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The day before returning to the battlefront, Rex finds himself wandering Coruscant in search of a quiet place to get a few drinks alongside his squad. He is to officially step into the role of captain and take charge of his own team as part of the recently assembled 501st legion, so they are holding onto their last afternoon together before protocol will get in the way of casual friendship.
It is only Fives, Hevy, and Jesse that have come with Rex, the rest still trapped at the barracks by several unfulfilled duties.
Their first choice is the 79’s bar, but the place is packed, and they don’t last there longer than the few minutes it takes to drink a mug of beer. Rex isn’t quite as relaxed as he’d hoped and he’s even worse at masking it. Truthfully, the outing wasn’t his idea, but the chorus of pleas from his mates convinced him to play along and try his best to have some fun.
Jesse is the first to notice his discomfort and suggests they move elsewhere. They brave the public transport of Coruscant once more, intently studying the tourist guides for other clone-friendly spaces in the area.
On the bus, Heavy leans in to whisper a reassuring, "We have your back, sir."
Fives nods in agreement and adds, "A bit of wandering is what every outing needs!"
Of course they sense something is not right. They know each other better than they know themselves, but for the first time, Rex is secretive without any intention of revealing his thoughts, even if that may lead his team to the wrong conclusions.
They take his hesitation for lack of self-confidence, his low mood for the perfectionist streak that so many of them share. These are standards not met, responsibilities growing, duties weighing more heavily on his shoulders—all valid conclusions to come to.
None of them think, not even for one second, that Rex does not deserve the promotion. Neither does he, not really, but the catalyst of this rank up being Skywalker’s actions passed off as his, Skywalker’s good deed that Rex is being praised for? That leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Undeserved praise. It taints the festivity, to have his military ascension tied to a Separatist—and not just any Separatist either, but the Invader of the Outer Rim himself.
Since meeting Skywalker one month ago, Rex has dissected their conversation more times than he did the training manuals on Kamino. To Rex’s combined horror and delight, his helmet recorded every single word they exchanged, allowing him to analyse the Invader’s timbre, inflection, and accent to the point he would probably recognize him by voice alone within a whole mass of people.
Unfortunately, the visual feed cuts off early on, when Skywalker removed the helmet from Rex’s head and set it aside. The conversation remains crisp, but the video shows the cracks and the blood stains on the floorboards, reminding him of the gruesome context of their meeting. It leaves Rex to contend with the first few seconds he glimpsed Skywalker’s face in the beginning—those terrible golden eyes that haunt him day and night, while his memory fills in the rest of Skywalker’s features and, Rex fears, paints too pretty a picture for such a tyrant. The thought embarrasses him, but the more he tries to avoid it, the clearer the face becomes in his mind, and the more he rewinds the recording to pore over it again when he should be sleeping instead.
This all should warrant more alarm than what Rex exhibits and he knows it, but coupled with the passionate plea for liberation and the connections Skywalker drew between the two opposing armies, clone and droid, it is hard to despise him as totally as he had before. They should never have talked.
The allure of the other side keeps Rex awake some nights, wondering who is right, who is wrong, wondering just what the point of all this conflict is, when the result is always more casualties. Lives wasted. Though the promise of action instead of reaction is enchanting, Rex doesn’t delude himself with thoughts of desertion or conspiracy within the ranks of the GAR. He is but one soldier with no influence beyond the handful of men under his command; he is but one clone, mind, with less than no influence. A single word of disobedience would have him vanished without question. There are so many more waiting in line to fill his shoes. Why would his protest matter?
These worries worm their way to the surface quite insidiously. He notices them too late, when they are already distracting him from his activity. His muscle memory is far too good for his thoughts to betray his lapses in attention, but he realises they happen and they bother him greatly.
Now, too, when he is supposed to be drinking with his mates, the few times they get the chance to step outside the GAR compound for personal reasons, he thinks about Skywalker. In some ways, any reminder of their predetermined lives as canon fodder for the Republic is enough to make him think about Skywalker—and that’s easy enough. He needs only to glance at his neighbour and see himself in the mirror.
