Commander Bacara - Blog Posts

*Dealing with protesting enemies*

Bacara: This situation reminds me about my young days.

Marine: About what days?

Bacara: When I was still Cadet, former Concord Journeyman Cort Davin taught us some room breaching tactics. Like...

*Random flashback*

Journeyman: *Aggressively knocking*

Journeyman: JOURNEYMAN OPEN UP!

Journeyman: *breaches through all windows and doors with screaming voices of criminals*

*Random flashback ends*

Marine: That's ridiculous.

Bacara: Well, I was just saying...

Marine: We aren't Journeyman. So we need our call sign for breaching.

Bacara:

Droids: Are they gone? It's suspiciously calm-

*Aggressively knocking*

Marines: NOVA CORPS OPEN UP!

Marines: *breaches through all windows and doors with screaming voices of Droids*

Chapter 11 of burc’ya kadale ~ Friendly Fire has been posted to ao3 as of 3/24/23!

———

CC-1010 'Fox': I thought you should know, Thorn was on an escort mission, guarding Senator Amidala on Scipio. There was a Separatist attack, besides the Senator, there were no survivors.

CC-1010 'Fox': I'm sorry, there was nothing anyone could have done.

CC-1010 'Fox' is offline

Fox turned his datapad off quickly, he didn't need to... didn't want to see the replies from Thorn's batchmates. Fox had failed them, he wasn't able to keep Thorn safe.

———

Ehem. Headcanon Bacara 😇 I can’t draw foam, sorry 😅

Headcanon Commander Bacara‘s side view’s 🤓❤️ what do you think is his best side? ☺️🙌🏻

What do you think? I tryed to improve my art style 🤔 Do you like my headcanon Commander Bacara? 👉🏻👈🏻🥺

Some handsome Neyo 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

I hope you like him 🥺

My darling I've said this before but you deserve so many more likes, every time i read one of your fics im genuinely expecting it to have thousands of likes on it and it usually has like 20? If i could like every single one of your works 100 times i would :)

Okay but imagine Rex's reactions to the reader wearing his helmet. Like, he walks in and the readers like 🧍‍♀️ and he's like 🧍‍♀️. And then everyone around them is confused bc why is this even happening in the first place (maybe its a prank? Idk 👉👈)

Also i know i said Rex but if you want to include any others please do lol i would love to see your interpretation of this with others

<3

Ahhh you’re the absolute sweetest—thank you so much for the kind words, seriously!! I couldn’t resist this prompt , so I went ahead and did the whole command batch’s reactions too.

⸻

CAPTAIN REX

He’d just finished a debrief. He was tired, armor scuffed, and brain fogged from a long string of missions. All he wanted was to collect his helmet and find a quiet place to decompress.

Instead, he opened the door to the barracks and found you standing in the middle of the room.

Wearing his helmet.

You weren’t doing anything. Just standing there, arms at your sides, posture too stiff, visor pointed directly at the door like you’d been caught red-handed.

Rex froze mid-step. His eyes flicked to your body, then to the helmet, then back again. The room was dead silent.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

It felt like some kind of unspoken standoff.

When he finally found his voice, it came out neutral but clipped. “Is there a reason you’re wearing my helmet?”

You reached up and lifted it just slightly off your head, enough to reveal your eyes. “I was trying to understand what it’s like… carrying all this responsibility. All the weight. I figured the helmet was part of it.”

Rex blinked.

He should have been annoyed. His helmet was an extension of his identity, not something he usually let anyone touch, let alone wear. But something in your voice—sincere, tinged with dry humor—softened the moment.

He exhaled through his nose. “It’s heavier than it looks.”

You slid the helmet off entirely and held it to your chest. “Yeah. I didn’t expect that.”

Rex crossed the room and took it from your hands, eyes lingering on your face a moment longer than necessary. “You can ask next time. I might still say no, but… you can ask.”

You gave him a faint smile. “Noted, Captain.”

Later, Rex would sit on the edge of his bunk, polishing the helmet with extra care, thinking about the way you’d stood there. How serious you’d looked. And how much more complicated everything felt now.

⸻

COMMANDER CODY

Cody wasn’t used to surprises. He didn’t like them.

So when he walked into the clone officer quarters and found you perched on his bunk—wearing his helmet and staring at the floor like some kind of haunted statue—his brain stalled for a moment.

You didn’t look up.

You didn’t say a word.

Cody stood in the doorway, arms folded, expression unreadable. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking—likely the same thing you were: how did this situation even come to exist?

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Am I interrupting something?”

You slowly lifted your head. “No. I just… wanted to know what it was like. To be you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “By wearing my helmet?”

You lifted it off, your hair a little mussed from the fit. “It felt… commanding. Intimidating. Also slightly claustrophobic.”

Cody crossed the room, took the helmet from your hands, and inspected it like you might’ve done something to compromise its integrity. “That’s about accurate.”

You stood. “Did I at least look cool?”

Cody gave a short, quiet laugh, the kind that rarely made it past his lips. “You looked like you were trying very hard to be me. But points for effort.”

He turned to go, helmet under one arm. As he walked out, he muttered, “Don’t tell Kenobi.”

You smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

⸻

COMMANDER FOX

Fox was already in a foul mood. The Senate hearings had run late. A group of Senators had argued about appropriations for nearly three hours. The bureaucrats hadn’t approved the funding he needed, and to make things worse, someone had tried to hand him a fruit basket on the way out.

He just wanted to grab his datapad and leave.

Instead, he stepped into his office and stopped cold.

You were behind his desk, arms folded. His helmet was on your head, slightly crooked from the weight.

Fox did not say anything.

You didn’t, either.

You watched each other like two predators in a silent, high-stakes standoff.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Is this a joke?”

“No.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Then explain.”

You pulled the helmet off and set it gently on the desk. “I wanted to see if it felt as heavy as it looks. Thought maybe I’d understand what it’s like… to be you.”

Fox blinked. His voice dropped lower. “That helmet’s been in more battles than most Senators have meetings.”

You met his gaze, dead serious. “Exactly. That’s why I put it on.”

He walked over and took the helmet in both hands. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Just stood there, the edge of the desk between you, his gloved fingers tracing a scratch across the paint.

“You look good in red,” he said at last, so quietly you barely caught it.

Then he was gone.

You stood alone, trying not to think too hard about the heat blooming in your chest.

⸻

COMMANDER WOLFFE

You’d made the mistake of trying it out in the open—when Wolffe was still around.

You thought he was in a meeting. He wasn’t.

The moment he stepped into the hallway and saw you marching in a slow circle, wearing his helmet and muttering, “I don’t trust anyone. Not even my own shadow. Jedi are the worst,” it was already too late to escape.

You froze mid-step when you noticed him watching you.

Wolffe didn’t say a word.

You pivoted awkwardly. “I was… doing a character study.”

“You were mocking me.”

“Not entirely.”

He crossed his arms, expression hard, but his voice was lighter than you expected. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You pulled the helmet off. “It’s a compliment. You’ve got presence.”

Wolffe walked forward, took the helmet, and gave you a look somewhere between amused and exasperated. “You forgot the part where I sigh and glare at everything in sight.”

You nodded, solemn. “Next time, I’ll prepare better.”

He rolled his eyes, turned to leave, and muttered over his shoulder, “Next time, do it where I can’t see you.”

But he was smiling.

⸻

COMMANDER BLY

You were crouched on the floor of the gunship hangar when Bly found you.

You hadn’t meant for him to catch you. It was supposed to be a private moment—a little playful impersonation you were going to spring on him later.

But there you were, wearing his helmet, whispering dramatically into the echoing space of the hangar, “General Secura, I would die for you. I would let the whole world burn if you asked.”

You turned and saw him standing behind you.

There was no saving this.

“Hi,” you said, voice muffled behind the helmet.

Bly stared. “What… exactly are you doing?”

You straightened, taking off the helmet. “I was… immersing myself in your worldview. For empathy purposes.”

He squinted. “You were crawling around whispering to yourself in my voice.”

You nodded. “It’s called method acting.”

Bly took the helmet from you like it was fragile. “Next time, try asking.”

“Would you have let me?”

He paused. “…Probably not.”

“Then I regret nothing.”

Bly looked at the helmet, then at you. His expression was unreadable—but his voice was warmer when he said, “Try not to let General Secura catch you doing that. Or she will ask questions.”

⸻

COMMANDER THORN

You were caught mid-spin, dramatically turning to aim Thorn’s DC-17 blaster at an imaginary threat.

His helmet covered your face, tilted slightly sideways from the weight. You didn’t realize he’d walked into the room until you heard the low, unimpressed voice behind you.

“Unless you’re planning to fight off an uprising by yourself, I’d recommend not touching my gear.”

You froze.

Lowered the blaster.

Removed the helmet slowly.

“…Hi.”

Thorn’s arms were crossed, and though his tone was flat, his eyes glittered with amusement. “You could’ve just asked.”

“I figured you’d say no.”

“I would’ve. But at least I wouldn’t have walked in on… whatever that was.”

You held up the helmet like an offering. “Do I at least get points for form?”

Thorn stepped forward, plucked the helmet from your hands, and gave you a once-over that lingered slightly too long. “You’re lucky I like chaos.”

And then he walked off, still shaking his head, muttering, “Force help me, they’re getting bolder.”

⸻

COMMANDER NEYO

You weren’t even doing anything dramatic this time. Just sitting on a crate in the hangar bay, wearing Commander Neyo’s helmet with a calmness that probably made it weirder.

He entered mid-conversation with a deck officer and paused mid-sentence when he saw you.

Neyo’s reputation was infamous—no-nonsense, silent, rarely seen without his helmet. So when you tried it on just to see what the fuss was about, you didn’t expect him to walk in.

Now he was staring at you.

Expressionless.

Silent.

Unmoving.

You slowly lifted the helmet off. “Commander.”

“Where did you find it?”

“…In your locker.”

He blinked once. “You broke into my locker?”

“…Hypothetically.”

The deck officer excused himself quickly.

Neyo walked over, took the helmet without saying a word, and stared down at you for a long moment. Then, just as you were starting to sweat—

“I hope you didn’t try the voice modulator. It’s calibrated to my pitch.”

You blinked. “…So you’re not mad?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Then he walked away.

You didn’t know if you were about to get reported or flirted with. And somehow, that was very Neyo.

⸻

COMMANDER GREE

You’d barely slipped the helmet on when Gree stepped into the staging area, datapad in hand, ready to give a mission briefing.

He stopped. His gaze snapped up.

You, standing in the center of the room in his jungle-green helmet, stared back at him like a guilty cadet.

There was a long pause.

“Is that… my helmet?” he asked, like he needed verbal confirmation of what his eyes were clearly seeing.

You nodded slowly. “It’s surprisingly comfortable.”

He tilted his head. “You know it’s loaded with recon tech calibrated to my ocular patterns?”

“…No.”

“Technically, that means it could backfire and scramble your brain if you activated it.”

“…I didn’t touch any buttons.”

Gree blinked, then grinned. “Good. I’d hate to scrape you off the floor. Again.”

You took the helmet off and passed it back. “That’s… oddly sweet.”

Gree shrugged. “Only because it’s you.”

The next day, he left a field helmet—not his own—on your bunk with a sticky note: “Test this one. Lower risk of neural frying.”

⸻

COMMANDER BACARA

You’d always known Bacara was a little intense.

So maybe wearing his helmet was a bad idea.

You didn’t expect him to walk into the armory while you were trying it on. You especially didn’t expect him to freeze mid-stride and go completely still—like a wolf spotting prey.

“Take it off,” he said, voice sharp.

You complied immediately.

“I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful,” you added quickly, holding it out with both hands. “Just curious.”

He took it from you in silence. His expression didn’t change. But his hands moved carefully, almost reverently.

“That helmet’s been through Geonosis,” he said quietly. “Through mud and fire. My brothers died wearing helmets just like it.”

You swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

He looked up. “I know. Just… don’t try it again. Not without asking.”

You gave a small nod. “I won’t.”

As he turned to leave, he paused. “You did look decent in it, though.”

He left before you could respond.

⸻

COMMANDER DOOM

You’d slipped Doom’s helmet on while helping reorganize the command tent. He wasn’t around—or so you thought.

You were mid-sentence in a very bad impression of his voice when you heard someone behind you.

“Is that how I sound to you?”

You turned, startled, and found Doom leaning against the tent flap with one brow raised.

You straightened awkwardly. “I was, uh, trying to get into your mindset.”

He snorted. “My mindset?”

“You know. Calm. Steady. Smiling in the face of doom—ironically.”

He walked over, arms folded, and tilted his head as you pulled the helmet off. “Did it work?”

“I think I’ve achieved inner peace.”

He chuckled. “Keep the helmet. It suits you.”

You stared.

“I’m joking,” he added, already walking away.

You weren’t so sure.

⸻

Command Batch and other clones/characters Material List 🏆

|❤️ = Romantic | 🌶️= smut or smut implied |🏡= platonic |

Gregor

X Reader “The Brightest Flame”❤️

- x Reader “Synaptic Sparks”❤️

Commander Doom

- x Jedi Reader❤️

Jango Fett

- x reader “cats in the cradle”❤️

Commander Bacara

- x Reader “Cold Front”❤️

- x Reader “War on Two Fronts” multiple parts

Commander Bly

- x Jedi reader “it’s on again”❤️

- x Twi’lek Reader “Painted in Gold”❤️

Commander Neyo

- x Senator Reader “Rules of Engagement”❤️

- x Reader “Solitude and Street Lights”❤️

Command Batch (Clone Commanders)

- x Reader “My Boys, My Warriors” multiple parts 🏡

- x Reader “Steele & Stardust” ❤️

- x “Brothers in the Making” multiple chapters 🏡

- Helmet Chaos ❤️🏡

Overall Material List

“War on Two Fronts” pt.8 (Final Part)

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

The cantina had never felt so alive.

Over the last several weeks, she had joined the Bad Batch on a few of Cid’s more difficult jobs. Recovery runs, extractions, a few tight infiltration missions—each one forging a subtle bond between them. She and Hunter found common ground in silent understanding, Wrecker made her laugh despite herself, and even Tech, with his logic and curiosity, had started asking her opinion more often than not.

Cid still didn’t know her full story. The Trandoshan just assumed she was another burned-out merc who’d gone to ground after the war, hiding her past in the quiet monotony of bar work. And that suited the her just fine. The fewer people who knew, the safer everyone was.

But on one mission—one where they’d helped two bold sisters named Rafa and Trace Martez—she’d felt it again. That familiar pull in the Force, that reminder of what she used to be. Rafa had seen it too, maybe not for what it was, but she’d looked at her like someone who knew the fight wasn’t over yet. Trace had even asked if they’d ever met before.

She had only shaken her head. “Not in this lifetime.”

Now, back at Cid’s, sweaty and aching and dusty from another run, the Batch filed in ahead of her. Her boots dragged slightly, exhaustion settling in her bones like old echoes. She was about to hang her blaster at the rack when her breath caught—sharp, immediate, deep.

She felt him before she saw him.

The Force surged like a wave just under her skin. A presence wrapped in memory and loyalty and grief. Her head snapped up.

Standing in the corner of Cid’s parlor, talking low with Hunter, was Captain Rex.

He hadn’t changed much—still clad in familiar white and blue armor, cloak drawn over one shoulder, a little more wear on his face, a little more heaviness behind his eyes. His gaze was sharp as ever.

And then his eyes locked with hers.

The world fell away.

She didn’t breathe. Neither did he.

“Rex?” she said, barely a whisper.

Cid squinted at her. “Wait—you two know each other?”

Neither answered.

“Holy kriff,” Wrecker muttered.

The room fell into silence. Even Tech looked up from his scanner, blinking rapidly.

She took a step forward, heart in her throat. He took one too.

“…You’re alive,” Rex finally said.

“So are you,” she whispered back.

Rex’s voice broke just slightly. “I thought I lost you on Mygeeto.”

She wanted to say a thousand things. She wanted to cry. Or maybe scream. Instead, she smiled—tight and aching.

“You almost did.”

“You were reported dead,” Rex said, his voice lower now, almost reverent. “The logs said your ship was shot down before it cleared Mygeeto’s atmosphere. That you never made it off-world.”

She blinked, her mouth parting as if to speak, but nothing came at first. Her throat tightened.

“No,” she said finally. “That… never happened. I made it out clean. No damage. No one even fired at my ship.”

Rex stared at her, confusion shadowing his face. “That doesn’t make sense. That kind of discrepancy… someone altered the report.”

Her heart began to pound harder now, a slow, rising pressure like air being sucked out of the room.

A beat passed.

“…Bacara,” she said aloud, but not to Rex—more like to herself. The name slipped out like a bitter taste on her tongue.

It didn’t make sense. And yet, it did. The moment on the battlefield, when his blaster had locked on her with terrifying precision—then hesitated. Just for a breath. And she had felt something underneath the chip-induced obedience. A pause. A struggle.

And then the fake report.

Did he lie? The thought whispered through her like a crack of light through stormclouds. Did he lie to protect me?

But the thought was gone as quickly as it came—burned out by the searing heat of Rex’s presence.

“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered, shaking it off, forcing herself back to the now. “I survived. That’s what matters.”

Rex wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking past her, to the others.

To the rest of the Batch.

His body tensed, like a wire pulled too tight.

“…You haven’t removed your chips,” Rex said suddenly, voice sharp and cold as a vibroblade.

The Bad Batch stilled.

“What?” Echo stepped forward. “Rex—”

“I said,” Rex growled, stepping into the middle of the group, “you haven’t removed your inhibitor chips. After everything we’ve seen—after what happened to her—you’re still walking around with those things in your heads?”

“We haven’t had an episode,” Tech offered calmly. “We believe our mutation suppresses its effectiveness.”

Rex’s hand hovered near his blaster now.

“Belief isn’t good enough. You’re a threat to her.”

The reader stepped between them, her heart in her throat.

“Rex—”

“No,” he said, not to her, but about her. “She barely survived the last time a squad turned on her. You really want to gamble her life again?”

Hunter met Rex’s fury head-on, calm but firm. “We’re not your enemy.”

“Not yet,” Rex snapped. “But I’ve seen what those chips do. I felt it tear my mind apart. You think just because you haven’t activated, it won’t happen? You don’t get to risk her.”

The reader put a hand on his chest, stopping him, grounding him.

“I can take care of myself,” she said quietly. “They’ve had plenty of chances. And they haven’t.”

But Rex’s gaze didn’t soften. Not yet.

“I lost everything,” he said, finally looking at her again. “Don’t ask me to stand by and watch it happen again. Not to you.”

⸻

The makeshift medbay in the old star cruiser felt colder than the cantina ever had. The surgical pod hissed softly as Tech monitored the vitals, his face pale in the glow of the console.

Wrecker sat on the edge of the table, visibly uneasy.

“I really don’t like this, guys,” he muttered, voice strained. “This doesn’t feel right.”

Hunter stepped forward, voice calm. “You’ll be okay. We’ve all done it now, Wreck. You’re the last one.”

The reader stood to the side, hands clasped tightly. She had helped on this mission, grown close to them over the weeks. The thought of any of them hurting her—or Omega—was almost impossible. But she’d seen what the chip could do. She had lived it.

“You trust me, don’t you?” Omega asked softly, standing near Wrecker’s knee.

Wrecker gave her a pained smile. “’Course I do, kid.”

She left his side reluctantly as Tech activated the procedure.

Then it began.

Sparks of pain registered on the screen—neural surges, error readings. Wrecker groaned, clutching his head.

The reader’s breath hitched.

“Tech?” Echo stepped forward. “That’s not normal—”

Wrecker’s growl cut through the room. His hands gripped the edges of the table until they bent under his strength.

He lunged.

Tech hit the emergency release—but too late. Wrecker was up, snarling, wild-eyed.

“You’re all traitors!” he shouted.

Hunter shoved Omega behind him. “Wrecker, fight it!”

“In violation of Order 66!” he bellowed, locking eyes with the reader.

She barely had time to ignite her saber as he charged.

They clashed hard—fist to blade. Sparks flew. Her heart pounded. He was trying to kill her.

He wasn’t Wrecker anymore.

“You don’t want to do this!” she cried, dodging as he smashed a console.

Echo and Hunter tried to flank him, but he threw them aside effortlessly. He moved toward Omega next—drawn to the Jedi-adjacent signature she carried.

“No!” the reader screamed, hurling him back with the Force.

That dazed him just long enough for Tech to line up the stun shot—two bursts of blue light—and Wrecker dropped to the ground, unconscious.

The silence afterward felt deafening.

Omega rushed into the reader’s arms, trembling.

“I-It wasn’t him,” she whispered. “That wasn’t Wrecker…”

The reader just held her tightly, blinking away her own tears.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

The cruiser’s medbay was quiet again, the hum of the equipment the only sound as Wrecker stirred.

He groaned, eyes fluttering open, then blinked blearily at the harsh lighting above. The reader stood near the far wall, arms crossed, eyes guarded. Omega was asleep in a nearby chair, curled up beneath a blanket.

Wrecker sat up slowly, then immediately winced. “Urgh… what happened?”

Hunter leaned forward, cautious. “You don’t remember?”

Wrecker rubbed his temple. “Just… pain. Then nothing.”

Tech stood near the console. “Your inhibitor chip activated. We had to stun you to prevent serious harm.”

Wrecker glanced around, gaze slowly landing on the reader. His heart dropped.

“I—I hurt you, didn’t I?” he rasped.

She didn’t speak at first. Her jaw was tight, her knuckles white where they gripped her sleeves.

“You tried to kill me,” she said quietly. “Tried to kill Omega.”

Wrecker’s shoulders slumped, devastated.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, barely able to get the words out. “I couldn’t stop it… I wasn’t me. I’d never hurt you. Or her.”

The reader finally stepped closer. “I know,” she said. “It wasn’t you. It was the chip.”

“But it was me,” Wrecker insisted. “It was my hands. My voice. I said those things…”

Omega stirred then, blinking awake. She saw Wrecker sitting up and scrambled over, hugging him fiercely before anyone could stop her.

He held her gently, cradling her as if she were made of glass. His voice cracked when he whispered, “I’m sorry, kid.”

“I forgive you,” she murmured.

The room went still.

The reader watched them, throat tight. The bruises on her arms still throbbed. But the sincerity in Wrecker’s voice, the pain in his eyes—it reached something inside her.

She gave a small nod. “So do I.”

Wrecker looked up, eyes glassy. “Really?”

She stepped closer, touching his shoulder. “You were the last one with that thing in your head. It’s over now. You’re still Wrecker.”

He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for days.

Echo gave him a nod. “You’re one of us. Always.”

Tech cleared his throat. “Now that we’re all… unchipped, we can begin operating more freely. No more sudden execution protocols.”

Hunter placed a hand on Wrecker’s arm. “We move forward together.”

Wrecker nodded slowly, and Omega curled back up beside him, calmer now.

The reader stepped back, quietly observing them.

Something had changed in her too. Watching them risk everything for one another, seeing how hard they fought to stay together, to be together—it stirred something she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time:

Hope.

⸻

Ord Mantell’s night air was thick with the scent of dust and ion fuel, the stars low and heavy above the cluttered skyline.

She stood alone on the overlook behind Cid’s parlor, arms folded against the breeze, her lightsaber weighing heavy at her side. It was the first time she’d clipped it there in months.

She didn’t flinch when Rex approached. She felt him before she heard him.

“You sure?” he asked, stopping beside her.

She nodded, slow. “Yeah.”

They stood in silence for a long time. The clatter of cantina noise bled faintly through the walls. Somewhere below, Wrecker was likely teaching Omega how to throw a punch without breaking her wrist. Echo would be reading. Hunter brooding. Tech lecturing some poor soul who made the mistake of asking a question.

They’d become a strange sort of family. And that made this harder.

“I’m not running,” she finally said. “Not from them. But I can’t keep hiding in a bar like the war never happened.”

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation,” Rex said quietly.

She turned to look at him, really look at him—his expression weary, but his posture still sharp. There was always weight behind his gaze, but now it was heavier. Lonelier. She recognized it. She felt it too.

“I think I owe them a goodbye,” she said.

⸻

Inside, the Batch were gathered around the table. She stood before them, her saber now visibly clipped to her hip.

They all turned. Omega was the first to speak. “You’re leaving?”

“I am,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake. “With Rex.”

A beat of silence.

Hunter stood. “You’re sure?”

She nodded. “You all gave me something I didn’t realize I needed. But I can’t stay here while there’s still a fight out there.”

Tech removed his goggles briefly, nodding with rare sincerity. “You’ve always been capable. I suspected it the moment I saw you cleaning barstools like you’d rather stab someone.”

That earned a faint laugh, even from her.

Wrecker stepped forward, wrapping her in a careful, crushing hug. “Just don’t get shot or anything.”

“I’ll try not to,” she muttered into his chestplate.

Echo approached last, meeting her gaze with quiet understanding. “Stay safe. And if you ever need us—”

“I’ll find you,” she said. “I promise.”

Omega flung herself into her arms, teary-eyed but brave. “Will you visit?”

“If I can,” she whispered. “I’ll try.”

⸻

Outside again, Rex waited by the speeder. She joined him in silence, the saber at her hip now humming softly against her side.

“You ready?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “But I’m going anyway.”

Rex smirked faintly. “Good answer.”

They mounted the speeder, and as it took off into the dark, she didn’t look back.

Not because she didn’t care.

But because it hurt too much.

And because the future waited.

⸻

*Time Skip*

The AT-TE creaked in the dry wind, its repurposed hull groaning like an old man settling into bed. Panels of mismatched metal were welded over the gaps, creating a patchwork home that had weathered years of storms, dust, and silence. A line of vapor-trapped cables ran down from a salvaged power generator, and the front cannon had long since been converted into a lookout perch—with an old caf pot hanging just beneath it.

Out here on Seelos, nothing moved fast—except time.

She sat alone atop the forward deck, legs dangling over the edge, her lightsaber in a locked case at her feet. She hadn’t opened it in years. Some days she forgot it was even there. Other days, her hand would rest on it unconsciously, like a phantom limb that still itched.

Behind her, laughter echoed from inside—Gregor’s wild cackle, Wolffe grumbling that something in the stew “smelled too fresh,” and Rex… softer now, slower in his step, but still unmistakably him.

He didn’t wear armor anymore. Not really. The old pauldrons were used as patch plates on the AT-TE, and his helmet rested on a shelf with a layer of dust thick enough to write in. His hair was white now, and his back bent a little more with each passing year. She could see the toll the war had taken on his body—clones weren’t built for longevity. But his eyes? Those still held that sharp, earnest fire when he looked at her.

They had made a quiet life together. A small garden. A stripped-down comm dish for the occasional transmission. She cooked. He read. Some mornings they sat in silence with caf, the sun rising red over the Seelos horizon like blood on sand.

And yet, there were moments—when the wind howled just so, or when night came too quiet—when her thoughts drifted elsewhere.

To him.

To Bacara.

She hadn’t seen him since Mygeeto. Since she watched him gun down Master Mundi without hesitation—since he turned on her with no emotion at all, like a stranger wearing a familiar face. But sometimes, she wondered. He’d lied in his report. She was sure of it. He said her ship was shot down before it breached the atmosphere… but it wasn’t. He let her go.

Why?

And where was he now?

Did he ever think about her? Did the chip ever break like it did in Rex? Or did he die a soldier, still bound to the Empire? Still hunting Jedi in the shadows of a life that used to mean more?

She shook the thought away.

She had Rex.

And this peace… this was real.

The perimeter alarm chirped—one long tone, then two short. A ship. Small. Civilian or rebel-modified. Old programming still made her spine go rigid.

She stood, heart steady but alert, as the vessel descended into view. The dust curled beneath it, kicking up into the dusk-lit sky.

By the time it touched down, she was already at the foot of the AT-TE, hand hovering instinctively near the saber case tucked behind the front hatch.

Then the ramp lowered.

She felt it.

The Force.

Before they even stepped out.

Two Jedi.

A Mandalorian.

And a Lasat.

Ezra Bridger emerged first, cautious and respectful. Sabine Wren followed, helmet in hand, and Zeb let out a low grunt of approval at the sight of the old war walker.

