Or: What If "getting Her Way" Was Glinda's Magic?

Cadet-Napping

AKA Forced Adoption

Cody trudges into the room tired and pissed. He’s had enough of this day already and he can already see Bly’s stupid karking smirk. It almost makes him turn around. Almost. If it wasn’t for the ever growing weight on his back he would’ve about-faced and said kark it. His burden grumbles as his steps falter when Bly’s smirk sharpens. He knows the comment is coming, he knows, and if his arms weren’t full he would be preparing to deck him.

“We’re not keeping him, huh?” 

“Shut up Bly.” A verbal jab is all he can do without jostling the cadet on his back. He strides past him to set their bleeding vod’ika on the bench. 

“Not two hours ago you were saying he had to stay with his own squad. What changed your mind so fast?” Bly hands him a clean cloth and some gauze. He gets to work with a huff.

“His squad jumped him again.”

“They really don’t like that he’s blonde that much.”

“Apparently.”

“Wait. Why were you even heading back that way to begin with?”

“I looked him up. He’s been transferred thirteen times for infighting. It’s a wonder that the Kaminiis haven’t decommissioned him yet.”

“You were going back to grab him anyway.” 

The statement is said with so much barely contained glee. He feels his eyebrow twitch twice before he can stop it and finishes wrapping up the cadet’s wounds. Heaving him back into his arms he strides past his infuriating brother once more. There’s no way to answer Bly’s statement, not without making the bastard even more smug. Besides he has to figure out how to get his vod’ika into a sleeping pod and then convince Alpha that the kid should be transferred into their squad.

“Kark you’re so kriffing soft. Who would have thought it possible. Kote has gone soft.”

“Shut Up Bly!”

"Cyar'ika"

Based on that post by @vclkyrxe

. . .

The pride Anakin constantly felt for his men was doubled with their latest victory and he swaggered down the hallways of the cruiser in an excellent mood.

The 501st had worked seamlessly alongside their brothers of the 212th, thriving under the joint leadership of Rex and Cody and making it out of their latest battle relatively unscathed, with minor injuries and zero fatalities. It was a tragically uncommon outcome.

Anakin congratulated the men he passed in the corridors, clasping shoulders and forearms, cherishing their smiles. Too often, they had so little to smile about. There were less and less troopers to greet as he neared the Jedi quarters; they had little need to venture down such hallways after all. Their absence saddened Anakin greatly, so used to their presence, wishing once again that he could be permitted to bunk with his men. The dog-piles of clones he often found himself in when resting mid-battle were surprisingly comfortable.

It wasn’t appropriate, however. Not for a Jedi.

Voices startled him, having expected that familiar, lonely silence, and curious at why it was broken.

“… more careful, general. Today could have gone much differently.”

It was Cody. Anakin knew the timbre of his voice. He must be debriefing with his general and, from what Anakin was overhearing, this particular debrief was more along the lines of a lecture. He smirked, leaned back against the wall outside his master’s room to listen to him get told off for once.

“You needn’t worry, Commander. I had it under control.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you know what that word means,” Cody huffed in reply to his general’s airy dismissal. “Fine. Don’t be careful. Just, keep in mind, someday I might not be there. I could get shot down mid battle and you may not notice for the duration—”

“Cody,” said Obi-Wan, quite firm, and Anakin recognised that tone: chiding, but ultimately so gentle. “I would feel your loss instantly.”

Anakin nodded, so enthused with agreement that he forgot briefly that he wasn’t a part of the conversation. The clones had a habit of downplaying their worth. They couldn’t be blamed, of course, having been created by those who believed they were expendable, but Anakin knew different. He knew that, if Rex should fall, he would feel it.

There was silence following Obi-Wan’s words but it broke now with Cody’s softened voice.

“It does not… invalidate my point, sir.”

“Cyar’ika,” Obi-Wan sighed and the word stuck in Anakin’s mind, knowing in his heart that it was important, feeling the weight and emotion behind it. “I hear you… and I will do my upmost to ease your anxiety.”

“That feels like a weak promise.”

“Well, I know if I tell you I’ll stop being reckless, you’ll just see right through me.”

Cody chuckled, completely genuine, untainted with bitterness or exasperation. It was such an unfamiliar sound. “I suppose it will do for now.”

There was a moment of silence. Anakin had to hold himself back from prying, from reaching out into the force to know what was happening in that room.

“I need to see to the men,” said Cody. “For some of them, a victory is just as hard as a defeat.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Of course, general.”

The door opened and Anakin almost tripped over himself, realising quickly that he would not get away in time and simply leaning back against the wall, resting his chin in his hand with as much feigned nonchalance as he could muster. His goal had been to not draw attention. When Cody exited the room, however, the commander looked right at him.

His helmet was tucked under one arm, his eyes widening a moment, just a fraction, in surprise, before he set himself a carefully neutral expression.

“General Skywalker,” he acknowledged, setting off down the corridor, and Anakin grimaced a smile through his fingers.

“Cody,” he said in reply, closing his eyes in self-frustration when the man was out of sight because he definitely knew Anakin had been eavesdropping.