Jesse finds them a homely diner at the end of a long alley full of farmers selling vegetables and fruit from all over the galaxy. A couple dozen people are inside, minding their own business, the sound of quiet conversation and chinking plates rising above the foreign music playing in the background. They sit at a table in a corner, close to the door, happy with the accessible exit but also the privacy offered by the two short wooden trellises that separate them from the other tables on both sides. A beautiful mauve plant climbs in-between the eyes of the lattice, adorning the trellis with its rich foliage.
They order a bunch of different dishes, all finger food that can be shared freely, and the most interesting-looking drinks they find on the menu, although Hevy is the only one between them to indulge in more alcohol.
It promises to be a perfectly mellow time, nothing unremarkable on the horizon, up until Rex hears a voice, one single word—! And there he is, turning around to gape over the plants at another patron, ice spreading through his veins.
The bafflement turns into utter shock a second later.
It is him!
It is Skywalker himself, as impressive as Rex remembers and, horrifyingly, twice as charming. He swapped the dark, foreboding robes for a much simpler outfit, still dark, but one that blends in better with the crowd—as much as someone can blend in in a multicultural, multispecies space.
Rex recognizes his face immediately, though he only sees him from the side, nose turned away. It is the side with the scar on his jaw, the one Rex left.
He turns back to the table, throat suddenly dry, his breaths quick and shallow. What does he do? What would a Jedi do if they met an important Separatist leader literally a step away from the farmer’s market on Coruscant, in the middle of the day, when the place is bustling with civilians? Drawing any attention to the man (attention of the nature that the man requires) would inevitably devolve into violence and cause unnecessary damage to passers-by.
There are enough clones present that the damage would be substantial, unless Skywalker snaps their necks before they move a muscle.
(Rex swallows with difficulty. His hand drifts to the side of his throat instinctively. The memory of being choked by thin air scares him as much as it intrigues him. The Jedi have so many abilities, yet Rex has only seen them use basic tactics in battle. But the intrigue is less about the technicality of the act and more about the proximity it brought him to the Separatist leader. Metres separated them, yet Skywalker was able to reach out to him, place his ghostly hand over his throat, and squeeze slowly while he walked over, unhurried, analysing Rex.)
"Should we keep the yellow markings?" asks Fives. "I’m itching for a change."
"It’s not quite up to us, is it?" Rex replies automatically, though he needn’t bother—Fives rolls his eyes, aware of the rules himself. "I suppose if we change them, I would pick blue."
"Mm, that’s a fine choice. You don't suppose we could file in a specific hue, do you?"
"Fives," Rex says flatly.
The man in question shrugs, unaffected, saying, "Just making conversation."
This ends up sparking a little debate concerning which shade of blue would work best with their style, both Hevy and Jesse joining the brainstorming session quite passionately. Rex lets them talk, only partly listening, the rest of him very, very conscious of their enemy eating a sandwich a few tables over. He sneaks in a few more looks in Skywalker's direction, trying to be as stealthy as he can, but it is difficult to hide from both Skywalker and the other clones.
The puzzling thing is that Skywalker appears quite unassuming. He is simply eating like any other person would, and even looks a bit wimpy, to be honest, now that the initial adrenaline-rush-inducing moment of recognition has passed. It's strange. The new face of terror in the Outer Rim doesn't just eat. He doesn't sit at a table in public on Coruscant, hunched over a cheap sandwich from an average diner, bags of groceries lying on the seat next to him, and just eats.
The sight does a terrible job at dissuading Rex’s doubts. (This realisation scares him something fierce.) He wants to slide into the empty seat across from Skywalker and turn the tables on him for a change. The Separatist wouldn’t want his identity to be revealed either, right? Right? Rex could do that and be the one holding the reins for once.
"That guy’s pretty good looking," says one of the clones.
"The one with the frazzled hair?"
"Yeah, yeah, it makes him even cuter, like he just rolled out of bed."
"Oh yeah, agreed."
