Something Short And Ridiculous Just For Fun. Inspired By An Idea From @tweenlove-n-hate

7567 sits alone at the table.

The numerous decoms of their batch means that no one has to risk the attention of the Kaminoans by sitting next to him. They will share his pod later, promising to remember him. Eventually he’ll be shared between batches as a cautionary tale and one of pride. It’s a cold comfort but it’s a comfort all the same.

That is why he startles when a larger clone drops onto the table across from him. It’s a CC, and they’re never allowed over with the CTs. They’ve passed in the hallways as they march along to the next tasks and later, once the CTs have enough training to be useful, they will send the CTs out into battle sims.

But right now, despite all sense to the contrary, there is a CC sitting across from 7567 and it is smiling—not a kind smile either, like 7567 sometimes sees shared between his batchmates behind their trainer’s backs. It’s a sharp slash that shows off a threatening number of teeth and a promise of blood.

“You’ve been requisitioned, verd’ika.”

A cold pit opens at the base of 7567’s abdomen and he feels himself collapsing in on it like a black hole. He doesn’t know what that means but he does know that it’s new. New things happening to him is never good. He licks his bottom lip and swallows hard. “Sir?”

“New orders.” The CC, 1010 the tattoo just below the hinge of his jaw denotes, leans in with a fierce expression. “Every CC batch is getting an ad. Do what you’re told and you won’t be decommed. Tayli’bac?”

“I don’t…” 7567’s breath hitches. He doesn’t understand what the CC is saying and he doesn’t know what it wants. “Tallyback?”

Some of the tension eases around CC-1010’s eyes. “Tayli’bac. Understand?”

“Yessir.” 7567 says, because he does now. He draws his brows together just the slightest bit and purses his lips in annoyance as he takes his last bite. “I know how to follow orders, sir.”

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.”

For the bad things happen bingo, I Will Punish You For Your Friend's Failure, with Obi Wan and Rex during the Zygeria arc with Rex being punished by the slavers.

Oooooh, happy evil brain twinkles.

TW for blood, child death, and mildly graphic torture. No specifics because spoilers but do be cautious.

•••

There is an enemy, and it is within, the Jedi taught.

You will encounter foes of all forms in your years as a Jedi. There will be cruel tyrants and selfish politicians, ruthless criminals and violent terrorists. Possessive lovers, radical reformists, slavers and desperate people willing to do whatever it takes to achieve what matters to them. And then the next thing, and the next.

But these are not the enemy.

The Jedi have only two natural enemies.

The Sith have been extinguished from the galaxy, lost to ruin. What the Jedi did not destroy, the Sith themselves did, locked in the raw emotion of the Dark Side, turning on one another.

And the Jedi are left with the true enemy.

You are the enemy, the Masters warned. Your weaknesses are your real enemy.

All obstacles can be overcome as long as you master yourself.

Fear will lead you astray. Push through it.

Anger will corrupt you. Abandon it.

Envy will poison you. Purge it.

Grief will break you. Overcome it.

And if you fall, you will fall as yourself, at peace. A true Jedi perishes for the right reasons, where not even self-possession could stop the sheer numbers of the opposition.

The enemy is within.

•

Obi-Wan Kenobi took a deep, steadying breath. The enemy is within, he reminded himself. My fear is the enemy. These people cannot destroy me.

The broken wrist, clumsily bandaged and still forced to work, whispers that otherwise. The bruises along his spine groan in misery. There was a cut on his upper lip that had bled and dried in his beard and lips. Someone had driven the handle of a whip into the muscles of his left leg, and it could not bear his weight.

He opened his eyes just in time to receive a stunning blow across the face.

Despite the fancies of holodramas, a strike to the face is nothing to brush aside.

The Jedi reeled, his head exploding, his face stinging. White light erupted behind his eyes and his nose burned as if he’d dived too deep into water.

“Who is your Master?” a voice demanded.

Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, gasping for air. His entire head throbbed; he was on his knees but his back had arched back so far his head was a foot from the floor. Wincing, he dragged himself back up and stared passively into the snarling Zyggerian’s eyes. “I am.”

A roar of discontent. “Wrong!”

The hand came back, but this time it closed around his throat.

•

Qui-Gon caught him by the shoulders, one hand moving upwards to press against the side of his Padawan’s neck.

“You are stronger than your fear,” he said. “Because your fear is only part of you. Your strengths outnumber your fear, Obi-Wan.”

Behind the boy’s young eyes, though - flashes of remembered horror, children dead in the streets of Melida/Daan and the screaming sound a blaster bolt made as it grazed close, so close, to his ear - and hit another boy instead —

Obi-Wan gasped as if drowning, his mind convinced that he was not getting enough oxygen.

Fear was going to kill him.

Fear was the enemy.

“Oh, Padawan,” sighed his Master. And then the hands left his neck and his shoulder, leaving Obi-Wan bereft, plunged into ice cold waters of terror and trauma, his failures haunting him like the ghost of Cerasi.

•

Obi-Wan choked, bucking involuntarily as the meaty hand clenched around his throat, crushing his air pipe.

He couldn’t breathe.

Still. What did it matter, if this monstrous slaver killed him in a fit of rage? Obi-Wan was more than this man and his pride, his greed, his disregard for life.

Obi-Wan was a Jedi.

His body’s automatic response to being abused and killed was nothing.

He was more than his fear.

“Damn Jedi!”

The hand released him, and the red-haired General slumped to the floor, unable to stop his forehead from colliding painfully with the uneven slag flooring. More blood. He tasted it in his mouth, he felt it dripping down his forehead.

“Very well,” the same voice continued. “The punishment must suit the prisoner, in some cases. How lucky of you. So special.”

They cannot hurt me, Obi-Wan reminded himself. My body is not my soul. I am more than my fear.

And then two more slavers entered the room at a summons, dragging a struggling figure between them.

Rex.

Obi-Wan’s fear spiked so sharply he felt his chest stab with physical pain.

No, he told himself. No. Fight it. Fight it—

The Zyggerian behind him sensed his rising emotion and grabbed him roughly, one hand on the thick collar around the Jedi’s throat, and the other dug painfully into his hair.

•

Obi-Wan shuddered.

A bomb - Twela, Bruin, Conno, Toorun, and others went flying, flailing helplessly in the air.

Toorun rolled on his side and got back up.

Conno collided with a vehicle and lay still.

Bruin landed on his feet and stood up, grinning in shocked relief, and then dropped with a bullet in his head. Blood spattered stone.

Twela landed on a pile of rubble.

When Obi-Wan found her, she had been lying there for an hour while the battle wore on, a rebar shoved through her stomach.

It took her two days to die—

Cerasi, falling into his arms. Gasping. Blood everywhere. Her father screaming. Blood on Obi-Wan’s hands—

Nield, his friend, telling him he didn’t belong - kicking him out of the camp to die alone - blaming Obi-Wan, rightfully, for the death of Cerasi and the peace she had helped create—

But as quickly as they had been taken away, the warm and solid hands of Qui-Gon Jinn were there again, this time on his back. Pulling him. Tightening around him.

Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, gasping and shaking, pressed into a warm embrace while his Master rocked him gently, whispering encouragement into his hair.

It was good to be held.

•

Obi-Wan twisted, struggling in near-panic to get away from the arms restraining him.

“Stop it!” he yelled. “Stop!”

They did not stop.

The Zyggerians had been on Rex for over two hours, holding him down, methodically slicing the soles of his feet, throwing their fists into his abdomen and face and throat, slamming his head against the unforgiving ground.

The Captain was a mess; bruised and bloodied, involuntary tears making his damaged face glisten.

Rex had finally started to scream five minutes ago, and still they would not stop—

“Stop! You’ll kill him!” Obi-Wan shouted, his bound hands clenched so tightly that his palms were torn and bleeding. “Stop!”

“And now the bird sings,” the slave master crowed, laughing down at him. “So high and mighty, Jedi?”

“Leave him alone!” Obi-Wan demanded.

The slaver’s face darkened.

Two things happened at almost the same moment.

A knife was drawn from seemingly thin air and without hesitation or fanfare was plunged into Rex’s thigh; the Captain screamed again, writhing.

A button was pressed, and the collar around Obi-Wan’s neck blazed with electricity that made him convulse, blinded, agonized.

“You don’t give the orders here,” the master snarled. “Haven’t you learned? You’re not in control here!”

•

“You are in control, Padawan,” Qui-Gon murmured, rubbing his hand up and down the boy’s back, following the still too-prominent line of his spine. Up and down, up and down.

“I’m not,” Obi-Wan sobbed. “I’m a failure.”

“You haven’t failed until you’ve let yourself down and decided not to get up again,” his Master replied firmly. “You are master of yourself, Obi-Wan, and therefore master of the situation. You can rise above. Even if you need help to do it. You are not a slave to fear.”

•

“Slaves are not masters,” the Zyggerian bellowed, and Rex screamed again.

Obi-Wan shuddered and twitched on the floor; he felt filthy, ragged, used. Now useless.

“You don’t make the rules!” A kick to the abdomen that deprived him of air. Once again suffocating. Drowning.

All he could see was the bloodstained floor. All he could hear was the voice, and Rex screaming through gritted teeth.

“Every time you cross me, I’ll punish your freakish friend. And anyone else that crosses your path. I! Am! In! Control! Here!” Each of the final words was delivered with a sharp jerk on the chain that had been attached to the collar.

Obi-Wan choked and wheezed.

Pain.

Terror.

Helpless.

I can’t —

“Who is your Master?”

“You are,” Obi-Wan told Fear, eyes glazed, blood spattered across his vision. Maybe permanently. Like a brand. Like Cerasi’s lifeblood on his shaking hands.

“Who is your Master?” the slaver asked again.

Obi-Wan stared vacantly upwards.

Fear looked back at him. Outside him. Inside him. Triumphant.

“You are,” whispered the Jedi, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

He slumped to the floor.

Rex’s screams faded as the punishment abruptly ceased; the Clone lay on the stone floor, limp and in terrible pain, staring with abject fear in his eyes at the fallen Jedi.

His utter relief that the pain was over, that they had taken their hideous hands off of him, was warring with his worry.

And his growing terror.

If even General Kenobi could be controlled...

“A good start,” the slave master said thoughtfully, trodding deliberately on Obi-Wan’s damaged foot. “And I was told Jedi did not feel fear.”

•••

Angstober Day 21

Can’t Save Everyone

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from Sea Shadow

He exchanges a look with an equally desperate, confused looking Ahsoka. It’s reminding him so much of Mortis suddenly, of when the Son was controlling her and she attacked him. He doesn’t want to have to face that from Rex too, only months later. Everything that happened there still haunts him sometimes.

“Rex, it’s doing something to you,” he says, “Remember what I said about it influencing minds?”

Rex blinks, staring at him. “Yes. But it’s not here. This is…”

One of the Gungans yowls and jumps at them, half-blindly. It hits Ahsoka, and they tumble to the ground, rolling through the grass.

Why is he attacking her?

What’s happening to them? It’s like they’re all being mind-controlled, and he doesn’t know what to do, to stop it. Probably, they have to kill that thing.

Anakin yanks the Gungan off her with the Force, sprinting over to position himself between them and her. They’ll never be able to take everyone with them, either way. They’ll have to take Rex now, and come back for the others, as much as he doesn’t want to leave anyone else behind. There’s no choice. That doesn’t make him loath it any less, how it feels like he’s abandoning all the rest to their fates.

“Rex come, we need to go,” Anakin urges. Distantly, he can hear loud splashing. This is bad. The creature must be coming. “We have to leave now.”

“I can’t do that, sir,” he objects, though he takes a few steps closer.

They don’t have time to wait. If they don’t get out now, they won’t. And he doesn’t want to get Rex to the ship like this, but there’s no other choice. He picks him up with the Force, pulling him closer, setting him down lightly in the back, before he and Ahsoka Force-jump after – She obviously picked up on the same level of urgency.

The Gungans are snarling in noises Gungans shouldn’t even be able to make, starting towards them.

Cramps

It's Alastor's "time of the month", and he's afraid that people will find out. Of course, it's just his luck that his pad leaks... and Lucifer is the one to notice.

(This may be OOC, as it's based on our Alastor and Lucifer fictives)

Pairing: Radioapple (can be read as platonic, queerplatonic, or romantic)

Warnings: menstruation, internalized transphobia, T slur (said by a trans person + author is trans), smoking weed

this is the first fic we've written in a long time, apologies if it's bad lmao

-

Alastor sighs as he steps out onto the roof of the Hazbin Hotel. He leans against the wall and lights a cigarette, staring out at the city.

His smile slips ever so slightly as yet another cramp shoots through him.

"Ugh..."

Alastor quickly masks his pained expression as he hears a footstep behind him. He immediately recognizes the click of those heels.

"Hello, Lucifer." He turns to face the King of Hell.

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. "Alastor. I didn't take you for a smoker."

Alastor takes a drag from his cigarette. "Well, I am."

He turns away, wishing Lucifer would just leave him alone. He's in no mood to talk.

He silently curses as Lucifer leans against the wall next to him.

"You look even more tense than normal."

"And you're being even more annoying than normal." Alastor's annoyance is clear in his eyes, despite his unwavering smile. "Would it be too much to ask to be left alone?"

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. He recognizes the discomfort in Alastor's voice.

"Fine, then." He starts to leave, then turns back to say something else... but something catches his eye.

Alastor glances over at Lucifer. "What are you staring at?"

Lucifer clears his throat. "You, uh... got a little something."

Alastor's eyes widen when he realizes where Lucifer is looking. He immediately takes his coat off and ties it around his waist. "Leave me alone."

Lucifer nods and leaves.

Alastor is mortified. He tosses his cigarette and disappears into his shadow, appearing in his room. He goes straight into the bathroom and strips his pants off. His pad is entirely soaked.

