this assassin on the loose. The other half’s watching how the Coruscant Guard looks at you.”

You gave a half-laugh under your breath. “They’re soldiers. They look like that at everyone.”

“No,” Mon Mothma said gently. “They don’t.”

You glanced up again—Thorn now in quiet conversation with Riyo Chuchi, Fox standing near the entrance with his arms crossed.

Both still facing you.

You cleared your throat. When the briefing was dismissed, senators filtered out in twos and threes, murmuring lowly. You didn’t stand right away. You were thinking. Weighing a dangerous idea.

And then you stood—stepping toward Thorn before Fox.

Thorn looked at you with the faintest raise of his brow. Not surprised. Not expectant either. Just… ready.

“Commander,” you said with a smile. “Do you think we’re being overly paranoid, or is this new threat credible?”

Thorn paused for just a moment too long before answering. “It’s credible enough to keep me awake at night.”

Your lips curled. “That’s oddly poetic.”

“I can be full of surprises,” he said, offering a dry, almost-smile.

Behind you, you heard the soft shift of armor—Fox drawing closer, unprompted.

Interesting.

“Do you think I need a tighter guard detail?” you asked, turning your attention to Fox now, letting your gaze linger a little too long.

Fox looked down at you. His expression was unmoved, but you noticed—he stood closer than usual again.

“You’ll have what’s necessary,” he replied evenly.

“Not the answer I asked for,” you said softly.

“It’s the one that matters.”

You tilted your head, eyes flicking between the two commanders. “Well, if either of you feels like getting some air later, I’m thinking of walking the gardens.”

A beat passed.

Neither took the bait. But something shifted in both of them.

Not a word. Not a twitch.

But the silence held more than anyone else could hear.

You smiled, just a little.

“Gentlemen.”

Then you turned and left—heels clicking, chin high, spine tall.

And behind you, two commanders stood side by side.

Saying nothing.

Feeling everything.

⸻

The gardens behind the Senate building were meant for tranquility—tall hedges, polished stone walkways, subtle lighting filtered through glassy foliage. It smelled of rainwater and something faintly floral, like a memory from somewhere else.

You weren’t sure you expected anyone to actually take your invitation.

You definitely didn’t expect both of them.

Thorn arrived first, boots quiet against the stone, his presence announced only by the change in the air—he always carried some heat with him, something sharp under control.

“You walk alone often?” he asked, keeping pace beside you without being asked to.

“I like fresh air after long hours of stale conversation,” you replied.

“I can understand that.”

You were about to say more when another sound joined your footsteps.

Fox.

He didn’t speak, just joined on your other side, walking as though he’d always been there.

You blinked, looking between them. “Well. Either I’m under heavy surveillance or someone took my suggestion seriously.”

Thorn offered a soft huff of breath. “I like gardens.”

Fox didn’t answer.

You let the silence stretch. Let them settle.

You stopped near a low wall that overlooked the glimmering speeder lanes far below, resting your hands on the cool stone. Neither man flanked you now—both standing a polite distance back, quiet sentinels in crimson armor.

It was ridiculous, how safe they made you feel. And how annoying that safety had a heartbeat.

“I suppose I should feel flattered,” you said lightly. “Two commanders taking time from their endless duties to walk among flowers with a senator who doesn’t even like politics.”

Fox’s voice was low. “I’m assigned to your protection.”

“I’m not.” Thorn looked at you. “I came because I wanted to.”

You glanced sideways at him, then at Fox—whose jaw had tensed the slightest bit.

Interesting.

You turned to face them fully now, hands behind your back like any good statesperson. But your words were not diplomatic.

“You know,” you mused, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think both of you were trying very hard not to look like you wanted to be here.”

Fox’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s not about want. It’s about necessity.”

“You always so careful with your words, Commander?”

“I have to be.”

Thorn stepped a fraction closer. “Some of us know how to loosen the screws once in a while.”

You smiled. Not smug—just amused. Alive. Thrilled by what danced beneath their armored restraint.

