Chapter Text
“Is he there—”
“They said mess— Captain!”
Rex is already on the move. Running in a Venator never precedes good news. It startles shinies when he did that, hearing small signals and moving before anyone else put two and two together. But he can’t switch it off anymore, not after—
“What is it?”
The trooper should stiffen, straighten with discipline and professionalism. The fact that he wilts is almost worse; sheer relief, as opposed to failure of decorum, surely means that Rex is in for a helluva migraine.
“It’s— well—” Rex’s brows knit tighter as the trooper flails for words, feeling the beginnings of a tension headache creeping up his neck and into his temples. Something of this must translate in his expression, as Sterling finally straightens and reports crisply, “Priority call from Commander Cody, sir. They have a non-fatal situation at the Jedi Temple, and need your immediate presence, Captain.”
Rex does not sigh, because it’s unprofessional to sigh in front of subordinates, but he’s strongly considering it. He waves at the trooper to follow him to the bridge. “And General Skywalker? Is he expected to be there too?” That would be a massive pain in the shebs, if he had to go drag his general out of a certain Senator’s apartment.
He’d honestly rather pitch himself into Coruscant’s sinkhole.
Which isn’t entirely fair; General Skywalker deserves companionship and leave time as much as the next being. Rex has nothing but the greatest admiration and respect for his General, and would walk through fire for his Jedi.
Standing guard during clandestine meetings, however… that’s pushing it.
“Commander Cody said they’d tried the General, but he… hung up on the Commander, and is refusing all calls,” Sterling reports, then adds, uncertain, “it’s about General Kenobi, sir.”
It’s lucky that they’d already reached the communications array on the bridge, so that Rex’s sudden freeze is hidden in the natural halt, staring blankly at a ghostly blue Cody.
His ori’vod stares back at him, expressionless as ever— but the way he holds his helmet gives it away.
Panic.
They’d said non-fatal, a small voice that sounds like Fives chimes in Rex’s head. Which means there’s something that can be done. Well. Rex has always done better with low odds and a good plan.
“Captain Rex,” Cody nods sharply, the grip on his helmet tightening. “You’re needed immediately at the Jedi Temple. General Windu will meet you at the hangar and escort you to the Room of a Thousand Fountains.”
“Yes, Commander,” Rex replies blandly, wondering when anyone would tell him what the haran is going on. What was wrong with General Kenobi now? “Do I need to bring Kix, or—”
“Just you, Captain,” Cody interrupts. “Quick as you can. We’ll see you shortly.” The holo winks out, and Rex stands there for a moment, just breathing.
He hasn’t seen General Kenobi since right after Kadavo. Hasn’t talked to him since the Rako Hardeen incident, which is undoubtedly why Skywalker was refusing calls. Even Cody has struggled with the General’s return, personal friendship warring with professional duty that left awkward pauses and pained smiles.
As for Rex— well, no one’s asked him what he’d felt. So he doesn’t volunteer.
He tunes out the nervous chatter of the pilots as they arrow for the surface of Coruscant, the gunship blurring past civilian traffic lanes that trundle past with the steady cadence of Cut Lawquane’s eopies. He thinks about Cut, on nights like this; wonders if the vod ever misses it all— or if he’d just grown more tired of it all sooner than they had. Leaving feels impossible, the work too important, and yet—
And yet—
Scars that never heal, they’re a tap that saps life slowly, drip by drip. And Umbara’s scars, Kadavo’s scars… they run deep.
Not that anyone ever asks.
The imposing figure of General Windu stands stock-still in the hangar, hands tucked into his robes, Gree at his right side where Ponds should have been. Another old scar pulses, but Rex ignores it, marching straight for the general, who looks… oddly ruffled, for someone currently on shore leave, far from the nearest battlefront.
Rex’s foreboding intensifies.
“Captain Rex, thank you for coming,” General Windu nods sharply, gesturing for Rex to follow as he turns and walks swiftly into the Temple. Rex glances at Gree, who flicks battlesign at him.