"Damn it..."

He quickly fills his sink with cold water and dunks his soiled pants into it. He sprays some hydrogen peroxide on the stain and gently washes it out.

Alastor puts on some clean pants and a fresh pad. He's hanging the wet pants on the shower rod to dry when he hears the door open.

"So this is why you've been so pissy."

Alastor immediately shoves Lucifer out of the bathroom and locks the door. "Get out!"

Lucifer is too caught off guard to fight back. He just stands there, staring at the door.

Alastor leans against the door and sinks down to the ground, feeling humiliated.

---

That night, Alastor curls up in bed, unable to sleep. He's cramping too bad, and the painkillers he took aren't doing anything. He just lays there, in a fetal position, hoping he'll just conk out already.

A knock sounds at the door, and Alastor groans. He gets up, takes a deep breath, puts on a smile, and opens the door.

"Lucifer. I should have known."

Lucifer pushes his way into the room. Alastor simply collapses back down onto the bed, too exhausted to argue.

"Alastor, when are you going to learn to ask for help?" Lucifer sits on the bed next to Alastor.

"...I don't need help. You worry even more than your daughter does."

Lucifer sighs and pulls the blanket off of Alastor's face, revealing his pained expression. "The tears in your eyes tell me otherwise."

It's true, there are tears welling up in Alastor's eyes. He curls up completely, as if trying to hide in himself.

Alastor suddenly feels something being pressed against his abdomen. He flinches slightly, but then he realizes that it's... warm?

"What is this?"

Lucifer sits back down. "A heating pad. It'll help the cramps."

Alastor lays there for a moment, feeling that the heat is indeed helping. He's realizing how caring Lucifer is being, and it makes him feel... safe.

"...thank you."

Lucifer gently rubs Alastor's arm. "I just don't get how someone can be so stubborn that they just suffer in silence."

Alastor weighs his options. Should he trust Lucifer with his feelings?

"...fine. You want to know why I don't trust anyone?" He sits up and looks at Lucifer nervously.

Lucifer nods slightly.

Alastor takes a deep breath. "Do you have any idea how much power I would lose if people knew what I'm really like?"

"Alastor, what are you-"

"I only have power because I'm feared. Do you realize how many people would just look down on me if it came out that I'm a tranny that can't handle a period cramp?" Alastor stops as he realizes he's crying.

Lucifer gently takes his hand. "Take a breath. I'm not going to tell anyone you're trans, okay?"

Alastor hiccups and takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Why wouldn't you? Plenty of people would jump at the opportunity to take me down like that."

"Alastor, you should know by now that I'm not like that. Sure, I fight with you a lot, but I'd never out you like that."

Alastor just pulls the blanket back over himself and curls up with the heating pad. The hormones from his period are making him emotional, but he's already overwhelmed by how vulnerable he feels.

Lucifer just sighs. He snaps his fingers, and in his hand appears a blunt.

"Here. This'll help the pain, and call you down."

Alastor looks at it, taking a breath. "...well, alright..."

The two of them share the blunt, and Alastor quickly calms down.

"Thank you, Lucifer... I think I might be able to sleep now."

Lucifer gently tucks Alastor in, pleased that he managed to help him.

"Sleep well, Al."

Chapter 4 Summary:

Still recovering from the Blue Shadow Virus, Rex attempts to convince Kix that he's practically fine. Unfortunately, his body didn't get the memo.

Chapter 4: Rex

“You know, everyone else is still taking it easy, sleeping the day away. You could stand to actually relax for half a rotation, sir.” Kix said as he approached the Captain’s medbed. Only three days after being infected with the Blue Shadow Virus, Rex was already trying his patience with how often he ignored basic common sense. “I thought I said you were on bedrest for the next week.”

The Captain flinched, attempting to subtly slide his datapad under a nearby pillow. He opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a cough and a squeak, at least until he lowered his voice into a whisper. “I, uh, was just checking mission reports. Didn’t want to be unprepared for my weekly briefing with the General.”

As a virtually extinct plague, very little information existed on recovery from the Blue Shadow Virus, but Rex had quickly learned that laryngitis was part of the package. The first day hadn’t been too bad, and he’d been able to power through a quick debrief, between attempts to cough up a lung. He’d slept through most of the second day, but during his brief lucid moments, he’d been asking for updates on the other troopers, and had been attempting to discuss troop movements with the bridge before Kix confiscated his comm. 

Now on day three, his voice was paying the price. At best, he sounded like a 6th year cadet, and at the worst, he sounded like a dying frog. Jesse was never going to let him live it down, after coming in for an update and nearly falling over laughing when he heard the Captain’s voice.

“Uh huh, and when exactly is this weekly briefing?” Kix asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Tomorrow.” He croaked, sniffling and attempting to look at least a little put-together, but he still looked pale and sickly; if Kix didn’t know better, he’d be worried Rex was on the verge of falling off his medbed in a dead faint. 

Kix huffed, “Do the words, “A week of bedrest,” mean nothing to you, sir?”

“Yes, but I figured that four days was enough, given that I’d be released the following day anyways.”

A vein in Kix’s forehead started to pulse. “Not five days, one week. Not that “business week” nonsense the Senate’s always trying to pull.”

“Oh, four days, then.” Rex raised his chin defiantly, resolutely ignoring how his voice cracked like a cadet when he responded. 

“7 days!” 

“I’m hearing two days.” Rex countered, muffling a cough before going back to reading his datapad, like the matter was decided, despite the fact that he was still running a low-grade fever and had nearly thrown up from the force of his coughing not two hours ago.

Kix shook his head emphatically, emotion suddenly filling his voice. “No. Not in my medbay. You could’ve died, sir! I-If anyone deserves a break, it’s you, so stop running yourself into the ground and rest! Please.” 

Rex’s eyes widened. The last time Kix had truly raised his voice at him was back on Saleucami, after learning he got into a firefight after being benched for taking a blaster wound to the chest. 

“Kix– I-I…” His voice broke. He tried to respond, but his next inhale became a painful cough, and then he couldn’t stop. Chest spasming, his damaged lungs struggled to compensate for the sudden lack of oxygen, and his vision started to darken at the edges.

As a competent medic, Kix quickly took action, helping him into a sitting position for better airflow. He rubbed his back, glancing worriedly at his vitals. “Easy sir, take a slow breath.” 

“T-Trying,” He bit out, wheezing as his coughing finally subsided. If he’d had the breath to do so, he would’ve grumbled when Kix broke out the dreaded oxygen mask, but as it was, his shoulders slumped in relief when he could finally breathe again. He sat there for a moment, leaning heavily on Kix, trying to keep his heavy eyelids from closing.

“You alright now, Rex?” Kix asked softly, one hand still rubbing his back in slow circles.

Rex nodded, head lolling slightly. He whispered again, not wanting to further aggravate his throat. “-’m good… thanks, Kix.”

Kix sighed, fond exasperation bleeding through as he commented, “You know, whispering is actually worse than talking, for laryngitis. If you want to stop sounding like a cadet, you should really take a break.”