“I’ll leave you both to your necessary screws and careful words,” you said, taking a few steps back toward the Senate tower. “But thank you—for indulging a restless senator tonight.”

And then you left them there. Both men. Still, silent, unmoving beneath the warm garden lights.

Unspoken things tightening around their throats.

And neither of them ready to say a word about it.

Not yet.

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“War on Two Fronts” pt.8 (Final Part)

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

The cantina had never felt so alive.

Over the last several weeks, she had joined the Bad Batch on a few of Cid’s more difficult jobs. Recovery runs, extractions, a few tight infiltration missions—each one forging a subtle bond between them. She and Hunter found common ground in silent understanding, Wrecker made her laugh despite herself, and even Tech, with his logic and curiosity, had started asking her opinion more often than not.

Cid still didn’t know her full story. The Trandoshan just assumed she was another burned-out merc who’d gone to ground after the war, hiding her past in the quiet monotony of bar work. And that suited the her just fine. The fewer people who knew, the safer everyone was.

But on one mission—one where they’d helped two bold sisters named Rafa and Trace Martez—she’d felt it again. That familiar pull in the Force, that reminder of what she used to be. Rafa had seen it too, maybe not for what it was, but she’d looked at her like someone who knew the fight wasn’t over yet. Trace had even asked if they’d ever met before.

She had only shaken her head. “Not in this lifetime.”

Now, back at Cid’s, sweaty and aching and dusty from another run, the Batch filed in ahead of her. Her boots dragged slightly, exhaustion settling in her bones like old echoes. She was about to hang her blaster at the rack when her breath caught—sharp, immediate, deep.

She felt him before she saw him.

The Force surged like a wave just under her skin. A presence wrapped in memory and loyalty and grief. Her head snapped up.

Standing in the corner of Cid’s parlor, talking low with Hunter, was Captain Rex.

He hadn’t changed much—still clad in familiar white and blue armor, cloak drawn over one shoulder, a little more wear on his face, a little more heaviness behind his eyes. His gaze was sharp as ever.

And then his eyes locked with hers.

The world fell away.

She didn’t breathe. Neither did he.

“Rex?” she said, barely a whisper.

Cid squinted at her. “Wait—you two know each other?”

Neither answered.

“Holy kriff,” Wrecker muttered.

The room fell into silence. Even Tech looked up from his scanner, blinking rapidly.

She took a step forward, heart in her throat. He took one too.

“…You’re alive,” Rex finally said.

“So are you,” she whispered back.

Rex’s voice broke just slightly. “I thought I lost you on Mygeeto.”

She wanted to say a thousand things. She wanted to cry. Or maybe scream. Instead, she smiled—tight and aching.

“You almost did.”

“You were reported dead,” Rex said, his voice lower now, almost reverent. “The logs said your ship was shot down before it cleared Mygeeto’s atmosphere. That you never made it off-world.”

She blinked, her mouth parting as if to speak, but nothing came at first. Her throat tightened.

“No,” she said finally. “That… never happened. I made it out clean. No damage. No one even fired at my ship.”

Rex stared at her, confusion shadowing his face. “That doesn’t make sense. That kind of discrepancy… someone altered the report.”

Her heart began to pound harder now, a slow, rising pressure like air being sucked out of the room.

A beat passed.

“…Bacara,” she said aloud, but not to Rex—more like to herself. The name slipped out like a bitter taste on her tongue.

It didn’t make sense. And yet, it did. The moment on the battlefield, when his blaster had locked on her with terrifying precision—then hesitated. Just for a breath. And she had felt something underneath the chip-induced obedience. A pause. A struggle.

And then the fake report.

Did he lie? The thought whispered through her like a crack of light through stormclouds. Did he lie to protect me?

But the thought was gone as quickly as it came—burned out by the searing heat of Rex’s presence.

“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered, shaking it off, forcing herself back to the now. “I survived. That’s what matters.”

Rex wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking past her, to the others.

To the rest of the Batch.