Unfamiliar terrain. Safe.
Not altogether reassuring. But the odds of being thrown off of something tall have just decreased tremendously, so he’ll take it.
“What’s the situation, General?” Rex ventures, feeling his kama sway as he stepped up the pace. He’d missed its weight, feeling like a turtle coming back to its shell after Kadavo, even as the weight bears down on him more than ever. “I didn’t get many details on the way down.”
“That’s because we don’t know ourselves,” the Jedi replies bluntly. Rex has always appreciated that about him. Envies Gree, in a way. His own Jedi’s verbal prowess varies wildly depending on the situation, while Kenobi’s silver tongue frequently results in over-long holos from Cody bemoaning the Jedi’s inability to stop talking.
Then again, it was Kenobi’s prevarication that had bought precious time on Christophsis, so Rex is predisposed to forgive him.
“Master Kenobi was involved in an incident, the details of which aren’t immediately relevant, but suffice to say he was exposed to some form of Sith alchemy or incantation. We are still investigating. The threat is contained, but it has left Obi-Wan… affected. He is still himself, and safe, but— altered. And he is requesting you. We need you to get him to calm down and cooperate, so that we can start to get some answers.”
“Me?” Rex catches himself before he stumbles. “Why? Surely General Skywalker—”
“Knight Skywalker is not available,” Windu interrupts shortly, and there’s an entire story contained in that grimace that Rex decides he’d rather not investigate. “And you are the only one Obi-Wan wants.”
Rex follows in silence, baffled. Kadavo had been— and before, there had been moments where— but he hadn’t heard from the Jedi since, and he didn’t expect to, because he was High General Kenobi and he was being run ragged by the Senate and Rex understood—
It takes a moment to register that they’ve entered the Room of a Thousand Fountains, its soothing echoes of rushing water married with the gentle perfume of flowers Rex couldn’t have comprehended just a few years ago. This space, such a contrast to the ruthless, relentless education he’d barely survived on Kamino. It’s a balm to know that the Jedi, so wise and compassionate and selfless, had the advantage of gentler childhoods.
Although… there had been a few scars on Kenobi that looked older than they should—
General Windu stops, and points at a small pool at the foot of a tree. “He’s right over there. He’s waiting for you, but he won’t come out until you’re closer.”
Rex’s eyebrows rise despite himself. “How do you know?”
“Go ahead, Captain.” Windu and Gree stepp back. Rex realizes suddenly there was quite an audience, hanging back a distance: Generals Koon and Unduli conferring quietly, Cody and Wolffe standing unnaturally still by the windows, half of Ghost Company lurking by the door.
So, why him?
Nothing for it; he slowly paces towards the pool, glancing about. It’s a nice spot, rather nondescript compared to some of the flashier parts of the garden he’d seen before. Quieter, too; nestled in a natural alcove, the sounds of far-off fountains faded as he approaches.
Still no sign of the Jedi.
“General Kenobi?” Rex calls softly, still glancing about as he stops under the tree. “You called for me?”
No answer.
“General?”
Maybe—
“Obi-Wan?”
There’s a rustle, and Rex blinks, bemused as a tubie with a mop of red-gold hair crawls out from under a shrub, covered in dirt and leaves and blinking warily. He slips off his helmet and crouches, making himself as non-threatening as possible, as the tubie continues to blink owlishly at him.
“Hey kid, where did you come from?”
The tubie stares at the hand Rex holds out, as though conducting a threat assessment. Rex bites back a chuckle, and tries to remember how to smile. “You’re safe, kid. Promise. Are you in trouble?”
“Yes,” the painfully soft voice is like an akk pup belly-up and praying for mercy. He crawls out, standing before Rex. Big wide blue eyes rake his face with the power of an atomic scan.
Rex knows that look.
“General?”
The huge eyes well with tears, and Rex moves on instinct.