Rex opened his mouth to respond before thinking better of it, nodding reluctantly. Kix smirked, getting up from where he’d sat on Rex’s medbed, taking the Captain’s datapad with him. 

“Good. Now, lay down. You are going to rest, and you are going to like it!” He ordered, only a little amused when Rex grumbled something that sounded an awful lot like, “Sir, yes sir.”

I had a sudden urge to write out the moment Nova learns that Rex gets Ahsoka as a Padawan and I guess it spawned this, whoops ^^

Words: about 1k

Warnings: none

No pairings or anything, just brothers being brothers and Kio being cute. Continues a bit under the cut.

———

It’s almost the night cycle on the Serenity when Nova gets an incoming comm from Rex. He’s been diligently cleaning his helmet with a brush, trying to get dirt out of all the small edges while Kio has been softly snoring away on his lap as his wristcomm starts blinking at him.

Which is, for lack of a better word, unusual.

He and Rex usually message before a call, to prevent unplanned interruptions of the others work. They almost never comm each other spontaneously. Nova tries to remember what campaign his brother is currently on, and whether he should be worried that Rex is in some sort of trouble -quickly pushing the thought or worse away. Frowning, he lifts his wristcomm, ready to accept the call when he sees its actually a request for in-helmet.

Careful not to disturb the sleeping Padawan on his lap he shimmies his helmet on, turning off the external speakers. When he accepts the call he is greeted by not only audio, but Rex’s helmet cam as well. Rex seems to briskly walking through the hangar of his General's flagship, brothers milling about around him.

“Rex? You alright?“ Nova asks, worry rising in his throat. He can hear Rex’s rough breathing over the connection and recognizes the first signs of a possible panic attack.

"Do you still have that manual that you and your boys set up?" Rex asks instead, his voice sounding tight.

"Manual? What's going on-"

"They gave him a Padawan, Nova.” Rex brings out, and he sounds like he doesn’t quite believe his own words, “They gave Skywalker a kriffin' Padawan."

Nova feels only slightly guilty about the slow grin spreading on his face as he tries to remember wat Rex had previously said about the matter. He distinctly remembers his brother’s relief when he found out that he would be assigned a Jedi Knight without a young tag along to worry about.

"I thought you said your General didn't want one?" Nova replies, carefully trying to keep his amusement from his voice since Rex is clearly not finding this as funny as he does.

"I did. He did.” Rex says through clenched teeth. His bucket is still moving and slowly a group of some troopers standing next to a tall figure and a clearly shorter figure further ahead come into view.

“I don't think he had a choice in the matter.” Rex continues, “They dropped her off in the middle of a warzone too. What the kriff am I supposed to do with her? She's running into fights half naked." His voice rises in pitch with his last words and Nova barely manages to surpress a snort as he glances down at Kio’s bare arms dangling of the bench they’re seated on. At least his kid wears some leather chest armor.

"So you want advice from me?” he questions instead. Sure, he and Kio get along well, but the situation with General Cos is less than ideal and he doesn’t feel like he is in any position to tell others what to do with a child.

"You've had your kid tagging along from the start, you got experience.” Rex grounds out, “What do I kriffin' do? Skywalker alone is already making me go prematurely grey. Now there's two of them."

The gaggle of people is now completely coming into view of Rex’s helmet cam and Nova can make out his brother’s General easily with his tall stature and floppy hair. He seems to be arguing with a much shorter figure, his arms gesturing wildly. There are some troopers surrounding them, apparently awkwardly waiting for orders to be dismissed. When one of them steps aside to avoid an arm swung at his face Nova gets a good view of the new Padawan.

This time he can’t keep in his laughter. There, arguing with a Jedi General twice her height, is a tiny Togruta girl firmly standing her ground. Judging by the height of her montrals she’s a little older than Kio and like Rex said she’s wearing only some scraps of fabric. She seems to match the General in energy, waving her arms around to get some point or another across.

"That's them?" Nova chokes out, trying to keep himself from shaking too much to not wake up Kio.

"Yeah they've been at it since we got back. Are you laughing at me?" Rex asks him incredulously and Nova has to give himself a second to breathe before he can answer.

"No.” Nova gasps in mock insult, before snorting again, “Yes. Better prepare yourself, she certainly looks like she has spirit."

Rex just grumbles something unintelligible in his ear before muttering, "She's going to be the death of me, I can feel it. "

"So dramatic." Nova mocks dryly and starts laughing again, not able to keep his shoulders from shaking this time. He feels Kio stir and push himself up, a grumpy look on his face from being woken up.

"Who're you talking to?" The kid grumbles and Nova squeezes his shoulder to let him know he needs a second.

"Sorry, vod. I gotta go." He tells Rex, “I’m sure you’ll figure it all out soon enough.”

On the corner of the helmet cam he can see that Rex’s new Padawan has shifted her attention from her Master to Rex and is giving him a questioning look, though Rex himself doesn’t seem to have noticed it yet.

"Just send me that manual, alright?" Rex repeats, a note of urgency in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah.” Nova assures him, “Oh, and Rex. Togruta have better hearing than we do."

The cam shifts a bit to the side until suddenly the Padawan is in full view and the audible gasp tells him that Rex now realizes that she may have heard more than he wanted to.

"Ahh, kriff me."

Oh you NEED to continue the kid fic bc I’m obsessed! Not asking for a full fledged story (I mean hey, unless you want to) but just a small continuation at least please🙏 What do you hc their ages to be in it? What’s Morrible’s reaction to the bit at the end there? I need to know

ask and u shall receive, fair anon. their ages are roughly 5 & 8/9 9 think?

(direct continuation of this post btw - read that first! idk why this got so long, my bad)

///

The woman seems taken aback by both the girls’ reactions, standing awkwardly above them. Elphie’s shaking hard, but she stands up with her arms spread and her knees locked as to prevent the woman from getting any closer. 

Galinda shouldn’t be such a crybaby, such a coward, but she can’t help feeling grateful for the older girl’s protection. The woman has stopped advancing, but she still looks angry.

She really should just stand up and accept it. Momsie hates when Galinda starts begging. She says it’s ‘unbecoming of a lady’ to wail like she does. It never makes it better. And running away? Why, that’s just asking for trouble.

With great effort, Galinda places a hand over her mouth to silence her cries, sniffling hard and swallowing down mucus and tears. She still feels sick to her stomach as she gathers her limbs. Just as she makes to stand, though- Elphie turns around, eyes wide as she shoves at Galinda. 

“Stay down!” she hisses. Her eyes flicks to the woman. “I won’t let her hurt you.”

The woman seems calmer now, more collected. Her previous fierce glare has shifted into something more curious than anything else. She raises a single eyebrow at Elphie’s statement. 

“I’m not planning on hurting anyone,” she says. “I…apologize for my outburst. I was merely concerned that something had happened.”

Galinda doesn’t believe her. She’d been yelling about blondes. Galinda’s the only blonde in the room; she had to have done something wrong.