He wasn’t the only one.

“Anakin.”

Slowly, he turned his head. His hand lowered from his mouth. “Hey…?”

“What are you doing out here?” Obi-Wan asked, looking slightly alarmed, though it may have been because his hair was slightly out of place.

“I was coming to change out of my armour,” said Anakin honestly, “and then, well, I wasn’t expecting Cody to be down here and it, y’know, caught me off guard for a minute.”

Obi-Wan had a thoroughly unconvinced expression on his face, but he said nothing to contradict his former apprentice. “Cody was debriefing me on the battle. The men did well; the Seventh Sky Corps were very effective… Although, he was unhappy with the way I handled myself towards the end.”

“You mean when you were free falling between gunships?”

Obi-Wan’s jaw shifted. “Yes, precisely.”

An uncertain silence stretched out and Anakin shifted his weight between his feet. “So,” said Anakin, hoping to ease his master’s obvious and uncharacteristic discomfort, “‘cyar’ika’…? Haven’t heard that one before.”

“Ah, yes,” replied Obi-Wan, aiming for nonchalant, but no less tense. “It’s a Mando’a word. A… term of endearment, I suppose, for someone I admire and respect very much. Cody—all the clones, in fact—they aren’t used to praise. It’s good for him to know that he is valued.”

Anakin nodded, eager to validate him. “Of course, Master. I agree.”

In Anakin’s mind at least, Obi-Wan wasn’t doing anything wrong. Anakin loved his men like brothers, valued each and every one of them and hoped he conveyed that as much as possible. He knew his master had qualms about attachment, but it was a difficult thing to avoid in war. Without their friends in the clones, they would be lost.

It seemed, however, that—despite his master’s disapproval of such things—he was making a special effort to relate to his men, using words of their heritage language to address them, to assure them they were important. The older clones were fluent in Mando’a and many made it their mission to pass that knowledge on to the younger generations, now that Jango Fett was no longer there to train them. They would rarely have full conversations, but Anakin heard them speak the language often, words and phrases in passing. It had become so natural that he hadn’t thought twice about it.

He was unfamiliar with this new word, however. Rex had never said that before. Anakin new the Kaminoans had not treated the clones well, but he saw Rex with his brothers—with their younger troopers especially—and he knew his captain had not taken much personality from his creators. He was good with the men. He was less willing to accept praise himself, however.

Anakin made a silent vow to change that.

. . .

Anakin spent the rest of the day honouring his vow, honouring his men left and right.

He did as he usually would, praising men in the corridors with “good work today”, and calling up to the clone mechanics atop the damaged gunships with “looking good”, and stopping by the infirmary with “rest up”. “Men” or “troops” would normally round off each encouraging call, but today he left them with “cyar’ika”. It earned him a lot of rapid blinking and confused smiles. Fives laughed aloud when he heard it.

“You too, sir!” he chortled when Anakin praised him in passing for a job well done, but he had always been boisterous. Jesse, walking beside him, stopped and stared, gaping a moment before Fives dragged him along.

Anakin knew the men must be accustomed to his praise by now, so he attributed their surprise to his newly learned term of affection and honour. He hadn’t spoken Mando’a before, it was true, and it clearly came as a surprise to his men. Anakin hoped they would become used to it. Each and every one of them deserved admiration.

“Captain,” Anakin greeted, settled in the debriefing chamber after an hour or so of practicing his new compliment, watching Rex enter, still fully armour-clad.

When the helmets were on, most clones preferred correct procedure and, as independently minded as Rex was, he was no different in that respect.

“Sir,” said Rex in return, lifted his hands to remove his helmet and it put Anakin at ease. “I spoke to the engineers. We only lost one gunship this time. The rest are repairable; some will need more time than others, but they’ll fly again.”

Anakin let him rattle on, listening patiently as his captain filled him in on battle time and potential changes. Rex was very much a man who believed his strategies could always be improved upon, no matter how much Anakin tried to praise him and his intelligence. It was just further proof of his humble, self-critical nature.

“Rex,” said Anakin, half interrupting his talk of rations and mentally kicking himself because he should have used that word. He would slip in in somewhere. “How are you? How are the men?”

“Very well, sir,” Rex replied with a small nod, not seeming surprised to be asked such a thing and that could only be good. “It’s not often we get out without losing anyone, so we’re all feeling very grateful. Worst injury out there are some second-degree burns. Kix is saying they’ll scar but won’t leave any lasting damage. We got lucky.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it. Your skill and tactical mind helped a lot of people today, cyar’ika. You should be proud.”

Rex didn’t brush off the praise as he usually would, and Anakin frowned as Rex stared, a slight flush to his cheeks.

“Sir,” he said eventually, cleared his throat, “if I may, where did you pick up that word?”

“Do the 501st not use Mando’a?” Anakin asked, worried now that Rex may have chosen to cut his Mandalorian ties and Anakin had just offended him. “I thought I heard you sometimes—”

“We—We do, sir. Many phrases are part of our daily… lingo, I suppose, but that…”

“Did I pronounce it wrong?”

