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Summary: After a blast on Umbara, Rex saves you and you are forced to remain in a bacta tank the rest of the campaign. You try to reach out to Rex through the force and he hears your warnings about Krell’s betrayal. When the truth comes out, Rex is consumed with guilt.
The skies over Umbara were poison.
Choked in mist and war.
And somewhere beneath it all, you bled into the dirt.
The blast had taken you hard—chest scorched, body broken. Rex had been the first to reach you, his voice cutting through the chaos, calling your name like it meant something more than rank or Jedi title. He held you as the medics arrived, armor slick with mud and grief.
He didn’t let anyone else carry you.
Not even Fives.
Not even when General Krell barked at him to return to the line.
Once the 501st finally breached the airbase, Rex made sure you were stabilized in the nearest field medcenter. They submerged you into a bacta tank, pale and silent, your saber charred and clipped to Rex’s belt instead of your own.
He stood watch over you every night when he could—alone, visor off, hands balled into fists. Fives had noticed. Hardcase had joked about it once.
He never joked about it again.
_ _ _ _
The First Warning
It came while Rex was reviewing troop formations alone.
A sudden pressure behind his eyes, like a gust of wind had blown through his skull.
“Rex…”
Your voice, faint—like a ripple across still water.
He froze, datapad slipping from his hands.
“General?”
No answer. Just the distant hum of machinery and the low buzz of the bacta tank nearby. He turned toward it. You floated within, unconscious, brow furrowed like you were fighting something that didn’t live in the waking world.
Then—again.
“He is not what he seems…”
Rex’s heart skipped. “General? What—what does that mean?”
But the connection faded, leaving only silence and misty breath against the tank’s glass.
The Second Warning
Rex didn’t sleep that night. Or the next.
Krell was pushing them too hard. The losses were piling. Something was off.
And then it happened again.
He was armoring up when he felt it—a cold sliver down his spine.
“They are not your enemy…”
“He is.”
Rex’s blood ran cold.
“Who?” he whispered into the dark. “Krell? You mean Krell?”
But again, the connection blinked out like a dying star.
He ran his gloved hands through his hair, helmet dangling from his side.
It made no sense.
Krell was a Jedi. Brutal, sure—but wasn’t war brutal by nature? Could he really be turning against them?
_ _ _ _
The Betrayal
And then they were deployed. Told the enemy had stolen clone armor. Told to open fire.
The forest exploded with blasterfire and screams.
And then—
"Cease fire!" Rex’s voice tore through the chaos. “Cease fire!”
It was too late. Bodies littered the jungle floor.
Clones.
Not Umbarans.
His own brothers.
He fell to his knees, helmet slipping from his fingers, the sound of battle replaced by the echo of your voice—
“They are not your enemy. He is.”
He finally understood.
Krell.
He had known. You’d tried to tell him. From inside that tank. From wherever your mind had drifted in the Force, tangled in pain and bacta and fear for the men you both loved.
He felt sick.
Krell needed to pay for this.
_ _ _ _
After Krell’s capture—after the rage, the betrayal, the ghostly silence of the men—
Rex stood outside the medcenter again. Watching you.
You were healing, slowly. Still submerged. Still fighting to wake.
He placed a gloved hand against the glass.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You tried to tell me. I didn’t listen. I should’ve—”
He swallowed hard, guilt a coiled wire around his throat.
“I’m not losing you too.”
And somewhere inside the Force, you stirred.
_ _ _ _
The Force shifted.
Like a breath held too long, finally exhaled.
A weight lifted.
A darkness lifted.
You surged back into consciousness before your eyes even opened—gasping silently in the thick blue haze of bacta, heart racing, the phantom echo of betrayal still ringing through your veins.
He was dead.
Executed.
Dogma.
You felt it.
The weight of his blaster in his hands. The fury. The confusion. The pain.
It is done, the Force whispered.
The war on Umbara was over.
But the ghosts would linger.
You woke gasping, dragging in breath like it hurt. The medical droid flinched back with a startled beep. Your lungs ached. Every inch of you was stiff and raw from mending bones and torn flesh. But you were awake.
And more importantly—alive.
“Captain!” someone called outside. “She’s waking up!”
You barely had time to get out of the tank before boots pounded toward you. Rex stormed in, helmet tucked under one arm, eyes wide and wild and disbelieving. You gave him a weak smile.
“Took you long enough,” you rasped.
He stopped cold. A dozen emotions flickered across his face. Disbelief. Relief. Guilt.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he said quietly.
You leaned back against the pillows, wincing. “You didn’t.”
He stepped closer, slowly, like he couldn’t quite trust the sight of you.
“But I lost them,” he said, voice low. “And I didn’t stop it.”
Your heart cracked open.
“I tried to warn you,” you whispered, reaching out. He took your hand instantly, holding it like a lifeline.
“I know,” he said. “I heard you. In my head. I thought I was losing it.”
You gave his hand a soft squeeze. “You weren’t. I was with you. As much as I could be.”
Rex’s shoulders dropped. The weight of war carved deep into his bones. For a moment, he looked every bit the tired, worn man behind the armor. And you loved him more for it.
_ _ _ _
The medcenter was quiet. Clones moved like shadows—silent, grieving, stunned. You sat upright now, draped in a simple robe, IV lines gone. Still sore. Still healing. But awake.
Rex lingered by your bedside long after the others had gone. He hadn’t spoken in minutes.
Finally, he said:
“They were mine.”
You looked up.
“My brothers. And I shot at them. I followed orders. I didn't question it. Not until it was too late.”
He was shaking. Just slightly. But it was there.
You moved closer, taking his hands again.
“You trusted Krell because he wore the robes. Because that’s what they trained you to do,” you said gently. “You weren’t wrong for trusting him, Rex. He was wrong for abusing it.”
His jaw clenched.
“I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve—”
“Stop.” You reached up, brushing a hand against his cheek, the first real touch you’d shared in weeks. “You did what you could with what you had. And when it mattered—you stopped him. You saved who you could. And you survived.”
He closed his eyes, swallowing hard.
“I don't feel like I did.”
You leaned in, brushing a soft, chaste kiss against his forehead. The kind only you were allowed to give him. The kind no one else could ever see.
“You did,” you murmured. “And you’re not alone.”
Rex didn’t say anything, but his fingers tightened around yours, grounding himself in your warmth.
The battle was over. But the war, within and without, would go on.