And then him.

The Jedi.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Not because he was a stranger.

Because he wasn’t.

Caleb Dume.

He didn’t look the same—not exactly. Older now, guarded. His hair longer, beard fuller, movements tighter like someone who had lived on the edge too long.

But she knew those eyes.

“Kanan Jarrus,” he introduced himself, stepping forward.

She didn’t return the greeting immediately. Her voice was quiet. “I knew you as Caleb.”

He stiffened, face unreadable. The others exchanged a glance. The Lasat’s hand twitched near his weapon, but Hera gently put a hand on his arm.

Kanan didn’t deny it. “Then you’re…?”

“I was with Master Mace Windus second padawan,” she said. “I remember you at the Temple. You were small. Loud. You used to sneak into the archives to look at holos of war reports.”

His expression softened. “That sounds like me.”

“You survived.”

“So did you.”

They stood in silence for a moment. The past stretched like a shadow between them.

Ezra finally stepped in. “Do the numbers CT-7567 mean anything to you? Ashoka Tano said he might help us establish a network… fight back against the Empire.”

Behind her, footsteps thudded—Rex stepping out of the AT-TE, wiping his hands with a rag, eyebrows raised as he spotted the group.

“Told ya they’d find us eventually,” Gregor called from the hatch, cheerful as ever.

The reader didn’t take her eyes off Kanan.

He was studying Rex, but his focus kept flicking back to her.

She could feel the tension like a storm behind his eyes. The chip. Order 66. Old scars. Unspoken pain.

She understood. But this wasn’t about the past anymore.

This was the beginning of something new.

A new hope.

⸻

Previous Chapter

“War on Two Fronts” pt.7

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

War had a way of compressing time—days blurred into nights, missions into months. And somewhere in the quiet pockets between battles, between orders and hyperspace jumps, something had bloomed between the you and Bacara.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t easy.

But it was real.

They didn’t speak of love. Not openly. That would be too dangerous. Too foolish. But in the stolen moments—fingers brushing during debriefings, wordless glances across a war room, a hand on the small of her back as they passed each other in narrow corridors—it was undeniable.

He wasn’t good with words, not like Rex had been. Bacara showed his affection in action: the way he checked her gear before missions without asking, or how he always stood between her and enemy fire, whether she needed it or not. He never said “I love you.” But when she bled, he bled too.

She caught herself smiling as she boarded the cruiser for Mygeeto. Her datapad buzzed with her new orders—assist Master Ki-Adi-Mundi and Commander Bacara for the Fourth Siege. The final push.

She hadn’t seen Bacara in weeks. The campaign on Aleen had separated them again, followed by a skirmish in the mid-rim, but her heart pulled northward like a magnet toward Mygeeto. Her fingers tightened around her travel case as she stepped aboard the assault cruiser, heart quickening.

When she entered the command deck, Bacara stood over a strategic map display, armored and severe as ever. Mundi stood beside him, still every bit the stoic Master she remembered, though his greeting was warmer this time.

“General,” Mundi said with a nod. “Good to have you back.”

Bacara said nothing at first, just glanced up—his expression unreadable. But then, a flicker. The tiniest softening in his eyes that only she would notice.

“General,” he echoed in his clipped tone, nodding once.

Later, when the debrief was done and the hallways had quieted for the night, she found him waiting near the barracks. They stood in silence at first, just listening to the hum of the ship, the distant thrum of hyperdrive.

“You came back,” he said.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

He gave the barest of shrugs, then looked at her. Really looked.

“I missed you,” she said quietly.

His jaw flexed. “We can’t do this here.”

“I know.” She stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat from his armor. “But I needed to see you before everything starts again.”

There, in the half-shadowed corridor, his hand brushed hers. A silent agreement.

That night, she didn’t return to her quarters.

They didn’t speak of the war. They didn’t speak of what might happen next. They existed only in that moment, a breath of peace before the storm.

In the dim lighting of the officer’s quarters, he kissed her again—firmer this time, as if grounding himself in the only certainty the war hadn’t taken from him.

When she fell asleep curled into his side, Bacara stayed awake for hours, staring at the ceiling.

Because tomorrow, they dropped on Mygeeto.

And nothing would be the same after that.

⸻

Mygeeto was a graveyard.

Shards of glass and collapsed towers jutted from the ice like bones. The wind howled endlessly, scouring the broken streets with frozen dust. The Fourth Siege had begun days ago, and already the Republic’s grip was tightening.

The reader moved through the war-torn ruins beside Bacara, her boots crunching through frost, her senses prickling with unease she couldn’t name.

Even Bacara seemed quieter than usual.

Their squad had pushed deep into the southern district, routing droid forces and holding position near the abandoned Muun vaults. Mundi was coordinating an assault to breach the city’s primary data center. Every minute was another layer of pressure, another reason her gut twisted tighter.

And then, the transmission came through.

It was late. The squad had returned to their mobile command shelter to regroup and patch injuries. Bacara was at the long-range transmitter when the encrypted message chimed in. She approached just as he turned, helmet off, eyes dark.

“It’s confirmed,” he said.

“What is?”

“Kenobi.” A beat. “He killed General Grievous.”

The words didn’t register at first.

The breath in her chest caught. “So… it’s over?”

“Almost.”

She sat slowly, bracing her elbows on her knees. “We’ve been fighting this war for three years. And now it just… ends?”

Bacara didn’t sit. He stood near the entrance flap, staring out into the howling cold.

“I don’t think it ends. Not really.” His voice was low. “Something’s coming.”

She looked up at him. “You feel it too.”

He nodded.

The Force was thick, oppressive. The kind of quiet that comes before a scream.

“Have you heard from Mundi?” she asked.

“Briefly. He wants us to hold until his unit circles back to regroup. We deploy again in the morning.” He paused, then added, “He was… unsettled.”

That alone chilled her. If Mundi was unsettled, it meant something was very wrong.

That night, they didn’t sleep.

She sat beside Bacara outside the tent, cloaked against the wind, their shoulders brushing.

“Whatever’s coming,” she said, “we’ll face it together.”

He looked at her for a long moment.

“No matter what?”

She didn’t flinch. “No matter what.”

And somewhere far away, across the stars, a coded transmission began its journey to clone commanders across the galaxy.

Execute Order 66.

But it hadn’t reached them yet.

Not yet.

⸻

The morning was bitter cold.

Frost crackled beneath their boots as they moved out in formation, the clouds above Mygeeto hanging low and grey, like a lid waiting to seal the planet shut. The reader walked just behind Master Mundi and beside Bacara, her cloak drawn tight against the wind.

Mundi was speaking, his voice cutting through the comms. “This push will be final. The Separatist defense grid is thinning—we press forward, clear the vault entrance, and signal the cruiser for extraction.”

The reader nodded slightly. Bacara said nothing, but she could feel the tension in him—coiled tighter than usual.

They advanced through the ruins in a steady column. Mundi led the charge across a narrow bridge, lined on both sides with jagged drops and half-fallen towers. The droids emerged first, as expected. The clones fanned out, taking cover and returning fire in sharp, well-practiced bursts.

It felt normal.

But something was wrong. She didn’t know why, didn’t know how—but the Force around her buzzed like lightning trapped beneath her skin.

Then, it happened.

A static shiver through the comms. A code, sharp and cold.

“Execute Order 66.”

Her head snapped to Bacara. He was silent. His helmet was already on.

Mundi turned. “Come on! We must push—!”

The first bolt hit him in the back.

She froze.

The second bolt pierced Mundi’s chest, dropping him to his knees. He reached out, shocked. More fire rained from above, precise, emotionless, cutting him down mid-step.

The clones didn’t hesitate. Bacara didn’t hesitate.

Her breath caught in her throat, the world slowing to a nightmare crawl. “Bacara—?” she whispered.

He turned.

And opened fire.

She moved on instinct. A Force-shoved wall of ice rose between them as she leapt off the bridge’s edge, tucking and rolling onto a lower ledge as blasterfire trailed her path.

No hesitation. No mercy.

Her squad. Her men.

Him.

She fled, ducking through ruined alleys and broken vaults, chased by the echoes of boots and bolts and the question clawing at her chest:

Why?

Nothing made sense. No signal. No warning. Just sudden betrayal like a switch flipped in their minds. Like she’d never mattered. Like they’d never fought beside her.

She kept running until her legs burned and her heart broke.

Mygeeto burned around her.

The vault city trembled with explosions and echoing blasterfire. The sky had darkened with the smoke of betrayal, and her boots slipped on shattered crystal as she ran through what remained of the inner ruins.

She had no plan. No backup. No Jedi.

Only survival.

The Force screamed through her veins, adrenaline burning hotter than frostbite. Behind her, the clones advanced in perfect formation—ruthless, silent, efficient. Just as they’d been trained to be. Just as she’d trusted them to be.

Her saber ignited in a flash of defiance. She didn’t want to kill them—Force, she didn’t—but they gave her no choice.

Two troopers rounded the corner, rifles raised. With a spin and a sharp, choked breath, her blade cut through one blaster, then the clone behind it. The second she disarmed with a flick of the Force, sending him slamming into a pillar. He didn’t rise.

“Forgive me,” she muttered, but there was no time for grief.

She sprinted through the lower vault district, rubble crunching beneath her. Her starfighter wasn’t far—hidden in a hangar bay northeast of the city edge. She was almost there.

Almost.

Then he found her.

Bacara.

He dropped in from above like a specter of death, slamming her to the ground with brutal precision. Her saber clattered across the ice. His weight bore down on her, a knee to her chest, his DC-15 aimed square at her head.

His visor glinted in the frost-glow, his silence more terrifying than a scream.

She stared up at him, panting, hurt. “You were mine,” she rasped.

No answer.

His finger moved toward the trigger.

The Force pulsed.

She thrust her hand upward and a wave of raw power flung him off her, launching him into a support beam with a sound like breaking stone. He dropped, groaning, armor dented, stunned.

She didn’t stop to look. She grabbed her saber and ran.

Two more troopers blocked her path to the hangar. She deflected one bolt, then two—but the third she sent back into the chest of the clone who fired it. His body fell beside her as she charged the next, slashing his weapon before delivering a stunning kick that sent him flying.

The hangar doors groaned open.

She threw herself into the cockpit of her fighter, fingers flying over the controls, engines screaming to life.

Blasterfire pinged against the hull as more troopers swarmed the bay. She closed her eyes, guided by instinct, by pain, by loss—and took off into the cold, storm-choked skies.

Mygeeto shrank behind her.

And with it, the last pieces of everything she’d trusted.

⸻

The stars blurred past her cockpit like tears on transparisteel.

She didn’t know how long she’d been flying—minutes, hours. Her hands trembled against the yoke, white-knuckled, blood-slicked. The silence in the cockpit was deafening. No clones, no saber hum, no Bacara breathing just behind her. Just the thin rasp of her own breath and the stinging wound of betrayal burning behind her ribs.

Mygeeto was gone. Bacara was gone.

They were all gone.

She barely made it through hyperspace. Her navigation systems stuttered, and she’d been forced to fly blind, guided only by instinct and muscle memory.

The planet she chose wasn’t much—Polis Massa. An old medical station and mining outpost on the edge of the system. Remote. Quiet. Forgotten.

Safe.

Her ship touched down with a shudder, systems coughing and sparking. She slumped against the controls, body aching, mind fractured.

She stumbled out into the cold, sterile facility. No guards raised weapons at her, no sirens screamed Jedi. Just quiet personnel, startled by her bloodied robes and wild, hollow stare.

They gave her a room. She didn’t ask for one.

The medics patched the worst of her wounds. Someone gave her water. A blanket. A moment.

She didn’t remember falling asleep.

When she woke, everything hurt. Her skin, her bones, her heart. She sat upright on the small cot, still in half armor, saber clipped loosely at her hip. Her communicator blinked on the nearby table—flashing red.

Encrypted message.

She nearly dropped it trying to pick it up. The code was familiar. Old. Republic-grade clearance. She swallowed and activated it.

The holoprojector buzzed—and then there he was.

Kenobi.

His projection flickered in the dark, singed, exhausted, speaking quickly and low.

“This is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen. With the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place…”

Her stomach clenched.

“…The clone troopers have turned against us. I’m afraid this message is a warning and a reminder: any surviving Jedi, do not return to the Temple. That time is over. Trust in the Force.”

He paused, breathing hard.

“We will each find our own path forward now. May the Force be with you.”

The message ended. Just a small flicker of blue light, fading into silence.

She stared at the projector long after it dimmed, her face unreadable. Then she whispered, as if the stars might still be listening:

“…What did we do to deserve this?”

⸻

Coruscant.

The city-world pulsed under a grey sky, its endless towers casting long shadows over the Senate District. Republic banners were being torn down and replaced with crimson. No one called it the Republic anymore. Not truly. Not after the declaration.

Bacara stood at attention in a high-security debriefing chamber, helmet under his arm, armor still caked in the dust and ice of Mygeeto. His face was unreadable, but something in his eyes—something usually precise and locked in—seemed… dislodged.

His mission was complete. Jedi General Ki-Adi-Mundi was dead.

He had reported it cleanly, efficiently. Nothing of hesitation, nothing of how she escaped. Only that she turned traitor, resisted, killed his men. That she was lost in the chaos of the siege.

The brass accepted it. They always did. Too much war. Too many traitors.

He was dismissed with a curt nod from an officer in dark new uniform. The Empire moved quickly. No more Jedi. No more second guesses.

He exited the chamber with stiff precision, walking the stark halls of the former GAR command center—now flooded with black-clad officers, techs, and white-armored troopers with fresh paint jobs. A few bore markings he recognized, some didn’t. The old legions were being divided, repurposed. Branded anew.

He turned a corner and nearly collided with two familiar faces in a side hallway.

“Commander Wolffe. Cody.”

Wolffe gave him a once-over, eye narrowed. “Bacara. You’re back from Mygeeto.”

“Confirmed. Mundi is dead. Target neutralized.”

Cody didn’t smile. He rarely did these days. “And the other Jedi?”

“Escaped,” Bacara said curtly. “Presumed dead. Ship went down in atmosphere. Unconfirmed.”

Wolffe raised a brow, but let it go.

The conversation would have ended there—cold and flat—but a datapad in Cody’s hand flashed. He frowned, tapped the screen, then muttered, “Damn…”

“What is it?” Bacara asked.

Cody handed him the pad.

“Captain CT-7567 — Status: KIA. Location: Classified. Time: Immediately post-Order 66.”

Bacara stared at the words, his throat tightening before he could stop it.

Wolffe crossed his arms, jaw tight. “It’s spreading fast. Some say Ashoka killed him. Some say it was Maul. No one knows. But there were no survivors.”

Cody shook his head. “Doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone.”

Bacara looked away, jaw grinding. Rex was dead. That’s what the record said.

He should’ve felt… nothing. Relief, maybe. One less problem. One less thorn in his side.

But the silence between the three of them said otherwise.

“Shame,” Wolffe muttered. “He was one of the good ones.”

She loved him.

The thought hit Bacara like a gut punch, but he gave no sign.

He offered a stiff nod. “He did his duty.”

And walked away.

⸻

The Outer Rim.

No one looked twice at the battered Y-wing that landed half-crooked in the backlot of Ord Mantell’s grimiest district. The ship hadn’t flown since. She’d let the local rust take it. A relic no one asked about. One more ghost among the debris of a fallen Republic.

Three months.

That’s how long she’d been hiding on this dusty, low-grade world, tucked into the shadows of a run-down cantina operated by a sharp-tongued Trandoshan named Cid. Cid wasn’t friendly—but she wasn’t curious either. That alone made her safer here than anywhere near Coruscant.

The cantina was dim, the stench of stale ale thick in the air. Smoke curled from a broken vent in the ceiling. Old Clone War propaganda still clung to a wall like a molted skin. No one talked about the war anymore. They drank to forget it.

She moved quietly between tables, clearing empty mugs, wiping down grime, keeping her head down. Her once-pristine Jedi robes had been traded for utility pants, a threadbare top, and a scuffed jacket a size too big. Her lightsaber was hidden—disassembled and buried in a cloth bundle under the floorboards of her bunk behind the kitchen. Sometimes she reached for it at night, half-asleep, still expecting it to be on her belt.

Every day she woke up expecting to feel the warmth of the Force beside her.

And every day, she didn’t.

She missed them. All of them. Even him.

Bacara.

His face still haunted her. The betrayal. The way his blaster hadn’t even hesitated when he gunned down Mundi. The way he’d turned on her—stone-faced and unfeeling, as if their moments together had meant nothing. She hadn’t had time to ask why. Only to run. To survive.

And Rex… she didn’t even know if he was alive. The transmission from Kenobi hadn’t mentioned him. The Temple was gone. The Jedi were gone. She was gone.

No one had come looking. Not the clones. Not the Empire. Not Bacara.

Not Rex.

Not even Mace—though maybe she’d never expected him to.

At first, she’d been sure someone would come. That the galaxy couldn’t forget her so quickly. But three months had passed. No wanted posters. No troopers sweeping the streets. No shadows at her door.

Nothing.

She was no one here.

She wiped the same table twice before realizing she’d been staring through it, lost in memory. The war felt like another lifetime.

But even the Force had gone quiet. As if it, too, had moved on.

“Hey!” Cid’s sharp voice cracked through the cantina. “You forget how to carry a tray, or you just feel like decorating my floor with spilled ale again?”

She blinked. “Sorry.”

Cid snorted. “You’re always sorry.”

She didn’t argue. There wasn’t much of herself left to defend anymore.

The streets outside were quieter than usual. A dust storm had rolled in from the western flats, coating everything in a layer of filth. She stepped out back after her shift, sitting on a crate and staring up at a sky smothered by clouds.

It was strange how peaceful nothing could be.

No orders. No battles. No war.

No one looking for her. No one needing her. No one remembering her.

It should have felt like freedom.

But it didn’t.

⸻

The bell above the cantina door jingled.

She didn’t react. Not visibly. But her breath hitched in her chest. She heard the unmistakable weight of clone trooper boots on the wooden floor—too heavy to be locals, too careful to be drunks.

She didn’t need to look. She knew those steps by heart. Years of war had taught her how clones moved—each one slightly different, and yet the same at the core. And somehow… somehow they were here.

In Cid’s.

In her nowhere.

She ducked behind the bar a little more, scrubbing the same patch of wood with trembling fingers, her face hidden beneath a cap and the dull glow of the overhead lights.

“Cid?” a calm, steady voice asked.

That one—Hunter.

Cid didn’t even look up from her datapad. “That depends on who’s asking.”

“We were told you could help us.”

“By who?” Cid’s tone was suspicious, as always.

“Echo,” Hunter said, motioning slightly.

She froze. Her heart stopped for a moment.

Echo.

She dared a glance over her shoulder.

There he was—taller now, armor more modified, with half of his head and legs taken by cybernetics. He looked different. Paler. Haunted. But it was him. And he was staring.

Right at her.

Her stomach dropped.

But he didn’t say anything. His expression barely changed, just narrowed eyes and a twitch of something she couldn’t name. Recognition, maybe. Or disbelief.

Either way—he wasn’t saying her name. And she didn’t dare say his.

She ducked her head again and retreated to the back counter, trying to blend in.

The squad spread out, letting Cid do her usual banter. Tech scanned things. Wrecker picked something up and nearly broke it. Omega stood in wide-eyed awe of the dingy place.

And then, like a quiet ripple in the Force, she felt Omega’s presence behind her.

“Hi,” the girl said.

The reader turned just slightly, trying not to panic. “Hi.”

“You work for Cid?”

She nodded, hoping it was enough.

“I’m Omega.”

The girl was painfully sweet. The kind of pure the galaxy hadn’t seen in years.

“You got a name?”

“…Lena,” the reader lied smoothly, her voice steady despite the burn behind her eyes.

“That’s pretty,” Omega said, hopping up onto the stool across from her. “Are you from around here?”

“Something like that.” She kept her eyes down.

Omega tilted her head. “You feel sad.”

That startled her. “Excuse me?”

“I just meant—your eyes look sad,” Omega said quickly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The reader forced a smile. “You didn’t.”

Echo walked by again. His gaze lingered on her for one long second. But again, he said nothing.

She didn’t know if he was sparing her or trying to figure her out. Maybe both.

She went back to cleaning.

And for the first time in months, her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

⸻

Echo watched her from the corner of the cantina as she quietly wiped down a table in the far back, avoiding all eye contact, keeping her presence small.

Too small.

He leaned slightly toward Tech, lowering his voice so Cid and the others wouldn’t catch it. “Do you recognize her?”

Tech didn’t even glance up from his datapad. “The worker? No.”

“She looks familiar,” Echo said, arms crossing over his chest plate. “I’m not sure from where, but… I think she’s a Jedi. Or—was.”

That got Tech’s attention. He looked up, eyes narrowing slightly behind his lenses. “A Jedi?”

“She fought with the 501st a few times. A long time ago,” Echo said. “I was still… me.”

Tech considered that for a long moment, then looked over toward her discreetly. “You’re certain?”

“No. That’s what’s bothering me. I can’t tell if she’s someone I actually remember or if it’s a glitch in my head from… everything.” He gestured vaguely to his augmentations.

Tech nodded slowly, turning his attention back to the datapad. “I’ll run a scan. Discreetly. If she is a former Jedi or officer, her face might still be buried in the Republic’s archived comm logs. Assuming the Empire hasn’t wiped everything yet.”

Echo nodded once, still watching her.

She never once looked back.

Tech sat back slightly, the datapad in his lap casting a faint glow on his face. The scan had taken time—far more than he liked. Most of the Jedi archives were either firewalled or fragmented. But a clever backdoor through an old 501st tactical log had revealed what he needed.

The image was slightly grainy, pulled from a recording during a battle on Christophis. A Jedi—young, lightsaber ignited, issuing commands beside Captain Rex.

Her.

Tech adjusted his goggles, double-checking the facial markers. Ninety-nine-point-seven percent match.

He glanced across the cantina where she was wiping down a counter with feigned disinterest, like she hadn’t felt the moment his eyes landed on her. But he knew better. Jedi always felt when they were being watched.

He stood and approached casually, careful not to spook her. “I take it this isn’t your preferred line of work.”

She stiffened slightly, then looked over at him with cool neutrality. “Not really, no. But it’s honest.”

“Curious,” Tech said. “That honesty would be your refuge. Especially for someone like you.”

She paused. The rag in her hand stilled. “Someone like me?”

“A Jedi Knight,” he replied plainly. “Confirmed through tactical footage of Christophis. You served alongside Captain Rex.”

Her throat worked once, jaw tightening. “You shouldn’t be looking into me.”

“I’m naturally curious,” he said, calm and even. “And cautious. After all, fugitives tend to attract the Empire’s attention.”

“You’re fugitives too,” she said flatly. “Aren’t you?”

He didn’t deny it.

“Then why out me?” she asked, voice quieter, with the weight of exhaustion clinging to it.

“I didn’t say I would. But perhaps… we could be of use to each other.”

That made her blink. “You want to align with a Jedi?”

Tech pushed his goggles up slightly. “You have experience. Strategic value. And the Empire has already labeled us traitors. I see no logical reason not to align with someone equally hunted—especially someone who once fought for the same Republic we did.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her fingers tightened around the rag before setting it down.

“I’m not who I used to be,” she said.

Tech tilted his head. “Neither are we.”

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“War on Two Fronts” pt.6

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

⸻

The Coruscant skyline blurred outside the high-rise window, but she wasn’t really looking at it.

Lights moved. Ships passed. Life carried on.

And yet, she sat still—perched on the edge of the cot in the temporary quarters she’d been granted for this brief return. Her armor was half-off, discarded in pieces across the room. Her saber lay untouched on the table beside her. Fingers twisted the edge of her undersleeve, tugging it, letting go, tugging again.

Her breathing had finally steadied.

But the storm inside hadn’t.

That training room scene played again and again behind her eyes—the shouting, the aggression, the way they’d both stood there like she was some sort of prize. Like her heart was something to be won, not understood.

And for a moment, she hated them both.

Not just for what they did.

But for making her feel small.

For making her doubt herself.

She closed her eyes, leaning forward to rest her arms on her knees. Stars, how had it come to this? She’d survived battles. Held diplomatic ground under fire. She’d stood toe-to-toe with Council members. And yet the moment her heart became involved—she unraveled.

She thought of Bacara first. Of the kiss. The rawness of it. How he touched her like he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance again.

And yet—he barely said anything. He kept her at a distance until the moment emotion exploded out of him like blaster fire.

Then Rex. Steady. Soft. Listening. But no less possessive when pushed. He was a better man, she thought. A better soldier. But still… a soldier. Still bound by something that meant she’d always be second to the cause.

Were either of them truly what she wanted?

Or had she been so starved for something that felt real in the chaos of war, that she clung to anything that looked like affection?

She stood and crossed the room, pacing, trying to shake the ache out of her bones. Her hand brushed the window frame.

And quietly, bitterly, she whispered to herself—

“Maybe I don’t want either of them.”

Maybe she wanted peace.

Maybe she wanted clarity.

Maybe she wanted herself back.

A knock startled her—sharp and fast.

But she didn’t move.

Not yet.

The knock came again—measured, firm, but not forceful.

She sighed, rolling her eyes with a groan. “If either of you came back to apologize, you’ve got ten seconds before I throw something heavy.”

“No need for theatrics,” came the unmistakable voice from the other side. “It’s just me.”

Her spine straightened like a snapped cord. “Master?”

“I’m coming in,” he said plainly.

The door hissed open before she could answer. Mace Windu stepped in, his presence as steady as the Force itself, robes still crisp despite the lateness of the hour, a subtle frown pressing between his brows as he regarded her. There was no lecture, no judgment, not yet. Only concern veiled beneath the usual stone exterior.

“You don’t look like someone who’s meditating,” he observed.

“I wasn’t,” she replied dryly, arms folded.

“I figured.” He stepped farther inside, his eyes scanning the scattered armor pieces, the half-torn undersleeve she hadn’t realized she was still tugging at. “You look like someone unraveling.”

“I’m not.” Her voice was too quick.

He said nothing.

She sighed, letting the breath shudder out of her as she dropped heavily back onto the edge of the cot.

“I didn’t call for advice,” she muttered.

“I didn’t say you did,” Mace replied simply. He stepped over to the small chair across from her and sat, folding his arms into the sleeves of his robe. “But I heard enough to know something’s shifted.”

Her jaw clenched. “I’m sure you’ve heard plenty by now.”

“I’m not here as a Council member.” His tone was different now—quieter, gentler. “I’m here because you’re my Padawan. No title changes that.”

Something in her broke at that. Just a crack.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Master.”

“I think you do. I just think you’re afraid to do it.”

She looked at him, eyes sharp. “You think I’m afraid to choose?”

“No,” he said, and it was immediate. “I think you’re afraid to not choose. To walk away. To be alone.”

That struck something deep.

She stared at the floor.

“I don’t want them fighting over me. Like I’m some kind of… prize. And I definitely don’t want to be part of some toxic love triangle during a war.”

“You’ve always led with your heart,” Mace said. “And your heart’s always been too big for the battlefield.”

She blinked, stunned by the softness of it. Mace Windu, the most unshakeable Jedi on the Council, calling her heart too big.

“Doesn’t feel like a strength right now.”

“It is. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You’ll figure this out. But don’t let them decide who you are. And don’t let anyone take your peace—not even someone who loves you.”

Her eyes burned now, but she blinked fast to keep them dry.

“Thanks… Master”

He smiled then. A small one. Barely a twitch of his lips—but she saw it.

“I’ll be in the Temple tomorrow. If you need to talk again—just talk—you know where to find me.”

He stood, gave her one last look, then left as quietly as he’d come.

And this time, the silence in the room felt a little less loud.

⸻

The city outside her window glowed in shifting hues of speeders and skyline, lights tracing invisible lines like veins in durasteel. She hadn’t moved much since Mace left—too exhausted to think, too unsettled to sleep. Her mind was loud. Still hurt. Still confused. Still… waiting.

And then came the knock.

Not sharp. Not gentle. Just… steady.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have the strength to.