“Sir… do you know what it means?”

It dawned on Anakin suddenly that it was an intimate thing to compliment someone in their own language. “Rex,” he said through an exhale, rising to his feet to take Rex’s shoulders. The captain’s flush deepened, keeping searching eyes on his general. “You deserve admiration. I know the Kaminoans taught you otherwise, but I make it a point not to listen to those who treat people like property… I know it’s a Mando’a word and I’m not a clone, so tell me if I’m overstepping, but I see us as brothers. I had hoped you felt the same.”

Rex gaped a moment, closing his mouth with a click. “Sir, I don’t think you know, so I’m just going to tell it to you straight. ‘Cyar’ika’ is a term of romantic endearment. Loosely translated it means ‘darling’ or… ‘sweetheart’.”

Anakin stared at him, slowly releasing his shoulders. The blushing was making sense now. “That can’t be right…”

“It’s what Fives calls his lovers… They seem to like it, I suppose, but—”

“That’s what Fives calls…?” Anakin echoed, trailing in disbelief because Fives’ response to being called Cyar’ika suddenly made a lot more sense now that he had that flirtatious context.

“What did you think it meant?”

“Well, I didn’t think that!” exclaimed Anakin, waving a hand because Rex’s lips were twitching in the beginnings of a grin. “Okay, no, there has to be some other context to it. Surely it can be used platonically.”

“It really can’t,” said Rex, tilted his head in interest. “Who taught you that word, sir?”

It clicked suddenly—properly this time—and Anakin exhaled in disbelief because there was no doubt in his mind that Obi-Wan knew the real meaning of that word. There was no question now that Obi-Wan had lied to him, or—at the very least—twisted the truth enough not to be honest at all.

“I made… an assumption,” said Anakin slowly, “and I was very mistaken.”

He wondered how deep his misunderstanding ran.

If it had reached a point where Obi-Wan was calling Cody by a name that could only be awarded to lovers, then the image he had created of his master in his mind must be very mistaken indeed.

gelphie - modern au

so! i did a poll like a week or so ago and model glinda/photographer elphie won in terms of modern aus you'd want to see. idk if I'll make a full fic but figured i'd give y'all a taste of the idea:

///

“Hey, Pfannee.” Elphaba lifts a hand in a casual wave as she enters the room, nodding her head to some of the other staff as she makes her way over to the young man. He brightens when he sees her, tottering over happily with his arms full of clothes. 

Typical Pfannee. 

“Elphaba, hey girl! Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you?”

“I’ve got three minutes to spare, what do you mean?”

Pfannee laughs, awkwardly nudging his glasses back up his nose without dropping his load. Elphaba drifts further into the room, putting down her bag and sipping on her tea.

“So, I heard we’re working with someone new today,” she drawls. 

Beside her, Pfannee gasps. “You mean you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

But Pfannee’s shocked expressions falls into something mischievous and he shakes his head. “Nope. Not going to ruin the surprise now. You’re going to die when you see her.”

Elphaba rolls her eyes. By the way he’s acting, this new model is likely someone famous. Or- famous to Pfannee at least. Elphaba doesn’t really keep up with anyone like that. Despite having chosen photography as her career, she tries to keep herself separate from the fashion industry at large. 

It’s incredibly toxic, and she’s seen what it can do to people. Case in point: 

“I can't believe I get to take her new measurements! Rumors say that she’s lost weight, and that means I’ll be the first to know her smallest size!” Pfannee grins like that’s a completely reasonable thing to say about an adult woman. 

Elphaba hides her frown behind another sip of tea. Most models don’t really have a lot of room to lose weight. If it’s enough to make a visible difference, especially since the woman’s last job, then she’s likely dropped a concerning amount in a very small time period. 

Elphaba spends the next blur of time discussing the shoot with the other photographers as well as the lighting crew, the hair and makeup artists, and Pfannee and his lackeys. They’re mostly set up and ready to go when a voice announces the model is on her way in, and everyone bustles around to prepare. 

Elphaba waits calmly, Pfannee nearly vibrating beside her. “Here she comes!” he says, just barely remembering in time not to physically shake Elphaba’s shoulders. 

A man enters first, stunningly dressed in a tailored navy suit with his chestnut hair swept back and his blue eyes sparkling. That’s sign number one. The second sign is the voice floating behind him, high and airy and delicate. Almost sing-songy. 

Ice floods through Elphaba’s veins. It stops her heart for several seconds before it kicks back on, three times faster than before. Dread twists in her stomach as she turns and eyes the doorway where a glimmer of pink and gold awaits her. 

It’s been years since she’s seen Glinda Upland. At least- in person that is. 

Glinda Upland, one of the highest-paid models in the country, is featured on enough billboards, magazines, ads, commercials, social media posts, and celebrity shows to make even the lowliest citizen feel like they personally know her. Her face is everywhere, and what a stunning face it is. 

Gorgeous and defined with flawless pale skin and dark chocolate eyes. Long lashes flutter as she blinks, and a single dimple carves into her cheek with every smile. America’s darling. Tiny, dazzling, desirable. 