Sometimes, when they’re in public, or she feels there’s a lesson to be learned, Momsie won’t punish her right away. She’ll make Galinda wait, knowing the inevitable is coming, letting it build in her belly until she’s so tied into knots she can barely even breathe. 

Perhaps this woman is the same. Or perhaps she’s waiting to see if Elphie does anything that will add to the punishment. Momsie does that as well at times. Counts indiscretions and waits until the end of the day to tell Galinda all the things she did wrong.  

The thought makes more tears leak down Galinda’s face. Gulping again, she stands up and resigns herself to her fate. She doesn’t want Elphie to be punished. Elphie is her friend. 

Galinda loves her. 

“Elphie,” Galinda whispers. At some point, she’d accidentally slid her thumb between her lips while blocking her mouth, and she’s quick to yank it out when she realizes. 

Only babies suck their thumbs, Galinda! 

Galinda hopes no one saw that. She reaches out to tug on the back of Elphie’s shirt. “I-it’s otay. I was b-bad.”

Elphie whips her head around, glaring. “No, you weren’t. You just had an accident; you’re not bad.” She turns her hard stare back to the woman, visibly trembling as she does. “She’s not.” 

“Of course, Elphaba,” the woman says smoothly, though she shoots Galinda a dirty look. Elphie flinches hard at the use of her name. 

“Do-do I know you? Or…do you know my father?”

There’s a pause. The woman tilts her head. “I do know your father,” she finally says. Slower than before. More calculating. Her gaze shifts to Galinda. “My name is Madame Morrible. I know who both of you are.”

Galinda whimpers. If this lady--Morrible--knows her momsie and popsicle, than she’ll probably tell them about Galinda’s accident, and then Galinda will be in even more trouble. She should just take her punishment now, no matter how scared she is.  

Galinda steps around Elphie on shaky legs. She glances up at Morrible briefly, too frightened to meet her eyes, then bows her head and clasps her hands.

“I-I’m sowwy, Miss Mowwible,” she whispers. “I made a mess and was bad. I’ll take m-my punishment now.”

Elphie tries to grab for her, but Galinda steps aside. She wipes an arm over her teary face. “Please don’ hurt Elphie. She’s my fwiend, and s-she’s been weally nice.”

Morrible bends down to be on Galinda’s face level, the little girl shrinking back in fear. Elphie comes up beside her in support. She has several inches on Galinda, and despite how clearly afraid she is, she’s also very clearly protective. 

“She’s just little,” Elphie argues. “You can’t punish her for being scared. No hits.”

Galinda gasps at Elphie’s boldness. You aren’t supposed to talk back to adults. She shudders as Morrible looms even closer, terrified her friend has just made things even worse. 

“Elphie, no,” Galinda whispers, stumbling on her heels when she leans back too far. The older girl steadies her, still glaring. You’ll make her mad, Galinda doesn’t say. 

Morrible’s eyes narrow, then she straightens to her full height, book dangling from her fingertips, and smiles. It’s not a very happy-looking smile. Nor a comforting one. 

“I’m not going to hit you, little ones,” she says. “It appears there has been some...confusion.”

Elphie grabs Galinda’s hand. “Are you going to send us home?” she asks. Galinda can’t tell by her tone if Elphie is hoping for a yes or a no. 

“Not yet,” Morrible answers. Her gaze flicks over their diminutive forms. “You see- there is magic at play here. Dangerous, powerful magic.”

Galinda feels Elphie wince, shrinking into herself. “Magic?” she questions, voice small. Galinda has always wanted magic- ever since her Nona told her about it. 

“Yes, dear. Magic. That’s why you are here. You may not remember, but it’s important you stay here and that you are on your best behavior as we sort everything out. Can you do that? Can you be good?”

Both girls nod tentatively. 

Galinda feels Elphie’s hand tighten. “Where is here?” she asks.

“Why, the Emerald City, of course.”

At that- Elphie finally looks up again, eyes bright. “The Emerald City?” she breathes. 

Morrible’s smile grows. “Yes. This is the palace of the wonderful Wizard of Oz himself.”

“The Wizard,” Elphie gasps. She seems delighted by the news. Meanwhile- Galinda is horrified. She peed on the Wizard’s floor! 

Galinda rocks back and forth, stomach knotting and tears resurging. She feels wrung out and overwhelmed, too small to comprehend everything that is happening. She’s away from home for the first-ever time, surrounded by strangers in a place she’s never been, and she still hasn’t been punished. 

The wait is agony. 

Elphie seems to pick up on her dip in mood, pulling Galinda a little closer and giving her hand another squeeze. “M-miss Morrible? If we’re not going home, where are we going to stay?”

Things move a little faster after that. More people enter the room, tall men in shiny armor whose eyes all widen in shock at the sight of the children. Galinda leans on Elphie’s arm, letting the taller girl hold her against her side and whisper to her soothingly as they follow the men down the hall. 

The palace is vast, and every now and then Galinda catches sight of large furred creatures with massive blue wings and terrifyingly large teeth. It seems to take ages to get to a bedroom, Morrible telling them under no uncertain terms that they are not allowed to leave without permission. 

Elphie stands in front of Galinda again as the lady gives her instructions, points out the attached bathroom, and tells them someone will be by with food in a little bit. She doesn’t offer any clothes, even though Galinda’s are soiled and gross. 

When the door finally slams shut, Galinda all but collapses against Elphie. She’s confused and her head hurts and her stomach hurts and her dress is ruined and her lungs are aching. She’s clutching Elphie hard enough to bruise, trying to draw strength from the older girl, even though Elphie is terrified too. Elphie is confused, too. 

But Elphie is a big sister, not that Galinda remembers it, and so Elphie is able to shove down her fear and confusion and gently turn to Galinda, wrapping her in a hug as she breaks down in heaving sobs. She’s tired, and she’s hungry, and she doesn’t feel good. 

She says all this to Elphie, whining in a way she knows she’s too old for, and Elphie just rubs her back and shushes her. Eventually, Galinda’s legs give way to the force of her cries, and Elphie carefully picks her up, grunting with effort until Galinda is high enough to wrap her legs around the green girl’s waist and hold on. 

“It’ll be okay, Galinda,” Elphie says. “I’ve got you.”

“I-I-I want to go home,” Galinda cries. Even if she’s terrified of what her parents may say about how she’s behaved, it’s at least a predictable, almost comfortable fear. This place is new and cold and entirely too confusing to want to stay. 

“I know,” Elphie sighs. “Me too.”

Galinda frowns, slipping her thumb back in her mouth now that there’s no adults around to see. Elphie won’t mind. Elphie won’t tattle on her. As the older girl carries Galinda to the bed and carefully places her down, climbing up beside her to hug her once more, Galinda clings to her desperately.

Galinda wants to go home…but she also wants Elphie. She can’t bear the thought of parting with the older girl. The very idea of being separated sends ten times as much fear through her little body, making her shiver and shake as her stomach twists so hard she’s scared she’ll make a mess.