The door opened anyway. The audacity made her want to hurl something again—but when she looked up, it wasn’t who she expected.

Bacara stepped inside, helmet tucked under one arm, armor scuffed from some earlier skirmish. His expression was unreadable as always—eyes too sharp, jaw too tense—but there was something in his stance. Hesitation.

She scoffed and turned back toward the window. “You know, I figured you’d be the last one to come knocking.”

He didn’t respond at first. Just stood there, watching her like she was a particularly complex tactical situation. Finally, he set his helmet down on the small table and crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps.

“You didn’t deserve what happened earlier.”

The silence that followed was thick.

“You mean the shouting? The posturing? The way you and Rex acted like I was some kind of prize to be won in a sparring match?” Her voice was calm now, but it carried an edge. “You both embarrassed yourselves. And me.”

“I know,” he said plainly. “That’s why I’m here.”

She turned to face him, arms crossed.

“You don’t do apologies, Bacara.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I can try.”

That stunned her into stillness. He wasn’t joking. Not hiding behind orders or ranks or deflections. There was no sharp military snap to his tone, no bark. Just gravel and honesty.

“I’ve spent most of my life cutting off emotions that slow a man down,” he said. “Guilt. Regret. Affection. All of it. I had to. Mundi—he doesn’t train his men to be… soft.”

“No, he doesn’t,” she muttered. “He trains them to be machines.”

Bacara looked away. “I followed that lead for a long time. It made me strong. It made me efficient. But it also made me a stranger to myself.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “And what am I in this equation?”

“The reminder that I’m still human.” His voice was quieter now. “That I feel more around you than I’ve felt since Kamino.”

That cracked something in her. Something she’d been gripping tight since the moment things started spiraling.

She swallowed. “You were horrible to me. Not just today. Since the beginning.”

“I know,” he said again. “But I never hated you.”

Her breath hitched.

“I was listening, that night with Windu. I heard everything.” He met her eyes now. “I didn’t come here to beg. And I didn’t come here to fight. I just needed you to know—I don’t want to be the man who makes you doubt your worth. I don’t want to be that Commander. Not with you.”

Her heart was thudding against her ribs. She hated how much he still had that effect on her. Hated that his voice, his damn sincerity, could crack through months of cold.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” she said softly. “Not yet.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” he replied. “But I’m still here.”

He stepped closer—slow, careful—and brushed his hand against hers. His fingers were cold from the night air. She didn’t pull away.

“You kissed me,” she whispered.

“I’d do it again.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, something defiant and fragile behind them. “Then do it right this time.”

He did.

This one wasn’t reckless. It wasn’t bitter or angry or desperate. It was slow. It was deliberate. It was raw in a way that hurt and healed at the same time.

When they pulled apart, they didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

He didn’t stay the night. That wasn’t who they were yet. But when the door closed behind him, the quiet left behind felt different.

Hopeful.

⸻

He knew before she said anything.

He could feel it the second he stepped into her quarters—before the door hissed closed behind him, before she turned to face him, before her eyes even lifted from the floor.

It was in the air. That stillness. The kind of silence that follows a storm and leaves nothing untouched.

Rex stood there a moment, helmet cradled under his arm, expression unreadable. “You’ve made a choice.”

She nodded. Her mouth opened, closed, then finally managed, “I didn’t mean for it to get like this.”

He gave a small, sad smile. “I know.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” He said it quickly—too quickly.

Her brow creased, but he held her gaze with that steady calm she’d always admired. “You were never mine to keep,” he said gently. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“But I love you.” The words escaped like breath, hoarse and aching. “You need to know that.”

He exhaled through his nose. Looked away for just a second, then met her eyes again.

“I know that too.”

She took a step closer, but stopped herself. “I didn’t want to string you along. I couldn’t keep doing this to you—this back and forth. I chose Bacara. But that doesn’t mean what we had wasn’t real.”

Rex nodded once, slowly. His throat worked. “He’s not better than me.”

“I know.”

“But you’re better with him?”

She blinked hard. “I don’t know what I am with him. I just know… I don’t want to live in limbo anymore.”

For a moment, he looked like he might say something more. But instead, he stepped forward, reached out, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The gentleness of it unraveled her.

“You were always going to break my heart,” he said softly. “I just hoped I’d be enough to stop it from happening.”

She blinked fast. Tears clung to her lashes.

“Rex…”

He shook his head. “Don’t say you’re sorry. You never led me on. We’re soldiers. We steal what moments we can before the war takes them away. You gave me more than I ever expected.”

And then he leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead.

When he stepped back, something in her chest fractured.

“I’ll see you on the next campaign,” he said, voice rough, but steady.

And then he was gone.

She stood there long after the door closed, arms wrapped tight around herself. She didn’t know what she felt more—relief, regret, or the slow, dawning fear that she’d lost something that could never be replaced.

⸻

The halls of the barracks were quiet this late, a kind of peace Rex had never trusted. Silence was just a disguise war wore before it struck again. But this—this wasn’t the battlefield.

This was heartbreak.

He sat on the edge of his bunk, armor half-stripped, chest plate tossed aside, vambraces on the floor. His gloves were clenched in one hand, thumb rubbing worn fabric. Like holding on might keep him from slipping into something dark and stupid.

Jesse passed him once without saying a word. Not because he didn’t care—but because even Jesse knew when something hurt too much for words.

She chose Bacara.

The thought came unbidden, like a knife twisted in his side.

He didn’t hate Bacara. Not really.

But Force, he envied him. Envied the way she softened when she looked at the Commander. Envied the way Bacara could be cold, brutal even, and still… she reached for him. Still found something worth saving in that hard shell of a man.

Rex had bled for her. Laughed with her. Been vulnerable in ways he hadn’t been with anyone else. He’d offered her the part of himself that he didn’t even understand most days.

And she had loved him. She had. That much he didn’t doubt.

But love wasn’t always enough. Not when you’re trying to love two people, and one of them pulls your gravity just a little harder.

He sighed, leaned forward, forearms braced against his knees. Helmet resting between his boots.

“Captain,” a voice said softly from the doorway.

It was Ahsoka.

He didn’t look up. “You shouldn’t be out this late.”

She stepped inside anyway, the door sliding shut behind her.

“I felt it. Through the Force. You’re… not alright.”

He smiled bitterly. “You’re getting better at that.”

Ahsoka folded her arms. “She picked Bacara.”

It wasn’t a question.

“No point in pretending otherwise,” he said. His voice was quiet. Raw.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He lifted his head. His eyes looked older than they should have. “She made a choice. She deserves that. They both do.”

Ahsoka sat on the bunk across from him. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t feel it.”

“No,” Rex said. “It doesn’t.”

There was a long silence between them.

“I always thought you’d end up with someone like her,” Ahsoka said, almost wistfully. “Strong. Sharp. Stubborn.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah. Me too.”

She leaned forward, her expression gentle but firm. “You didn’t lose her, Rex. You loved her. That counts for something.”

Rex looked at her—this young, impossibly wise Padawan who had seen too much already. “Maybe. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m alone again.”

“No,” Ahsoka agreed softly. “But it means your heart still works. And that’s something most of us can’t say anymore.”

He looked down at the gloves in his hand. At the callouses on his fingers. At everything he still had to carry.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, mostly to himself.

And maybe, someday, he would be.

But not tonight.

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“War on Two Fronts” pt.5

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

The Council chamber lights dimmed as the debrief concluded. Bacara and Master Ki-Adi-Mundi exited in synchronized silence, the General’s long strides matching the Commander’s clipped, militant pace. Their boots echoed through the empty corridor.

They didn’t speak until the door to Mundi’s private quarters hissed closed behind them.

“I expected more restraint from her,” Mundi said, lowering his hood and brushing dust from the hem of his robe. “She continues to act with more heart than mind.”

“She held the position,” Bacara answered, standing still, helmet tucked under his arm. “Her plan worked.”

“Despite contradicting my orders. Again.”

Bacara’s brow twitched.

“She isn’t your padawan, Master Jedi.”

Mundi turned, eyes narrowing. “She is not yours either.”

A beat passed between them—tense, unsaid.

Bacara continued evenly. “With all due respect, General, her instincts saved lives. She has a rapport with native systems we lack. That’s why she was sent.”

Mundi stepped closer. “Her defiance encourages division. Among the men. Between us. If she continues to override my command in the field, I will petition for her removal.”

Bacara’s jaw tightened. “Petition it, then.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Mundi’s features—but he said nothing further. The door opened behind them without warning.

“Interesting conversation,” Mace Windu said calmly, stepping into the threshold with arms folded behind his back. “Especially in my temple.”

Mundi straightened. Bacara turned slightly, his posture still.

“Mace,” Mundi said tersely, “I wasn’t aware you were within earshot.”

“You weren’t.” Mace’s gaze was unreadable. “But I am now.”

Bacara shifted subtly as Mundi excused himself with a nod. The door shut behind him, leaving Windu and the Marshal Commander alone.

“I assume that wasn’t the first time he’s said something like that.”

“No, General.”

Mace studied Bacara in silence for a long time.

“She frustrates you.”

“Yes.”

“She challenges you.”

“She challenges everyone.”

Mace didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth moved. “Good.”

Bacara blinked.

“You were eavesdropping on my conversation with her,”Windu said. “She told me.”

Bacara gave no excuse.

“You took offense.”

Still no reply.

“I’m not asking you to like her, Commander,” Windu continued. “But I trained her. I know every strength and every flaw. And I sent her out there not just to win battles—but to become something more than what the war wants her to be.”

Bacara’s eyes finally lifted to meet his.

“She’ll never become that if everyone keeps expecting her to fit a mold she was never made for.”

Mace turned to leave, then paused.

“She thinks you hate her.”

“I don’t.”

“You should tell her that.”

“I’ll consider it, sir.”

Mace nodded once, sharp and precise. “You’re dismissed, Commander.”

As Bacara stepped into the corridor, he felt the weight of the conversation settle heavier than any armor.

He didn’t hate her. He wasn’t sure what he felt at all.

But he knew something had shifted—and Mace Windu was watching it unfold.

⸻

Coruscant was loud in a way Aleen could never be. Mechanical hums. Shuttles roaring overhead. The ever-present press of voices—clones, officers, droids, senators.

You hated how quickly it swallowed everything you’d just worked for.

The campaign on Aleen had ended with fewer casualties than projected, the native population protected, and General Mundi oddly… complimentary during debriefings. A rare win.

But here, back in the sterile hallways of Republic infrastructure, you felt the shift. The ripple of tension that had nothing to do with the war.

You leaned against the wall outside a conference room, arms crossed, still half in your field gear, watching clone officers file past.

Bacara was across from you, just as silent as ever, helmet clipped to his side.

Not speaking. Not glaring. Not walking away, either.

“I figured you’d vanish again,” you said finally. “Go back to pretending you tolerate me out of obligation.”

He didn’t look over, but his voice was quieter than usual. “I don’t pretend.”

You glanced at him, heart already threatening to betray you by skipping ahead. “No?”

“I told you. I don’t hate you.”

You chuckled softly. “That’s not quite the same as liking me.”

He met your gaze. “No. It’s not.”

Before you could answer, heavy boots rounded the corner—familiar, steady, a presence that always made your chest twist.

Rex.

He paused when he saw you, a half-smile forming. “General.”

“Captain.” You stood straighter, smile automatic.

His eyes flicked briefly to Bacara. The air thickened.

“Didn’t expect you back so soon,” Rex added, his voice just a little too calm.

“Neither did I. Aleen wrapped early. Mundi actually gave me something resembling a compliment.”

“That’s a headline,” Rex joked. But his eyes didn’t leave Bacara.

The other clone commander said nothing. Just stood at your side, unreadable as always.

Ahsoka rounded the corner next, blue-and-white montrals catching the light. She stopped, blinking at the scene—then gave a little nod, as if the Force had just whispered something to her.

“Uh oh,” she said lightly.

You arched a brow. “Uh oh?”

“I think you three need a minute.”

She all but dragged Rex away, glancing back once, her expression somewhere between amusement and concern.

You turned to Bacara, who hadn’t moved.

“Well,” you said, too casually. “That’s going to be awkward later.”

Bacara exhaled slowly. “He’s important to you.”

You frowned. “So are you.”

That made him flinch. Just barely. A breath, a twitch of his jaw.

“I don’t know how to be that,” he said.

“You don’t have to know how. You just have to try.”

He looked at you again—really looked. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“I’m trying.”

You smiled, a bit softer than before. “Good.”

In the distance, you could feel Rex’s presence like a steady pulse. Familiar. Safe.

And beside you, Bacara. Solid. Controlled. Finally cracking open just a little.

Two men. Opposite hearts. And you, suspended in the gravity between them.

⸻

You weren’t sure how long you’d been walking the halls of the base, looking for somewhere quiet. It was one of those nights where sleep hovered but never landed—your thoughts full of too many voices, too many faces.

Rex’s door was open.

He was sitting at the edge of his bunk, still in partial armor, head low, hands loosely clasped. A man built for war—always steady, always composed.

You knocked on the doorframe.

He looked up, unsurprised. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You stepped inside. “I don’t know if I even tried.”

A pause, then a small smile. “Me neither.”

He motioned to the empty bunk across from him. You sat, the air quiet between you. Close, but not too close. Not yet.

“I keep thinking about Aleen,” you said eventually. “And Bacara. And the way I keep orbiting around people I shouldn’t.”

Rex didn’t answer right away. His gaze was locked on the floor.

“I didn’t think you and Bacara were…” he trailed off, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“You want it to.”

His eyes met yours—raw, honest. “Yeah. I do.”

It was like oxygen filled the room again.

You rose from the bunk, stepped closer, until there was barely a breath between you. His jaw flexed, but he didn’t back away.

“I don’t know how to do this either,” you whispered. “Not with clones. Not with Jedi codes looming over everything. Not with… you.”

He stood slowly. “I don’t care about codes.”

Your heart beat wildly in your chest as he lifted a hand, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch.

“Rex,” you breathed. “I—”

The door slid open.

You both jumped apart.

Anakin stood in the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched.

There was a beat of charged silence before he said, completely deadpan, “Well. Don’t stop on my account.”

You stared, flustered. Rex was already stepping back, straightening like he’d been caught sneaking out of class.

Anakin smirked, stepping into the room. “Relax. I’m not one to judge about… attachments.” The word practically dripped sarcasm.

You glared at him. “How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to consider knocking. Decided against it.”

Rex cleared his throat. “General—”

Anakin held up a hand. “You’re both adults. You’ve survived more battles than I can count. Just… try not to get caught by someone less forgiving than me.”

You crossed your arms. “Like Master Windu?”

Anakin shrugged, amused. “Exactly.”

And then, his expression softened just a little. “Just be careful, okay? Both of you. This war doesn’t make room for many second chances.”

With that, he turned and left, the door hissing shut behind him.

You and Rex stood in the silence that followed, hearts still racing.

“Next time,” Rex said, voice lower, rougher, “I’m locking the door.”

You smiled—because of course he would.

And yet, the moment had shifted. It hadn’t broken… but it had changed.

Still, you took a step closer.

“Next time,” you whispered, “don’t stop.”

⸻

Mace Windu stood at the high window of the Council chamber, watching Coruscant sprawl beneath him in endless lines of light. His hands were folded behind his back, posture rigid, gaze unreadable.

He had been quiet during the last half of the briefing. Even Yoda had glanced his way once or twice, sensing his distraction.

The briefing ended. The chamber emptied. Only Obi-Wan lingered.

“You’re distracted,” Obi-Wan said casually, tone light, but not mocking.

Mace didn’t turn. “She’s hiding something.”

Obi-Wan didn’t need to ask who she was.

“Your former Padawan is a Knight now. Independent. Capable. Perhaps you’re reading too much into it.”

“She’s… different,” Mace said slowly, frowning. “Something’s shifted. Not in battle. Not in duty. But in her presence. The Force around her feels… pulled.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You think she’s forming attachments?”

“I know she is.”

That earned a quiet sigh from Kenobi. “And this is a problem because…?”

Mace turned then, expression flat. “Because she’s too much like Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan barked a short laugh before he could stop himself. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“She walks the line,” Mace said, voice low. “Emotion, impulse, recklessness. I accepted it as her master. I even respected it. But I didn’t teach her to love—I taught her to survive.”

here was silence for a moment.

“And yet…” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, “she still smiles when you’re around. Still calls you her family.”

Mace looked away.

“I’m not condemning her,” he said. “I just… I can feel it. The way she holds herself. Like there’s someone else she’s protecting now. Like she’s already chosen someone.”

“You know who?”

“No,” Mace admitted. “Not yet. But I will.”

⸻

You sat alone beneath one of the massive trees, hood pulled up, trying to meditate but failing.

You felt him before you heard him.

“I taught you not to slouch,” Mace said behind you.

You smirked. “I distinctly remember you teaching me how to disarm a Dathomirian assassin at the age of eleven. Posture didn’t come up.”

Mace sat beside you with a long, deep sigh. “You’ve changed.”

You didn’t answer.

“I’m not angry,” he continued, tone unreadable. “But I sense a disturbance around you. Like the Force is being… shared.”

Your stomach dropped. Not because you were guilty—not exactly—but because you knew he’d never bring this up unless he felt it deeply.

“I’m not in danger,” you said quietly.

“That’s not what I asked.”

You looked at him, then away. “I’ve seen so many die, Master. It’s hard to not care. To not feel.”

“You can care,” Mace said. “But if your feelings endanger your clarity, or the mission—”

“They don’t,” you cut in, sharper than intended. “I haven’t broken. I haven’t fallen.”

Mace was quiet for a long moment.

“I’m not asking for names,” he said eventually. “But if it’s a clone… be careful. You already live in a world built to destroy everything you care about. Don’t give the war something else to take from you.”

Your throat tightened.

“I’ll always be your family,” he added, voice softer. “But I can’t protect you from your own heart.”

And with that, he stood and left, the shadows of the Temple stretching long behind him.

⸻

You stood on the edge of the Temple’s landing platform, overlooking the city lights that shimmered like restless stars. The night was thick with soundless wind, your cloak pulled tight around you as the Force stirred in warning—familiar, heavy footsteps approaching.

You didn’t need to turn. “I thought you’d gone back to GAR Command.”

Bacara stopped a few paces behind you. Silence clung to him, like it always did, but this time it pulsed with something unsaid—uneasy, unrelenting.

“I should have,” he said finally. “But I didn’t.”

You turned, arms folded, studying the commander who had never looked more torn—still in his blacks, helmet in hand, jaw tight with restraint. His eyes didn’t meet yours at first.

“Why are you here, Bacara?”

“I overheard Windu talking to Kenobi,” he said, stepping forward, voice strained. “About you. About something changing in you.”

“And you came to see if it was about you?” you asked, more bitter than you meant.

“And you came to see if it was about you?” you asked, more bitter than you meant.

His eyes snapped to yours. “No. I came because… I needed to know.”

The silence stretched.

You exhaled slowly. “Know what?”

He took another step, until you were within arm’s reach. “Why you’re in my head. Why I haven’t slept since we left Aleen. Why the idea of you with him—Rex—makes me want to break protocol, orders, everything.”

You froze.

“I don’t hate you,” Bacara said, the words sounding like they’d been ripped from somewhere deep and long-buried. “I’ve never hated you. You just… get under my skin.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” you whispered.

“I know,” he snapped, and then faltered, jaw working. “You were just being… you. Loud. Impulsive. Always standing up for the men, even when it meant challenging Jedi. Even when it meant challenging me.”

Your heart pounded.

“I didn’t know what to do with someone like you,” he admitted, voice low now. “I still don’t.”

You reached up slowly, fingertips brushing the edge of his vambrace. “Then don’t think. Just feel.”

His eyes searched yours—dark, tormented, warring with everything he was taught to suppress.

And then he moved.

The kiss wasn’t gentle.

It was raw, unfiltered, all heat and tension and fire. His hand curled around the back of your neck, yours gripped his sleeve as your cloaks whipped in the night air. It was a kiss born of war and silence, of frustration and longing, and the impossibility of it all.

When you broke apart, both breathless, he didn’t speak at first.

But his forehead pressed to yours, and for the first time since you met him, Bacara let himself be still in your presence.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he said quietly.

You almost smiled. “Then we’re even.”

⸻

You were restless.

The training droids lay in sparking heaps around you. Sweat clung to your skin, your lightsaber still humming faintly as you tried to outpace the storm brewing in your mind.

Rex’s quiet steadiness.

Bacara’s raw, barely-contained hunger.

The kiss haunted you.

Bacara had torn a piece of himself open for you—just for a moment. And that moment had scorched you.

But Rex? He saw you. Understood you. Listened. Respected you. And you felt safe in his shadow.

But do you want safety? Or something that burns?

You didn’t get to dwell. The door to the training room hissed open.

Rex stood in the threshold, eyes scanning the wreckage, then finding you. He looked tired. Tense. His shoulders tight beneath his armor.

“I figured I’d find you here,” he said.

You deactivated your saber. “Not hiding, just… thinking.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have.”

There was no accusation in his voice, but something underneath it—a quiet, almost desperate undertone.

“I’ve had a lot to think about.”

He stepped closer, stopping just a breath away. “Was it him?”

You met his eyes. “Rex—”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he cut in, voice controlled. Too controlled. “But I need to know what I’m walking into.”

Your breath caught.

“He kissed you.”

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed. “Yes.”

He looked away, jaw working. Then:

“Did you kiss him back?”

The silence between you was louder than any battle you’d fought.

“Yes,” you whispered.

The answer struck him like a blow. His eyes closed, just for a second. “And what does that mean? For us?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I wish I did.”

Before he could speak again, the door hissed open again.

Bacara.

You felt the energy in the room shift—like a lightsaber igniting in a dry field.

His gaze went immediately to Rex. Then to you. The unspoken claim in his stance was unmistakable.

“Captain,” he said coolly.

“Commander,” Rex returned, just as cold.

Neither moved. Neither blinked.

You stepped between them instinctively. “Stop.”

“She can choose for herself, you know,” Rex said, eyes never leaving Bacara’s.

“I don’t recall asking you,” Bacara said sharply, voice low and dangerous.

“I’m not some object you two get to fight over,” you snapped. “I’m a Jedi. Your general. And I deserve better than this.”

Both men quieted.

But the air between them crackled with something toxic. Territorial. Like two wolves circling the same prey.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said, voice softer now. “I didn’t want any of it to get this messy.”

“You didn’t have to ask,” Rex said. “Some things just… happen.”

“And some things,” Bacara said, stepping forward, voice firm, “are worth fighting for.”

You stared between them, breath shallow.

You had no answers. No clarity. Only chaos.

And two men willing to burn for you.

The silence was oppressive. No one spoke, but the weight of unspoken things pressed against your chest like a closing fist.

You stepped back, eyes moving between the two of them. Their postures were rigid—pride, anger, jealousy… possession. You hadn’t seen it before, not like this. Not so raw.

But now it was ugly.

“Do you two even hear yourselves?” Your voice was sharp—cutting like shattered glass. “You’re acting like I’m a trophy. Like I’m something to win.”

Neither answered.

That was worse.

You could feel it coming off them in waves—territoriality, rivalry, something primal.

“You think I want this? You think I asked for it? You think watching the two of you size each other up like animals is what I dreamed of when I became a Jedi?”

You hated the way your voice cracked. The hurt that leaked through the fury.

Rex’s brows furrowed—his mouth opened slightly, as if to explain, to offer some gentle word to ground the fire—but you didn’t give him the chance.

And Bacara—Bacara just stood there, arms crossed, jaw tight, refusing to retreat, refusing to feel. That wall was back, stronger than ever, and it felt like a slap.

“I’ve fought beside you. I’ve nearly died beside you. Both of you. And still—you can’t see me. Not really. You only see each other. This—” you gestured between them, “—this pissing contest? It’s not love. It’s not loyalty. It’s not even care. It’s ego. And it makes me sick.”

The hurt was hot now, crawling up your throat.

“I thought you were different,” you said softly to Rex.

He flinched. Just barely.

Then your gaze snapped to Bacara. “And you—maybe I wanted to believe there was more under the armor. But if this is what’s beneath it?” Your lip curled. “Maybe I was wrong.”

You pushed past them, the door hissing open at your approach.

Neither followed.

You didn’t want them to.

For the first time in months, you wanted out.

Out of this room.

Out of their war.

Out of whatever twisted, tangled thing was growing between the three of you.

You didn’t even know what you felt anymore.

You just knew this wasn’t what love was supposed to look like.

And right now, the idea of either of them touching you—holding you—felt like ash in your mouth.

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving only the quiet hum of the training room’s systems—and the echo of everything she said.

Rex stood still, breathing hard, fists clenched at his sides. Bacara hadn’t moved either, like he was carved from stone.

The silence didn’t last.

“You gonna throw a punch, or just stand there brooding?” Rex muttered, without looking at him.

Bacara’s jaw twitched. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

“You’re proving her right, you know.”

That got him. Bacara’s head turned sharply, a flicker of fire behind his eyes. “I don’t need a lecture from a clone who couldn’t keep his feelings in check.”

Rex stepped forward, shoulders squared. “And you think you did? You think shutting her out, giving her crumbs of emotion, and then snapping the second someone else showed interest—that’s any better?”

Bacara’s fists curled.

“I don’t talk,” he said flatly. “I act. I protect. I don’t have time for your soft Republic niceties.”

“No,” Rex snapped, “you have time to throw your weight around. You have time to glare and scowl and push people away until it’s too late.”

That hit harder than intended.

For a second, Rex almost backed down—but the look in Bacara’s eyes was enough to push him forward again.

“You think this is about me stealing her from you? She walked out, Commander. On both of us. Because we made her feel like a thing to fight over. Not a person.”

Bacara turned his back, pacing. “You don’t understand.”

“Try me.”

There was a long beat. Bacara’s hands were on his hips now, his head low, voice rough.

“I don’t know how to… do this,” he admitted, bitter. “I’m trained for war. For tactics. Not…” He shook his head. “Not feelings. Not wanting something I’m not supposed to want.”

“She’s not a mission,” Rex said. “She’s a person. And maybe if we’d both remembered that earlier…”

Bacara turned, face hard again. “You’re still talking like it’s over.”

There was silence.

Then Rex looked away. “Isn’t it?”

The quiet returned—cold, heavy, and full of the ache of something breaking.

Both of them knew they’d pushed her away.

Neither of them knew how to fix it.

But worse—deep down—they weren’t sure they deserved to.

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“War on Two Fronts” pt.4

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

The skies of Aleen burned amber with the coming dusk. Ashen winds carried whispers through the forests — voices of a people you’d once sworn to protect. Now you were back again, years older, far more jaded, but somehow still the same.

Your boots pressed into soft moss as you walked alone through the dense forest paths. Lanterns swung overhead, casting warm halos across carved stone shrines and winding wooden bridges. You knew every bend of this land—every whisper between the trees.

It was surreal returning here without a battalion behind you. No clones. No Jedi. No command structure. Just you, your words, and your past with these people.

You passed a familiar tree with painted markings—children had once drawn them when you’d last been stationed here. A flutter of warmth struck you as an elder spotted you.

“Master Jedi,” their leader said with a soft smile.

You bowed your head. “It’s good to see you again.”

Your mission was simple in theory: rekindle an alliance with the people before Separatist influence reached them again. But nothing about this place, or this war, was ever simple.

And as the nights stretched on, you missed… them.

Bacara. Rex. Each so different. One who rarely spoke but always saw. One who listened, even when you didn’t speak. Neither here. Just you—and the echo of everything unspoken.

⸻

Commander Bacara stood at parade rest beside Master Ki-Adi-Mundi as mission projections flickered across the holotable. Opposite them, Rex stood beside Anakin and Ahsoka, arms folded, helmet tucked under one arm.

None of them spoke at first. The map of the outer rim planet hovered between them—a quiet reminder of who wasn’t in the room.

“She’s managing well on her own,” Ahsoka said lightly, breaking the silence. “The locals trust her. That’s half the battle already won.”

Mundi offered a nod, but Bacara’s gaze never shifted from the holo. “It’s dangerous. Alone.”