And the woman Elphaba once loved.

Ruined, Or Not

“Jesse, so help me….” Rex was the image of stoicism, but his facial muscles were pulled so tight they ached.

General Skywalker snorted, clearly against his original intentions, and scrambled to cover the slip with a halfhearted representation of the typical placid Jedi face. Unfortunately, Rex knew his commanding officer far too well. The man was anything but sedate.

If Rex hadn’t known better - hadn’t seen him dismember entire squadrons of droids without even having to think about it - he’d have assumed the general was a shiny long ago.

And Jesse just grinned wider, the damage done.

From across the room, with the medics, Kix was already giving him a death glare. Hardcase, to Jesse’s left, shook with repressed laughter, his face morphing to a rainbow of colors that Rex was determined to not find even close to funny right now.

“Three….two….one….” the photographer called.

Fives lost it first. And the legion was doomed from there.

*******

“I’m sorry, but that is priceless!” Padmé dissolved into laughter, holding the holopic aloft. “May I keep it?”

And Rex had to smile.

The photo was a disaster. GAR command was not pleased. But if they were looking for an “accurate representation of your legion”, they really weren’t going to get more accurate than this.

They were all laughing, in hysterics from row to row. Hands froze where they found brothers’ backs, arms rested around best friends’ backs, and there wasn’t a single face that wasn’t painted in layers of exuberance. Their smile lines dug into their faces, their hair swept carelessly out of the way, their tattoos and the paintings on their armor beaming under the lights.

Even Skywalker had been roaring with laughter, Ahsoka doubled over next to him gasping for breath. And Rex stood in the middle of it all, his fingers strewn across his face in complete and utter hopelessness.

“You’d want to?”

“Of course!” Padmé’s smile softened. “So often we dehumanize and take for granted who you are. I wish everyone could see this kind of joy.”

Rex sighed. “It’s a terrible picture.”

“Well. I must disagree, captain.” She looked down at it again, bathing her features in blue as her smile crept forward again. “Aren’t you glad they can laugh like this?”

The crinkles by Kix’s eyes. The elation on Fives’s face. Echo, laughing so hard tears leaked down his cheeks. Jesse grinning so wide his lips hurt. Hardcase, cackling uncontrollably and gasping for a breath. The shinies, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, giggling together like they finally believed they belonged.

Yeah, by the GAR’s standards, the picture was ruined.

But all Rex had ever wanted was for them to forget their burdens, for a second.

“Yeah,” he said, and something scratched in the back of his throat. Padmé turned her gaze back to him, one side of her mouth turning almost furtively upwards. It was warm. Caring. There was something steady in it, something sure.

“Yeah,” Rex rasped again. Like he could still feel the unhinged chortles he’d tried so hard to hide.

Now, he wished he hadn’t.

*******

Awwwwwh, Rex.

My headcanon is that Padmé and Rex have a lil moment during switch day. She comes across the angry message from GAR command, convinces Rex to show her the offense, and is enraptured. They're all her babies.

I was a little unsure about writing a "Family Picture" for @clonetober, but once I got going I think it went okay! In this case, it's a bit of a curse to be a writer instead of an artist. I wish I could have this image for myself - but a mental picture will have to do.

They're okay, Rex.

Angstober Day 25

Mind-control / Brainwash

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from Inheritance, a fic we have yet to release. ^-^

It’s probably been close to an hour by now though Anakin’s not exactly sure when he finally pulls himself up onto a higher platform of the building. Right up ahead, light glints off a familiar armored figure, who’s standing his back facing him.

“Rex?” Anakin calls cautiously, taking a step towards him.

Something about his presence just feels off. Almost… double maybe. And he can sense the Son right around here, but he doesn’t actually see him anywhere.

“Rex?” he calls again when the clone doesn’t respond, “Come on, let’s go.”

Finally, he slowly turns around. “We can’t,” he objects, “He’s right. Right about everything. You have to join him.”

That’s… totally unlike him. Both what he’s saying, and the way he’s saying it. What did the Son do to him? “Rex, what’s wrong?” Anakin asks warily.

“What’s wrong?” he repeats like that’s the stupidest question he’s ever heard, “What should I go back for? To fight in a war I have no say in? As a slave to the Jedi?” Anakin flinches back at the unexpected question. He’s not exactly wrong. That is all the clones are, slaves to the Jedi and the Republic. They have no say in any of it, and even if they didn’t want to fight, it wouldn’t matter. He tries to take care of his own clones as well as he can, but he knows other Jedi aren’t the same way.

But he needs to focus on the situation at hand right now, not… this. An issue that bothers him all the time even if he never talks about it to anyone. “This isn’t you, Rex. He did something to you.” That he knows for sure. Rex may have a point, but he would never say something like that in his right mind. It’s not the way he is. It’s like – like the Son is somehow controlling his mind, and Anakin clings to that hope, because he refuses to believe that the man who’s always had his back would turn on him like this.

“He did nothing to me,” the clone retorts, “He just asked me to give you a message.”