"Right, Rex?"
"What?" Rex turns to the team to find them all watching him very pointedly.
"Don’t you think that guy with wavy hair is handsome?" asks Fives.
"Which guy?" Rex is so bad at lying, he is near combusting on the spot out of embarrassment. He knows which guy they mean and they know he knows, because none of them let him be even for a second.
Hevy, with a small flourish, places one hand on Rex’s shoulder to twist him around, and the other he holds out palm up, presenting Skywalker’s form in the distance.
"He is… fine," Rex acknowledges.
"I was worried for nothing," says Fives. "I didn’t think you had other men on your mind, but if that’s what’s keeping you distracted today, I forgive you."
Rex opens his mouth to protest, but it’s… not untrue. And whatever he says, he can feel the burning in his cheeks, and it would make this even more awkward for him, so he simply exhales. And sighs. And makes sure they see how tiring it is for him to deal with their antics.
They take Rex’s silence as an admission and they all turn in sync to catch one more glimpse of Skywalker.
Rex freezes.
Skywalker is watching them back.
Blast it! Rex’s mind blanks for a second.
Recognition dawns on Skywalker’s face (No!) and he quickly lifts a hand to wave at Rex. (No!) His elbow knocks into the side of his tray, almost upending the cup of juice beside his sandwich. He catches the cup before it has the chance to fall and turns back to them, all a-smile.
"Impressive," Fives says flatly.
"Wait, do you know each other?" asks Jesse, quickly sliding across the bench to get closer to Rex. "He looks like he knows you."
Rex gives Skywalker a tiny nod, but really, that’s all he can muster in this bizarre situation. This is very much outside all the protocol manuals Rex has ever read! He doubts there is even a need for such a mention: what do you do if you meet your military enemy having a snack in a diner?
"You do know each other," Jesse repeats, this time breathing out the words with shameless awe.
"We may have talked once," Rex admits reluctantly. He is embarrassed how easily the context can be omitted to leave only the implications of a normal rendezvous, when in fact it was anything but.
Hevy waves at Skywalker too. Jesse is delighted by this development and joins in, but he takes it a step further and signals the Separatist to come to their table.
"No, Jesse," Rex whispers furiously at the other man, clamping a hand over Jesse’s, but he is too late. The exchange has happened, the invitation has been accepted.
Skywalker gathers his bags of groceries, grabs his tray, and walks over to them, his face a good level of curiosity and friendliness.
It has to be a ploy. He can’t be that good an actor!
Fives finds him a chair.
And then there’s a golden-eyed Separatist sharing their table, sitting at the head of the table pleasantly, no hint of malice upon his beautiful face.
"Hello," Skywalker says.
Oh, it raises many conflicting emotions within Rex to hear him speak so close again in real life.
"So I understand you’re familiar with our captain over there?" Fives asks.
Skywalker blinks in thinly veiled surprise and glances to his right, at Rex.
Rex would prefer to disappear from the face of the ocean. His mates don’t know who he is! They don’t know and they can’t know right now, because Rex hasn’t processed his feelings yet, and he doesn’t want to tell them yet, that he has doubts, and that this all is happening because he is hesitating in his duty. That is not something to be said in the spur of the moment!
But staying quiet deepens the pit on the other side of the fence that Rex is balancing on, which is the part that keeps Skywalker among simple people, and lets Rex acknowledge that he is a handsome man, with beautiful eyes, and lips, and—
"Yes, I am," Skywalker says, "and I am happy to see you again, Captain. It appears I must congratulate you on your promotion."
"Thank you," Rex replies out of courtesy.
"Please introduce us, Rex," says Jesse.
"Umm…" Rex throws Skywalker a rushed, uncertain gaze. The only names he knows are infamous, incendiary ones that would have the whole table in shambles. "This is—"
"Anakin," Skywalker blurts out, put on the spot. He looks back at Rex with a similar level of anxiety and cringes at his admission.
"Anakin," Rex repeats. "These men are part of my squad. This is Hevy, that one is Jesse, and the charming one sitting on your left is Fives."