“She’s not alone,” Rex said, just a little too sharply.

Anakin caught it.

So did Mundi.

A beat passed before Ki-Adi-Mundi turned, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Commander Bacara, has General [Y/N] reported any signs of Separatist movement?”

“Negative,” Bacara said without pause. “But she’s a Jedi, not a negotiator. These types of missions require—”

“She’s handled far more volatile diplomacy than this,” Rex interrupted. “And better than some council members.”

Mundi raised a brow. “Careful, Captain.”

Rex’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more.

Ahsoka looked between the two clones, then stepped forward, trying to ease the tension. “She’ll be fine. She’s got that Windu resilience.”

Bacara’s shoulders barely moved, but Anakin noticed the tick in his jaw. “You don’t agree?” Skywalker asked.

“She’s not indestructible,” Bacara said.

“No,” Anakin replied, coolly. “But she’s not your burden, Commander.”

The room quieted again. Cold. Sharp-edged.

Finally, Mundi spoke. “Personal entanglements have no place in war. This is why Jedi do not form attachments.”

Neither Rex nor Bacara responded.

But Ahsoka’s eyes flicked between them—both still as stone, both burning with something just beneath the surface.

The kind of storm you didn’t see until it was already overhead.

⸻

You hated caves.

You hated the stale air, the way sound echoed wrong, the weight of stone pressing down on your shoulders like a ghost. The Aleena had guided you this deep to show the root of the problem—something poisoning the waters, causing tremors in their cities, and killing their sacred roots.

You knelt beside the cracked fissure, reaching out with the Force. What answered was not nature.

Something foreign slithered beneath. Something droid.

You rose quickly, turning to the elder at your side. “The Separatists are here,” you said. “Or they were.”

The elder clicked his tongue anxiously. “Many of our kind are trapped deeper down. The tremors sealed the path. We can’t reach them. We cannot fight.”

Of course. That was why you were here. No army. No squad. Just you.

You weren’t enough this time.

You stepped away, pulling out your comm and staring down at it for a long moment.

Your gut said Rex. He’d listen. He’d come. He’d believe you.

But this… this wasn’t a clone problem. This wasn’t about blaster fire or tactics.

This was about digging, about seismic shifts and local customs. This was about the Force.

You hated what came next.

You toggled to the channel you never used.

“Master Mundi.”

A pause.

“Yes, General?”

“I need assistance on Aleen.”

A beat passed. Long enough for you to imagine his smug expression. But when he replied, his voice was firm, professional.

“What’s the situation?”

You relayed the details quickly, keeping emotion out of your tone. You didn’t need him judging your fear or frustration.

“I’ll divert reinforcements immediately,” he said. “Commander Bacara is with me. He’ll lead the extraction.”

Of course he would.

“Understood,” you replied. “Coordinates sent. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”

“You won’t have to for long.”

You hated that he sounded almost… kind.

You ended the call and stood still, listening to the rumble of distant tunnels. Soon, Bacara would be back in your orbit. And despite everything between you, you were more afraid of what you might feel than what you’d face below ground.

⸻

The gunship kicked up waves of dust and gravel as it touched down on Aleen’s rocky surface. Commander Bacara descended the ramp first, helmet sealed, pauldron stiff against his broad shoulders. Behind him strode Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, robes whipping in the wind, brows drawn tight as he surveyed the landscape.

“Where is she?” Mundi asked, stepping up beside Bacara as clone troopers fanned out to secure the perimeter.

Bacara didn’t answer right away. He was already scanning the data feed on his wrist, synced to the coordinates you had sent. When he finally spoke, it was short and clipped. “She went in alone.”

Mundi’s tone sharpened. “Of course she did.”

The tension between the two men crackled like static in the charged Aleen air. Bacara said nothing more, but the slight shift in his stance suggested something deeper than frustration. He’d read the logs. He’d heard the tail end of your conversation with Windu. He’d heard everything.

“Troopers!” Bacara barked. “Sub-level breach—two klicks east. Move out.”

The team entered the caverns in formation. The air was thick, choked with the scent of burning oil and scorched stone. Laserfire echoed ahead.

Then, they found you.

You stood alone at the center of a collapsed chamber, half your robes burned, saber lit and crackling. At your feet were the remains of a Separatist tunneling droid. Around you, the wounded Aleena were huddled in the shadows, their eyes wide with awe and fear.

Bacara moved first.

He didn’t speak—just stepped forward, rifle raised as another wave of droids charged through a side tunnel. You looked back only briefly, the flicker of recognition passing quickly.

“Finally,” you said, flicking your saber back up. “Miss me?”

Bacara didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.

He opened fire.

Mundi moved next, stepping past you with deliberate purpose. “You disobeyed protocol,” he said, even as he slashed down a droid mid-step.

You parried a blow, spun, and exhaled. “Tell me after we survive this.”

The last droid fell. The smoke lingered.

You sat on a low stone, wiping your bloodied hand with a torn sleeve. Bacara stood nearby, silent as always, his armor dusted with ash and black carbon scoring.

He finally turned to you.

“You should’ve waited.”

You didn’t look at him. “I didn’t have time.”

“You could’ve died.”

You finally met his eyes.

“And you would’ve what? Reassigned me posthumously?”

He stiffened, jaw flexing behind the helmet. Mundi, overhearing, shot you both a look of utter exhaustion.

Bacara didn’t answer your jab. Instead, he just said:

“You held the line. Noted.”

He walked off, leaving you staring after him with a knot in your stomach—and a question in your chest you weren’t ready to ask.

⸻

The camp was quiet under the fractured sky. Fires burned low in shielded pits, and the wounded slept in narrow tents beneath emergency tarps. You sat apart from the clone medics and Jedi tents, nursing a shallow burn on your forearm with a stim salve. The adrenaline had worn off; all that was left now was the ache and the silence.

Heavy footfalls crunched the dirt behind you. You didn’t look. You already knew it was him.

“Commander,” you said softly, eyes still on your bandaged arm.

“General.”

A beat passed. You waited for him to walk away. He didn’t.

You finally turned to see Bacara standing there, helmet off, held against his side. His expression was as unreadable as ever—sharp eyes, tighter lips, a soldier carved from ice and iron.

“You need something?” you asked, voice thinner than you wanted.

He studied you. Not in the way a soldier sized up a threat—but in the way someone searched for a word they weren’t used to saying.

“You did well.”

You raised a brow. “Is that praise?”

“It’s an observation,” he replied.

You didn’t look up. “If you’re here to defend your spying again, don’t. We already did that.”

“No,” Bacara said. His voice was calm. Flat. “I’m not here for that.”

You glanced up at him. “Then what?”

He stood for a beat too long before finally sitting down on the opposite crate, across the fire from you. No one else was nearby. The clones had given you space—not out of fear, but respect. You’d earned that today. Even if Bacara hadn’t said a word about it.

You sighed. “You gonna judge me for my actions like Mundi too?”

“No.”

You finally looked at him properly. He wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t closed off, exactly. Just guarded. Like a soldier on unfamiliar terrain.

“What then?”

“I don’t think he sees what you see,” Bacara said, eyes flicking to the fire. “But you’re right about one thing—he sees potential in you that he’s never been able to define. That’s what makes him so… rigid around you.”

You blinked. “That sounds almost like an apology.”

He met your eyes. “It’s not. Just honesty.”

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “You ever think about just saying what you mean without flanking it like an airstrike?”

“Too dangerous.”

You smiled, but only a little. “So what do you mean now?”

“I mean,” he said, voice lower now, “you’re reckless. Frustrating. You talk too much and question everything.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. This is going well.”

“But,” he added, and you stilled, “your instincts are good. Better than most Jedi I’ve fought beside.”

A pause. You stared at him.

“And,” he added again, almost like it hurt, “you weren’t wrong to call for help.”

You tilted your head. “You mean from Mundi, or from you?”

He didn’t answer. That was an answer in itself.

You softened a little, let yourself lean forward over the fire. “I was alone. Outnumbered. You would’ve done the same thing.”

“Probably,” Bacara admitted.

“But you’d still call me reckless for doing it.”

“Yes.”

You gave him a long look. “I said worse things about you to Mace, you know.”

His eyes flicked to yours, unreadable. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean all of it,” you said.

“I know that too.”

Another silence.

Then, from him, just barely audible:

“You’re not what I expected.”

You sat back, a flicker of heat rising to your cheeks. “You either, Commander.”

The silence settled between you again, less like tension this time—and more like something trying to become peace.

⸻

Back on Coruscant, The city-world glittered below, a sea of metal and movement. But inside the Temple, it was unusually quiet.

Rex stood just outside the Council Chambers, arms crossed behind his back, helmet off. His posture was military-perfect, but his eyes flicked to the arched window at the far end of the corridor every few seconds.

The last time he’d stood here, you were beside him, teasing him about being too stiff, too formal. He’d barely responded, but the corner of his mouth had twitched.

“Waiting for someone?”

Rex turned. Ahsoka approached, arms folded. She wasn’t smiling—just curious.

“General Skywalker asked me to debrief after the Christophis campaign,” Rex replied. “He’s late.”

Ahsoka stopped beside him and glanced up. “You seem… off.”

Rex gave her a sidelong look. “Do I?”

“You always do that thing with your jaw when you’re annoyed.” She mimicked him poorly, exaggerating the motion. “It’s like you’re chewing invisible rations.”

Rex chuckled, just barely. “That obvious, huh?”

Ahsoka leaned against the wall. “This about the General?”

Rex didn’t answer at first. Then: “Which one?”

Her smile faded. “So her.”

He looked down at his helmet. “Something changed on Aleen. I can’t explain it. But the way she looked when we saw her at the base… something’s different.”

“She looked tired,” Ahsoka said quietly. “And like she was holding something back.”

“Bacara was watching her the entire time,” Rex said, sharper now. “Like he was waiting for something.”

Ahsoka nodded slowly. “And you were doing the same.”

The silence stretched. Rex didn’t deny it.

“I’ve felt something,” Ahsoka said, lowering her voice. “A kind of… ripple in the Force. Like she’s a pebble that hit water and the waves are just now reaching us.”

Rex turned toward her. “You think she’s in danger?”

“I don’t know.” Ahsoka’s brow furrowed. “But something’s pulling at her. Pulling her toward something big. Or breaking.”

Rex stared ahead, jaw tight again. “If she gets reassigned again without warning—”

“She won’t tell you if she does,” Ahsoka said gently. “You know that.”

“I should’ve said something when I had the chance.”

“Maybe.” She hesitated. “But she knows. Trust me—she knows.”

The doors to the Council chamber finally hissed open. Anakin stepped out, waving them both in. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes flicked to Rex for a beat too long.

Even he had noticed.

As they stepped inside, neither of them said it aloud—but something was coming. And she was at the center of it.

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“War on Two Fronts” pt.3

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

The Jedi Council chamber was cold, even in the glow of the Coruscant skyline. The debriefing had gone as expected: Ki-Adi Mundi gave a terse account of the victory, Master Yoda nodded gravely at the intel retrieved, and Master Windu—your master—remained silent, arms crossed, dark eyes steady.

It was only after the others had filtered out that he spoke.

“You’re making waves,” Mace said simply.

You dropped your formal posture and let out a sigh. “That’s what I’m best at, apparently.”

He stepped closer, folding his hands behind his back, regarding you not as the strict Council member—but as the father figure you’d missed for weeks. “You were chosen for that campaign for a reason. You understand people, not just the Force. But you also understand the cost of disobedience.”

You frowned. “If I hadn’t stepped in on that first op, Bacara’s squad would’ve been cut down.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe he had it handled in a way that wasn’t apparent to you.”

You bristled, but he continued before you could speak.

“I’m not saying you were wrong. But war isn’t just about what’s right. It’s about cohesion. Trust. And I can see it’s wearing on you.”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “I didn’t come here to cry on your robe, Master.”

“No,” Mace said softly. “You came here because you wanted someone to tell you that you’re not crazy. That it’s okay to be angry. Conflicted. Even… confused.”

You exhaled slowly. “He overheard us. Bacara. That night.”

Mace arched a brow. “And?”

“And now he won’t even look at me the same way. I mean—he barely looked at me before, but now it’s like I’m just… insubordinate and loud and—”

“You are insubordinate and loud.”

You gaped at him, offended.

But then he smirked. Smirked. A rare thing on his face. “You’re also brave. And stubborn. And too much for men like Bacara to understand—until they do.”

You blinked, unsure what to do with that. “So what? Wait for him to catch up?”

“No,” Mace said. “Live your life. He’ll either keep pace or fall behind.”

There was something final in his tone. Like the matter was settled.

You nodded and turned to go—but paused at the door.

“Thanks, Master,” you said. “For being on my side. Always.”

“I’m not on your side,” he said, but his voice was low, warm. “I am your side.”

⸻

That night, the base was quiet.

The city lights outside flickered like static, and the low hum of the barracks ventilation system was the only sound as you walked the hall in your off-duty robes.

You didn’t mean to pass the 501st’s barracks. Didn’t mean to pause. But there he was—Rex. Sitting outside on one of the stone ledges, helmet on the bench beside him, elbows on his knees.

He didn’t look surprised to see you.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” you asked.

“Didn’t try,” he answered, gaze still on the skyline. “You?”

You shook your head and sat beside him. “Been doing a lot of thinking.”

“About the campaign?”

You hesitated. “About a lot of things.”

Silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The kind that existed between two people who didn’t have to fill space with noise.

“They’ve reassigned me again. The Council’s spreading me thin.”

“I figured,” Rex replied. “It’s what they do with the ones they trust most.”

You looked at him, frowning slightly. “You don’t sound like you agree.”

“I’ve just seen what it does to people. To Jedi.” His voice was steady. But when he looked at you—really looked—you saw something vulnerable, unguarded.

“You seemed… close to him,” he said finally. “Bacara.”

You flinched. “He barely tolerates me.”

Rex looked down at his hands. “That might be why it bothers me.”

You inhaled sharply.

There it was.

Not said explicitly. Not a confession. But something just as dangerous.

Your voice was softer now. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I know,” Rex murmured. “Me neither.”

You sat together in silence, the city breathing below, the war pressing in around you. Neither of you moved.

⸻

The Coruscant base was unusually quiet. War never truly paused, but the brief interlude between deployments lent a strange stillness to the barracks — as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Commander Bacara sat alone at one of the durasteel tables in the mess hall, untouched rations on his tray, helmet on the table beside him. He looked like he belonged more to the battlefield than this sterile, quiet place — broad-shouldered, scarred, always watching.

Captain Rex spotted him on the way out.

He paused, almost kept walking — but something made him stop.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something else.

He walked over and sat down across from him without waiting for permission.

Bacara looked up, impassive. “Captain.”

“Commander,” Rex said coolly.

A long pause.

“You’re usually on the frontlines,” Rex noted, more observation than question.

“So are you,” Bacara returned.

Another pause. They weren’t men built for small talk.

Finally, Rex exhaled and leaned back slightly. “I heard she’s being reassigned again. Away from you.”

Bacara’s jaw flexed, just once. “So did I.”

“That bother you?”

Bacara’s eyes lifted slowly to meet his. “No. Why would it?”

Rex gave a half-smile. “You’re a terrible liar.”

A muscle twitched under Bacara’s eye. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Good,” Rex said, not missing a beat. “Because I didn’t ask for an explanation.”

Another beat of silence. Tension curled in the air like static before a storm.

“She’s not like the others,” Rex said eventually, more quietly. “You know that.”

Bacara’s voice was colder now. “She’s reckless. Disruptive. Emotional.”

“She’s a Jedi,” Rex said firmly. “You’ve fought beside Jedi. You know they’re not all the same. And she’s more than that.”

Bacara’s eyes narrowed. “And what exactly do you think she is to you?”

Rex didn’t flinch. “That’s not your concern.”

There was a long, brittle silence between them. The kind that dared one of them to make the next move.

Finally, Bacara looked away.

“You think I’m the one standing in her way,” he said. “But the truth is, she’s always been on the edge of something bigger than both of us.”

Rex’s expression shifted. “And you don’t want to be there with her?”

Bacara’s voice was low. Flat. “I don’t get to want things.”

Rex stood slowly, pushing his chair back with a controlled scrape. He leaned on the table just enough to close the space between them.

“Then you’ll lose her,” Rex said. “Because I do.”

And with that, he turned and walked out — leaving Bacara alone in the silence he seemed to prefer, and now couldn’t escape.

Bacara didn’t move for a long time after Rex left.

He sat in the stillness of the mess, half in shadow, staring through his untouched rations like they were a battlefield map. He replayed every word. Every expression. The way Rex spoke like someone who knew her — not just as a General or an officer. But her.

He should have let it go. Should have pushed it down and moved on like always.

But something in him bristled.

Not because Rex was wrong — but because he might’ve been right.

He stood, shoved the tray aside, and left the mess with clipped strides. He didn’t need food. He needed space. Or quiet. Or a sparring mat.

His boots echoed down the hallway, past quarters and security checkpoints. Troopers passed him and gave quick salutes, and he returned them with curt nods. His expression remained unreadable, his jaw set like duracrete.

But inside his head, it wasn’t silent.

He could still hear her laughing with the squad around the campfire that last night on the front. Her voice — all heat and light, challenging him even when she didn’t mean to. The way she moved, the way she saw people — not just as soldiers or pawns in the field, but people.

And how she’d looked at him when he snapped at her. Like she wanted to understand him — and that frustrated him more than anything.

She was everything he’d been trained not to trust.

Unpredictable.

Emotional.

Compassionate.

Too much heart for a war like this.

Too much heart for him.

And yet…

He ended up in the training ring without realizing it. The lights were dim, the room empty, just how he preferred it. He stepped into the center and let the helmet seal around his head with a soft hiss. Gloves on. Mind blank.

He activated one of the combat droids.

It rushed him in the next second.

He didn’t hold back. Not this time. Every strike he landed echoed like thunder. Every dodge was surgical. Methodical. Brutal. A clean release of everything he didn’t have the words for.

It was only after the third droid dropped, sparking and twitching on the ground, that he paused. He stood over it, chest heaving slightly beneath the armor.

He didn’t understand her.

And he hated that.

Because something about the way she smiled at him like he was still human had started to unmake everything the war had shaped him into.

And now, Rex — kriffing Rex — was standing in the middle of that same storm.

Bacara powered down the remaining droids and left the ring in silence.

He didn’t believe in feelings. But he did believe in instincts.

And for the first time in his life, he didn’t trust his own.

⸻

You didn’t like the quiet.

Not this kind of quiet. Not the sterile hum of Coruscant’s military wing, not the half-hearted warmth of your small assigned quarters. Not when you were about to be sent back out.

You moved through your room restlessly — tucking gear into a pack, checking and rechecking the contents, fingers twitching against the fabric of your cloak.

The debrief from the Council had been brief. Too brief. No details, just an assignment: diplomatic assistance to a neutral system teetering toward Separatist influence. Jedi mission, yes. But they wanted someone… adaptable.

You, apparently.

You were still muttering about the phrasing when a soft chime came at the door.

“Yeah,” you called distractedly, expecting a messenger.

The door slid open.

“General,” came Rex’s familiar voice.

You turned — and instantly smiled, your posture easing. “Captain.”

He stepped inside with his helmet tucked under his arm, a slight smirk on his face. “Heard you were shipping out again.”

“You know me. Can’t stay in one place too long or I start throwing furniture.”

He laughed — and it wasn’t forced. Rex was good like that. Steady, grounded. He had this rare way of being present without pressing too much.

“You okay?” he asked, stepping in a little closer.

You gave a half-shrug, then nodded. “It’s better than being stuck in strategy meetings with Mundi and his ‘visionary foresight.’”

Rex grinned. “I’d take blaster fire over that.”

You grinned back.

And that’s when the second chime hit the door.

You blinked. “Expecting someone else?”

“No,” you said slowly.

The door slid open again.

Commander Bacara stood in the hallway, arms behind his back, helmet on, armor scuffed — looking like he’d just walked out of a warzone and right into a social situation he didn’t know how to navigate.

You stiffened instinctively. “Commander.”

“General.” His voice was flat.

Rex, ever the professional, nodded politely. “Commander Bacara.”

“Captain,” Bacara said, equally neutral.

The tension in the room thickened immediately.

You cleared your throat and gestured toward your half-packed gear. “Wasn’t expecting visitors.”

Bacara didn’t move from the doorway. “I came to… check in. Before your departure.”

You blinked. He hadn’t spoken more than a sentence to you at a time in weeks. “That’s… thoughtful.”

“I don’t do ‘thoughtful,’” he said stiffly. “Just wanted to ensure you were briefed properly.”

“I am,” you said gently. “But thank you.”

A long pause.

Rex glanced between the two of you. His brow furrowed just slightly.

You watched Bacara’s shoulders shift — only barely, but enough. He was about to say something else.

And then he saw Rex’s hand resting lightly on the edge of your desk. The proximity. The quiet ease in your posture. The subtle, familiar tension between people who understood each other.

Whatever Bacara had come to say died behind the visor.

“If you’re adequately prepared, I won’t take more of your time,” he said crisply.

You almost said something — but then he gave you a short nod and turned on his heel.

The door slid shut behind him.

You exhaled.

Rex didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you, a small furrow between his brows.

“You okay?” he asked again — this time quieter.

You gave a strained smile. “Never better.”

But your eyes were still on the door.

And something about the way Bacara hadn’t looked back left you more shaken than you wanted to admit.

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“War On Two Fronts” pt.2

Captain Rex x Reader X Commander Bacara

Christophis shimmered beneath a cold midday sun. The siege held steady for now, but you knew what the silence meant—another droid push was coming.

You stood outside the Republic command center as the wind curled through the crystal-laced streets, arms crossed over your chest as General Kenobi stepped beside you.

“You’re tense,” Obi-Wan said mildly, hands clasped behind his back.

“I’m Jedi,” you replied. “Tense is the brand.”

He chuckled softly. “You sound more like your former Master every day.”

You side-eyed him. “Don’t insult me.”

Kenobi smiled, and the two of you shared a brief, familiar quiet. He was warmth where Mace was fire. Less demanding, more wry. But you never doubted his strength.

He gestured for you to follow him back inside. “Cody and Rex have uncovered something troubling.”

⸻

Inside the war room, the holomap flickered with overlapping reports of enemy troop movements—ones the Separatists shouldn’t have been able to predict.

Cody looked up. “We’ve been compromised.”

You frowned, stepping beside Rex. “Hacked?”

“Worse,” Rex muttered, jaw tight. “Someone inside fed the droids our plans.”

Kenobi’s brow furrowed. “You’re certain?”

“We checked the comms logs, troop assignments. It had to be someone in the barracks,” Cody said.

You exchanged a glance with Rex.

“This wasn’t a droid slicing into our systems,” you said. “This was betrayal.”

Obi-Wan and Anakin headed out shortly after—to track down Ventress, whom they suspected had made direct contact with the traitor. You watched them vanish over the ridge, then turned back toward the barracks.

Cody nodded to Rex. “We do this quiet.”

You, Rex, and Cody questioned each of the troopers in the unit, keeping it routine. Nothing tipped you off—until Rex noticed something Slick had said.

Cody turned to you, “General,” he said, furious, “he knew the layout. Accessed the codes. Blasted his own squad’s quarters to cover his tracks.”

The rest came fast—tracking him to the weapons depot, where he’d set explosives to destroy Republic munitions.

Slick ranted as Cody and Rex finally brought him down. You stood at the edge, watching the aftermath, pulse still hammering.

“I was freeing myself!” Slick yelled. “We’re slaves—bred for war, thrown into battles without choice. You’re all too blind to see it!”

“You betrayed brothers,” Rex bit out. “Not just orders. Us.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t—not right then. You looked to Cody, who was already organizing a sweep of remaining supply caches.

“Reinforce the northern sector,” you told Rex, your voice steady. “We can’t let them think this rattled us.”

“Yes, General.”

He started to move, but paused. “Do you think he was right?”

You looked at him, really looked.

“No,” you said quietly. “You aren’t slaves. You’re soldiers. But that doesn’t mean the Republic treats you right.”

A small flicker passed over his face—something like surprise. And something else beneath it.

Respect.

You didn’t linger. You turned back to the ruined depot and the traitor being dragged away.

But the next time Rex looked at you, it was different.

⸻

The air over Christophis was charged with static and tension—thick enough to choke on. The Separatists had dug in deeper, the front line stretching like a fraying wire. Crystal shards and smoldering wreckage dotted the skyline.

You stood atop the forward command platform beside Rex and Anakin, squinting through macrobinoculars as waves of droids advanced, relentless.

“Cody’s holding the right flank,” Rex reported. “But not for long.”

Anakin shifted beside you. “Then we take the pressure off.”

You lowered the binocs, nodding. “We push up the main thoroughfare. Hard and fast. Break their rhythm.”

Rex gave a short nod. “I’ll get the men ready.”

As he turned, Anakin glanced sideways at you. “Not bad, General. Starting to think you’re enjoying our messes.”

“I was trained by Windu. Messes are my baseline,” you said, arching a brow.

Anakin grinned. “You ever get tired of being reassigned?”

You opened your mouth to answer—but the sudden thrum of a descending transport drew your attention skyward. A Jedi cruiser broke the cloudline, dropping a low-altitude shuttle near your position.

A moment later, the boarding ramp hissed open—and out strode a young Togruta girl with fire in her stride and determination on her face.

“Jedi reinforcements?” Rex asked, squinting.

You stepped forward as she approached. “She’s just a kid…”

“I’m not ‘just a kid,’” the girl interrupted, planting herself in front of you and Anakin. “I’m Ahsoka Tano. Jedi Padawan. Assigned by Master Yoda.”

Anakin blinked. “Assigned to who?”

“To you,” Ahsoka replied, chin lifted proudly. “Master Skywalker.”

You looked between them, watching the shock play across Anakin’s face, and bit back a smile.

“Well,” you said quietly, “have fun with that.”

But Ahsoka wasn’t done. She turned to you next, eyes bright with news.

“And you, General,” she added. “I have orders for your redeployment. The Council needs you on Jabiim.”

Your heart skipped.

Jabiim.

The mud planet. The fractured native clans. The ghosts.

“I served there as a Padawan,” you said. “Years ago.”

Ahsoka nodded. “The Council said your connection with the local resistance could help rebuild diplomacy. They’re trying to avoid civilian casualties. You will be aiding Master Mundi and his men”

You didn’t answer right away. The weight of it pressed into your chest—not just another mission. Not just more fighting.

But Bacara.

And Mundi.

Anakin folded his arms, expression darkening. “You just got here. They’re moving you again?”

You glanced at him. “It’s war, Skywalker.”

He shook his head. “It’s bad planning.”

Rex was quiet beside you, unreadable behind his helmet.

You finally turned to him. “You’ve got good people, Captain. You’ll win this without me.”

He hesitated for the briefest beat before nodding. “Safe travels, General.”

You turned back toward the shuttle, Ahsoka falling into step beside you. “They’re expecting you to land by nightfall.”

“And I expect to be muddy by morning,” you muttered.

You didn’t look back.

But you felt it—that unmistakable flicker of attachment. The way a battlefront had started to feel like home. The way one quiet, steady clone had started to make you hesitate before stepping onto a ship.

You swallowed it.

And walked away.

⸻

The rain on Jabiim hadn’t changed.

It greeted you like an old foe—relentless, icy, and soaking through every layer of your robes before you even stepped off the gunship. The scent of wet metal and rot filled your lungs, the familiar churn of mud underfoot as clone boots squelched around you.

You blinked against the downpour, lifting your hood as a group of Jabiimi locals approached. Dressed in patchwork armor and soaked tunics, they looked rougher than you remembered—but their leader, a grizzled woman with salt-and-pepper braids, smiled the moment she saw you.

“Jedi!” she called out. “I didn’t believe it when they said it was you.”

You moved forward and clasped her arm, shoulder to shoulder in the Jabiimi way. “Reya. Still not dead?”

“Disappointed?” she asked with a sharp grin.

“Honestly, yeah. I was sure you’d be the one to get pancaked by an AT-TE trying to punch it.”