“What?” Anakin demands, cautious and suspicious.

“He said if you don’t join him, he will kill me.” What?! No, he’s never going to let that happen.

“I won’t let him!”

“Then you will do it yourself,” Rex snarls suddenly, whipping out his blasters and open firing. Only years of constant training allow him to react in time, diving out of the way as the shots tear into the ground around him. He hastily ignites his lightsaber, deflecting the shots away, trying to avoid sending any of them too close to Rex as he does so.

No, just no. He doesn’t want to fight him. He can’t fight him. He’s like – something almost like a brother. Anakin takes a few steps back as Rex keeps shooting at him, then jumps down from the ledge and continues advancing towards him. The only way he’ll be able to stop this is if he stops just defending himself and disarms Rex. Somehow, without hurting him.

“I don’t want to fight you, Rex,” he says, but the clone doesn’t even respond, just keeps firing.

Fine. He raises a hand, Force shoving Rex into the wall behind him and ripping away his blasters with the Force, him in place. The captain strains against the Force grip, but it doesn’t break. This doesn’t really solve the problem of how he’s going to free him from whatever the Son did to him.

He’s still pondering it when Obi-Wan runs into view, pulling out his lightsaber. “Any suggestions?”

“The Daughter said she might be able to do something to break the mind control, but she’s fighting the Son right now.”

Then what are they supposed to do?

The defective one

He heard them. Speaking about one of his many little brothers. They were discussing about the usefulness to keep him alive despite his default.

- It’s not like the other ones. Kill it.

- Except for the hair, it’s fine.

- We will have to sell it twice cheaper. It’s a waste of money.

- It doesn’t fit the specifications. Kill it. 

CC-2224 stopped listening to this atrocious conversation and made a decision. He has to save this little boy, crying out loud in the general indifference. The “long-necks” were like that, ignoring the pain and the emotions of their creatures. In their gigantic black eyes, clones were just nothing more than a source of money provided that the army they were creating was perfect. And all the excuses were good to suppress the young ones who were not exactly the way they wanted: too little, too skinny, too pale, too slow… What about this one?

CC-2224 didn’t care. He just wanted to save this one from their claws. Taking advantage of one of the Kaminoans stepping away from the table, he ran to it and caught the tiny arm. Not paying attention of the orders falling from their mouth, he took the young boy in his arms. He was heavier than he thought but he didn’t drop him and ran backward, escaping their long fingers. Then he hid behind some machinery, ordering his brother to keep quiet. Luckily, the tiny boy was so fascinated by his big brother that he remained silent all the time they stayed hidden. Even when he started to pat his face with a surprisingly high strenght. 

- What’s up with the little frog? asked CT-3636 when he finally arrived into their secret place. 

Him and his brothers hid there when they didn’t want to study, like this day.

- They wanted to kill him. 

CT-3636 rolled his eyes over the sky. He heard this sentence too many times before. 

- And for what? Just some blond hair, he sighed while sitting down to release the little one. 

Actually, CC-2224 was quite amazed by the color of his brother hair. They were so light that they seem to be translucent here and there. The contrast with his dark skin was impressive. 

- Hello, there, said CT-5052, crouching to be closed enough to the new comer. 

The baby looked at him with the same fascinated gaze as he has for him times ago. CC-2224 supposed he has never seen clones before - not grown-ups like them, actually. CT-5052 nicelly booped his tiny nose with his finger to reassure him, but CT-3636 pushed him away and raised his fist in front of his little face. 

- He’s too young for this, underligned CC-2224. He won’t understand. 

- That’s what you say, snapped CT-3636. Come on, bro! Show me who’s the man here!  

The big amber eyes widened as much as the snarly smile of CT-3636 stretched on his round face. 

***

I don’t know again if it’s accurate or not and I don’t care. I just wanted to draw a tiny Rex with a big brother Cody. And I don’t want to hear about “dyed hair” or something. For me, Rex is a natural blond baby mutant (what? We’ve got clones with blue eyes, it’s necesseraly a mutation. Why not hair color mutation?). Remember, I love contrast so blond hair with dark skin is just perfect for me. :D

Bly looks older on this drawing but he’s not (it’s just that I can’t draw him well). ^^; 

Even if it’s not obvious with the last drawings I’ve made, I’m more a sketcher than a colored finished pieces drawer (and I’m more a writer than a drawer anyway). But, clones seem to motivate me enough to push me to make some effort. Enjoy. For now.  

(Sorry for the mistakes again, French speaker is in da place! /o/)

Reconditioned Rex? That one sounds really interesting, how can I find the first part of it?

I'm sorry anon, there's no first part, I got my wires scrambled and confused the au 😭 I got a drawing (i think you can find it in the tag below, in on mobile, sorry :c), but lemme explain the basics of it >:)c

Basically, Rex is the one who shots Krell at Umbara, and he's sent to reconditioning. Because a logistics issue, they are accidentally sent to the 501st. Ofc, nobody assumes that's Rex, they just think this new blond kid is just a coincidence.