His body tensed, like a wire pulled too tight.

“…You haven’t removed your chips,” Rex said suddenly, voice sharp and cold as a vibroblade.

The Bad Batch stilled.

“What?” Echo stepped forward. “Rex—”

“I said,” Rex growled, stepping into the middle of the group, “you haven’t removed your inhibitor chips. After everything we’ve seen—after what happened to her—you’re still walking around with those things in your heads?”

“We haven’t had an episode,” Tech offered calmly. “We believe our mutation suppresses its effectiveness.”

Rex’s hand hovered near his blaster now.

“Belief isn’t good enough. You’re a threat to her.”

The reader stepped between them, her heart in her throat.

“Rex—”

“No,” he said, not to her, but about her. “She barely survived the last time a squad turned on her. You really want to gamble her life again?”

Hunter met Rex’s fury head-on, calm but firm. “We’re not your enemy.”

“Not yet,” Rex snapped. “But I’ve seen what those chips do. I felt it tear my mind apart. You think just because you haven’t activated, it won’t happen? You don’t get to risk her.”

The reader put a hand on his chest, stopping him, grounding him.

“I can take care of myself,” she said quietly. “They’ve had plenty of chances. And they haven’t.”

But Rex’s gaze didn’t soften. Not yet.

“I lost everything,” he said, finally looking at her again. “Don’t ask me to stand by and watch it happen again. Not to you.”

⸻

The makeshift medbay in the old star cruiser felt colder than the cantina ever had. The surgical pod hissed softly as Tech monitored the vitals, his face pale in the glow of the console.

Wrecker sat on the edge of the table, visibly uneasy.

“I really don’t like this, guys,” he muttered, voice strained. “This doesn’t feel right.”

Hunter stepped forward, voice calm. “You’ll be okay. We’ve all done it now, Wreck. You’re the last one.”

The reader stood to the side, hands clasped tightly. She had helped on this mission, grown close to them over the weeks. The thought of any of them hurting her—or Omega—was almost impossible. But she’d seen what the chip could do. She had lived it.

“You trust me, don’t you?” Omega asked softly, standing near Wrecker’s knee.

Wrecker gave her a pained smile. “’Course I do, kid.”

She left his side reluctantly as Tech activated the procedure.

Then it began.

Sparks of pain registered on the screen—neural surges, error readings. Wrecker groaned, clutching his head.

The reader’s breath hitched.

“Tech?” Echo stepped forward. “That’s not normal—”

Wrecker’s growl cut through the room. His hands gripped the edges of the table until they bent under his strength.

He lunged.

Tech hit the emergency release—but too late. Wrecker was up, snarling, wild-eyed.

“You’re all traitors!” he shouted.

Hunter shoved Omega behind him. “Wrecker, fight it!”

“In violation of Order 66!” he bellowed, locking eyes with the reader.

She barely had time to ignite her saber as he charged.

They clashed hard—fist to blade. Sparks flew. Her heart pounded. He was trying to kill her.

He wasn’t Wrecker anymore.

“You don’t want to do this!” she cried, dodging as he smashed a console.

Echo and Hunter tried to flank him, but he threw them aside effortlessly. He moved toward Omega next—drawn to the Jedi-adjacent signature she carried.

“No!” the reader screamed, hurling him back with the Force.

That dazed him just long enough for Tech to line up the stun shot—two bursts of blue light—and Wrecker dropped to the ground, unconscious.

The silence afterward felt deafening.

Omega rushed into the reader’s arms, trembling.

“I-It wasn’t him,” she whispered. “That wasn’t Wrecker…”

The reader just held her tightly, blinking away her own tears.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

The cruiser’s medbay was quiet again, the hum of the equipment the only sound as Wrecker stirred.

He groaned, eyes fluttering open, then blinked blearily at the harsh lighting above. The reader stood near the far wall, arms crossed, eyes guarded. Omega was asleep in a nearby chair, curled up beneath a blanket.