She barked a laugh, and a few of her men chuckled behind her. The rain ran down your face, but you didn’t care—not here.

“Still the same sharp tongue,” Reya said. “But older. Heavier.”

You looked toward the ridgelines beyond the base, where smoke curled from recent skirmishes.

“We all are.”

⸻

The command tent was warm in comparison, though the heat came mostly from tension.

Master Ki-Adi-Mundi was hunched over a holomap, his long fingers tapping as he scrolled through topography. Bacara stood at his side, arms folded, helmet tucked beneath one arm. He glanced up as you entered—and then promptly looked away.

“General,” Mundi greeted without looking up. “Your arrival was later than expected.”

You raised a brow. “Nice to see you too, Master Mundi. The diplomatic welcome from the Jabiimi slowed us down.”

“They do have a flair for unnecessary tradition,” he replied, dry as bone.

You stifled a sigh and stepped closer. “They trust me. That’ll matter when this turns ugly.”

Mundi didn’t argue—but didn’t agree either.

Instead, he gestured toward the glowing red marks on the map. “Separatist forces have split across the valley. We’ll need a two-pronged advance.”

You exchanged a brief glance with Bacara. “I assume I’m taking one side?”

“Yes,” Mundi said. “And Commander Bacara will accompany you.”

You didn’t miss the subtle way Bacara’s jaw shifted.

Later, outside the command tent, the rain had lightened to a misty drizzle. You and Bacara walked in silence through the makeshift perimeter. Troopers moved past, saluting. The mud clung to everything.

“You’re quiet,” you finally said, side-eyeing him. “More than usual.”

“I prefer action to small talk,” he replied, eyes scanning the treeline.

You folded your arms, then smirked. “Well. I’d try to get you to like me, but it’s clear you already hate Master Mundi more.”

For the first time since you’d arrived, Bacara blinked—and something flickered across his face. A twitch of the mouth. Maybe even a grin. You weren’t sure. But it was enough.

“He’s… not ideal,” Bacara said at last.

You raised a brow. “That was practically gossip. Careful, Commander.”

He didn’t respond, but the tension between you had eased. Slightly.

You stepped up beside him. “You don’t have to like me. But we fight better when we understand each other.”

“I understand you fine, General,” Bacara said, looking forward. “You don’t like being told what to do. You take risks. You talk too much.”

You hummed. “And yet, somehow, you haven’t shot me.”

“There’s still time.”

The ghost of a smirk tugged at your lips as you looked out across the field. Rain still fell. The mud still swallowed boots whole. But something was shifting. Just a little.

You’d crack his armor eventually.

One way or another.

⸻

The dawn on Jabiim was little more than a pale bruise behind stormclouds.

Visibility was poor. The mist clung to the ground like a second skin. The entire platoon moved like wraiths over the muddy terrain, their white armor dulled with grime. Bacara led the charge, as always, silent and swift. You followed at his flank, your saber unlit for now, your mind scanning for movement through the Force.

This mission was simple: flush out a Separatist munitions outpost built into the cliffs east of the valley before reinforcements arrived. Quiet, fast, sharp. That was Bacara’s way.

And there had been no room for questioning it.

He hadn’t assigned you anything. He’d informed you. “You’ll be on overwatch. Do not break formation unless ordered,” he’d said back at camp, his voice clipped and precise. “This is not a Jedi operation. This is military execution.”

You weren’t used to being spoken to like a cadet.

As you crested the final ridge, you crouched next to Bacara. He was scanning the outpost below, HUD flickering, speaking quietly into his comm to his men.

“Squad A—flank left. Squad B, take high ground on that outcrop. We breach in five.”

You watched him for a beat, then leaned close.

“Got a plan for the anti-armor cannons on the eastern side?”

He didn’t look at you. “They’ll be dealt with.”

“Your definition of ‘dealt with’ usually involves body bags.”

Bacara finally turned, visor gleaming. “My definition of ‘dealt with’ ends with mission success. You’re on overwatch, remember?”

You exhaled slowly, not wanting to escalate. “I’m trying to work with you, Commander. If you’d communicate—”

“Trust is earned, not given,” he said sharply. “And so far, all I’ve seen is impulsiveness, disobedience, and sentimentality.”

You stared at him, something sharp catching behind your ribs.

“I save lives,” you said. “You bury them.”

Bacara’s tone went cold. “And yet, you’re here. Assigned to my unit. That should tell you something.”

He turned without another word, barking orders to his troops as they began moving into position.

⸻

The assault was brutal.

Explosives lit up the fog, and Separatist fire screamed through the air. Bacara’s unit moved with terrifying coordination—drilled to perfection, ruthless in their advance. You provided support, covering fire, strategic pushes—but nothing too visible. Bacara didn’t want theatrics. He wanted precision.

It worked.

By the time you moved into the outpost interior, only a few scattered droids remained. You slashed through them with clean sweeps, the hiss of your saber illuminating the narrow halls.

But something still sat sour in your gut.

Back at camp, you wiped grime from your face and walked straight into the makeshift command tent where Bacara was debriefing.

“You reassigned Trooper Kixan.”

Bacara didn’t look up from his datapad. “Yes.”

“He saved three men today,” you said, stepping in. “Took a blaster bolt to the shoulder and kept moving. He’s loyal. Smart. Brave.”

“And slow. His reaction time compromised the left flank. He will be reassigned to support detail under a different unit.”

You stared at him. “You can’t treat them like parts, Bacara.”

“I don’t, General,” he replied, eyes finally lifting to meet yours. “I treat them like soldiers. And I do not have room for anything less than excellence.”

Something cold lodged in your throat. “You’re going to push them until they break.”

“They were bred for this,” he said flatly. “If they break, they weren’t made for war.”

You hated how calm he sounded. You hated how efficient he was. You hated how much it reminded you of everything Mace warned you about when Jedi strayed too far into command and left their compassion behind.

You turned to leave, stopping just at the tent flap.

“I thought Mundi was the hardest man in this battalion to like,” you said, not looking back. “But congratulations. You’re winning.”

⸻

The storm had broken sometime after midnight. Rain battered the tents with rhythmic violence, and the air carried that sharp, post-battle scent: metal, ozone, blood.

You couldn’t sleep.

Your boots sank into the sludge outside your tent as you paced, the glow of the communicator clenched in your hand like it could anchor you.

You stood still beneath the overhang of a comms tower and keyed in the encryption sequence. The signal buzzed—delayed, flickering—and for a heartbeat, you thought it wouldn’t connect.

Then, Master Windu’s image shimmered to life, projected in pale blue above your comm.

“[Y/N],” he said, voice like gravel smoothed by a river. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders relaxed the slightest bit. “You’re up late. I assume this isn’t a scheduled update.”

You scoffed. “No. This is a tactical emergency.”

Mace didn’t react. “You’re bleeding?”

“Emotionally,” you said, dryly. “From the brain. And the soul.”

He stared. “Explain.”

You leaned in like you were about to spill secrets forbidden by the Code. “Master, I swear, if I spend one more minute on this cold, miserable rock with Commander Iceblock and High Council Saint Arrogance, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Mace blinked slowly. “I take it you’re referring to Bacara and Master Mundi.”

“Who else would I be referring to?! One of them speaks like he’s permanently inhaled a blaster cartridge and the other talks to me like I’m still a youngling who can’t lift a cup without supervision!”

Mace’s brow twitched slightly. “You are still young.”

You pointed a stern finger at the holocomm. “Don’t do that. Don’t Jedi me. This is a venting call, Master.”

“I gathered.”

You slumped back in the chair, groaning. “Bacara reassigns clones like they’re sabacc cards. He told me I was ‘failing to meet operational discipline standards.’ What does that mean?! I beat his training droid record last month!”

“You are… not a standard Jedi.”

“I’m not even sure he likes Jedi. And Mundi just nods at everything he does like they’re some cold, creepy war hive mind! At least you used to tell me when I was being annoying. They just silently judge me like two frostbitten gargoyles!”

There was a long pause. You half expected Mace to give you a lecture. Instead, his voice was low. “You’re frustrated. That’s not wrong. What do you want from them?”

You sighed, all the energy draining out of you. “I don’t know. Respect? Trust? Maybe a little acknowledgment that I know what I’m doing?”

Mace’s eyes softened ever so slightly. “You want them to see you the way I do.”

You didn’t answer right away. But yeah—maybe.

“I can’t make them see it,” Mace continued. “But I can remind you that you’ve earned everything that put you where you are. Don’t twist yourself into someone else to win their approval.”

You smiled faintly. “Not even for peace and quiet?”

“Especially not for that. You’ve never been quiet.”

You laughed, resting your chin in your hand. “I miss Coruscant.”

“I miss not having to take comm calls at two in the morning.”

You beamed. “But you still answered.”

His mouth twitched. “Always.”

You grinned, wide and unapologetic.

“Get some sleep,” he said, his tone softening. “You’ll outlast them both.”

“I’ll try. Thanks, Master.”

The transmission ended, and for the first time in days, you felt like your balance had returned.

⸻

The frost crunched beneath your boots, thin white cracking like old bone as you followed the squad through the craggy ravine. The sky above was overcast—grey, as always—and your breath fogged with every exhale.

It was the first coordinated mission with just you, Bacara, and the squad. No Ki-Adi-Mundi. No diplomacy. Just a recon op on the edge of hostile territory. Quiet. Tense. Frozen.

You liked the clones. Most of them, anyway. Kixan—freshly reassigned—offered you a small nod as you passed. You gave him one back.

Bacara hadn’t spoken to you directly since the debrief.

You didn’t know why it irked you so much. He was never exactly chatty—but there was something pointed about his silence now. And it was beginning to wear on your nerves.

You kept pace beside him anyway, trudging over uneven rock as the squad spread out behind you.

“Terrain levels off another two klicks ahead,” you said. “If we angle the scan here, we can avoid the ridge entirely and still get clean readings.”

He said nothing.

You blinked. “That wasn’t a suggestion. That was a tactical note.”

“I heard you,” he muttered, gruff and unreadable.

You narrowed your eyes. “Did I do something to upset you, Commander?”

There was a beat. He didn’t look at you. “No.”

Liar.

You frowned, your hand brushing the hilt of your saber. “Okay. So it’s just me. Got it.”

“Don’t start something mid-mission,” he snapped. Not loud—but sharp enough to cut.

Your nostrils flared. “You’re not my master, Bacara.”

“No. But I am your commander on this op. And your opinion of me has been made… abundantly clear.”

You froze mid-step. “What?”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t hear all of your conversation with Master Windu,” he said, voice low. “Just enough.”

Oh no.

Your mouth opened—and closed. You felt your stomach twist.

“How much is ‘enough’?”

“‘Emotionally bleeding from the soul,’” he quoted flatly.

Maker.

You looked away, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks despite the cold. “You were spying.”

“I was passing the comm tent.”

You made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a swear. “Fine. Look—maybe I vented. A little. But you were being impossible.”

You made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a swear. “Fine. Look—maybe I vented. A little. But you were being impossible.”

“I was doing my job.”

“At what cost?”

Bacara stopped. You nearly walked into him.

He turned to you fully, expression unreadable behind the harsh lines of his helmet. “I don’t have the luxury of trial and error, General. I don’t get to make emotional calls and hope they work out.”

You swallowed. “You think I do?”

He didn’t answer.

You took a step forward, eyes locked on him. “I feel things. That’s not a weakness. And maybe I complain. Maybe I rant. But I’ve never abandoned the mission. I’m here. I’m fighting. Same as you.”

There was a moment—a flicker of something in his stance. Tension. Conflict. Maybe even a touch of guilt.

“I don’t dislike you,” he said finally.

You blinked. “You’ve got a strange way of showing it.”

A silence stretched between you.

He added, quietly, “I dislike Mundi more.”

You snorted before you could help it. “Well, now you’re just trying to flatter me.”

“No,” he said dryly. “That’s not what that was.”

And just like that, a crack formed in the durasteel.

Not enough to change everything.

But enough to start.

⸻

The wind came down from the northern slopes in sharp, whispering currents, cutting through every seam of your robes. The battle might have been quiet today, but the land was still loud—with frost, with silence, with the kind of stillness that meant something was always waiting.

You sat cross-legged near the squad’s makeshift fire, arms wrapped around your knees, watching embers dance. The clones had begun to relax, little by little. Helmets off. Gloves loosened. There was even the soft clink of a thermal flask being passed around.

Bacara hadn’t joined them yet. He stood off a few meters, half-silhouetted in the dark, arms folded, visor turned toward the stars—or the silence. You couldn’t tell.

You didn’t press him.

Instead, you looked at the men.

Gunner was talking with Varn, low-voiced but animated. Kixan nodded along, his smile tired but real. Even Tekk, the quietest of them, had cracked a dry comment earlier that got a snort from the group. You liked seeing them like this. Human.

You passed your own ration tin to Kixan and leaned back, letting the heat of the fire work on your frozen spine.

And then Master Mundi joined the circle.

He sat down with the composure of a politician, robes perfectly arranged despite the mud at the hem. He gave a slight nod to the men, then turned his attention to you.

“General,” he said. “It is good to see you integrating with the unit.”

You arched a brow. “They’re good men. Not hard to like.”

He gave one of his tight, unreadable smiles. “Affection must never cloud judgment. Familiarity breeds attachment. Attachment clouds the Force.”

There it was.

You smiled, tight-lipped. “I’m aware of the Code, Master.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said mildly, but it still grated. Like you were a student again. Like the weight of your lightsaber and the stripes on your armor didn’t mean anything.

The silence that followed was awkward—until Gunner coughed and redirected with a story about a wild nexu they’d seen in a jungle op once. The others followed his lead.

You joined in too—offering a few memories from a chaotic campaign with the 501st that involved a collapsed bridge, a flock of angry bird-lizards, and Anakin Skywalker daring a clone to drink glowing fruit juice.

That got real laughs.

Even Tekk chuckled, and Varn snorted loud enough to attract Bacara’s attention. The commander lingered, glanced at the fire, then slowly made his way over.

You noticed. So did the men.

He didn’t sit, but he stayed. Close enough to hear. Close enough to be seen.

That was something.

And then, quietly, Gunner passed him the flask.

Bacara hesitated—just for a moment—then took it. No words. Just a nod. But the men noticed. So did you.

The conversation rolled on. Light. Easy. Full of battle scars and ridiculous injuries and even a poor attempt at singing a Republic marching song. The cold wasn’t gone—but it felt distant now. Dull.

You met Bacara’s eyes briefly through his helmet, and offered a small, genuine smile.

He didn’t return it.

But he didn’t look away, either.

And somehow, that was enough.

⸻

The war was never really over—not on Coruscant, and certainly not in your head. But the campaign was.

The treaty was signed, the separatist stronghold had been dismantled, and the native leadership, thanks to your careful negotiations, had agreed to provide intelligence and safe passage for the Republic.

It was a hard-won, smoke-stained victory. You’d survived. So had the squad. Even Bacara.

Back on Coruscant, the base was bustling with returning battalions. Steel corridors echoed with familiar voices and heavy boots, but everything felt strangely muffled to you. It always did after a long campaign. Like you were half out of your body, trailing somewhere between systems and decisions you couldn’t take back.

You were exiting the debriefing chambers when you heard the voice—steady, familiar, a little softer than usual.

“General.”

You turned—too fast.

Rex stood there in casual gear, one hand loosely on his belt, the other behind his back. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, which meant you got the full impact of that steady, level gaze and the faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Standing just behind him was Ahsoka Tano, arms crossed, an amused but knowing expression on her face.

“Well, look who made it back in one piece,” you said, heart lurching before you could stop it.

Rex nodded. “Didn’t doubt you would, General.”

You walked toward them, easing into the reunion like slipping into an old coat. Comfortable. Familiar. Too comfortable?

Ahsoka stepped forward first. “You smell like three weeks of burned jungle and bad rations.”

You snorted. “It was three weeks of bad rations, but certainly wasn’t burned jungles.”

She grinned, then leaned in to give you a quick hug. “Welcome back.”

You were about to respond when you felt it—eyes. On your back.

You turned, just slightly, and saw Bacara in the distance, halfway across the hangar bay. Still in full armor, helmet under his arm, face unreadable.

He didn’t approach. Just… watched.

You blinked, heart thudding a little too loud in your chest, then turned back to Rex—and that’s when you saw it.

A tiny shift. A twitch of his jaw. The faintest flicker in his expression.

You weren’t sure what it meant.

But Ahsoka did.

She looked between the two of you, her brow furrowing slightly as she took a half-step back and crossed her arms again. Observing.

“Commander Bacara?” Rex asked, casual in tone, but not in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you said. “We worked… closely this campaign.”

Rex gave a small nod, then glanced over your shoulder briefly. “He doesn’t look thrilled.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Ahsoka did, though. “Neither do you.”

The silence that followed was tight.

You tried to lighten it. “You’re both just mad I didn’t die out there.”

Rex gave a thin smile. “Not mad, General. Just surprised.”

That one stung. Not because it was harsh—because it wasn’t. It was honest. And distant. And something you couldn’t quite read.

Before you could say anything else, a summons crackled over your comlink—Council debriefing.

“Guess I’m wanted,” you said, already backing away.

You turned and started walking. You didn’t look back.

But you could feel two sets of eyes watching you go.

One like a shadow. The other like a tether you weren’t sure you could still follow.

⸻

Previous Part | Next Part

(A/N, I had to make up a few clone ocs as I could not find one clone name for the Galactic Marines)

“War On Two Fronts” pt.1

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

(A/N, this fic is purely for my own amusement, enjoy it if you must. I simply wanted to create the most random, somewhat unhinged, love triangle I could think of)

The Jedi Temple stood still that morning.

Even with the war breathing down the galaxy’s neck, even with whispers of clones and Kamino and Separatist strongholds, the Temple had not forgotten how to hold its silence.

A rare breeze swept through the Pillars of the hall, rustling the gold-edged tapestries that hung like memories between the columns. The high, vaulted ceiling glowed dimly from the skylights overhead—no harsh illumination today. Just solemn sun and shadow.

You knelt at the center of it all, the marble cool beneath your knees, the hem of your robes curled slightly from movement. Your hands, for once, were still.

Before you stood Master Windu.

And as always, he was a wall.

A composed, unmoving force of principle and power—yet even now, in his rigid stance and unreadable expression, you could feel it. That slight shift in his presence. That guarded warmth he never allowed the others to see. His version of pride was like his version of affection: precise. Controlled. But real.

“You’ve grown into a warrior the Council did not expect,” he said quietly. His voice echoed through the chamber, flat but grounded. “That is both your strength… and your warning.”

A wry smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. “That sounds like you, Master.”

“Former Master,” Mace corrected, though the corner of his mouth almost twitched. “As of today.”

You glanced sideways, just enough to catch a glimpse of Master Yoda seated beside the ceremonial flame, nodding with quiet approval. A few other Masters flanked the hall—Plo Koon, Shaak Ti, Obi-Wan. Anakin was here too, arms crossed, a smirk barely hidden. Of course he would be. He’d want to see someone else screw with the rules for once.

Mace raised his amethyst saber.

The room fell into breathless quiet, save for the snap-hiss of energy igniting.

“For your skill in battle,” he said. “For your persistence in training. For your commitment to the Force—despite your unorthodox methods.”

You heard the faintest beat of amusement in his voice, even as the blade hovered above your right shoulder.

“I name you Jedi Knight.”

The saber passed over your left shoulder, then extinguished in a smooth hiss. The light faded.

So did the weight.

You rose to your feet, your chest oddly tight.

You’d imagined this moment a thousand times. You thought you’d grin. You thought you’d make a joke. Maybe wink at Anakin, toss your braid in celebration.

But instead, you looked at Mace.

And for the first time since you’d been a reckless thirteen-year-old hurling training sabers at his back in the practice ring… you saw the crack in his armor.

Pride.

Not spoken. Never spoken.

But it was there.

He stepped forward and quietly handed you your old braid, cut clean through and wrapped carefully in cloth. His gloved hand lingered a second too long as you took it.

“You’ll never be like me,” he said, low enough for only you to hear.

You looked up at him, caught off-guard.

“And that is the greatest relief I’ve known in some time.”

Your throat tightened, emotion flashing hot behind your eyes, but you swallowed it.

“I learned from the best,” you managed, voice rough.

He didn’t smile. But he gave you a look that you would remember when the sky fell—when the war bled through every part of your soul. A look that said: I see who you are. I will always see it.

And then the moment passed.

Yoda called the next words.

The crowd shifted. Masters murmured. A few clones, newly commissioned, stood near the archway in pristine armor. The air already smelled like smoke. War was coming, and peace was being written into the margins of your life.

You were a Jedi Knight now.

And you were already being sent to assist the Galactic Marines on Mygeeto.

⸻

The Venator-class cruiser was silent in the way warships always were before deployment—tense, mechanical, full of breath held in systems and lungs alike.

You stepped onto the hangar deck with your boots echoing, the hem of your new robes catching the gust from a passing LAAT. The smell of oil and ozone hit like a punch. The air was cooler than the Temple. Less forgiving.

The Galactic Marines didn’t look your way when you passed.

They didn’t need to.

Their reputation had preceded them—shock troopers bred for winter warfare and brutal sieges, trained under a commander who was as known for his silence as he was for his kill count.

Commander Bacara.

You spotted him almost immediately near the forward transport: broad frame, maroon-striped armor, helmet on. He didn’t salute. Didn’t approach. Just stood, arms crossed over his DC-15, as if sizing you up from thirty paces.

You let the moment hang before making your way to him, slow and purposeful.

“Commander Bacara,” you greeted, offering a nod. “I’m [Y/N], attached to this campaign per Council orders.”

Silence.

Not a word. Not even a hum of acknowledgment.

You arched a brow.

“Right. Strong, silent type. Got it.”

Still nothing. His visor remained locked on you, unreadable.

“Did the clones get assigned vocal cords or are you just allergic to Jedi in general?”

That got a reaction—a tilt of the helmet, ever so slight. Then, at last, a gravel-thick voice rumbled from the vocoder:

“Only the loud ones.”

Your mouth quirked into something halfway between irritation and amusement. “Guess it’s your lucky day.”

Before he could reply—or walk off, which you sensed he very much wanted to do—a voice cut in behind you.

“[Last Name].”

You turned, spine stiffening.

Ki-Adi-Mundi stood at the foot of the boarding ramp, flanked by two clone officers. His long fingers were clasped behind his back, face pinched in that constant mix of detachment and disdain.

You bowed, briefly.

“Master Mundi.”

“I’ve been reviewing the battle plan for Mygeeto,” he said, skipping any preamble. “We’ll be launching a three-pronged assault on the main Separatist refinery. Bacara will lead the frontal push with his battalion, supported by armor units and orbital fire.”

Your jaw clenched.

“With all due respect, Master, a frontal push against entrenched droid cannons is going to get a lot of men killed.”

Ki-Adi blinked at you, calmly. “That is war. They are soldiers. They understand the risks.”

“They understand orders. Not suicidal tactics.” Your voice rose just slightly, heat creeping in. “If we reroute half the armor for flanking and force the droids to split, we could avoid heavy losses and push them off the ridge before nightfall.”

“I did not ask for a tactical critique,” Mundi said, tone sharpening. “And I trust Commander Bacara’s ability to execute the current plan.”

You glanced at Bacara. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. Just stared.

Of course he agreed with Mundi. They were cut from the same ice.

“I didn’t realize Jedi Master meant immune to input.”

Silence fell over the deck. The clones nearby tensed. Bacara’s helmet shifted an inch toward you.

Mundi stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You are newly knighted, [Last Name]. This war will demand obedience, not bravado.”

You took a slow breath.

Then offered the barest, tightest smile. “Then it’s a good thing I never had much of either.”

Mundi turned and strode up the ramp without another word.

You exhaled once he was gone, rolling your shoulders like you could shrug off the frustration. You could feel Bacara still watching.

“What?” you snapped without looking at him.

There was a beat of silence.

“You better be half as good as you think you are.”

You turned. “Or what?”

“I’ll be requesting a reassignment.”

Your laugh came out bitter. “Better men have tried.”

He paused. Then, with a tilt of his head, said lowly: “I’m not a better man. I’m a soldier.”

Then he turned and walked away.

You stood there a moment longer, heat buzzing under your skin. You weren’t sure if it was from anger—or something worse.

⸻

The descent onto Mygeeto was chaos.

Even through the LAAT’s thick hull, you could feel the storm—icy wind slicing across the city’s skeletal towers, artillery screaming through clouds of smoke and crystalline ash. The Separatists had fortified every corner of the industrial sector, their cannon fire lighting up the skyline like a cursed sunrise.

As the dropship pitched, the clones inside with you braced without a word. Focused. Ready. Not afraid—just used to dying.

Your hand gripped the support bar as the doors peeled open mid-hover, revealing a battlefield straight from a nightmare. Turbolaser fire scorched the skyline. Glimmering bridges of ice and shattered durasteel crumbled beneath the weight of battle tanks. Somewhere far below, you saw a battalion caught in a choke point—blaster bolts raining down from enemy artillery nested in a half-collapsed tower.

Your stomach turned.

“Is that Bacara’s forward unit?” you shouted over the roar.

“Yes, sir!” one of the clone gunners confirmed. “Pinned since the last push!”

You turned to the pilot. “Drop me there. Now.”

The pilot hesitated. “But orders—”

“Now.”

The gunship banked sharply, the icy wind slamming into you as you leapt onto the fractured platform below, lightsaber already blazing to life.

It took less than ten minutes.

Droids fell in pieces, turrets melted under redirected blaster bolts, and you pushed your way to the trapped Marines like a blade through frost. You helped them retreat behind makeshift cover, shielding them with the Force and your saber, yelling for them to move. Not all of them made it.

But more than would have.

When the smoke cleared, and the men were medevaced out, you stood amid the wreckage, panting, cut along one shoulder and streaked with soot.

And Bacara was waiting for you.

He stormed toward you from the north ridge, visor locked onto yours, stride like a thunderhead.

You straightened, chin high, refusing to flinch.

“You disobeyed direct chain-of-command,” he growled, voice deep and cold. “That was my operation.”

“Your men were dying,” you snapped. “I made a call.”

“It wasn’t your call to make. I had them.”

“They were pinned with zero cover, Bacara! If you had a plan, it was to bury them in ice!”

His helmet came off in one sharp motion.

You hadn’t seen his face until now.

Shaved head. Sharp scar across the side of his cheekbone. And a scowl that looked carved from stone.

“Don’t pretend you know my men better than I do, Jedi.”

You stepped forward. “And don’t pretend that your silence is strategy. You may be good at war, but you’re not the only one fighting it.”

Before he could reply, another voice cut through the comms.

“Commander Bacara. Young [Last Name]. Report to the north command post immediately.”

It was Mundi.

The command post was a hollowed-out transport, half-frozen and lit by dim tactical screens. Ki-Adi-Mundi stood in the center, flanked by officers.

He didn’t look at you when he spoke.

“You endangered the mission with your reckless disobedience.”

“I saved your troopers.”

“You undermined your commander. You undermined me.”

You stared at him, jaw locked.

Mundi finally turned, his tone colder than the planet itself. “You may carry a lightsaber, but you are not exempt from consequence. Effective immediately, you are being reassigned.”

“What?” you breathed. “You can’t be serious.”

“You will report to General Skywalker and the 501st at once. They’ve requested Jedi support. You’re clearly more suited to their methods.”

You laughed once, bitter. “You mean chaos? No rules? You’d get rid of me in an instant?”

“If it will keep you from sabotaging another campaign, then yes.”

You looked to Bacara.

He said nothing. Didn’t even look at you.

It stung more than it should have.

Mundi turned away, already dismissing you. “Dismissed.”

You stood there a moment longer, anger a low drum in your ribs.

Then you turned sharply and left—your boots loud, your breath hot, and the ice of Mygeeto clinging to your back like regret.

⸻

The drop onto Christophis was smoother than Mygeeto.

No bitter wind. No ice underfoot. Just the blue-tinged glass of a besieged city glowing beneath your boots, and the hum of LAAT engines fading into the dusk.

You exhaled slowly.

For once, it didn’t fog the air.