However, as time goes by, Torrent connect the dots and realize that this shiny used to be Rex!! The story the follows the five stages of grief, from denial (Rex has died) to acceptation (this shiny, Temple, is NOT Rex, but they wouldn't exist without his absence)

Hmm how about speechless and Rex??

Speechless: Rex can't speak because of a sore throat.

“You’re definitely sick,” Kix remarked.

Rex glared at Kix. Really? He was sick? He had no idea, other than his crusty eyes and sniffly nose and the open sores at the back of his throat that felt like tiny daggers when he swallowed, nevermind spoke.

“I’d like to keep you in the medbay, for the next day or two. At least until you can speak again.” Rex crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. He knew Kix; he would never phrase it optionally unless it was optional. So Rex would be breaking no regulations by walking out of the medby right now.

Which he fully intended on doing, as he got up and headed for the door.

“Captain!” Kix caught him by the arm. “You can barely swallow, which means eating and  drinking, both of which you need to do to get well, are going to be problematic. If you stay here, and rest, I can get you an IV and you’ll get better faster.”

Rex shook his head. As always, there was too much to be done. Better to work at partial efficiency for a while than zero percent efficiency. At least to make Kix feel better (and not because he was desperately thirsty) he took the cup of ice chips Kix had brought out earlier. The cold would be good for his throat.

*****

Kix watched with a scowl as Rex walked out. How was Rex even going to communicate with anyone?

Right, Rex did know some hand signs from his arc training. But the only people who could translate for him were other ARC’s…

Kix chuckled. The things he did to keep his patients in the medbay.

*****

Rex looked for Echo or Fives to help him “talk” to others. Try as he might, he couldn’t find Echo anywhere, but Fives was in the barracks, chatting with Hardcase about detonator yield.

Fives, with me he signed to the ARC.

Fives tilted his head. “Tooka got your tongue, Captain?”

Rex could almost swear he was hiding a smile. How many people knew he was sick already?

Rex motioned again, and walked back out.

Fives kicked Hardcase in farewell. “See yah later, ‘Case. Maybe we can go beyond theoretical and test some of your theories out.” Hardcase drummed on his legs in excitement.

*****

Those munitions storage, those food storage, Rex signed. A large shipment of new supplies had just come in, and needed to be inventoried and put away. Rex put himself in charge of directions, with Fives standing by.

Fives nodded. “Alright, those need to go to munitions, and those go to the food stores,” Fives said- switching the supplies.

Rex shook his head, and repeated himself.

“Ah, sorry Captain. Men, those go to munitions, and those go to food.”

More daggers in his throat as he swallowed some ice. Rex must have made a face, because Fives knocked his own vambrace against his. “You good there Captain?”

Rex nodded and shoved more ice in his mouth.

Thirty cases of the next bunch.

Fives turned to those offloading. “Woah men, too many! We need three, not thirty.”

Rex smacked Fives. Thirty, he signed again, making each motion sharp with his annoyance. Fives did learn ARC signals, right?

“Right right, thirty it is. Sorry brothers.”

Those are for the Commander.

“Bring these to General Skywalker’s room.”

Rex checked the registry and paled, before wildly waving his hands. He did not want to explain how a box full of female sanitation products ended up with the General.

T-A-N-O, he signed, letter by letter.

Fives laughed. “Oh, the Commander? Why didn’t you say so?”

Rex glared at Fives, before marching off to find Echo.

*****

Rex searched everywhere, but couldn’t find Echo. He even commed the Domino, but Echo was unusually silent.

Finally, Rex realized there was one place he hadn’t checked yet.

Echo was indeed in the medbay, helping Kix prep an empty bed with an IV drip and a cup of ice chips.

“Captain!” Kix said, all to cheerful. “Glad you could make it.”

You. Rex pointed at Kix. You did this.

“I don’t think the Captain’s too happy,” Echo remarked innocently. “He thinks you did something.”

“What? Captain, I never would do such a thing as telling Fives to forget his ARC signs for a day, and telling Echo to come here so he can help me prep your bed. Now, I suggest you take off your armor if you want to recover a semblance of comfort.”

Rex scowled at Kix, then accepted defeat by sitting on the bed and slowly stripping off his armor.

Once he was solely in his blacks, Kix pulled Rex’s sleeve up and stuck an IV in the crook of his elbow. “There. Hydration, nutrition, and even a small dose of painkillers because I’m so nice.”

Rex sighed, and gave Kix a thumbs up before sinking into the pillows.

Before Echo could leave, Rex gave him a couple signs, and Echo laughed.

“What did he say,” Kix said, curious.

“Oh I couldn’t repeat it. But the gist of it is, Fives better run when Rex is better.”

I know this nose art is for the Bad Batch, but I can’t help but imagine another Clone Unit with a stronger claim on the Senator as a mascot. (And how much Anakin would FLIP THE FUCK OUT)

— Morale Booster

“REX!”

… And it looks like the paneling repair will have to wait, as his General’s boots appear next to his head beside the transport’s landing gear. He pushes himself out from under the machine on a dolly, flat on his back.