Wrecker sat up slowly, then immediately winced. “Urgh… what happened?”

Hunter leaned forward, cautious. “You don’t remember?”

Wrecker rubbed his temple. “Just… pain. Then nothing.”

Tech stood near the console. “Your inhibitor chip activated. We had to stun you to prevent serious harm.”

Wrecker glanced around, gaze slowly landing on the reader. His heart dropped.

“I—I hurt you, didn’t I?” he rasped.

She didn’t speak at first. Her jaw was tight, her knuckles white where they gripped her sleeves.

“You tried to kill me,” she said quietly. “Tried to kill Omega.”

Wrecker’s shoulders slumped, devastated.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, barely able to get the words out. “I couldn’t stop it… I wasn’t me. I’d never hurt you. Or her.”

The reader finally stepped closer. “I know,” she said. “It wasn’t you. It was the chip.”

“But it was me,” Wrecker insisted. “It was my hands. My voice. I said those things…”

Omega stirred then, blinking awake. She saw Wrecker sitting up and scrambled over, hugging him fiercely before anyone could stop her.

He held her gently, cradling her as if she were made of glass. His voice cracked when he whispered, “I’m sorry, kid.”

“I forgive you,” she murmured.

The room went still.

The reader watched them, throat tight. The bruises on her arms still throbbed. But the sincerity in Wrecker’s voice, the pain in his eyes—it reached something inside her.

She gave a small nod. “So do I.”

Wrecker looked up, eyes glassy. “Really?”

She stepped closer, touching his shoulder. “You were the last one with that thing in your head. It’s over now. You’re still Wrecker.”

He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for days.

Echo gave him a nod. “You’re one of us. Always.”

Tech cleared his throat. “Now that we’re all… unchipped, we can begin operating more freely. No more sudden execution protocols.”

Hunter placed a hand on Wrecker’s arm. “We move forward together.”

Wrecker nodded slowly, and Omega curled back up beside him, calmer now.

The reader stepped back, quietly observing them.

Something had changed in her too. Watching them risk everything for one another, seeing how hard they fought to stay together, to be together—it stirred something she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time:

Hope.

⸻

Ord Mantell’s night air was thick with the scent of dust and ion fuel, the stars low and heavy above the cluttered skyline.

She stood alone on the overlook behind Cid’s parlor, arms folded against the breeze, her lightsaber weighing heavy at her side. It was the first time she’d clipped it there in months.

She didn’t flinch when Rex approached. She felt him before she heard him.

“You sure?” he asked, stopping beside her.

She nodded, slow. “Yeah.”

They stood in silence for a long time. The clatter of cantina noise bled faintly through the walls. Somewhere below, Wrecker was likely teaching Omega how to throw a punch without breaking her wrist. Echo would be reading. Hunter brooding. Tech lecturing some poor soul who made the mistake of asking a question.

They’d become a strange sort of family. And that made this harder.

“I’m not running,” she finally said. “Not from them. But I can’t keep hiding in a bar like the war never happened.”

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation,” Rex said quietly.

She turned to look at him, really look at him—his expression weary, but his posture still sharp. There was always weight behind his gaze, but now it was heavier. Lonelier. She recognized it. She felt it too.

“I think I owe them a goodbye,” she said.

⸻

Inside, the Batch were gathered around the table. She stood before them, her saber now visibly clipped to her hip.

They all turned. Omega was the first to speak. “You’re leaving?”

“I am,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake. “With Rex.”

A beat of silence.

Hunter stood. “You’re sure?”

She nodded. “You all gave me something I didn’t realize I needed. But I can’t stay here while there’s still a fight out there.”

Tech removed his goggles briefly, nodding with rare sincerity. “You’ve always been capable. I suspected it the moment I saw you cleaning barstools like you’d rather stab someone.”

That earned a faint laugh, even from her.

Wrecker stepped forward, wrapping her in a careful, crushing hug. “Just don’t get shot or anything.”

“I’ll try not to,” she muttered into his chestplate.