“You’re okay, Obi-Wan,” Rex murmurs, cradling the sobbing tubie, brushing the dirt off red-gold hair that lacks wisps of silver, the badges of honor from long campaigns. The lightsaber on the kid’s waist is as long as his forearm, and Rex gingerly sets it aside, unclipping his own weapons and unbuckling his chest plate and pauldrons without setting the boy down. “You’re okay.”
“S’not,” gasps the child, racking sobs catching in his throat. “They all hate me, ‘specially Anakin. I keep failing, an’, an’, even when I do good, like killing the Chancellor b’cause he’s a Sith Lord, it’s still— and it all still hurts, and no one understands.”
Killed the Chancellor. Rex very carefully does not react to that. Crying children come first.
“An’, an’ I never called you, after, and I’m so sorry, Rex—”
“That’s quite enough, vod’ika,” Rex hushes him gently, carding fluffy copper locks with one hand, wiping tears from a grubby face with the other. There’s something that can be done. “You’ll listen to ori’vod now.”
“But—”
“I am temporarily older than you in every way, so you’ll listen to your ori’vod,” Rex eyes him mock-sternly, and the boy wilts bashfully. Rex tucks him back into his chest, rocking slightly. The tubie can’t have been more than four years standard, a tiny little thing. And while he’d never been one to sneak into the tubie-rooms back on Kamino, having rather a bit more on the line than the average clone— this was Obi-Wan. His vod, a bond forged not by genetics but by war, in ways that no, Cody and Anakin could never understand. He alone had seen Obi-Wan beyond the veneer that fooled everyone else, a veneer that Kadavo had shattered, that Obi-Wan had hastily reassembled after they’d escaped. But Rex knew.
Scars ran deep for Obi-Wan, too. Rex has seen the silver tongue fall silent, witnessed the bone-rattling pain of empathy-guilt-horror running unchecked by the loss of the Force. The heartbreak of witnessing tragedy and not being able to do something about it. The head-spinning realization that one’s best efforts wouldn’t be enough, and a childhood specter of failure taunting them from the depths of the dark of that wretched place. They’d borne each other up, when there was nothing left to uphold.
Small wonder now, that this child has called for him.
The thought unfurls within him like a flame, warm, reassuring. As the bruises and lacerations of Kadavo faded, so too had a certainty that something stronger than beskar had been forged in that moment. When action has ceded to inaction, and the siren call of the bottle offers to dampen the horrors in his mind, he’s wondered if Obi-Wan feels the same, if he remembered that his vod is only a comm-call away; if the Jedi upon whom everyone relied, would remember that he too had someone he could rely upon in those cold, dark moments alone.
And there have been many such moments for Obi-Wan lately. And he hasn’t called. But the memory was there, all along. In his moment of need, he’d called for Rex.
“I don’t know what happened,” Rex murmurs, feeling the boy begin to slump against him as he gently rocks him. “But whatever it was, we’ll deal with it. Together. You’re not alone, vod’ika. And I’ll be there, any time you call. Even if you don’t call for twenty years— you need me, I’ll be there for you. Got it?”
The boy’s head lolls as he nods sleepily. “Not fair,” he slurs. Rex tuts, even as he adjusts his grip to hold the dozing jet’ika. Tiny fingers curl around the edge of his body glove’s neckline.
“It’s not about fairness, vod’ika. You know that. Now let ori’vod be there for you, hm? Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out. Just rest now. I’ve got the watch.”
Rex glances down after a prolonged silence, taking in the small, untroubled face positively cherubic in slumber. He brushes a smudge from the child’s forehead with painstaking care, straightens his rumpled tunics.
There’s a murmur, and Rex looks up to see half a dozen Jedi and clones creeping forward gingerly. They freeze at the sound of a blaster charge-pack whining to life.
“I told Obi-Wan I have the watch.” He flicks the setting to stun.
“If you want my vod’ika, you’ll have to go through me.”