The 501st was already dug in—half-built barricades, mounted cannons, troopers weaving through lines of duracrete rubble and smoldering droid parts. The camp smelled like burned plastoid and caf. And somehow… it didn’t feel like death.

Not yet.

You adjusted your gear and crossed into the center of the forward line, where a knot of officers stood around a portable holo table. A tall familiar figure turned toward you before you could announce yourself.

“General [Last Name], I presume?” the man asked with a bright smirk and a heavy Core accent. “You’re just in time. Dinner’s still warm—if you like ration bricks and bad company.”

General Anakin Skywalker. He grinned at you like an old friend.

You blinked. “I… wasn’t expecting a warm welcome.”

“You’re not coming from the High Council,” Anakin replied, clearly picking up on your edge. “You’re here to fight. That’s more than enough for us.”

A few troopers nearby chuckled. One even offered a small wave before returning to repairs on a nearby speeder. You weren’t used to clones acting so… relaxed.

Anakin slung an arm across the shoulders of the nearest officer, a clone with a blond buzz cut, blue markings on his pauldron, and eyes sharp with experience.

“This is Captain Rex,” Anakin said. “He keeps me alive and makes sure I don’t get court-martialed.”

Rex offered his hand. “It’s good to have another General on the line. The men could use someone steady. Master Skywalker tends to… improvise.”

“I prefer the term creative solutionist.”

You shook Rex’s hand firmly. “I’ve been assigned to assist for the duration of this campaign. Support, field command, and lightsaber damage control, apparently.”

“Don’t let the last bit worry you,” Rex said, voice warm but measured. “Most of us like having a Jedi around. Just don’t get yourself shot trying to do everything alone.”

You hesitated. That’s the only way I’ve ever done it.

But instead, you said, “Copy that, Captain.”

Anakin returned with two ration packs and tossed one at you.

“Come on,” he said. “Briefing starts in ten. Might as well eat something before the next artillery barrage.”

You caught the ration and followed him into the makeshift war room. The 501st felt… alive. Not like a machine, or a tool. Like people. Clones joked with each other between shifts. Someone was fixing a vibro-guitar in a corner. Laughter drifted through the halls of war like smoke.

He studied you for a moment while chewing a bite of compressed stew.

“So,” he said, grinning. “You’re Windu’s kid.”

You blinked. “I’m not his kid.”

“Please,” Anakin scoffed. “You practically are. He used to lecture me about setting a better example because you were watching.”

You smirked despite yourself. “He does that with everyone. It’s how he shows affection. Judgement equals love.”

“I don’t think he’s capable of affection,” Anakin said, half-muttering into his rations. “But you? You’re the exception.”

You leaned back against the wall, tone softening. “He trained me to be better. Sharper. Not just strong with a saber, but… clear. Even when I didn’t want to be.”

Anakin tilted his head. “He proud of you?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Not that he says it, but… yeah. I think so.”

He grinned. “Bet he didn’t love you getting assigned to me.”

You laughed under your breath. “Not exactly. He said, ‘Skywalker needs someone with both instinct and control. Be that someone.’ Then he stared at me for an uncomfortably long time.”

Anakin chuckled. “Yep. That sounds like Mace.”

You took another bite of your ration and glanced around the lively camp—clones talking, techs laughing, life humming even in the lull before battle.

“Feels different here,” you said.

Anakin raised an eyebrow. “Good different?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It feels like… they’re not just soldiers.”

He offered a quiet smile. “They’re not. You’ll see.”

And you would.

But not before the war reached its cold fingers toward you once again.

You ate in silence while Skywalker outlined the next assault—tight push through Separatist-occupied towers, with limited casualties expected. He spoke quickly, clearly, and didn’t interrupt you when you pointed out structural weak points or alternate flanking positions. In fact, he nodded along, visibly impressed.

Anakin raised a brow. “Did you and Mace ever clash?”

You hesitated. “He sees obedience as strength. I’ve always… leaned more toward instinct.”

Skywalker grinned. “Good. You’ll fit in just fine here.”

And for the first time in weeks—since the icy silence of Bacara’s helmet and Mundi’s cold dismissal—you felt the tension in your chest loosen. Just a little.

⸻

The Separatists had fortified the western spires overnight, turning crystalline towers into sniper nests and droid chokepoints. A slow siege was no longer an option. The 501st was going in—fast, loud, and all in.

“Your unit’s with me,” Rex said, voice clipped as he secured his helmet. “Skywalker and Torrent Squad are flanking left. We punch through the center, collapse the staging platform, and pull back before reinforcements converge.”

You adjusted the grip on your lightsaber hilt, watching the blue blade snap to life with a hum. “You lead. I follow.”

Rex gave a short nod, visor glinting in the low light. He didn’t say much. He didn’t need to. He moved with the weight of trust already earned—his men mirrored his focus, his readiness.

You hadn’t seen command like this on Mygeeto. Not from Ki-Adi-Mundi. And definitely not from Bacara.

The gunships roared over the skyline.

“Drop in ten!” a trooper shouted, clinging to the side rail of the LAAT. You stood beside Rex as the bay doors opened, revealing the shimmering battlefield below—glass and stone, fire and blue lightning crashing from tower to tower.

The LAAT banked hard and you leapt, landing in the center of a collapsing avenue as blaster fire rained down from the towers above. Rex hit the ground a second later, blasters up, already shouting to his men.

“Push forward! Second squad—cover the left lane!”

You spun your saber, deflecting bolts as the first wave of droids charged. The 501st advanced in perfect coordination—like flowing water, shifting and reforming around obstacles as if they’d rehearsed it a hundred times.

You slipped into the rhythm with them, striking hard through advancing B1s, clearing the rooftops with mid-air leaps, redirecting sniper fire with narrow, deliberate swings. The clones covered you, trusted you, fell into sync with you like you’d been fighting beside them for years.

No hesitation. No resistance.

Just trust.

You didn’t know what that felt like until now.

At the front of the charge, Rex cleared the last of the droid forces on the platform with brutal efficiency. You landed beside him, both of you breathing hard but steady, the wind howling through broken towers.

You looked at him.

He looked at you.

“Good work,” he said, like it was fact, not flattery.

“You too,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

A pause stretched between you. Not silence, not in the middle of war—but something else. A mutual understanding. The beginning of something… not yet defined.

The comm crackled.

“501st—fall back to Rally Point Aurek. Enemy movement on the east ridge.”

“Copy,” Rex said, turning away. “Let’s move.”

You followed without hesitation, eyes scanning the horizon.

War didn’t allow time for reflection. But as you fell into step with Rex—side by side—you couldn’t help but think:

This felt different.

⸻

The sky over Christophis had finally quieted.

The battle was won—for now. The towers no longer pulsed with enemy fire, the droids had retreated deeper into the city’s core, and the crystals that jutted from the landscape reflected nothing but the dull orange haze of a weary sunrise.

You walked side-by-side with Rex, the only sound between you the soft crunch of shattered glass beneath boots and armor. This was your fourth perimeter sweep since the offensive. He didn’t talk much. You didn’t either.

Still, it wasn’t silence. It was… companionable.

“I thought Jedi preferred peace,” Rex said after a while, his voice muffled through his helmet.

“I do,” you replied, stepping over a cracked durasteel beam. “But I’m good at war.”

Rex turned slightly to look at you. “You don’t sound proud of that.”

You shrugged. “I’m not.”

Another beat passed. You slowed your pace, scanning an alley where the shadows felt too thick. Just scavengers. Nothing moved.

“You were better in battle than I expected,” Rex added. “The way you covered the west flank—that was clean. Calculated.”

You snorted. “I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to be calculating.”

He paused at the edge of a shattered courtyard. “You’re not like the others I’ve seen.”

You tilted your head. “That a compliment?”

Rex didn’t answer right away. He just looked out over the city, where blue light still shimmered in the air like a war that refused to die completely.

“I don’t think you care whether it is or not,” he said eventually.

That earned a quiet laugh from you. “Now that sounds like a compliment.”

The moment stretched a little longer this time. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just a thread of something starting to pull taut between you, quiet and unspoken.

Then the comms chirped.

:: This is General Kenobi. 212th battalion has entered the theater. Coordinates sent. ::

Rex exhaled through his nose. “Great. The cavalry.”

You smirked. “Not a fan of the beard?”

“He’s fine. His men are loud.”

From the high ridge, you could already see them—yellow-marked troops of the 212th fanning out like wildfire, Obi-Wan walking ahead with the patient authority of someone used to saving the galaxy before breakfast.

“General Kenobi,” you called as you approached. “You’re late.”

Kenobi raised a brow. “Fashionably. You’re holding up well, Padawan.”

“Knight, actually,” you said, quirking a brow. “But thanks for the demotion.”

Rex nodded politely as Cody jogged up beside him. The two commanders exchanged a quick, wordless handshake—the kind only shared between soldiers who’d bled on similar soil.

“Looks like things just got louder,” you murmured.

Rex glanced sideways at you. “You sure that’s a bad thing?”

You didn’t answer.

⸻

Next Chapter

“Cold Front”

Commander Bacara x Reader

The bass of the music thumped like a heartbeat. Smoke curled lazily through violet lights, and every set of eyes in the room was fixed on the dancer in the center of it all—you.

You moved like you didn’t care who watched, like the galaxy’s chaos didn’t touch you. It was part of the act. No one noticed the way you studied people back. No one but him.

He didn’t belong here.

Commander Bacara stood against the far wall, still in his armor, helmet clipped to his side, expression unreadable but stern. Even from the stage, you could tell—he hated this place. Too loud. Too soft. Too alive.

You liked that about him.

After your set, you made your way through the crowd, glittering drink in hand, heels clicking with purpose. You stopped in front of him, smiling with a tilt of your head.

“Enjoy the show, Commander?”

“No,” he answered flatly.

You laughed, sipping your drink. “Honesty. Refreshing.”

“This establishment is inefficient. Security is lax. Your exit routes are exposed. You shouldn’t be working here.”

“And you shouldn’t be in a nightclub, but here we are.”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t look away either.

“I was told you have information,” he said. “About a Separatist envoy using this venue for meetings.”

You shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

His brow furrowed. “This is a war zone, not a performance.”

“It’s both,” you said, leaning in. “You wear that armor like it’s your skin. I wear this smile like it’s mine. We both hide behind something, Bacara.”

He froze. Most didn’t call him that. Certainly not dancers with glitter on their collarbones.

“I’m not here to play games.”

“I’m not here to fight a war,” you countered. “Yet somehow, we’re both losing.”

A silence settled between you.

You studied his face—cut from stone, eyes like a blizzard on Mygeeto. A soldier made for killing. Raised in cold, trained to crush. He probably thought you were soft. Flimsy. Useless.

But he didn’t walk away.

“Tell me what you know,” he said, lower this time. “I’ll make sure you’re protected.”

You leaned in closer, close enough to smell the cold steel scent of him. “What makes you think I want protection?”

He didn’t answer.

You touched the edge of his chestplate with a single finger. “You’re all edge, Bacara. No softness.”

“I don’t need softness.”

“Maybe not,” you said, stepping back. “But I think you want it. Even if you hate yourself for it.”

He stared, jaw clenched, like he was bracing for something. You smiled again and turned.

“I’ll send the intel,” you called over your shoulder. “But next time, you come here as a guest. Not a soldier.”

You didn’t see him leave.

But hours later, when you returned to your dressing room, there was a small datapad on your table. Coordinates. A thank you. And nothing else.

Cold. Precise. Just like him.

And somehow… you couldn’t wait to see him again.

⸻

You didn’t expect him to return.

Men like Bacara didn’t double back for anything—especially not for someone like you. You were used to one-way glances, hot stares, empty promises dressed up as danger.

But two nights later, he was there again. Right on time. Leaning against the rusting frame of a service door

, arms crossed, helmet clipped to his belt, white armor streaked with grime from travel.

Silent.

You lit a cigarra with one hand and tossed him the datachip with the other. He caught it easily.

“Happy?” you asked, blowing a stream of smoke toward the gutter light. “Encrypted. Real-time surveillance, time stamps, backdoor schematics. Everything the Separatist envoy’s been up to in my club.”

He turned the chip over in his palm, then slipped it into a compartment at his belt.

“You held onto this longer than necessary,” he said.

You arched a brow. “You didn’t ask nicely.”

“I don’t ask.”

“Right,” you muttered, flicking ash. “Clone Commanders don’t ‘ask.’ They demand, they invade, they execute. Such charm.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. “And you’re not just a dancer.”

You turned to him then, leaning back against the wall. “No, I’m not. But I’m also not your informant. Or your ally. I gave you what you wanted because I wanted to.”

He studied you. Cool, detached, calculated.

You hated that he could look right through you. Hated it more that you let him.

“You’re efficient,” he said finally. “Unsentimental.”

“You say that like it’s a compliment.”

“It is.”

The rain started again—soft, cold, hissing down the walls. You shivered despite yourself, arms crossing over your chest. He noticed. Of course he did.

Still, he didn’t offer anything.

Just stepped forward, close enough that his presence alone made the alley feel smaller.

“This intel—” he began.

“I know what it means,” you cut in. “The envoy’s selling clone positions to mercenary networks. My club was the drop zone. I didn’t know until I did. I fixed it.”

“You interfered.”

You gave a slow smile. “What’re you gonna do, arrest me?”

His gaze didn’t shift. “If you were a threat, you’d be dead.”

A beat passed.

“Flattering,” you said. “Your version of flirting, I guess.”

“I don’t flirt.”

“No,” you murmured, looking up at him, “you don’t.”

The silence between you stretched long. Not soft. Never soft. Just charged.

He didn’t step closer. You didn’t touch him.

But something was laid bare in that narrow space between your bodies. A wordless understanding. You gave him your intel. He gave you his time.

“You’re leaving tonight,” you guessed.

“Yes.”

“You’ll be back?”

“Not if I can help it.”

You nodded, forcing a grin. “Careful, Bacara. You keep talking like that, I might start thinking you’re consistent.”

He turned, no further words, already walking into the rain.

You didn’t watch him go. Not this time.

You just stayed in the alley, smoke burning low, wondering why you felt like you’d just given away something more dangerous than a datachip.

⸻

The club was closing, lights dimmed, staff gone. You were alone backstage, slipping off your heels, when you heard the door open.

You didn’t flinch. You knew who it was before he said a word.

“You said you were leaving,” you said, not looking at him.

“I am.”

“You lost, Commander?”

His footsteps echoed—measured, armored, unhurried. When you turned, Bacara was there in the doorway, helmet in hand, gaze locked on you like a tactical target.

“I don’t like loose ends,” he said.

“Is that what I am to you?” you asked, voice light but brittle. “A mission to complete?”

“You gave me intel I didn’t earn. That’s motive.”

“So this is you—closing the loop?”

His jaw clenched slightly, eyes narrowing.

“I don’t leave variables behind,” he said.

You snorted, stepping toward him slowly, deliberately. “That’s funny. Because I think you came back for the one thing you can’t control.”

The space between you evaporated. You barely registered him moving—just felt your back hit the wall behind you, hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

Bacara loomed in front of you, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your chin, not cruel, but firm.

“Careful,” he said, voice low and lethal. “You think you’re dangerous because you wear a new name every night. But I see the cracks.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t want to flinch. But you did. Slight. Barely there.

He saw it.

And leaned in closer.

“I don’t care about the act,” he growled. “I care about the one underneath it. The one who lies, cheats, and keeps a weapon under the floorboards.”

You stared up at him, lips parted, heart pounding against your ribs like it wanted out.

“And what do you want with her?” you whispered.

“I want her to stop pretending she’s untouchable.”

His hand slid from your jaw to your throat—never tight, never cruel—but there. Asserting. Commanding.

You didn’t push him away.

You tilted your head back, letting out a slow breath. “You going to order me around now, Commander?”

“I don’t give orders to civilians,” he said.

His hand flexed. “But I do take control.”

Then his mouth was on yours—hard, claiming, no warning. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was war. His hand fisted in your hair as he pressed you to the wall, your body fitting to his armor, your fingers gripping the cold edge of his chestplate like it anchored you to reality.

You kissed back like you’d been starving. Because you were. For something that wasn’t fake. For someone who didn’t need you to perform.

His grip never wavered. He knew exactly what he was doing. Every move was intentional—controlled, dominant, unyielding.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless. Dizzy. Your hands shaking slightly where they rested on his armor.

He didn’t look smug. He looked the same. Just focused.

“This changes nothing,” he said, voice even.

You licked your lips, voice rasped. “Good. I hate messy.”

He stepped back. Just a fraction.

“War calls,” he said simply. “Don’t follow.”

“I won’t,” you lied.

His eyes lingered one last time.

And then he was gone.

“Brothers in the Making” pt.4

Command Squad x Reader

The new training was brutal.

You made good on your warning.

Every morning started with live-fire simulations — no safeties. No shortcuts. Hand-to-hand drills until they couldn’t lift their arms. Obstacle courses under pelting rain and wind so strong it knocked them off balance. You pushed them until they bled, and then made them do it again.

And they got better.

Fox stopped hesitating.

Bacara stopped grinning.

Wolffe started thinking before acting.

Cody led with silence and strength.

Rex? Rex was starting to look like a leader.

You saw it in the way the others followed him when things got hard.

But even as your cadets got sharper, meaner, closer — something shifted outside your control.

Kamino got crowded.

You noticed it in the hangars first. Rough-looking men and women in mismatched armor, chewing on ration sticks and watching the cadets like predators sizing up meat.

Bounty hunters.

The Kaminoans had started bringing them in — not for your cadets, but for the rank-and-file troopers.

Cheap, nasty freelancers. People who'd kill for credits and leak secrets for less.

You weren’t the only one who noticed.

You slammed your tray down in the mess beside Jango, Kal Skirata, and Walon Vau.

Skirata didn’t even look up from sharpening his blade. “So. You see them too.”

“They stink like trouble,” you muttered.

Jango grunted. “Kaminoans don’t care. They want results. Faster, cheaper.”

“They’re not Mandalorian,” Vau said coldly. “No honor. No code. Just teeth.”

You leaned back in your seat, arms crossed. “They’re whispering to the clones. Getting too friendly.”

“Probably scoping them out,” Kal muttered. “Seeing who’s soft. Who’ll break first.”

Jango’s voice was low and lethal. “If one of them talks — if any of them breathes a word to the Separatists—”

“We're done,” you finished for him.

Silence settled over the table like a weight.

You glanced around the mess. One of the hunters was laughing with a group of standard cadets, tossing them pieces of gear like candy. Testing their limits. Grooming.

Your blood boiled.

“They’re not going near my boys,” you said quietly.

Kal looked over, sharp-eyed. “You planning something?”

“I’m planning to watch,” you replied. “And if they so much as look at my cadets sideways—”

“You’ll gut them,” Vau said. “Good.”

That night, as the storm beat against the training dome, you walked past the dorms. The lights were dim, but you could hear muffled voices inside.

“—you really think we’re ready?”

“Doesn’t matter. Buir thinks we are.”

“Yeah but… what if those bounty hunters—”

You stopped outside the door. Knocked once.

The room went dead quiet.

You stepped in.

The cadets snapped to attention.

You gave them a look. “You worried about the new visitors?”

They didn’t answer.

Rex stepped forward. “We don’t trust them.”

“Good,” you said. “Neither do I.”

They relaxed — just slightly.

“You,” you added, “have one advantage those other clones don’t.”

“What’s that?” Bacara asked.

You looked each of them in the eye.

“You know who you are. You know who you trust. You know what you’re fighting for.”

Fox swallowed. “And the others?”

“They’ll learn,” you said. “Or they’ll fall.”

A long silence followed.

Then Cody said quietly, “We won’t let them touch the brothers.”

You gave a small, proud nod. “That’s what makes you more than soldiers.”

You looked to each of them in turn.

“You’re protectors.”

———

The first hit came during evening drills.

You weren’t there. You’d been pulled into a debrief with Jango and the Kaminoan Prime. That’s why it happened. Because you weren’t watching.

Because they were.

The bounty hunters had been circling the younger cadets all week. The ones just starting to taste their own strength — just old enough to be cocky, not old enough to know when to shut up.

The hunters pushed them harder than protocol allowed. Made them spar past exhaustion. Made them fight dirty. Gave them real knives instead of training ones.

Neyo ended up with a dislocated shoulder.

Gree broke two ribs.

Bly passed out from dehydration.

And the worst?

Thorn.

One of the bounty hunters slammed him face-first into the training deck.

Hard enough to split his forehead open and leave him unconscious for thirty terrifying seconds.

By the time you arrived, Thorn was being carried out by two med droids, blood streaking down his temple, barely coherent.

The bounty hunter just stood there, arms folded, like nothing had happened.

You didn’t say a word.

You decked him.

One punch — a sharp right hook to the jaw. Dropped him cold.

Kal held you back before you could go in for another.

“You’re done,” you snarled at the Kaminoans who came running. “Get these kriffing animals off my training floor.”

“We were merely increasing the resilience of the standard units,” one of the white-robed scientists said coolly.

You stepped toward her.

“You try to touch any of mine,” you growled, “and you’ll see just how resilient I am.”

———

Later that night, the cadets met in the shadows of the observation deck. Not just your five — all of them.

Cody. Rex. Bacara. Fox. Wolffe.

Neyo. Keeli. Gree. Thorn. Stone. Bly.

Monk. Doom. Appo. Ponds.

Even a few of the younger ones — still waiting to earn names.

They were tense. Quiet. Watching the door. Waiting.

Keeli spoke first. “They’ll come back.”

Fox crossed his arms. “Then we hit them first.”

“Without Buir?” Rex asked, wary.

“She can’t be everywhere,” Wolffe muttered.

Monk frowned. “This isn’t a sim. These guys aren’t playing.”

Neyo leaned against the wall. “Neither are we.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Rain drummed against the glass overhead.

Finally, Gree spoke. “We don’t have to fight them.”

They all turned.

“We just have to outsmart them.”

They waited for their moment.

It came two days later. A late-night combat session with three of the bounty hunters, deep in one of the isolated auxiliary domes. No cams. No observers. Just a handful of cadets, and three heavily armed mercs ready to “teach them a lesson.”

They never saw it coming.

Rex faked an injury — stumbled, cried out, fell to one knee.

Bly drew the hunter in close, under the guise of helping him.

Gree triggered the power outage.

Fox, Neyo, and Bacara moved in from the shadows like ghosts.

Monk and Doom stole their gear.

Keeli hit them with a stun baton he “borrowed” from the supply closet.

By the time the lights came back on, the bounty hunters were zip-tied to the floor, unconscious or groaning, surrounded by sixteen bruised, grinning cadets.

They didn’t tell the Kaminoans what happened.

Neither did the hunters.

The next day, those bounty trainers were gone.

You knew something had happened. Jango did too.

You pulled Rex aside, arms crossed. “We didn’t do anything.”

“I didn’t ask,” you said.

He stood a little straighter. “Then I won’t tell.”

You smiled.

For a second, you almost said it.

Almost.

But not yet.

Instead, you gave him a nod.

“Well done, kid.”

———

Tipoca City was never supposed to feel like a warzone.

But that night — under blacked-out skies and howling wind — the storm broke inside the walls.

It started with Jango leaving.

He met you, Kal Skirata, and Walon Vau on the upper platform, rain hammering down in waves, cloak rippling behind him.

“Got called offworld,” he said without preamble. “Client I can’t ignore.”

You frowned. “Problem?”

He glanced at the Kaminoan tower, where sterile lights still glowed behind long windows.

“Yeah. Ten of those kriffing bounty scum are still here. Kaminoans won’t remove them.”

Kal spat on the ground. “Let me take care of it.”

“You, Vau, and her,” Jango said, nodding to you. “Handle it before I get back.”

He walked off without waiting for a reply.

The next few hours passed too quietly.

You and Kal did recon.

Vau slipped through maintenance corridors.

Then — the lights flickered.

The main comms cut out.

And every blast door in Tipoca City slammed shut.

———

In the Mess hall Neyo was mid-bite into a ration bar when it happened.

The lights dimmed. The far wall sparked. The room went deathly silent.

There were thirty cadets inside — the full command unit. And five Republic Commando cadets, seated near the back. All in training blacks, all unarmed.

Then the doors slid open.

Ten bounty hunters walked in.

Wearing full armor. Fully armed.

The first one tossed a stun grenade across the room.

The cadets scrambled — diving behind tables, flipping trays, shielding younger brothers.

A loud, metallic slam.

The doors locked again.

But this time, from outside.

A voice crackled over the mess intercom.

“Don’t worry, boys,” you said, voice steady, cold. “We’re here.”

One by one, the lights above the bounty hunters started popping.

Out of the shadows stepped you, Kal Skirata, and Walon Vau.

Three Mandalorians. Blasters drawn. Knives sheathed. No fear.

“Let’s clean up our mess,” Vau muttered.

The fight wasn’t clean.

It was fast. Ugly. Vicious.

You moved first — disarmed the closest hunter with a twist of your wrist and drove your elbow into his throat.

Kal went for the one reaching toward the Commando cadets, snapped his knee and disarmed him with a headbutt.

Vau took two down in five seconds. Bone-snapping, brutal.

The cadets rallied. Neyo and Bacara flanked the room, herding the younger ones behind upended tables. Rex shoved Keeli out of harm’s way and grabbed a downed shock baton.

Thorn cracked a chair over a hunter’s back.

Bly and Gree tag-teamed one into unconsciousness with nothing but boots and fists.

But then—

One of them grabbed Cody.

Knife to his throat.

Your blood ran cold.

“No one move,” the hunter snarled, voice wild. “Open the door. Now.”

You stepped forward slowly, hands up, helmet off.

“Let him go,” you said, voice low.

“Back off!” he yelled. “I’ll do it!”

Then — he started cutting.

Cody didn’t scream. Didn’t cry out.

Just clenched his jaw as blood ran down his brow and over his eye.

You saw red.

You lunged.

One shot — straight through the hunter’s shoulder — and he dropped the blade.

Before he hit the ground, you were there, catching Cody as he fell.

He blinked up at you, blood running down his face, trembling.

You cupped the back of his head gently, voice soft but steady. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Kal secured the last hunter. Vau stood guard at the door. The mess was a wreck of overturned tables, scorch marks, and groaning mercenaries.

You looked down at Cody.

The top of his brow and temple was sliced deep. Ugly.

He winced as you cleaned it.

“That’s going to scar,” you said quietly.

Cody met your gaze — steady now, strong, even through the pain.

“I don’t care.”

You smiled faintly.

“Good. You earned it.”

The mess hall had long since fallen silent.

The medics came and went. The unconscious bounty hunters had been dragged off to confinement cells. The lights flickered gently above, casting a soft blue hue over the now-empty space.

The only ones left were you and your cadets.

Twenty-three young men. Battle-scarred, bloodied, tired.

And very, very proud.

You sat on a table, legs swinging, helmet in your lap. A few bruises blooming on your jaw, a cut on your knuckle — nothing you hadn’t dealt with before. Nothing you wouldn’t do again in a heartbeat for them.

They lingered near you, some sitting, some leaning against overturned chairs, some standing silently — waiting for you to speak.

You looked at each one of them.

Wolffe, arms crossed but still wincing slightly from a bruise on his side.

Rex, perched beside Bly, both quiet but alert.

Fox, pacing a little like he still had adrenaline to burn.

Bacara and Neyo flanking the younger cadets instinctively.

Keeli, Gree, Doom, Thorn, Monk, Appo — all watching you.

Cody, sitting close by, with fresh stitches across his brow. His scar. His mark.

You let the silence hang a little longer, then finally exhaled and said, “You did well.”

They didn’t respond — not right away — but you could see the pride simmering behind their eyes.

You stood and walked slowly in front of them, glancing from face to face.

“You’ve trained hard for months. You’ve pushed yourselves, pushed each other. But today…” You paused. “Today was something different.”

They listened closely, the weight of your words pulling them in.

“You were outnumbered. Unarmed. Surprised.” Your voice softened. “But you didn’t break. You protected each other. You adapted. You fought smart. And you stood your ground.”

Your gaze swept across the room again, and this time, there was no commander in your expression — only pride. And something close to love.