Echo approached last, meeting her gaze with quiet understanding. “Stay safe. And if you ever need us—”

“I’ll find you,” she said. “I promise.”

Omega flung herself into her arms, teary-eyed but brave. “Will you visit?”

“If I can,” she whispered. “I’ll try.”

⸻

Outside again, Rex waited by the speeder. She joined him in silence, the saber at her hip now humming softly against her side.

“You ready?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “But I’m going anyway.”

Rex smirked faintly. “Good answer.”

They mounted the speeder, and as it took off into the dark, she didn’t look back.

Not because she didn’t care.

But because it hurt too much.

And because the future waited.

⸻

*Time Skip*

The AT-TE creaked in the dry wind, its repurposed hull groaning like an old man settling into bed. Panels of mismatched metal were welded over the gaps, creating a patchwork home that had weathered years of storms, dust, and silence. A line of vapor-trapped cables ran down from a salvaged power generator, and the front cannon had long since been converted into a lookout perch—with an old caf pot hanging just beneath it.

Out here on Seelos, nothing moved fast—except time.

She sat alone atop the forward deck, legs dangling over the edge, her lightsaber in a locked case at her feet. She hadn’t opened it in years. Some days she forgot it was even there. Other days, her hand would rest on it unconsciously, like a phantom limb that still itched.

Behind her, laughter echoed from inside—Gregor’s wild cackle, Wolffe grumbling that something in the stew “smelled too fresh,” and Rex… softer now, slower in his step, but still unmistakably him.

He didn’t wear armor anymore. Not really. The old pauldrons were used as patch plates on the AT-TE, and his helmet rested on a shelf with a layer of dust thick enough to write in. His hair was white now, and his back bent a little more with each passing year. She could see the toll the war had taken on his body—clones weren’t built for longevity. But his eyes? Those still held that sharp, earnest fire when he looked at her.

They had made a quiet life together. A small garden. A stripped-down comm dish for the occasional transmission. She cooked. He read. Some mornings they sat in silence with caf, the sun rising red over the Seelos horizon like blood on sand.

And yet, there were moments—when the wind howled just so, or when night came too quiet—when her thoughts drifted elsewhere.

To him.

To Bacara.

She hadn’t seen him since Mygeeto. Since she watched him gun down Master Mundi without hesitation—since he turned on her with no emotion at all, like a stranger wearing a familiar face. But sometimes, she wondered. He’d lied in his report. She was sure of it. He said her ship was shot down before it breached the atmosphere… but it wasn’t. He let her go.

Why?

And where was he now?

Did he ever think about her? Did the chip ever break like it did in Rex? Or did he die a soldier, still bound to the Empire? Still hunting Jedi in the shadows of a life that used to mean more?

She shook the thought away.

She had Rex.

And this peace… this was real.

The perimeter alarm chirped—one long tone, then two short. A ship. Small. Civilian or rebel-modified. Old programming still made her spine go rigid.

She stood, heart steady but alert, as the vessel descended into view. The dust curled beneath it, kicking up into the dusk-lit sky.

By the time it touched down, she was already at the foot of the AT-TE, hand hovering instinctively near the saber case tucked behind the front hatch.

Then the ramp lowered.

She felt it.

The Force.

Before they even stepped out.

Two Jedi.

A Mandalorian.

And a Lasat.

Ezra Bridger emerged first, cautious and respectful. Sabine Wren followed, helmet in hand, and Zeb let out a low grunt of approval at the sight of the old war walker.

And then him.

The Jedi.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Not because he was a stranger.

Because he wasn’t.

Caleb Dume.

He didn’t look the same—not exactly. Older now, guarded. His hair longer, beard fuller, movements tighter like someone who had lived on the edge too long.

But she knew those eyes.

“Kanan Jarrus,” he introduced himself, stepping forward.

She didn’t return the greeting immediately. Her voice was quiet. “I knew you as Caleb.”

He stiffened, face unreadable. The others exchanged a glance. The Lasat’s hand twitched near his weapon, but Hera gently put a hand on his arm.