“Sir?”

“What is THAT?!” his fearless leader yelps, pointing dramatically, emphatically upwards and towards the nose.

He scoots out farther, past General Skywalker’s legs, and props himself up on his elbows to take in the three-quarters-finished pinup Hardcase has been taking such pains with for the last four hours.

“Morale booster, sir. Couldn’t do something clever like the 104th and their Plo’s Bros or anything, so–”

“So you chose SENATOR AMIDALA?!” Did his voice just crack? It did.

He shrugs. “Sure. She’s been through enough hell and high water with us.”

“She’s a SENATOR!”

“And she’s a keen eye with that blaster,” he reasons, jerking his head up to the painting, and the flawlessly detailed replica of the Senator’s favored sidearm, primed to fire and held at a jaunty, confident angle. He even got the chipped paint over the trigger guard right.

“Got the looks for it too!” Hardcase yells down from where he’s shading in a long bare stretch of thigh, pausing to vigorously shake his can of spray paint. “We might finally be able to give the 327th a run for their money, with General Secura and all.”

“GENERAL SECURA is half naked on the nose of a transport?!”

“What? No!” Of course not, that’s just tasteless.

There’s a clatter from up above as Hardcase puts his paints down and leans over the scaffolding, a hand wobbling skeptically. “Well… Technically…”

“She’s in her usual outfit, y’know, with the–” Rex explains, and zig-zags a finger down from his head, mimicking the General’s lekku straps. “–and the leather pants.”

“It’s just a little leg, Anakin, I don’t see what you’re so upset about.”

Oh thank all the stars and little planets. Backup. General Kenobi steps up beside his former Padawan to admire the paint job himself. “Excellent work on her hair, Hardcase,” Kenobi continues, tilting his head.

“Thank you, sir. Run a probe with some white and a little metallic gold through the wet paint, gets it to streak so the shine looks real.”

General Skywalker is starting to do that thing where he puffs up like an angry coppi lizard and splutters furiously while he tries to think of something else to be upset about. He can hear Fives rolling his eyes from the opposite side of the transport. General. Honestly. If you’re trying to keep a relationship secret, openly displaying your klik-wide jealous streak is not how you do it.

“The 212’s is worse, anyway,” Kenobi muses idly, as Hardcase carefully adds the supposedly “very distinctive” freckle high on the Senator’s hip, just below the split in her modified favorite Council dress. Skywalker starts to go wide-eyed at that, because his sabacc face out of genuine combat is complete sleenshit, and startles when his master continues.

“She’s on the 212th transport too?!”

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. We can’t have duplicates, that defeats the purpose,” Kenobi says, in that too-reasonable tone he takes on when he’s deliberately fucking with his former Padawan.

“'Cept Master Ti,” Echo yells, from somewhere inside the paneling he and Rex had been working on.

“Except Master Ti, yes,” Kenobi agrees, and shrugs. “But that’s to be expected. Rather like how so many people have that arm tattoo of a heart with the ribbon that says ‘Mom’.”

Rex personally knew of at least eight other clones that had that exact tattoo, though the ribbon was usually striped like Master Ti’s headtails, and nods agreeably. That seems to have sufficiently diverted Skywalker, or at least confused him.

“Then how is it worse?” Skywalker asks, a little desperately, then his face lights up completely with slightly malicious anticipation. “Is it the Duchess?!”

Oh boy. Rex looks up at Hardcase, who is biting down on his paint-splattered fist to keep from laughing, as General Kenobi gets that look.

“Certainly not,” Kenobi says sternly, and waits a full beat to drop his bombshell. “It’s me.”

Skywalker just stares.

“Though I’m reasonably certain Duchess Kryze had something to do with it, given the way I’m half falling out of my robes.”

Now he looks vaguely green.

“Or it’s some perverse joke of Master Windu’s. It seems his style. Cody refuses to tell me.”

And before Skywalker can come up with anything else to protest, Kenobi adds:

“Besides, Senator Amidala loves it. Hers, I mean. I haven’t asked her about mine.”

Apparently even Jedi can choke on air when sufficiently surprised. But really, where did he think they’d gotten the preliminary sketches from?

For the clone hc thing uhhhh because of the blue shadow virus, Rex's immune system had been compromised leading to him getting sick easier then other clones, but he hates to admit it when it happens so he tries to power through the sickness. It falls to torrent (mostly Kix) to bully him into resting when this happens XD

Protocol 57: Get The Captain To Rest

Summary: Rex’s immune system has never been the same since the Blue Shadow virus. Cue Torrent company holding an intervention.

Pairing: None

Tags: sick rex, caring brothers, torrent company being the best vod, rex is very loved, but also stubborn when he gets sick

Word Count: 922

A/N: This was fun to write! Mando’a translations at the end. Headcanon submitted as part of this post.

|| Masterlist || Tag list ||

Rex gave a disgruntled sniffle as he walked down the halls of the Resolute, shivering lightly even under his full armour. In one hand he held a datapad and a stack of flimsi reports, in the other, a handful of tissues.