“Don’ wan’ you to l-leave,” she stammers out. She buries her nose in the crook of Elphie’s neck, breathing in her faint scent. It’s familiar. Comforting. Elphie’s warm body against hers as their hearts start to settle just feels right. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Elphie promises. She runs her fingers through blonde locks. “I would never leave you, Galinda.”

Galinda nibbles on her thumb, still worried and anxious. But the words soothe her a little, slowing the incessant flow of tears. She wonders if Elphie would want to come live with her when they escape. Elphie would be nice to her. Elphie wouldn’t hurt her. She wouldn’t yell at Galinda for being too dumb or too quiet or too emotional.

Elphie would love Galinda. Just like Galinda loves Elphie. 

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)

Right Hands of the Republic

Summary: Sabé and Rex have the worst jobs in the world.

Pairing: Background Anidala

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: None

Authors Note: It’s finally done! After months of inactivity! Big thanks to @transfetts for helping me edit this one! And a special shout out to @royalhandmaidens for helping me run with this idea, and being an incredible person to bounce off of ❤️

In all honesty, Sabé wasn’t sure if her day could get any worse.

Her life had been threatened before. That was easy to deal with. She had played the seven-string hallikset in front of millions of people. That was also easy, although in a different way. Sabé had fought the Battle for Naboo in the most uncomfortable outfit she’d ever worn, with a headpiece that weighed down her neck and made her look like a child wearing an oversized bonnet.

But standing here. Looking like an idiot next to the stiffest Trooper she had ever met? Today definitely took the cake as the worst day of Sabé’s life.

Sabé had never actually met a Clone Trooper before. Sure they were everywhere on Coruscant, they were practically everywhere in the universe, but Sabé had never actually met one before. The Coruscant guard didn’t really talk much, and she had only ever interacted with them as Padmé, not as Sabé.

But as soon as she saw Anakin and his trooper outside Padmé’s senate chamber, Sabé knew she would be spending some quality time with a Clone.

“General Skywalker,” Padmé started, and even with her hood covering her eyes, Sabé could practically see that dreamy look in Padmé’s gaze. Ugh. “How unexpected.”

Anakin wasn’t supposed to be back for weeks. He had returned from Umbara after a misunderstanding on the battlefield. Rumor had it that the GAR had suffered immense casualties and every available Jedi had been needed to finish the assault. Sabé wasn’t sure what was propaganda and what was the truth yet, but it seemed messy regardless.

And yet here Anakin was anyway. Sauntering through the senate halls as if nothing had happened and he wasn’t keeping the galaxy's biggest secret.

“Well you know how it is,” He says with a smirk, “I bring word from the Frontlines. I was hoping I could give you an update on our progress.”

What he really meant was, “We should both neglect our responsibilities and make out in your office and make Sabé super uncomfortable.” Or at least, that’s how Sabé heard it.

Playing third wheel was bad enough, but playing third wheel to a secret marriage between the dumbest Jedi and her best friend was possibly the worst way to spend an afternoon.

“Ani, you know I-“ Padmé starts, but he interrupts.

“Just a moment of your time senator,” He grabs at her hands gently, holding them near his chest. “Please?”

And Sabé knows then that Padmé is sold.

“Alright,” Padmé sighs, but she’s smiling. A lovesick type of grin that spreads warmly across her face. “Sabé, would you mind waiting here for a moment?”

“As you wish M’lady.” Sabé says. She actually did mind. A lot. But doing things she didn’t want to do was part of the job.

My hands are yours.

“Rex, why don’t you keep Sabé company for a bit? I’ll be right back.” Anakin winked as if to say “I won’t be right back”.

It took all of her Amidala training to hold back the eye roll.

And thus they stood.

And stood.

And stood.

Being a handmaiden meant a lot of standing around and waiting quietly. Standing behind Padmé as she addressed the Senate. Standing behind Queen Amidala as she addressed the senate.

It was a lot of senate and a lot of standing still. Sabé didn’t mind that. She liked listening and observing. What Sabé didn’t like was listening to her best friend fawn over a Jedi while she waited outside with a stranger.

Although the stranger probably didn’t like hanging around with her either.

Captain Rex hadn’t moved once. Hadn’t even addressed her. He stood at attention, armor faded and dented as he gazed silently ahead. He looked like he had seen better days. The paint was chipping off his arm brace and there was ash on his chest plate.

They must have gone straight for the senate building as soon as they had returned.

He was probably just as exhausted as her. And frustrated. Sabé let out a silent sigh. She was being unfair again. Not liking Anakin shouldn’t mean not liking his trooper.

So, Sabé takes a deep breath, without even moving, and tries to apply that “warmth” Yané always tried to teach her.

“So, see any good holovids latey?” Is the only thing she can think to say. Padme was a master at conversation, and although she had spent almost eight years imitating her, that was the one trait Sabé could not crack.

“I don’t have time off to watch Holovids.” His voice is mechanical under his mask, crisp and echoing.

It wasn’t like they were trying to be subtle or anything.

“Oh.” Is all Sabé says before they fall back into an uncomfortable silence. He seems to pity her though, for Captain Rex tries to start up conversation again after a few moments.

“Do you think we’ll be able to leave soon?”

As if it is the will of the Force, suddenly there's laughter coming from Padmé’s chambers.

“No.” Sabé responds.

And suddenly there’s a crash, like a window shattering.

Forgetting her formalities, or her own embarrassment, Sabé instantly turns and slams into the door, forcing it open. The Captain is right behind her, blaster drawn. He almost runs right into her.

Padmé and Anakin are staring out a window. Anakin is leaning out, as if trying to see something. Padmé turns.

“Sabé. It was a reporter. I left my window open.”

Her heart drops.

Reporter. Open window. Secret affair.

Ruin.

Anakin seems much less panicked than Padmé, straightening himself and shutting the blinds. He looks… relieved? But Sabé has no time to untangle the map of his soul right now.

“What did he look like?” She asks firmly. There was little time for her to act, and she couldn’t waste a second.

“Dark hair, silver speeder bike. He was wearing a blue media jacket. Heading down to the lower levels.”

“Understood.” Sabé turns instantly, already planning the best route in her head. He would have had to take-

“Now wait just a minute.” Anakin. A minute is not something we have, Sabé wants to yell, but she keeps silent. “I’m not going to let Sabé go alone. She’ll never be able to catch that guy by herself.”

Yes I could. Sabé thinks. But still she keeps silent.

“Rex. Accompany Sabé. I want both of you back before we ship out.”

“Understood Sir.” The Captain stands at attention before quickly turning to Sabé.

Great. The one thing worse than being slowed down by Anakin, was being slowed down by his right hand. He had no idea how she operated. And he stuck out like-

Well he stuck out just as bad as a velvet robbed handmaiden.

“Whatever you wish, m'lady.” Sabé says, secretly hoping Padmé will side with her and deny Rex. But of course, she doesn’t.

“It would be helpful to have another person come along.” Padmé says instead, “Just hurry.”