"Hi," Fives drawls.
Rex watches Skywalker carefully. There is colour high on his cheeks. Skywalker says his own name when exchanging greetings with the rest, but he sounds awkward every time, and perhaps more guarded than before and hoping to hide it. Anyone else would be anxious about meeting new people, but Rex knows this is not just anybody. Could it be that he slipped up and shared his real name?
Now he knows Rex’s name, but Rex also knows his. Will anything come of that?
As soon as the introductions are done, Skywalker uses the menu interface on the table to order everyone a round of drinks on his own tab. This gesture is met with universal protest, however the soldiers all give in when Skywalker levels them with such a commanding look that protesting any further would interfere with their directives. Civilians are not to be questioned without good reason.
The waiter droid brings a set of extra tall glasses filled with a green fruity drink, added spices, and a hearty portion of ice cubes. Fun-shaped straws ending in swirls and fancy loops balance in the glasses, stirring the herbal detritus among the ice in their gentle movement.
"They're non-alcoholic, I hope you don't mind," Skywalker says, taking his own glass and inspecting it appreciatively.
"Not at all! We love trying new things," says Hevy.
"Good thing we're on Coruscant, then," Skywalker replies with a quiet chuckle.
"Are you from around these parts, sir?" Fives asks.
"Oh no, I am just passing through. I thought I would stop by for a handful of purchases." Skywalker inclines his head toward the two bags resting beside his legs. "We don’t have this variety of greens at home and the ones we import have outlandish prices."
"I completely understand." Fives nods gravely.
"Our home also lacked in flavour," Hevy says, similarly sombre. "We had very few chances to discover new textures and flavours. As you might expect, these chances were awarded to the squads with the best performances in training, so we obviously saw close to nothing from the delicacy menu."
"Hey!"
"‘Obviously’? What does that mean, you oaf?"
The rest of the squad immediately starts clamouring, calling Hevy a good, colourful number of names. The distraction gives Rex enough of a window to look pointedly at Skywalker and silently demand an explanation.
Skywalker shakes his shoulders.
"Really?" Rex asks quietly.
"My mother has developed a very sweet preference toward green vegetables," Skywalker answers, and even goes as far as to nudge the top of one bag open so Rex can take a peek at the legume inside.
"That is not what I meant," he cries, his voice rising over the hubbub of the others. The clones cease their bickering and look at Rex in question.
The sudden shift in attention makes him squirm uncomfortably in his seat. It doesn't linger upon him long, as the new face among them is far more interesting than Rex.
"How lucky that you happened to pick the same fine establishment as us!" Jesse exclaims, regarding Skywalker with enthusiasm. "You must tell us how you two happened to meet each other! Rex hasn’t mentioned you at all."
"He hasn’t?" Skywalker looks pleasantly at Rex, but there is an undercurrent of growing nervousness in his expression as his eyes silently ask Rex to help. Frankly, it is quite a sweet sight—if Rex were to ignore everything else he knows about this man.
Rex wonders what the best course of action should be. The beer he drank at the 79's is far from helping him keep a coherent train of thought, when the absurdity of the situation is already testing the limit of his level-headedness. Somehow, if everyone makes it out of this alive and in one piece, Rex thinks he will have no issue leading as captain.
"It wasn’t anything worth talking about," Skywalker says weakly.
"I insist." Jesse leans forward in his seat and rests one elbow on the table, the very picture of curiosity. "Our comrade will soon be out of reach and we love to needle him, you see. This is our last chance to tease him. Would you really be so cruel as to deprive us of this pleasure?"
"Jesse…" Rex stares at him, shaking his head in warning.
It makes the intrigue on Jesse’s face turn into glee. His smile widens.
Oh no, Rex thinks.
"See, Anakin?" Jesse says brightly.
Skywalker shudders upon hearing his name spoken. (Rex is awestruck by this revelation. He did give them his real name.)