“You showed courage. And resilience. And heart.”

You walked back toward Cody, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“If this is the future of the Republic Army…” you smiled faintly, “then the galaxy’s in better hands than it knows.”

You looked at all of them again.

“I’m proud of you. Every single one of you.”

For a moment, the room was silent again.

Then a quiet voice piped up from behind Rex.

“Does this mean we get to sleep in tomorrow?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not a chance.”

Laughter broke through the tension — real, loud, echoing off the walls.

Fox clapped Rex on the back.

Cody leaned lightly against you and didn’t say a word — he didn’t have to.

You stayed there a while longer, sitting with them, listening to the soft hum of rain against the dome. For now, there was no war. No Kaminoans. No Jedi.

Just your boys. Just your family.

And in the stillness after the storm, it was enough.

—————

*Time Skip*

The storm had been relentless for days — even by Kamino standards.

But today, there was something different in the air. The kind of stillness that only came before things broke apart.

You felt it the second the long corridor doors opened.

You were walking back from the firing range, datapad in one hand, helmet under your arm — drenched from the rain, mud on your boots, blaster at your hip.

And that’s when you saw him.

Tall, cloaked in damp robes, ginger hair swept back, beard trimmed neatly — Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He stood beside the Kaminoan administrator, Taun We, as she gestured down the corridor, her voice echoing in that soft, ethereal way.

You blinked. “Well, well.”

Obi-Wan turned at the sound of your voice, brow arching in surprise.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, smirking lightly.

“Likewise,” Kenobi said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Though I should’ve known—where there’s chaos, you’re never far behind.”

You walked up to him, nodding politely to Taun We, who dipped her head and continued speaking about clone maturation cycles.

“Nice robes,” you said. “Still playing Jedi or are you finally moonlighting as a diplomat?”

“Depends on the day,” he quipped. “And you? Still collecting foundlings?”

That made you pause.

You glanced at the clone cadets moving through the hall up ahead — your boys. Young, serious, sharp-eyed. Already starting to look like soldiers.

“They’re not foundlings anymore,” you said, quieter now. “They never were.”

Kenobi’s smile faded slightly. “They’re… the clones?”

You nodded. “Each one.”

“And you’ve been… training them?”

You looked back at him. “Raising them.”

That gave him pause.

He walked a few paces in silence before saying, “And what do you think of them?”

You smiled to yourself. “Braver than most warriors I’ve met. Fiercer than any squad I’ve served with. Smarter than they get credit for. Loyal to a fault.”

Obi-Wan’s expression softened. “They’re children.”

“Not anymore,” you said. “They don’t get the chance to be.”

He studied you a long moment. “They trust you.”

“I’d die for them,” you said simply. “They know that.”

He nodded slowly, then leaned in, voice lower. “I need to ask you something.”

You met his eyes.

“A man named Jango Fett,” he said. “He’s been identified as the clone template. The Kaminoans say he was recruited by a Jedi. But no Jedi I know would authorize a clone army in secret.”

You held his gaze. “Jango’s a good man.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

You exhaled. “He’s… complicated. He believes in strength. In legacy. In survival. He was proud to be chosen.”

Kenobi tilted his head. “And now?”

You looked down the corridor, where the rain slashed against the long window.

“Now?” you said. “He’s been taking jobs that… don’t sit right with me. His clients are powerful. Dangerous.”

Obi-Wan folded his arms. “Separatists?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you said, “Jango’s alone in what he’s made. But not in the burden. He just won’t let anyone carry it with him.”

Obi-Wan looked at you, long and careful. “And if he’s working for Dooku?”

“Then I’ll stop him,” you said. Quiet. Unshakable. “Even if it breaks everything.”

There was silence between you for a moment. Only the soft hum of the lights and the sound of rain.

Then Kenobi said, “We may all be asked to choose sides soon.”

You gave him a faint smile. “I already did.”

And with that, you turned and walked down the corridor — toward the cadets. Toward your boys. Toward the storm you could feel coming.

————

The hangar was alive with the sound of marching boots and humming gunships. The Kaminoan platforms gleamed under the harsh light of early morning, and the storm above was quieter than usual — almost like Kamino itself was holding its breath.

You stood near the gunships with your helmet tucked under your arm, the rain catching in your hair, your armor polished but worn. This was it.

Your boys — your commanders and captains — were suiting up, double-checking blasters, loading onto transports in units of ten, fifty, a hundred. The moment they’d been bred for was finally here.

And you hated every second of it.

“Buir!”

You turned as Cody jogged up to you, followed quickly by Fox, Rex, Wolffe, Bacara, Bly, Gree, Keeli, Doom, Appo, Thorn, Neyo, Monk, Stone, Ponds — all of them. Every one of them now bearing their names. Every one of them about to step into a galaxy on fire.

“You’re not coming with us?” Rex asked, brow furrowed beneath his helmet.

“No,” you said softly. “Not this time.”

They exchanged looks. Several stepped closer.

“Why?” Wolffe asked.

You smiled faintly. “Because I’ve fulfilled my contract. My time here is done.”

“But we still need you,” Bly said. “You’re our—”

“I’m your buir,” you interrupted, voice firm. “And that means knowing when to let you stand on your own.”

They fell quiet.

You stepped forward and looked at each one of them — your gaze lingering on every face you had once taught to punch, to shoot, to think, to feel. They were men now. Soldiers. Leaders.

And still, in your heart, they were the boys who once snuck into your quarters late at night, scared of their own future.

“You’re ready,” you told them. “I’ve seen it. You’ve trained for this. Bled for this. Earned this. You are commanders and captains of the Grand Army of the Republic. You are the best this galaxy will ever see.”

Cody stepped forward, his voice tight. “Where will you go?”

You looked up at the storm.

“Where I’m needed.”

A beat passed.

“Don’t think for a second I won’t be watching,” you said, flicking your commlink. “I’ll be on a secure line the whole time. Monitoring every channel, every order. I’ll know the second you misbehave.”

That drew a few smiles. Even a quiet chuckle from Thorn.

Fox stepped forward, standing at attention. “Permission to hug the buir?”

You rolled your eyes, but opened your arms anyway.

They came in like a wave.

Armor scraped armor as they all stepped in — clumsy and loud and warm, a heap of brothers trying to act tough but holding on just long enough to not feel like kids again.

You held them all.

And then, like true soldiers, they pulled back — each nodding once before heading to their ships. Helmets on. Rifles in hand.

Cody was the last to go. He looked back at you as the ramp began to rise.

“Stay safe,” he said.

You gave a small nod.

“We’ll make you proud.”

“You already did.”

Then the gunships roared, rising one by one into the sky, and disappeared into the storm.

And you were left on the platform, alone.

But not really.

Because your voice was already tuned into their frequencies, your eyes scanning the holo feeds.

And your heart — your heart went with them.

————

She never returned to Kamino.

The rain still haunted her dreams sometimes, the echo of thunder over steel platforms, the scent of blaster oil and sea salt clinging to her skin. But when she left, she left for good.

The cadets she had raised — the ones who had once looked to her like a sister, a mentor, a buir — were no longer wide-eyed boys in numbered armor.

They were commanders now. Captains. Leaders of men.

And the war made them legends.

From the shadows of Coruscant to the deserts of Ryloth, from Umbara’s twisted jungles to the burning fields of Saleucami — she watched. She listened. She followed every mission report she could intercept, every coded message she wasn’t supposed to hear.

She couldn’t be with them. But she knew where they were. Every. Single. Day.

Bacara led brutal campaigns on Mygeeto.

Fox walked a knife’s edge keeping peace in the heart of chaos on Coruscant.

Cody fought with unwavering precision at Kenobi’s side.

Wolffe’s transmissions grew fewer, rougher. He was changing — harder, colder.

Rex’s loyalty to his General turned to quiet defiance. She recognized it in his voice. She’d taught him to think for himself.

Keeli, Thorn, Gree, Ponds, Neyo, Doom, Bly, Stone, Monk, Appo… all of them. She tracked them, stored every piece of data, every victory, every loss. Not as a commander. Not as a strategist.

As their buir.

She moved from system to system — never settling. Always watching. A ghost in the shadows of the war she helped raise. Never interfering. Just there.

But she knew.

She knew when Rex's tone cracked after Umbara.

She knew when Cody stopped speaking on open comms.

She knew when Pond’s name was pulled from a casualty list, but no one would say what happened.

She knew when Thorn’s file was locked behind High Council access.

And one by one, her boys began to fall silent.

Not dead. Not gone.

Just… lost.

To the war. To the darkness creeping into the cracks.

She sat in silence some nights, the old helmet resting beside her. Their names etched into the inside — 23 in total.

They weren’t clones to her. They were sons. Brothers. The best of the best.

She had given them names.

But the galaxy had given them numbers again.

So she remembered.

She remembered who they were before the armor, before the orders, before the war took their laughter and turned it into steel.

She remembered their first sparring matches. Their mess hall brawls. Their ridiculous, stupid banter.

She remembered Fox making them salute her.

She remembered Wolffe biting her hand like a brat and earning his name.

She remembered all of it.

Because someone had to.

Because one day, when the war ended — if any of them were left — she would find them.

And she would say the names again.

Out loud.

And remind them of who they really were.

——————

Previous Chapter

“Brothers in the Making” pt.3

Command Squad x Reader

The fortress was carved straight into the mountainside — dark metal and cold stone, its towers punching through the mist like jagged teeth. Separatist banners snapped in the wind, and scout droids buzzed along the perimeter like angry insects.

You crouched with Obi-Wan behind a ridge just above the valley floor. The cadets were lined up beside you, low and quiet, eyes locked on the compound.

Anakin was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be seen.

“Alright,” you whispered, tapping your datapad. “I count four main patrol paths. One blind spot. Minimal aerial surveillance.”

Kenobi nodded. “We can use the cliffside tunnel. I’ve seen this kind of layout before — there’s usually an access vent leading into the communications wing.”

You turned to your boys. “No heroics. Stay behind cover, stick to the plan, and no loud noises. Got it?”

They all nodded.

Except for Bacara, who raised a hand like he had a question.

You narrowed your eyes. “If this is about blowing something up—”

“I wasn’t gonna say that.”

“No loud noises.”

“Fine.”

Just as you leaned in to start your descent, a distant buzz and then a crash echoed from the other side of the fortress wall.

Everyone froze.

Obi-Wan sighed deeply. “That wasn’t us, was it?”

You didn’t answer — because right then, Anakin skidded down the slope, cloak half-burnt, covered in dust and grinning like an idiot.

“Hey!” he called, too loud. “Good news! I found a side entrance—”

A siren wailed.

Turrets rotated.

Searchlights snapped to life and started scanning the cliffs.

You turned, face blank. “Did you trigger an alarm?”

Anakin pointed behind him. “Technically? The droid did.”

Rex, next to you, groaned into his gloves. “We’re all gonna die.”

Kenobi was already getting up, lightsaber in hand, perfectly composed as chaos exploded below.

“Plans change,” he muttered. “We improvise.”

“Oh yes,” you said flatly, drawing your blaster. “Let’s all just improvise our way into a heavily armed Separatist base. That’s definitely how I planned to spend my day.”

He gave you a look as you both started moving down the slope.

“You know,” Obi-Wan said over the rising noise, “I never thought I’d see the day you would be the voice of reason.”

You ducked behind a boulder, covering the cadets as they followed in. “Yeah, well, someone has to be the adult while your Padawan’s off starting a land war with a power converter.”

He chuckled under his breath. “You could always take him. Add him to your little army of foundlings.”

You gave him a flat look. “I already have five too many.”

Behind you, Fox tripped over his own boots and nearly bowled into Cody.

Kenobi raised an eyebrow.

You added: “And they bite.”

————

Inside the base, it was colder than the mountain winds outside — all durasteel corridors and flickering lights, the buzz of power conduits echoing through the walls like a warning.

You crouched behind a support pillar as another pair of droid sentries clanked past. The group had slipped in through the broken emergency access hatch Anakin had accidentally discovered — half of it still smoldering from whatever he'd done to override the lock.

You turned to Obi-Wan in a sharp whisper. “Splitting up is a terrible idea.”

“It’s efficient,” he replied calmly, peering around the corner. “You and I retrieve the senator’s daughter. Anakin and your foundlings run a perimeter diversion.”

“They’re kids.”

“It’s efficient,” he replied calmly, peering around the corner. “You and I retrieve the senator’s daughter. Anakin and your cadets run a perimeter diversion.”

“They’re kids.”

“Your kids,” he said smoothly. “And as you’ve reminded me — foundlings are expected to fight.”

You clenched your jaw. “They’re not ready for this.”

He met your eyes. “Neither were we, once.”

That stopped you cold.

He lowered his voice, just a touch. “They need the experience. He needs the responsibility.”

You looked across the corridor — to where Anakin was gesturing wildly with his hands, trying to give the cadets some kind of whispered briefing. Bacara was clearly ignoring him. Wolffe already had a stun grenade in hand.

You exhaled through your nose. “If they die—”

“They won’t.”

You gave him one last glare, then looked back at the boys. “If anything goes wrong, scream.”

Fox raised a hand. “Like—?”

“I will hear you. I will end whoever hurt you. Just scream.”

The cadets nodded, suddenly a lot more serious.

Anakin gave a quick salute. “We’ll meet you back at the east exit.”

Obi-Wan glanced at you. “Shall we?”

You rolled your eyes and moved out, both of you slipping into the shadowed hallway like water down a blade.

———

Your part of the mission was quick and clean. Every step was coordinated — you swept forward through dark halls while Obi-Wan silently disabled security systems, his movements graceful and lethal.

You’d never worked with a Jedi like this before — and you had to admit, it was… oddly satisfying.

No words were wasted. He moved, you moved. You dropped a droid with a blaster shot, he caught its partner’s blaster arm mid-swing and twisted it clean off. The two of you cleared the detention block in under four minutes.

“Cell 14,” Obi-Wan said, checking the datapad he pulled from a guard’s belt.

You were already unlocking the panel.

Inside, the senator’s daughter was scared but unharmed — pale, dressed in rich fabric, bound at the wrists.

“I’ve got her,” you said, pulling her close and cutting the ties.

She stared up at you. “Who are you?”

You gave her a faint smile. “Someone your mother owes a drink.”

———

Elsewhere, it was less smooth.

Anakin’s plan — and you used the word plan very loosely — had apparently included sneaking into the droid depot and causing a “small, contained distraction.”

That turned into blowing up a weapons rack, stealing a tank, and getting stuck in a three-way chase down the hallway with spider droids, sirens, and Wolffe yelling, “I SAID I WASN’T GONNA BLOW ANYTHING UP, BUT THEN HE HANDED ME A DETONATOR—”

“I thought it was a flashlight!” Anakin shouted back.

Rex was clutching the controls of the tank like his life depended on it. Bacara was on top of the thing firing wildly and screaming gleefully. Cody and Fox were halfway hanging out of the hatch, shouting directions and laughing hysterically.

“THIS IS NOT STEALTH!” Fox screamed.

“I’M DISTRACTING THEM!” Bacara grinned. “DISTRACTION MISSION SUCCESSFUL!”

“DEFINITELY not ready,” you muttered, back with Obi-Wan as you made your way to the rendezvous.

You could hear the tank before you even saw them.

Obi-Wan glanced sideways at you with a completely straight face. “Would now be a bad time to say you were right?”

You stared at the smoke trail in the distance. “I hate you.”

———

The escape was… a mess.

They made it out, of course. Somehow.

With a half-destroyed tank rolling in front of the group as cover, explosions at their backs, and Anakin cheering like they’d just won a podrace, the cadets had sprinted across the canyon with blaster bolts chasing their heels.

You’d covered the senator’s daughter with your own body the whole way.

Kenobi had deflected shot after shot, graceful and impassive, the calm center of a storm.

Once they’d finally cleared the base and reconnected with the ship, you spent the first ten minutes pacing the ramp with your helmet tucked under your arm, muttering curses in three different languages.

Then, after a full headcount and emergency takeoff, you finally collapsed into a seat in the main hold.

Everyone was quiet.

Even Anakin.

The cadets sat in a circle, scratched and bruised, letting adrenaline drain from their systems. You watched them from your spot, arms crossed, boots heavy on the floor.

Cody was staring at his hands like they didn’t belong to him.

Fox hadn’t said a word.

Bacara was still grinning, but it was thinner now.

You leaned forward, voice low. “You all did good.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to you.

“Not perfect. Not clean. But good,” you said, and your voice softened, just a touch. “You followed orders. You adapted. You survived.”

Wolffe swallowed, eyes flicking to the floor.

You stood, stepping forward, and placed a hand on the back of Cody’s neck — warm and grounding.

“You saw war today. The real thing. Not just drills. Not just training. And you all made it out.”

There was silence again.

Then Bacara mumbled, “Even if Skywalker tried to kill us all.”

“I heard that,” Anakin called from the cockpit.

“Good.”

You turned toward the boys again. “Rest up. You earned it.”

As they started to settle into sleep wherever they could — curled in corners of the hold, some using their packs as pillows — you moved quietly to the front of the ship.

Kenobi was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the stars pass through the viewports.

“You think they’re alright?” you asked, keeping your voice low.

He glanced at you. “They will be.”

You tilted your head. “So. What happened to your ship, exactly?”

He didn’t blink. “Mysterious failure.”

“Uh huh.”

“Sabotage, maybe.”

“Right.”

“Couldn’t possibly have been someone crash landing our ship.”

You sighed. “You Jedi are the worst.”

“I get that a lot.”

———

You hated the smell of Coruscant. Too clean. Too bright. Like chrome and false smiles.

But the senator’s estate was quiet, at least. High above the clouds, the landing platform was bordered by hanging gardens and silent droids, the building towering like a temple to wealth and secrecy.

You disembarked with the senator’s daughter at your side — safe, whole, and grateful.

The senator met you personally, eyes shining with relief. They pulled you into a tight embrace and whispered, “I owe you everything.”

Then they looked at your five cadets, lined up neatly and looking everywhere but directly at the senator.

“These boys…” the senator said slowly. “Are they—?”

You cut in smoothly. “Foundlings. Mine.”

A pause.

The senator raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating. They’re… sharp. Disciplined.”

“Lucky genes,” you said, smiling coolly.

Behind you, Fox was mouthing don’t say anything at Wolffe, who was visibly biting his tongue.

The senator looked thoughtful. “You know… there may be a place for them in security, when the time is right. We could find funding. Official channels.”

Your blood went cold.

But you smiled anyway.

“I’ll think about it.”

The senator nodded, clearly meaning well — but clearly dangerous.

You filed it away. Another warning.

They were not ready to be seen.

Not yet.

That night, back on the ship, the boys sat on the floor around you again, waiting for your orders.

But you just looked at them — really looked at them.

Wolffe’s bruise under his eye. Rex’s busted knuckles. Bacara’s scraped cheek. Cody’s silence. Fox’s slumped shoulders.

You said nothing at first.

Then, softly: “You did good.”

Five sets of eyes flicked up.

You gave them a small nod. “Get some rest. More training tomorrow.”

“Yes, buir,” they all said at once.

And you didn’t correct them.

Not this time.

————

Kamino had never felt this quiet.

Rain still lashed against the glass corridors. The white lights still hummed. Clones still trained, marched, sparred. But the air carried a tension now — tight and sterile, like the Kaminoans were watching every step.

Because they were.

The cadets noticed it first.

Extra cameras in the mess hall.

Silent observers hovering near the training chambers.

One of the newer units mentioned being taken aside and scanned after sparring.

And then, there was the way the five field cadets were treated.

Rex, Cody, Bacara, Fox, and Wolffe.

They were whispered about now — envied, doubted, even resented.

Rex heard a pair of cadets muttering behind his back in the armory.

“Think they’re better than us.”

“Just ‘cause they left Kamino.”

Bacara caught a shove in the hallway.

Fox started training harder, angrier.

You noticed it — how they stuck close together now. A small, tight unit. Good for war. Bad for brothers.

You were in the middle of correcting Bacara’s form during a sparring drill when you saw Jango watching from the overlook.

He didn’t call out to you. Just tilted his head, a silent signal.

You followed.

He was leaning against the wall in a private corridor, arms crossed.

“They’re pissed,” he said, voice low and steady.

You didn’t need to ask who.

“The Kaminoans?”

He nodded once. “Didn’t like you taking your cadets off-world. Especially not without their approval. You rattled their control.”

You leaned your back against the wall, arms folded. “That was your idea.”

He huffed a short breath of amusement. “They’re already talking about locking down field excursions. Increased isolation protocols.”

Your jaw tensed. “They’re kids. Not droids.”

“They’re property,” he said bitterly. “According to Kamino.”

You looked down at the floor, teeth clenched.

“They’re more than that,” you muttered.

He gave you a look. “Then you better teach them to act like it. Before this place eats them alive.”

————

Later that day, it happened.

Two cadets shoved Fox after a sparring match. Said he thought he was too good for the rest of them now.

Fox didn’t fight back.

But Wolffe did.

Cody pulled him off before it escalated, but not before everyone saw.

The whole training floor went dead silent.

You walked into the middle of it.

And no one said a word.

You turned, looking around at all of them — rows of half-grown clones, armor scuffed, breath caught.

“Line up.”

They did.

All of them. Even the ones still panting from the fight.

You stood in front of them, helmet tucked under your arm, rain streaking down the windows behind you.

“I’ve been too soft on you.”

A murmur rippled through the room.

You raised your voice.

“I wanted you to feel like brothers. I wanted you to find your names. To find yourselves. But that doesn’t mean forgetting what you are.”

You started to pace, slow and sharp.

“You are soldiers. You are Mandalorian-trained. You are disciplined. And above all — you are loyal.”

A pause.

“Not to me. To each other.”

They watched you like they were trying to breathe your words in.

“This?” You pointed at the dried blood on Wolffe’s lip. “This jealousy? This division? It’s not strength. It’s weakness. And weakness gets you killed.”

You stopped walking, facing them head-on.

“I don’t care who went off-world. I don’t care who hasn’t earned a name yet. You are brothers. And from today on, the training gets harder. The drills get longer. The expectations rise.”

A long, steady beat.

“Earn your place. Earn your name. Earn each other.”

No one moved.

No one dared.

You dropped your voice just enough.

“This is your warning. Tomorrow — the real training begins.”

You turned on your heel and walked out.

Behind you, they stood taller.

Silent.

Together.

————

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Brothers in the Making” pt.2

Command Squad x Reader

The morning air in the training yard smelled of damp plastoid and ozone — same as always. Rain tapped on the roof of the covered walkway, steady but soft, like the storm hadn’t made up its mind about the day yet.

You stood at the head of the formation, arms behind your back, cloak heavy with humidity.

Twenty-three had become twenty-two.

Not because you'd lost one, but because one of them had stepped forward.

And he'd earned a name.

They stood in perfect formation, shoulder to shoulder. No movement, no talking — but the tension was there, humming like static in the air.

You stood in front of them, helmet tucked under one arm, boots soaked to the ankle.

“Yesterday, one of you showed me something I’ve been waiting to see,” you said calmly. “Not just talent. Not just tactics. But who he is.”

Your eyes landed on the cadet to your right. The one who no longer stood in the line.

CC-1010.

He stood tall, hands clasped behind his back, helmet under his arm. Quiet. Unshaken.

“He faced fear without shame. Not because he wanted a name — but because he needed to be more for his brothers. And that,” you said, voice steady, “is how a name is earned.”

You nodded to him.

“From now on, he is Fox.”

Silence.

But not empty silence. No — this silence was sharp.

Across the line, you saw heads twitch, eyes shift. You felt the ripple move through them.

CC-2224 tilted his head just slightly — like he was re-evaluating something.

CT-7567 didn’t move at all, but his jaw tightened beneath the helmet. You could almost feel him processing it.

CC-5869 crossed his arms, the first to break stance.

“Didn’t know crying in your bunk earned names now,” he muttered.

Fox raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know tripping over your squadmate during breach drills made you an expert.”

A quiet snort came from CC-1138, who immediately tried to play it off.

You stepped in before it escalated.

“Cut it,” you said. “Jealousy won’t earn you a name. Neither will pissing contests. If anything, Fox getting named means I’m watching even closer now.”

CT-1477 mumbled something to CC-5052. Probably a bet.

CC-2224 and CC-5869 shared a look — not resentment, not yet. Just… hunger. Quiet determination.

CC-1138 nodded once to himself.

You let them have the moment — that weight of realization that the bar had been raised.

You turned on your heel, voice sharp again.

“Sim room. City block scenario. Squad-on-squad. You want a name?”

You gestured to the exit with your helmet.

“Earn it.”

They moved faster than usual.

The sim was rougher than usual.

Squads pushed harder, moved sharper, communicated with fewer mistakes. CT-7567 ran point on his squad and executed a textbook breach — one you hadn’t even taught yet. CC-2224 called a flawless redirect mid-scenario when the objective shifted. CC-5052 and CC-5869 still bickered, but their cover-fire patterns were getting tighter.

They were trying.

You could see it.

But only one of them had a name.

And they all knew it.

———

That night, the rain had returned in full — harder now, pelting the side of the instructor wing like blasterfire on durasteel.

You leaned against a support pillar outside the rec hall, caf in hand, gear still half-on. The ache in your shoulders hadn’t left since morning.

Footsteps approached — a limp in one.

Kal Skirata.

“You look like osik,” he said by way of greeting.

“Same to you,” you replied, sipping your caf.

He grinned and leaned beside you, stretching out the stiffness in his back. “One of my cadets set off a training charge in the wrong direction today. Took out the wrong team.”

You smirked. “Friendly fire?”

“Not so friendly when I was the one watching from behind.”

Another set of steps approached — slower, more deliberate.

Walon Vau. Cloaked in quiet as always.

“I warned RC-1262 about overcommitting,” he said. “He overcommitted.”

You glanced at him. “He live?”

“He learned.”

Kal chuckled. “Same thing.”

The three of you stood in silence for a moment, listening to the rain.

“I named one,” you said finally.

They both turned toward you.

“CC-1010,” you added. “He’s Fox now.”

Kal nodded slowly. “Good lad. Level-headed. Thinks with more than just his training.”

“Steady,” Vau agreed. “He’ll survive.”

You watched the rain streak down the glass window across from you, arms folded. “The others are watching him differently now.”

“Of course they are,” Kal muttered. “They know now. It’s real.”

“They’re chasing it,” you said. “All of them. Not for ego — not yet. But… they want to be seen.”

“That’s what names do,” Kal said. “Turn numbers into souls.”

Vau’s gaze was unreadable as always, but his voice was low. “And once they believe they’re real, they start fearing what happens when that gets taken away.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded. Slowly. Thoughtfully.

“I keep thinking…” you said. “We’re making them better than us. Smarter. Sharper. Kinder, even.”

“And sending them to die,” Kal finished for you.

None of you flinched.

You just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, three Mandalorians staring down a storm, holding onto something quiet and sacred — a little hope that maybe, just maybe, these boys would be remembered as more than numbers.

———

The hand-to-hand training deck smelled like sweat, scuffed plastoid, and the faint charge of electroshock stun mats. You stood at the center of the ring, barefoot, sleeves rolled up, ready.

The cadets ringed the mat in a tight circle, helmets off, eyes sharp.

It was their first advanced combat session — and they were nervous.

You weren’t.

You cracked your knuckles and addressed them plainly.

“You won’t always have a blaster. Or your brothers. Sometimes, it’s just you and an enemy with a blade, or fists, or nothing at all. So today we find out what you can do with your body and your rage.”

Your gaze swept across them.

“Who’ll be my first opponent.”

CC-3636 stepped forward without hesitation.

“I’ll go.”

You raised a brow. He’d always been intense. Focused. A little too rigid in structure. Like he was trying to will himself into leadership before his body was even finished growing.

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “Into the ring.”

He moved like a soldier. Precision in every step. But there was something else today — a glint of desperation.

He wanted something.

No — needed it.

You squared off, feet planted, hands loose at your sides.

“You sure about this?” you asked lowly.

“Yes, Instructor.”

You gave him the first move.

He came in strong — good footwork, disciplined strikes. You let him test you, blocked and redirected, watched his form fall apart when you slipped past his guard and tapped his ribs.