Ever since he contracted the Blue Shadow virus the previous year, Rex found he fell sick more often than most of his brothers, and that it hit him harder when he did. But, he was a soldier. He was the Captain of the 501st Legion and he had work to do. He wasn’t about to let a little sickness get in his way. They were at war, for Force sake!

Unfortunately, his vod’ikas had other plans.

----

Jesse was first to spot their ori’vod looking, well, for lack of a better word, osik. If it hadn’t been for the puffy eyes and coughing, the stumbling would have given him away. He tapped a few buttons on his wrist comm, tapping through to Five’s private comm link.

“Fives, we’ve got a protocol 57, spread the word.”

“Damn it, again?”

Fives responded almost immediately with a chuckle, and Jesse could hear shuffling on the other end, then a few beeps and Echo joined them. Before long, the rest of Torrent company was on the comm.

Fives chuckled as he and Echo made a quiet escape from the training room,

“Right, let's have a clean sweep this time, eh vod?”

Dogma laughed,

“Don’t worry, we got this. 34th times a charm, right?”

Tup elbowed him, and Fives continued.

“Echo and I are on point, we’ll run interference at the armoury and push him up to the bridge. Hardcase, you find him and get him to us.”

Jesse rolled his eyes as the rest of his brothers recited their jobs. “I’ll get word down to Kix. Good luck di’kuts.”

Jesse rolled his eyes as the rest of his brothers recited their jobs. “I’ll get word down to Kix. Good luck di’kuts.”

----

Rex was idly rubbing his temples as he headed for the mess hall, too engrossed in his datapad to notice Hardcase approaching him at first. Engrossed may be the wrong word, when really he was just trying to make the words stop moving.

“Captain…” Hardcase jogged to catch up with him. “Sir, are you alright?”

Rex snapped out of it, turning to face the trooper. He cleared his throat, balling his tissues in his palm.

“Hardcase, I’m fine, why do you ask?”

“You're headed for the mess and lunch finished an hour ago.” He nodded to the empty mess hall, beginning to guide him away and down the brightly lit hallway. “Are you sure you’re alright? Echo was looking for you to oversee an inventory in the armoury but I can help him if you’d like. I think Kix is still down in medical if-”

“That won’t be necessary. Thank you, Hardcase.”

The man just shrugged and clasped his hands behind his back. “I have the next training session, I’ll walk with you to the armoury, Sir.”

Rex loved all his vod, really, he did. But he did not have the energy for Hardcase right now. Still, he powered through, nodding his head.

Hardcase did. not. stop. talking. and gesturing energetically the entire time. He saluted the Captain as he stopped outside the armour, where Fives and Echo were conveniently just leaving, standing to attention.

He gave them a wink and left them in the company of their now exhausted Captain.

Rex waved his hand to put the arc troopers at ease, nodding inside the inventory and coughing.

“You needed me to do an inventory?”

Echo shook his head, “It’s alright Sir, Fives assisted me.”

“Are you alright, Captain? We can handle the bridge report this evening, why don’t you turn in early? You must be exhausted-” Fives tried, maybe they’d get lucky.

“I’m quite alright, boys.” Rex said suspiciously. “Why do you all keep asking if I’m alr-”

Rex cut himself off with a rather large sneeze, followed by a coughing fit. Fives grinned, giving Echo a look behind his ori’vod’s back.

“I think Tup was looking for your Sir, you might want to catch him on your way to the bridge, it seemed important.”

Rex suppressed his complaints and rubbed his temple, nodding. “Thanks vod.”

He set off again, and Echo was straight on his comm.

“Dogma, he’s all yours.”

----

On his way to find Tup on the bridge, Rex caught Dogma sprinting at the other side of the hallways, a stack of flimsi in his hand. Rex wasn’t in the mood for this, groaning and rubbing his temples.

“Dogma, what did I say about run-”

“Sorry Sir, I wa- wooooah-”

Dogma skidded to a halt in an attempt to salute his Captain and ‘tripped’, landing on the cold durasteel floor and clutching his ankle.

Rex kneeled beside him, shaking his head with a sigh. “Dank farrik, not again. Come on, let’s get you to Kix.”

Dogma let Rex help him up and limped all the way to the medical bay where Jesse was standing with Kix, grinning.

Kix just rolled his eyes and shooed Dogma away, who promptly stood on his perfectly uninjured feet and joined Jesse at the door.

“What the-”

Kix pointed to the nearest cot. “On the cot, Sir, you look like bantha shit.”

Rex opened his mouth to protest, and was hit with a fit of coughing. Scowling, he resigned himself to his fate and climbed up onto the cot. He shot a look at Jesse and Dogma, standing smugly in the doorway wearing matching smirks.

“Di’kuts.”

Jesse and Dogma just grinned as Hardcase, Fives, Echo and Tup’s heads appeared one by one, sticking around the doorframe.

“We love you too, ori’vod.”

---

Vod’ikas - little brothers

Ori’vod - big brother

Osik - shit

Di’kuts - idiots

Vod - brother

Dank farrick - fuck