"You must tell us everything now. Spare no detail. Just look at his face! It’ll put me in a good mood for at least two weeks just to think about it."
"You can say that again," Fives says.
"Well, uh, it was a few months ago," Skywalker begins awkwardly. The enraptured silence that befalls the table has him glancing at Rex several times, looks which he masks as amiable, private jokes between them, but Rex can see Skywalker’s hand is clenched into a fist and shaking slightly. He truly has no chance of getting out of this by himself—there’s no way he can blindly lie about a soldier’s schedule.
"Go on," says Jesse.
"I was travelling again and uh…"
"It was here on Coruscant, actually," Rex interjects. He can feel Skywalker breathe out in relief next to him; the sound rouses a bit of sympathy within him. "Last time we were stationed at the garrison for the assessment, remember?"
"That was ages ago," says Hevy, nodding. "Didn’t Echo fail at something and had to spend the whole day running after the committee?"
"Oh, kriff, that must have been so annoying," Hevy mutters. "Happened to me too. Don’t even remind me."
"Right," Rex says, gaining confidence. "I had to meet Commander Fox, but he wasn’t in, so I went looking for his second in command. I had to go all the way to the Senate building and you know how the traffic is at midday in that area."
"When isn’t it terrible?" Jesse laments. "Every time we come here it's shit! Even with GAR priority it’s shit."
"Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean," Rex agrees and continues his story.
Everyone listens attentively to him, including Skywalker, who is the very picture of a fresh cadet trying to blend in with everyone else and hide his lack of experience. Rex describes the senators he glimpsed at in passing in the Senate building, and spends a lot of time focusing on otherwise inane details like the weather and the Coruscant guard’s activities that day. A good lie is one that’s very firmly grounded in truths, but also one that’s ultimately boring—soon, the team will tire of the mundanity of it all and they won’t pester him with questions anymore if they see how uneventful things actually are.
"So did you meet Anakin at the Senate then?" Hevy asks innocently, the only one still following Rex with rapt attention.
"Now, now, brother, no need to get ahead of ourselves," Rex replies.
With a heavy roll of his eyes, Fives waves his hand in the air, signalling Rex to stop talking for a moment.
Perhaps the story is a bit too boring.
"Alright, Rex, and would you like a pat on the back to go with that magnificent display of malicious compliance?" Fives asks sourly.
Skywalker barks out a laugh. "Jesse did say spare no detail."
"Aren’t you guys a riot…" Jesse mumbles under his breath, although he cannot hide his joy at hearing his name out loud.
In fact, mentioning Jesse by name has lifted everybody’s spirits, Rex’s included, and Skywalker becomes the sudden recipient of several pairs of approving eyes.
Maybe he wasn’t all talk when he claimed an interest in helping the clones as much as any of his other targets. It isn’t often that a stranger comes in contact with a whole group of them and manages to keep track of who is who across an entire conversation—another reason for Rex to despair silently at his situation. Everything that he has been conditioned to think is at odds with Skywalker's claims, and yet…
"We met by chance when I was on my way back to the hovercar," Rex says.
Skywalker nods confidently, like he remembers the day as if it happened yesterday.
"He was, uh…" Rex trails off, glancing at Skywalker.
"I had engine trouble," Skywalker pipes in smoothly, "and I was forced to land on the edge of the Senate perimeter. A couple of guards started eyeing me funny, then I saw Captain Rex approaching and thought I was in trouble, although—" he turns to Rex "—the way you were looking at me so crossly was quite riveting."
Something tells Rex this isn't part of their fabricated lie, but a callback to their real meeting. He shivers.
"I thought to myself, he must be very dedicated to his work," Skywalker continues in an even tone, less and less interested in the reaction of their audience. He only looks at Rex, his expression having lost a good portion of his cheer.
Rex says nothing. Warmth climbs up his neck and face, to be on the receiving end of such a look once again.
For the few seconds while Skywalker pauses talking, nobody makes a sound.
"We talked for a while. He was kind enough to help me find my way."
"I thought your engine had trouble?" Fives asks.