Kanan didn’t deny it. “Then you’re…?”

“I was with Master Mace Windus second padawan,” she said. “I remember you at the Temple. You were small. Loud. You used to sneak into the archives to look at holos of war reports.”

His expression softened. “That sounds like me.”

“You survived.”

“So did you.”

They stood in silence for a moment. The past stretched like a shadow between them.

Ezra finally stepped in. “Do the numbers CT-7567 mean anything to you? Ashoka Tano said he might help us establish a network… fight back against the Empire.”

Behind her, footsteps thudded—Rex stepping out of the AT-TE, wiping his hands with a rag, eyebrows raised as he spotted the group.

“Told ya they’d find us eventually,” Gregor called from the hatch, cheerful as ever.

The reader didn’t take her eyes off Kanan.

He was studying Rex, but his focus kept flicking back to her.

She could feel the tension like a storm behind his eyes. The chip. Order 66. Old scars. Unspoken pain.

She understood. But this wasn’t about the past anymore.

This was the beginning of something new.

A new hope.

⸻

Previous 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.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Title: Meet Me in the Woods

Commander Cody x Jedi!Reader

Warnings: inner conflict, Dark Side temptation, brief mentions of violence and war. Inspired by the song “meet me in the woods” by Lord Huron

⸻

The war had changed you.

You could feel it in the way your saber moved—too fast, too forceful. You felt it in your voice, now lower, sharper when giving orders. And you felt it in the way the Force wrapped around you lately—not like a comforting current, but a rising tide, dark and deep.

You hadn’t meditated in days.

You didn’t want to.

Instead, you wandered into the woods after the battle, far from the bodies, the smoldering tanks, and the smothering weight of Republic victory. The trees here were ancient and gnarled, the canopy so thick that the light barely broke through. It felt like walking into another world—one that didn’t know your name, or your rank, or your failures.

And still, somehow, he found you.

“You’re not supposed to be out here alone,” Cody said behind you, voice low, familiar. His helmet was under one arm, the other hand resting casually on the DC-17 at his hip. He looked like he always did—composed, focused, but you knew the worry in his eyes.

You didn’t turn around. “A lot of things I’m not supposed to be.”

Silence stretched between you like mist in the trees.

“I felt you slipping,” he said quietly. “Even before this last mission. I thought… maybe if I gave you space…”

You let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t need space. I need the war to stop.”

He stepped closer. You heard the soft crunch of damp leaves under his boots. “It won’t. Not for a long time.”

“I know,” you whispered. “And that’s the problem.”

You turned to face him finally. His eyes locked on yours. You saw how tired he was, how long the war had weighed on him, too. But Cody was a soldier—he didn’t break. You weren’t sure if that was strength or something else entirely.

“I killed someone today,” you said. “Someone who tried to surrender. I didn’t even hesitate. It felt… right. Like the Force wanted it.”

His brows furrowed. “The Force doesn’t want blood.”

“Then what is it that’s whispering to me? Making me feel stronger every time I give in?”

Cody didn’t answer immediately. He just closed the distance, slow and steady, until you could feel the heat of him, grounding you.

“I don’t know much about the Force,” he said. “But I know you. And I know you’re not lost. Not yet.”

You shook your head. “You’re wrong. I’ve seen what’s inside me. There’s something dark. Something hungry.”

His hand touched your arm—gently, like you were something fragile and wild. “Then let me walk with you into it. Into the woods. Into whatever this is. You don’t have to face it alone.”

You stared at him, breath caught in your throat.

“You’re not afraid?” you asked.

“I’m afraid of losing you,” he said simply.

Something inside you cracked—just a little. Enough to let in the light. You leaned your forehead against his chest, and for a long moment, he held you there, arms steady around your shoulders, as if he could keep the darkness at bay just by holding on tight enough.

The woods were still around you. The war was far behind—for now.

And maybe, just maybe, if you kept walking, you’d find a way out of the forest together.

⸻