Sabé gives a soft bow before turning on her heel and racing out of the room, the sound of clanking armor following her the whole way.

The Naboo garage was filled with glimmering starships and speeders. Sabé’s personal speeder was not counted among them.

“I’m driving,” Sabé says as she turns on the machine. “You can sit behind me.”

“Right.” He clearly didn’t like handing off leadership, but it seemed he was wise enough to take the metaphorical and literal backseat when he had to. The engine of her speeder roars to life as Sabé settles in the front with Rex quickly following suit.

“You’ll be able to see better than me if you use your scanner to try and spot him,” Sabé yells over the engine.

Her hair was wiping wildly now, flying loose from her hood and into her eyeline. What she would give for a hairpin.

“He’s probably klicks away by now.” Rex says, and Sabé hears the mechanical clinking of his rangefinder shifting into place as he scans the city.

“That’s why I asked you to use your bucket, genius.” Sabé says before pulling into the busy skylanes.

Sabé didn’t like Coruscant. It was too busy, with too many people and too much pollution. And the Underworld was the worst part. Between the smell of burning fuel, the rattling metal and the horrid smell of endless garbage disposals, everything about it made her skin crawl.

But whatever Padmé asked, Sabé would follow through.

“You seem to know your way around.” Rex says.

“I make it my business to know.” She replies. Just because Padmé wanted Anakin’s clone to tag around did not mean Sabé had to like it.

“Right.”

They fall into the motion of the city. With the wind tugging her hair loose and ringing in her ears, Sabé almost misses Rex’s shout.

“I found him! There!” He points over to her left. The reporter in question is six lanes over, blue jacket whipping wildly in the wind. Camera strap around his neck.

“Hang on!” She yells, before pulling a completely illegal six lane change.

Pulling up as close as she can, Sabé tries to settle herself even with the reporter, bikes side by side.

“Pull over and give me that camera!” Sabé yells, and the reporter turns to her with a wild look.

“On whose authority?” The reporter yells back.

“The Grand Army of the Republic.” Rex doesn’t yell, but the speakers in his helmet amplify his voice enough to be heard over. Sabé wasn’t exactly sure they were officially acting on behalf of the GAR, but it seemed to scare the reporter enough to give him pause.

“You’re in possession of private property!”

“I’m in possession of the story of the century!”

“Like hell you are!” Sabé screams.

He was drifting dangerously close now, his bike almost brushing hers. Normally, the auto navigation system would prevent them from getting this close to another vehicle, but Sabé had rewired it months ago in favor of more subtle routes.

He’s still yelling at her about “stories of the age” and “secret affairs” as she reaches out with her right hand and tries to grab his camera. He pulls back, but he could only move so much with both hands on the handle.

Almost-

And suddenly Sabé’s right hand slips off the steering.

And everything moves in slow motion.

Sabé’s bike tilts left, falling straight into the reporter’s. There’s a crunch from her bike, and the engine spits fire and sparks. The speeders are locked together now, her pedals caught in his.

The reporter has this terrified look on his face, and Sabé seizes that split second and rips the camera off the chain around his neck.

And then her bike falls.

And she falls.

And Rex falls right after her.

In the back of her mind, Sabé vaguely hears Rex yelling something along the lines of, “not again” but all she was really processing, was that she was falling to her death.

But instead of dying, Sabé finds her fall cut short as she crashes into a large speeder hood.

The group inside gasps in horror, and reaching as fast as she can, Sabé tries to grasp at the driver's hand, or the windshield or anything, but within an instant, she slips right off. Her sleeve catches on the side of the vehicle and tears in half as she falls again.

And lands directly onto another speeder.

This one is smaller, and buckles under her weight. Dripping off the skylane. The driver lets out a scream, and shakes her bike.

“I won’t be robbed by some crazy lunatic!” She cries.

“I’m not trying to rob you!” Sabé yells over the commotion.

“Liar!” The driver screams, and keeps shaking her bike. Sabé’s grip slips, and she can feel herself falling.

“Stop, stop! I just want to get down!” She manages. But the driver won’t hear it, and gives the bike one hard shake.

And Sabé is falling again, but the fall is quick, as she lands straight into a dumpster.

Despite the gross cushioning, Sabé hits the bottom of the bin with a sick crack, and instantly knows she won’t be sleeping on her left side for a while.

Ow.

Against the will of her body, Sabé pushes herself up and stands. She had to find that reporter, and she had to get out of that terrible, terrible smell.

Climbing over the edge of the bin shouldn’t have been hard, normally Sabé could have scaled a wall in seconds. But her vision was slightly blurred, and not being able to use her left shoulder was a hindrance. Standing on trash bags, Sabé boosts herself over the edge and stumbles out and onto the alley floor.

Her dress is in shambles. The left sleeve had ripped clean off, as had her hood. The once perfect ombré is now stained with mysterious green and brown liquid from the dumpster. Not to mention the pieces of trash that got stuck to the velvet.

Sabé knows her hair is flying free now and dreads the thought of her reflection. If her grease stained and scratched hands are any indication, she isn’t pretty.

Rex is laying on the ground a few feet away, trying to push himself off his stomach. His pauldron has a crack down the middle and several small pieces of his armor are missing. And so is his helmet.

Rex has a thin cut across his face, spanning from his left eyebrow to his chin.

He looks.

Really young.

Younger than she had expected.

It was probably foolish of her to assume he was older than her, Sabé knew most clones were only around ten, with accelerated growth. But she had always assumed he would look like her father or something. All grey and set lines. But Rex appeared no older than Sabé herself. Sure he had a giant cut across his face right now, but she could see past that.

He looks like a kid. Well, teenager. Well. He looked her age. But still. Young.

Too young.

Sabé supposes to most people he would seem handsome. Maybe in a boyish way, that would make the school girls on Naboo giggle, but to Sabé he just looks like-

Like a boy, covered in dirt, who really didn’t want to be here.

“Did you see where the reporter fell?” Sabé asks. Her voice cracks as she speaks, and she can feel an invisible weight sitting on her lungs. Her left rib is definitely cracked.

“No.” He groans. Without his helmet, Rex’s voice was drastically different. “But he can’t have gotten far.”

Sabé studies around them, Rex was right, the reporter couldn’t have fallen that much farther than they had, their bikes were practically locked together-

There.

Crawling off a trash heap, the reporter looks just as stunned as Sabé feels. Although she hoped she was holding it together better.

“Stop!” She shouts.

Sabé groans, and despite her aching limbs, she runs after him. He’s not fast, but in her current condition, neither is she.

Stumbling loosely, Sabé runs until they’re side by side. She doesn’t have enough energy to even yell at this point, so instead she reaches out for the camera and almost-

Suddenly Sabé feels a sharp tug on her hem, and she’s janked backwards, stumbling into Rex. He yelps, and they both tumble onto the pavement.

“I had him!” Sabé says sharply, pushing Rex aside. Red flames tug at her vision.