"Oh, yeah, it did. Of course. It did, but I'm pretty handy with tools and I only needed a couple of things to fix it," Skywalker says in a rush. "I was just wrapping it up when your captain got there!"
"How come you have returned to Coruscant? I didn’t think we would see each other again so soon," Rex asks.
"You could say I’m spying on my competition," Skywalker replies brightly.
"Nothing beats having better intel than the other guys," Fives agrees, nodding sagely.
"Exactly."
"I’m intrigued," Rex says, although it is an unpleasant shiver that runs down his spine. "What do you do?"
"I’m a mechanic. Sometimes I race," Skywalker answers right away, again displaying a swiftness and honesty that Rex thinks is harder to fake. Perhaps he is underestimating Skywalker’s acting skills.
Rex does have to admit—exclusively to himself—that Skywalker ends up handling the conversation better than expected. The clones are all nodding at him, appreciating this new topic of mechanics having been brought up, and they ask him a few questions that make Rex realise Skywalker was not lying about his interest in ships.
He keeps out of the way, hoping that everyone is now satisfied with their newfound knowledge, and tries the drink Skywalker ordered. The ice cubes have melted a bit. Rex listens to the crystalline sounds they make whenever he stirs them with his straw, and silently struggles to take back control of himself.
This is all too weird. He can't stop watching Skywalker, now that enough minutes have passed to make his presence seem mundane and wonderful at the same time. It's like everything Rex knows about him is hiding in the recesses of his mind, tiny facts that refuse to stay on the surface of his awareness, and so Rex is forced to periodically consciously remind himself that they are sharing drinks with a butcher.
The nature of Skywalker's crimes confounds him also. Skywalker struck the Outer Rim hard, but he went for the vilest of its inhabitants—the slave-owning clans in their entirety, from patriarch to newborn—and freed every indebted servant under their rule, but also took these people under his own wing. Could they have simply traded a tyrant for another? Even so, to someone like Rex, Skywalker’s highest crime should be just that: he is allied with the Separatists, and thus against the Republic. There is nothing else to say.
"How’s the war going from your point of view?" asks Skywalker. "Where are you headed next?"
"We can’t talk about that, sir," says Hevy.
"But you can be sure we’re heading out soon enough," Jesse adds regretfully. "There is never a moment of peace in this life."
"I see," says Skywalker with great understanding in his voice. Everyone at the table likes him more with each passing second and Rex can’t stand to hear that politeness in his voice another moment longer. As if sensing this unpleasant energy directed at him, Skywalker glances innocently at Rex before taking a sip of his drink.
"Perhaps we should talk about something else," Rex proposes tersely, giving his team a hard look full of reprimand. They should know better than to relax so quickly in the vicinity of a civilian.
They acknowledge his words, but their interest in Skywalker remains, and as they spend the next few moments simply savouring their orders, Rex wishes he had never met Anakin. Maybe then he could have enjoyed such simple conversation just like them, without feeling like the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to ignore the fuzzy feeling bubbling in his chest whenever he remembers how fierce Skywalker had looked in the penumbra of that house, how self-assured he had been advancing on him, a phantom ghost at Rex’s throat, holding him in place.
Something pinches his cheek.
Rex touches the side of his face, but finds nothing there.
A moment later, something bops him lightly over the nose.
Horrified, Rex looks at Skywalker and finds him smiling behind the rim of his glass.
"Cheer up, Captain," Skywalker has the audacity to say, his smile growing. "You were looking so grimly at your drink."
"Don’t mind him, Anakin," says Fives. "He’s just practising for tomorrow."
"You guys should be on your best behaviour then, because it looks like your captain isn’t messing around."
"Yes, sir." Fives offers Skywalker a mock salute.
"So. Without going into any strategic details, of course," Skywalker begins, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, "what weird creatures have you seen out on the battlefront? I imagine you must encounter so many interesting things in your campaigns!"
"You know, the definition of weird pretty much loses its meaning after the third planet that has man-sized carnivore plants with hypermobile vines and an alarming amount of sentience," Fives answers flatly.
"That was oddly specific."
"I do wish there will not be a fourth encounter."
"Most of what we see gets destroyed by collateral damage. It’s a sad sight to witness," Jesse says quietly. "I remember one time we were camped on a cliff that was overlooking a huge valley. In the morning after the fighting had already concluded, I woke early to trade spots with the night watch.
"I was staring at the valley when suddenly, a great pink light bloomed on the horizon, growing warmer and warmer, and as it bathed the valley in its gentle light, I started noticing them—all the marks of violence that we left behind.
"Everything was in shambles. Craters and dead wood and destruction as far as the eye could see. The river changed course because of cannon damage and bombs. It was narrow and small, barely visible from the cliffside, but it still held water, glinting in the fresh sunlight, forced to follow a new path now.
"All that and the sun still rose, as breathtaking as before these horrors."
Jesse sighs.
The mood at the table sobers up. They’ve all been witness to such sights of beauty deeply intertwined with death and decay on the battlefront. Sometimes Rex wishes he could see the world through the eyes of a bird, to simply partake in nature without changing its course, but it is a madman’s dream to imagine there is anything in store for him and his brothers in arms other than war and more war.
This is what they were bred for. If there is an end to war, is that an end to them also?
"I imagine you should have more opportunities than us to see the beauty in the world, Anakin," Rex says, his voice hesitating for a second upon saying Skywalker’s given name. "We only go where there is conflict, but you? Perhaps you should meditate on the peacefulness of nature the next time you visit a new place."
Skywalker averts his gaze for a moment. He lets out a small humourless laugh—they both know what Rex is hinting at, obviously at odds with Skywalker’s plans—but when he locks eyes with Rex again, he is as passionate as Rex ever saw him.
"For you, Captain, maybe I will."
Rex almost, almost believes him.
Over the next few seconds, he becomes aware of a bunch of muffled laughter at the other end of the table. Hevy in particular is having the time of his life, shoulders shaking with mirth and one hand clasped over his mouth but not doing a good job at hiding his snickering.
Jesse smacks both Hevy and Fives over the shoulder. "Come on, guys, don’t spoil it!"
"Sorry," Hevy cries in-between two laughs. Speaking has fully unleashed his laughter. "I apologise. Deeply."
To say Rex is mortified would be putting it mildly.
"Oh, please don’t stop flirting on my account!" Hevy adds.
"Hevy, I think it’s time you took five," Fives suggests to his friend, laughing silently himself.
"Where?"
"What?"
"You said 'take Five'. Where do you wanna go then?"
"Hevy."
The embarrassment is too much. Rex turns his back to his team, hiding his burning face from them, but this places him face to face with Skywalker, who is also bright red.
Noticing Rex, Skywalker leans toward him conspiratorially, a sweet smile on his face. "Do you think that’s enough fodder to tease you for the rest of the day?" he asks in a hushed whisper.
"Shut up," Rex grumbles, flicking him on the shoulder. A small laugh escapes him despite his best efforts to remain unphased.
"Oh no," Jesse says, dismayed. The insistent beeping of his comm device has everyone looking at him in resignation, the laughter fading away.
"I’m afraid it’s time to go," Fives announces. "It was nice meeting you, Anakin."
"Likewise," Skywalker says.
"This wasn't what I expected when we left the barracks but it was double the fun," Hevy says as he begins gathering the trays into a neat pile.
The sentiment is shared among the three clones, the other two nodding in agreement, and Rex realises he feels quite the same also, now that the bad turn of events he was anticipating did not come. He studies Skywalker for a few seconds, catching him oblivious to the stare as he gets his groceries in order, a sad look on his face. Their eyes meet by chance, the corners of Skywalker's mouth stretching into a tiny smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
Within a few minutes, they're exiting the diner, ready to return before the afternoon drill catches them outside the barracks. Skywalker exchanges warm handshakes and pleasantries with them just outside the main doors. When he reaches Rex at the end of the line, Rex doesn't let go of his hand, and, still watching Skywalker intently, tells the others to go on ahead without him.