She just wants to go home. This was stupid, and she had better things to do. And why would Padmé make her run around with some knockoff Anakin-

“I’m sorry.” Rex says. “I guess I’m not quite used to your fighting techniques. I should have been paying closer attention.”

“Oh.”

Maker, she was an idiot.

Rex isn’t Anakin, and this wasn’t his fault. She is a spy and he is a soldier. And while she was playing lone wolf, he was trying to offer support, and she had ignored him.

Maker.

“No I-“ Sabé pauses, and looks at him. “That was my fault.” She can’t find any other words, and mercifully, Rex seems to accept her half apology and changes the subject.

“Fighting General Grievous was easier than this.” He mumbles under his breath.

“You’ve fought General Grievous?” Sabé says.

“Yeah, and it hurt less.”

They both pause. They had crossed a bridge. Both of them serve as the right hands of the ridiculous people they love but can’t see past the end of their noses.

And they’re both exhausted.

He laughs then. It’s an overtired laugh interrupted by a harsh cough, but it’s a laugh. And it makes Sabé laugh too.

In the dim streetlights, Sabé lets herself breathe. And relax.

“This is ridiculous!” She says suddenly, muffled between coughing giggles. “We look ridiculous, and this mission is ridiculous and our friends are ridiculous.”

With a huffed laugh, Rex forces himself to stand, and offers Sabé his hand.

“Let’s get him this time.”

As it turns out, they don’t have to look far. Less than two klicks away, the reporter stands over a garbage can, vomiting. Camera held limply around his neck.

“Surrender your camera, or face the consequences.” Rex says, standing over the reporter as he hurls. He sounds so serious, Sabé tries not to laugh.

“Just take it.” The man mumbles. “Dear maker, just take the kriffing camera.” Reaching around his neck, the reporter unclips his camera and holds it out limply.

Sabé reaches forward and rips it from his hands, cradling it to her chest.

“Thank you for your service, citizen.” Rex finishes, nodding his head politely.

“Whatever.” The man mumbles, “Just leave me alone.”

“All this for a holo.” Rex says. He’s got a playful tone, despite his knee guard missing and all the pieces of trash in his hair.

But Sabé ignores his quip, and wanders to a more secluded part of the alley. She scrolls through the memory files, passing moments and memories and gossip and-

There.

They look ridiculous. Sabé thinks, but she knows that’s not true.

They look happy. Even through the lens, their warmth is captured.

Padmé’s warmth.

The way she looks at Anakin is so warm.

So loving.

Sabé lingers for a moment, holding the camera gently between her hands. Staring.

“My hands are yours.”

Then with all the power she can manage, Sabé throws the camera down and smashes it against the pavement.

Sparks fly and bits of metal shatter this way and that, kicking up dirt and muck. The flickering metal almost looks poetic.

Almost.

Rex is silent for a moment, staring at the unceremonial end, and Sabé can’t seem to find her voice.

Something in her chest ached. It’s probably a displaced rib, Sabé reasons, but she knows that isn’t really it.

Thankfully, Rex seems to know how to defuse uncomfortable situations.

“We should call someone to pick us up.” He huffs, gaze pointed at the endless levels above them. “I’m not walking back.” Sabé almost laughs.

“Can we eat first?” She asks instead, trying to swallow the strange tears caught in her throat, and rolling her aching shoulder.

“Yeah I could eat.”

“Do you have any money?”

“Nope.” He says with a grin, offering her his arm like they were leaving a charity ball and not crawling out of a dumpster.

That makes Sabé laugh. But she links her arm into his anyway and punches him in the shoulder, ignoring the way he winces.

“Fine. We’ll just charge Senator Amidala’s card.”

“You have access to the Senators bank?”

“Sometimes I AM the senator Rex.”

“Right. Sometimes I forget that.”

Sabé laughs.

“That’s the whole point, dummy.”

The diner they find looks almost as disgusting as they do.

Filled with flickering lights, unkempt floors, and more than a few blaster marks, the establishment doesn’t even react when a beaten up clone trooper and a crazy girl in half a dress show up and ask for a table.

The corner booth smells a bit like garbage, but Sabé reasons she also smells like garbage, so in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a big deal. At least she could eat.

“Their wedding kinda sucked.” Sabé says, voice slightly muffled in between bites of her sandwich.

“I’ve never been to a wedding.” Rex responds, taking another bite of his cushnip. He had a weird taste for someone whose main diet consisted of ration bars.

“They suck. Never let your best friend talk you into attending one.”

“Noted.”

“It was just me, and two droids.” Sabé swallows, “Have you ever had to make conversation with two droids at a secret wedding?”

“I’ve had to make conversation with undead Genioshians.” He tries, pointing his fork at her.

“That’s not the same.”

It’s silent for a moment, Rex still pointing at her, and then they both burst into laughter.

Uncontrollable, over tired laughter. Sabé only stops when her arching chest can’t take it anymore.

“Why are you blonde?” She interrupts suddenly. “I thought all clones were Jango Fett, well, clones.”

“What?” He breathes, coughing at the end, and staring at her in disbelief. “I help you chase a reporter 30 levels, and all you want to ask is ‘why are you blonde?’ That’s the best you can do?”

Sabé tries to laugh again, but her chest hurts so much she stops herself.

“Do I really look that awful?” Rex reaches up and pulls another piece of trash from his blacks.

“Yes.” Sabé says with a smile, “You look ridiculous without your bucket.”

Rex rolls his eyes, pointing at her again.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know.”

Something catches his eye, and Rex glances out the diner window.

“There’s our ride.”

Outside, a Republic landspeeder settles into the parking lot recklessly. There’s an ARC trooper in the driver's seat, white armor painted the same blue as Rex. A member of his battalion no doubt.

Quickly rising, Sabé settles the bill, and follows Rex towards the trooper.

She wants to get out of this hole as quickly as possible. And shower. Twice.

“What happened to you?” The ARC trooper asks, and Sabé can’t tell if his tone is genuine concern or teasing.

Or perhaps both.

“Not now.” Rex mumbles, as he brushes past the trooper and practically falls into the back seat of the landspeeder.

“Hi.” The trooper turns to her now, and even through the helmet's voice altering, Sabé can hear his tone dripping with charisma. She gives a half laugh, but it sounds more like a wheeze.

“Hi.” She responds, “I’m Sabé.”

“I’m Fives.” He replies, “Hang out in the underworld often?”

“Can it, Trooper.” Rex yells from the landspeeder. His head is leaned against the seat, and his brow is furrowed, as if this happens all the time. “Just get us back to base.”

“Yes Captain.” Fives says with a loose salute, but he nods at Sabé, and she swears he winks under his helmet.

Carefully maneuvering around her bruises, Sabé settles into the backseat beside Rex.

“You know.” Sabé starts, “If I’m going to be a third wheel more often, I wouldn’t mind serving with you Captain.”

“It’s been an honor Sabé,” Rex says, and then pauses, “but in all honesty I could never do this again and be just fine.”

Sabés cracked rib hurts too much to laugh.