"There is something I want to talk about with Anakin."
"Roger, roger," Hevy says in a poor imitation of the battledroid voice. He snickers—most likely not at his joke, but at Rex again, but Rex can live with that.
The three clones go on ahead to the station, laughing and squabbling amongst themselves. Rex watches them fondly for a bit, but once they are out of earshot and soon out of sight, he feels his heart rising in his throat to be alone with Skywalker after so long.
He definitely had a dream like this in the past month. At least one.
Skywalker sighs wearily. He was keeping an eye on them too, and now redirects his attention to Rex. "I thought it would be fun, but I'm exhausted now," he says. "Well, it was fun, but—"
"Let's not do that again."
"Oh."
"What?" Rex asks, glaring at him. He has little reason to hold himself back now, when it's just the two of them in this corner of the alley, away from prying eyes.
"I thought you were happy to see me. I was hoping you would be," Skywalker says quietly. "I was happy to see you."
"Are you following me?" Rex demands.
"Not at all. It was a coincidence."
"Why me?"
"I've been asking myself that too," Skywalker says. It is hard to tell what he feels about the fact. His tone is neutral, but his eyes intense, his gaze leaving a burning trail across Rex’s face as Skywalker observes him from an arm’s reach away. "I run into you clones enough that you in particular shouldn't stick around in my head, and yet… you do."
Rex swallows with difficulty. He doesn’t crumble under the weight of the stare, but this urges him in the other direction—toward Skywalker.
"I've been thinking about what you said," he says, stepping up to Skywalker, forcing him to back up into the wall behind him.
"I said many things."
"There is nothing I can do. The things you want are on too big a scale for a clone to dream about, Anakin. All I have is misery."
Skywalker grabs him by the arm firmly, keeping him from turning away. He is afraid of it too, isn’t he? That they won’t have another chance at this. He’s staring at him like he’s committing Rex’s face to memory.
The next time they meet it might not be as pleasant an event. Rex might die before it ever happens.
"One person is enough," Skywalker cries, but his conviction does not reach Rex. Not everyone is as powerful and untouchable as Skywalker to afford harbouring such dangerous thoughts. Almost untouchable—there's that scar near his mouth.
Skywalker’s hand climbs up to his shoulder, then rests heavily at the junction of Rex’s neck with his shoulder, fingers splayed against his skin. His hand is cold.
Shivers pass through Rex at the touch. He breathes in deeply. Being under such scrutiny from Skywalker’s golden eyes sends his heart into overdrive.
Before he has the chance to second guess himself, he stands on the tip of his toes and presses their lips together. The sudden closeness between them cuts off Skywalker’s breath, but Skywalker doesn’t take long to respond to the kiss.
A thousand thoughts are rushing through Rex’s hand, but he doesn’t let any distract him.
Skywalker makes a tiny noise, perhaps to speak, but Rex shushes him with his mouth and desperately deepens their kiss. What if the next campaign is his last? What does any of this matter? Just kiss me, he thinks fiercely, his hands grabbing the fabric of Skywalker’s jacket and holding him still. Skywalker yields easily.
Rex trails a sequence of kisses over his jaw and down to his throat. His eyes fall on that little scar again and a strange feeling worms its way under his skin. Squeezing his eyes shut, he burrows his face into the crook of Skywalker’s neck and whispers hoarsely, "I almost had you."
"Almost?" Skywalker laughs, embracing him warmly. "You have me."
I won’t miss next time, Rex thinks desperately, an unbreakable command to his own self. He musn’t. He can’t, if they are still alive to meet again.
In an ideal world, Rex would want them to stay like this forever.
Reluctantly, he extracts himself from the warmth of Skywalker’s arms and bears one final look at his face, knowing that he will be hurt by the remorse he finds there. His stomach constricts with bittersweetness already.
Skywalker’s hands drop by his sides. He stares at Rex silently.
Rex turns away before either of them can say another word.