He reset fast — eyes narrowing.

Second round, he came harder. Less measured. Frustrated now.

He lunged — you sidestepped — swept his leg — he hit the mat.

He snarled.

You backed off. “Keep your stance balanced. You’re leading too much with your shoulder.”

“I know!” he snapped, climbing to his feet.

That desperation — it was leaking out now.

He charged.

You moved to disarm — caught his arm, twisted — and then—

Pain.

You flinched, just for a second.

He’d bitten your hand.

Not playfully. Not out of reflex.

Desperately.

Hard enough to draw blood.

The room went dead silent.

You stared down at him, jaw tight, hand bleeding. He stared back, chest heaving, eyes wild like a cornered animal.

The look in his eyes wasn’t arrogance.

It was fear.

Please let this be enough.

You didn’t hit him. Didn’t yell.

You stepped back. Flexed your fingers. Blood dripped to the mat.

“You’re reckless,” you said quietly. “You lost your temper. You disrespected your opponent.”

He opened his mouth to speak—an apology, maybe—but you cut him off.

“But you didn’t quit.”

His expression shifted. Confused. Hopeful. Scared to be either.

You stepped forward again, standing close enough for your voice to drop.

“You’d rather be hated than forgotten. You’d rather bleed than fail. And even when you’re outmatched, you refuse to let go of the fight.”

You met his eyes.

“That’s why your name is Wolffe.”

Around the ring, cadets exhaled — some in disbelief, some in understanding.

CC-2224 blinked, quiet. CC-5052 shifted his stance, just slightly. CT-7567 looked away.

Fox, standing behind them all, gave a small, proud nod.

Wolffe looked like he couldn’t breathe. “I—Instructor, I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” you said simply.

You held out your other hand.

He took it.

You helped him to his feet.

“You’re not done yet. But you’ve started something that’ll never be taken from you.”

He nodded, slow. Steady.

The wolf had been born in blood and instinct. And he’d wear that name like a scar.

Later, after the medics patched your hand and the cadets had been dismissed, you stood in the corridor, staring out at the storm-churned ocean through the long viewing panels.

You didn’t hear Fox approach, but you felt him beside you.

“He deserved it,” he said quietly.

You nodded.

“He did.”

Fox folded his arms.

“Do you think we’ll all have to bleed to earn ours?”

You glanced at him.

“No,” you said. “But I think the ones who don’t will wish they had.”

He thought about that for a long time.

And didn’t disagree.

———

The days began to blur together.

Training turned into instinct. Wounds turned into scars. The boys — your boys — grew sharper. Stronger. Quieter when it counted. Louder when it didn’t.

And one by one, they earned their names.

Not all at once. Never in a rush.

Each name was a moment.

Each name was *earned.*

***

**CC-1139** was next.

It happened during a silent extraction drill. He lost his comm halfway through and didn’t say a word — just adapted, took point, and pulled his whole squad through three klicks of hostile terrain using only hand signals and trust. He didn’t ask to be recognized. But the second they hit the exfil marker, he dropped to one knee — not from fatigue, but to check his brother’s sprained ankle.

You named him Bacara right there in the mud.

CC-2224 followed.

The sim had collapsed. A storm cut power to the whole compound mid-exercise. No lights. No alarms. Nothing but chaos. But 2224 kept moving. He rallied the others without hesitation, without fear. He *led* — not by yelling, but by being the kind of soldier others would follow into darkness.

You named him Cody at sunrise.

He didn’t say anything — but you saw the way he stood straighter after.

CT-7567 earned his during a full-force melee sim. Another cadet went down hard — knocked out cold. 7567 could’ve finished the drill. Could’ve taken the win. Instead, he stopped, picked up his brother, and carried him through the finish.

Later that night, he knocked on your door.

“I didn’t do it to earn a name.”

You smiled and said, “That’s why you did.”

*Rex.*

He nodded once and left, proud but quiet — same as always.

CC-8826 didn’t want a name. Said he didn’t need one.

But when a flash-flood hit during an outdoor recon sim, he was the first one to drag three younger cadets out of a current strong enough to tear armor. He lost his helmet in the process. Nearly drowned.

You found him on the bank, coughing water, already checking the others’ vitals before his own.

“You’ve got more heart than half the GAR already,” you said, dropping to your knees beside him. “Your name is Neyo.”

He didn't argue. Just nodded once.

CC-4477 never liked attention. But he moved like fire when things got real. Explosive sim — half the field in disarray — and 4477 kept it together like a warhound. Fast, deadly, and focused.

You named him Thorn.

He smirked. Said, “About time.”

CC-6454 was a stubborn one. Constantly pushing limits. But when a real med evac team came in for a demo, one of the medics dropped from heatstroke. 6454 took over triage without being told. Knew the protocols better than the demo officer.

“Didn’t think you had the patience,” you said.

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “But I watched. Like you said.”

You smiled.

“Ponds.”

CC-5804 earned his during a live-fire run. One of his brothers panicked — froze up mid-field. 5804 didn’t yell, didn’t shame him. Just moved in front, took two rounds to the armor, and got him out safe.

You named him Keeli. He wore it like armor after that.

CC-5869 was a mouthy one. Constantly bickering. Constantly poking.

But during a sim gone sideways, when a blast shorted your training console and dropped half the safety measures, he jumped into the fire zone to pull a brother out. Burned his arm. Didn’t stop until the sim shut down.

When you sat by his cot that night, he looked up and asked, “Still think I’m just talk?”

“No,” you said. “Your name is Stone.”

CC-1004 shone brightest when things were barely holding together. During a malfunctioning terrain sim, when the floor caved and chaos reigned, he kept calm, coordinated, and improvised a bridge to extract half the squad.

“Doom,” you said afterward. “Because you walked through it and didn’t blink.”

CC-5767 liked to move alone. Observant, quiet, leaned into recon drills more than most. But when his squad got pinned by a faulty sim turret, he flanked it by himself, took it down, and dragged three brothers out of the smoke.

“Monk,” you said after. “Because you wait, and then strike.”

He gave a small, thoughtful nod. Said nothing.

CC-1003 was relentless in recon exercises. Fast. Tactical. And weirdly curious — always scanning, always asking questions others didn’t think to. He figured out how to reroute a failed evac sim by hacking the system — without permission.

You made him do five laps. Then you named him Gree.

He said, “Worth it.”

CC-1119 didn’t stand out for a long time — until a night drill went off-script and real fire suppression was needed. He coordinated the younger cadets, risked getting himself locked out of the hangar doors, and stayed behind to make sure no one was missed.

“Appo,” you said quietly that night.

He looked like it meant everything.

CC-5052 earned his name last.

He’d spent weeks in the shadow of the others. Quieter than most. Never the fastest, or strongest, or boldest. But he was always there.

Always steady.

Always watching.

And when one of the younger cadets broke during endurance trials, it was 5052 who stayed up all night walking him through drills until dawn. Not for praise. Not to be seen.

Just because he refused to let a brother fall behind.

“Bly,” you said, the next morning during roll.

He blinked. Looked up. “Why?”

You smiled. “Because loyalty isn’t loud.”

And then, one day… they were all named.

All twenty-three.

No more numbers.

No more designations.

Just men.

You stood before them one morning, same rain overhead, same wind off the ocean.

Only now — the line standing before you wasn’t a batch of identical cadets.

They were Rex. Cody. Fox. Wolffe. Bly. Thorn. Ponds. Neyo. Stone. Bacara. Keeli.

And so many others.

Your boys.

Your soldiers.

Your brothers.

Your family.

---

The message came in just after dawn.

You were still groggy, still pulling on your boots when the alert pinged on your private comm. Priority channel. Encrypted. Not Kaminoan. Not Republic military.

Senate clearance.

You keyed it open.

A flickering blue hologram shimmered to life above your desk — a familiar face. Older than the last time you’d seen her, sharp-edged with worry. One of the few Senators you still had any respect for.

High-ranking. Untouchable. A name that carried weight in every corner of the galaxy.

“She’s gone,” the senator said, voice tight and low. “They took her. Bounty hunters — well-organized, professional. They broke into our Koryan estate and vanished without a trace. Local security's useless. The Senate can’t intervene… not officially.”

You frowned, blood already running cold. “How long ago?”

“Thirty-six hours. Please. I know you’re not in that life anymore — but I need you. You were the best I ever knew.”

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t need to.

You were already grabbing your gear.

You were halfway through prepping your field pack — weapons checked, armor strapped, boots laced — when you heard the door hiss open behind you.

“You’re going somewhere,” Jango said.

You didn’t look up. “Got a message. A senator’s daughter was taken. Bounty hunters — Separatist-connected. I’m going after them.”

“Alone?”

You slung your rifle over your shoulder. “Works better that way.”

“No,” he said plainly.

You looked over at him. “What?”

“You’re not going alone.”

“I’m not dragging anyone else into this.”

“You are,” he said. “You’re taking some of your cadets.”

You blinked at him like he’d grown another head. “This isn’t a training sim, Jango. It’s a live recovery op — probably hostile.”

“Exactly. It’s time they get a taste of the real thing.”

“They’re cadets.”

“They’re soldiers,” he shot back. “Ones you’ve trained. This isn’t about checking boxes for the Kaminoans. This is about seeing if they’re ready. If you’ve made them ready.”

You stepped forward, voice low and hard. “This is a kidnapping. A bounty op. There will be blasterfire. Blood. Civilians in play. If I take them out there and they break—”

“They won’t,” he said, eyes steady. “You wouldn’t have gotten them this far if they would.”

You stared at him. But you knew it.

Just like always, his word was final.

You blew out a breath. “Fine.”

“Five. No more.”

You muttered under your breath, “Babysitting soldiers while hunting kidnappers. This is going to be a nightmare.”

But you were already thinking.

Already choosing.

Who could handle this? Who should see this?

You knew exactly who.

Not because they were perfect.

But because they were ready.

You didn’t say their names. Not yet.

But in your gut, you already knew who was coming with you.

And you knew this was going to change everything.

The training yard buzzed with movement — cadets running drills, instructors shouting commands, rain streaking off armor and plastoid like it always did on Kamino.

You stood at the edge of the yard, arms folded, helmet clipped to your belt. You scanned the field — and with a sharp whistle, you cut through the chaos.

“Everyone, on me!”

The clones snapped to it immediately, forming up in front of you with military precision. Twenty-three pairs of eyes locked forward.

You could see it already — the way they stood straighter now. The way they moved more like commanders than trainees.

You let the silence settle, just for a second.

Then you said it.

“I need five volunteers.”

That got their attention.

Some shifted subtly, glancing at one another. A few eyebrows raised. Wolffe crossed his arms like he was already halfway into the mission, whatever it was.

You kept going.

“This isn’t a training sim. This isn’t target practice. This is a real mission. Outside Kamino.”

Now they were focused. No shifting. No glancing. Just twenty-three frozen faces, locked on your words.

“You won’t be going as clones,” you continued. “You’ll be civilians. Mercenaries, bounty hunters, whatever you need to pass for. But you cannot let anyone know what you are — not that you’re clones, and definitely not that you’re part of a Republic army.”

The rain kept falling.

“This mission is classified at the highest level,” you said. “Even the Kaminoans aren’t cleared for the details. If you’re caught, I can’t guarantee the Republic will come for you. That’s how deep this runs.”

You scanned the line, locking eyes with the ones you trusted most.

“You’ll be entering a system with active Separatist surveillance. We’re tracking a high-value target. There will be civilians. Possibly bounty hunters. Possibly worse. If you’re picked, you follow my lead — and you don’t make any moves unless I say so.”

More silence.

Then, a voice.

Fox stepped forward. “I volunteer.”

No hesitation.

You nodded.

Wolffe stepped up next, already wearing that cocky half-smirk. “Wouldn’t let him have all the fun.”

Cody followed. “We’re ready.”

Then Rex. “Count me in.”

Bacara didn’t even say anything. Just stepped forward, helmet under his arm.

You looked over the five of them — standing tall, serious, already different from the others still in line.

These weren’t just cadets anymore.

They were something else now.

You gave a sharp nod. “Good. Gear up. Plainclothes armor. Non-standard issue. We move in one hour.”

They turned without a word, heading for the barracks.

Behind you, the others stood silent, watching — half with envy, half with pride.

You knew this mission was going to change everything.

And you had a feeling…

So did they.

————

The ship landed just outside the village — a quiet, fog-drenched place carved into the cliffs. Wooden structures, half-covered in moss and time, leaned over narrow paths where old traders and quiet-eyed farmers moved without urgency.

You led the boys in — disguised, geared in light armor that wouldn’t raise suspicion. Helmets off. Faces exposed. They stayed close but casual, spread just enough to keep eyes on every angle.

Fox and Cody scanned the streets in near-sync. Rex fell into step beside you, glancing now and then toward the distant mountains rising beyond the village, half-shrouded in cloud.

You asked questions.

You kept it light, polite — an old friend in search of a missing child.

No one said much at first. But eventually, a hunched old woman at the fish stall whispered something about seeing off-worlders — rough-looking ones — headed toward the mountain pass.

“Talk to the bridgekeeper,” she added. “They say no one’s crossed in days. Not since the dragon came back.”

You frowned. “Dragon?”

She only nodded.

The kind of nod that said don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.

It took an hour to reach the bridge.

The river roared below it — wide and dark, cutting through the canyon like a scar. The bridge itself was old stone, slick with moss, barely holding itself together in the storm-drenched wind.

But that wasn’t what made you stop.

An old man — half-cloaked, leaning on a gnarled staff — stood at the entrance to the bridge.

“You don’t want to cross,” he rasped, his voice as weathered as the cliffside. “Not now. The Separatists disturbed the river. The dragon’s awake.”

You raised a brow. “The what now?”

“The river dragon,” he said. “A storm-born serpent. It guards the crossing. Won’t let anything through since the droids came.”

You waved a dismissive hand. “Right. Thanks, old man.”

He pointed behind you. “Then explain that.”

You turned.

The river exploded.

A massive shape surged up from the depths — sleek and serpentine, covered in gleaming, wet-black scales. It arched high above the bridge, water cascading off its body in sheets. Its eyes crackled with violet light.

Then, with a sound like the sky breaking, it let loose a blast of lightning, straight into the air.

Every one of the boys dropped instinctively, weapons half-drawn.

Wolffe: “That’s a kriffing dragon.”

Rex: “It shoots lightning.”

Bacara: “We’re gonna die.”

You stayed perfectly still — even as your heart thundered in your ribs.

The boys turned to you, wide-eyed.

Fox spoke first. “...So, uh. What’s the plan, boss?”

You swallowed. Your palms were sweating.

You forced a slow breath through your nose and set your jaw.

“The plan,” you said, “is that you all stay back…”

You unclipped your cloak.

“...and I go talk to the damn dragon.”

Cody blinked. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m always serious,” you muttered, stalking toward the bridge. “Stupid kids. Stupid bridge. Stupid lightning dragon.”

“Pretty sure this violates field protocol,” Rex called out nervously.

You didn’t look back. “I am field protocol.”

But your stomach turned the closer you got.

The dragon watched you.

Unmoving. Silent.

Like a storm waiting to happen.

You were halfway across the stone path when a familiar voice echoed from the far end of the bridge.

“Well. That’s certainly not a face I expected to see out here.”

You froze.

That voice.

You turned toward it.

There — standing with his arms crossed, robes soaked with rain, a lightsaber on his hip and that signature, wry half-smile on his face — stood Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He looked older than the last time you saw him.

A little more tired. A little more burdened.

But still — him.

“Kenobi,” you breathed, relief and disbelief mingling in your chest.

He nodded once. “It’s been a long time.”

You walked toward him, dragon temporarily forgotten. “Didn’t expect to run into a Jedi on the edge of nowhere.”

“I could say the same for you.”

You slowed. Your voice softened. “...I heard about Qui-Gon. I’m sorry, Obi-Wan.”

For a moment, the smirk faded.

His eyes dropped, and he nodded, quiet. “Thank you.”

Silence stretched between you for a breath.

Then the dragon growled again — lightning crackling up its spine like a warning.

You sighed. “So. Uh. Any chance your Jedi calm-animal nonsense works on that thing?”

Obi-Wan raised a brow. “Careful. You’ll hurt its feelings.”

You looked at him.

He looked at the dragon.

And the two of you, almost at the same time, muttered:

“This is going to suck.”

The dragon hadn’t moved again.

Neither had you.

The two of you stood on opposite sides of the bridge now — the water below roaring, lightning curling lazily through the air above like warning smoke.

Obi-Wan let out a long, exhausted breath.

“I’m too old for this.”

You smirked. “You’re like thirty-five.”

“And that’s still too old for giant lightning-breathing reptiles.”

You chuckled under your breath. “Still the same sarcastic Jedi I remember.”

He glanced at you. “Still the same reckless Mandalorian who nearly blew up half a speeder depot on Kalevala.”

“That was a bad day,” you admitted. “Didn’t help that you were the one who knocked over the detonator.”

He gave a faint grin. “I deny everything.”

The dragon shifted slightly — scales glowing faintly with electricity. You both tensed, but it didn’t move to strike.

“So,” you said casually, “you here on Jedi business?”

“Actually,” Obi-Wan said, “I’m here for the same reason you are. A certain senator sent word. Missing daughter. Possible Separatist involvement.”

You blinked. “Let me guess. She called you right after calling me.”

“Probably,” he said. “Though I don’t usually work missing person cases. Not alone.”

Your brow lifted. “Not alone?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I brought my Padawan.”

You stared at him. “You? A Padawan?”

“He’s fifteen,” Obi-Wan said. “Still a handful. Always running off. I left him in the village to gather intel, and—”

A roar of thunder cut him off.

And then, chaos.

A blur of motion streaked across the cliffside — gold and brown and fury — and in the next instant, a boy launched himself off the edge of a building, flipping clean over the river and landing hard on the bridge in a spray of sparks.

Lightsaber ignited.

Blue.

The dragon screeched, rearing back, lightning flashing across its body.

Obi-Wan’s head fell back slightly. “Force, not again.”

“That’s him?” you asked, already unholstering your sidearm.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan sighed. “That’s Anakin.”

You didn’t wait.

You sprinted.

So did he.

The two of you launched onto the bridge just as Anakin’s blade crashed against the dragon’s lightning-charged hide, sending sparks and static flying. The creature lashed out, tail whipping through stone — you ducked low and rolled, blaster up, firing carefully placed shots near the joints in its armor-thick scales.

Obi-Wan surged forward, saber slicing through a strike meant for Anakin.

“Padawan!” he barked. “You were supposed to observe!”

“It was charging up!” Anakin yelled. “You were talking!”

“I was stalling!”

“Same thing!”

You slid beneath the dragon’s legs, grabbing a fallen cable from the wreckage and looping it quickly around one of the creature’s hind limbs. “Less yelling, more wrangling!”

From the cliffs, the five cadets watched in awe.

Cody was the first to speak. “Is that… is that what Jedi do all the time?”

“Apparently,” Rex muttered, eyes wide. “That kid’s fifteen.”

Wolffe let out a low whistle. “He fights like he was born with that saber in his hand.”

Fox didn’t say anything — but you could see the way his fists were clenched tight with excitement.

Bacara crossed his arms. “I need to fight alongside someone like that someday.”

Rex nodded slowly. “We will.”

They all looked at him.

And none of them disagreed.

Back on the bridge, the dragon reared up for one final strike — but Obi-Wan raised his hand, and with a focused pulse of the Force, blasted the creature back just enough for Anakin to leap high and carve a clean, non-lethal slash across its side.

The beast shrieked, arcing lightning into the sky — and then with a final, furious hiss, it dived back into the river and vanished beneath the surface.

Silence fell.

All three of you stood there, breathing hard, half-covered in dust and water and ash.

Then Obi-Wan turned to you.

“Are you ever not in the middle of something insane?”

You wiped blood off your lip. “Nope.”

He glanced at the five cadets watching from the cliff. “And those?”

You hesitated.

Then, with a straight face “Foundlings. Mine.”

He gave you a long look. “You expect me to believe that?”

“You don’t think I’m a mother figure?”

His expression didn’t change. “...Right. Foundlings it is.”

You both turned to look at Anakin — already poking the smoldering scorch marks on the bridge with the tip of his saber.

“Your Padawan’s intense,” you said.

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly. “You have no idea.”

————

The air grew thinner as they climbed, the path winding upward through rocky slopes and moss-covered ledges. The thunderclouds had drifted off toward the horizon, but the scent of rain still clung to the earth, rich and cold.

The dragon hadn’t returned.

But the tension never quite left.

Obi-Wan walked ahead, silent, robes shifting in the mountain wind. Anakin wasn’t far behind, bounding between rocks like he had more energy than sense.

You brought up the rear, your five cadets close behind — feet steady, eyes sharp, but quiet in a way they never usually were.

When the path widened out near an outcropping, you tapped Rex on the shoulder. “Hold up.”

They stopped, forming a loose semicircle around you as the Jedi moved out of earshot.

You glanced after them once, then turned back to your boys.

“This is important,” you said, low and firm. “I know you're excited. I know this is your first time in the field. But listen to me.”

They straightened without thinking.

“I am your buir now,” you said. “For this mission — and from here on.”

There was a pause.

Then Cody’s voice broke it, soft but certain: “We already think of you that way.”

You smiled — tight and small, but real.

“Good,” you said. “Then this will make sense.”

Your voice hardened just a little, instinctively Mandalorian now — the part of you that Jango saw when he chose you for this job.

“I am your buir. You are my foundlings. We are clan. Until the Jedi know what we are — until the Republic knows — we stay as that. Nothing more.”

They all nodded slowly.

Even Wolffe didn’t crack a joke this time.

“You don’t speak about Kamino. You don’t mention the GAR. You don’t talk about your designations. We are nothing but mercs with a shared name and a found-family story.”

Fox narrowed his eyes. “What if they ask?”

You looked him straight on. “You lie.”

The wind blew over the ledge.

You touched your fist to your chest — Mando’ade.

They mirrored it without hesitation.

Your voice lowered.

“Good.”

Further ahead, Anakin was skipping rocks into the canyon and trying to start a conversation.

“So…” he said, drawing out the word as he slowed his pace until he matched theirs. “You guys are like a squad or something?”

No answer.

He smiled anyway. “That was pretty impressive, the way you kept formation on the ridge. The short one with the scar — you’ve definitely had training. Who’s your trainer?”

Still nothing.

Bacara, walking closest to him, finally turned just a little and said, bluntly:

“Our buir said not to speak to you.”

Anakin blinked. “...Wait, what?”

“You’re Jedi. Not part of the clan,” Bacara replied.

An awkward silence followed.

Cody looked straight ahead. Rex frowned slightly. Wolffe cleared his throat. Fox just rolled his eyes.

Anakin’s face fell a little, and for a moment he looked… kind of like the teenager he actually was.

He hung back, falling behind the group, eyes flicking between them and Obi-Wan up ahead.

You, still watching from behind, caught the whole thing.

And sighed quietly to yourself.

You’d explain to them later.

That the galaxy wasn’t always so black and white.

That sometimes Jedi could be family, too.

But for now?

They were foundlings.

And foundlings followed the clan.

No matter what.

————

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Hi! I saw you took requests and I was wondering if you could do a Command Squad x Fem!Reader where she’s a general but not because she’s a Jedi but because she actually served in wars before this and they want her respect and flirt with her. And of course any of your flourishes ;)

You’re the best! Xx

“Steel & Stardust”

Fem!Reader x Command Squad (Cody, Wolffe, Fox, Neyo, Bacara, Gree, Bly, and Ponds)

⸻

You weren’t a Jedi. Never wore the robes, never had the Force. You didn’t need it.

Your command had been earned the hard way—blood, shrapnel, and scars in wars no one even bothered to archive anymore. When the Republic came knocking, you told them you didn’t serve causes—you served soldiers. And somehow, that landed you here.

Not in front of them. With them.

The elite. The best the Republic had to offer.

And from the second you stepped into that war room, every helmet turned your way. And when the helmets came off—yeah, that was a problem. Because they were all infuriatingly hot, and even worse, they knew it.

Cody was the first to speak, his voice calm, neutral, but his eyes sharp. “General. You’ll forgive the question, but… what exactly are your qualifications?”

You just smirked, tossing your old service jacket onto the table with a dull thud. “Two border wars, five urban insurgencies, and a ten-year campaign in the Outer Rim before the Jedi decided the galaxy needed saving. That enough for you, Commander?”

Wolffe snorted, amused. “She’s got more battlefield time than half the Jedi Council.”

“She’s not wrong,” Bacara grunted, arms crossed, voice gravelly. “Seen her file. Most of us got bred for war. She just never left it.”

“I like her,” Bly grinned, leaning on the table with a little too much casual charm. “Can we keep her?”

“Not like that, Bly,” Fox muttered, though he didn’t exactly disagree.

“I didn’t say anything,” Bly said with a wicked grin. “Yet.”

You sighed. “Are you always like this, or is it just when there’s a woman in the room who outranks you?”

Gree chuckled. “You outrank us technically. Not in spirit.”

Neyo hadn’t said a word yet, just stared at you like he was dissecting your tactical potential, or possibly imagining your funeral. Could go either way with Neyo.

Ponds gave you a respectful nod. “We’ve worked under a lot of Jedi. Not all of them know what they’re doing. We’d follow you, General.”

And that—that was what mattered.

⸻

You caught them watching you more often than not. In the field, in the war room, during briefings. It wasn’t just the usual soldier-to-general dynamic. No, it was different. Heat in Cody’s gaze when you gave orders. That glint in Wolffe’s eye when you called him out in front of the others. The way Fox lingered just a bit too long when you handed him back his datapad.

Even Neyo—cold, calculating Neyo—started standing just a little too close.

“You know they’re all trying to impress you, right?” Gree asked one night while you were cleaning your gear, his voice low and amused.

You didn’t even glance up. “Trying and failing.”

Bly leaned against your doorway. “Is that a challenge?”

⸻

After you saved their shebs in a firefight—ripping a blaster from a fallen commando and dropping six droids in twelve seconds flat—you were pretty sure something shifted.

They wanted your respect. You already had theirs.

But they wanted more.

So they fought beside you. Ate with you. Got protective in the field. Made excuses to talk to you after hours. Fought over who got assigned to your team. And every now and then… they flirted like it was a competitive sport.

Cody did subtle praise and brooding glances. Always has your back.

Wolffe. The grumpy softie. Pretends he hates you. Would kill anyone who hurt you.

Fox was stoic, but flirty in a dry, sardonic way. Deep down, he’s soft, but you’d have to earn it.

Neyo protective in a weird way. Doesn’t speak much but always notices when you’re off. Secretly touched you remembered his name.

Bacara extremely blunt, intense. A man of few words—but his loyalty is loud.

Gree slightly flirty and professional. Gives you space but always drops a line like, “You ever need a break, General… I know a place.”

Bly was shameless. Teases you endlessly but respects you deeply. Would absolutely fight anyone who disrespects you.

Ponds was quiet support. Loyal. Observes everything. The first one to ask how you’re doing when no one else notices.

And you?

You don’t fall easily. You’ve seen too much.

But if you were going to fall—

It might just be for one of them.

Or all of them.

⸻

79’s was already loud when you walked in. Music thrumming through your bones, the low hum of clone banter and laughter rising and falling like waves. You hadn’t planned to come here. You’d just wanted one damn drink. One moment not steeped in war, planning, or death.

You ran right into Commander Bly. Well, more like his chest.

“General,” he said, and the smile that bloomed on his face was entirely too pretty. He looked you over, gaze lingering just a little too long. “Didn’t know you came here.”

“I don’t,” you replied, stepping back. “Just needed to breathe.”

“You came to a GAR bar to breathe?” Gree chimed in from behind him, drink in hand and eyebrows raised. “You’re worse at relaxing than Fox.”

Speak of the devil—Fox was at the bar, sharp suit shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. He lifted his glass in greeting and turned away to order another round. You could feel his eyes on you though, like a sniper sight you couldn’t shake.

“You here alone?” Bly asked, leaning against the wall like he knew what he was doing.

“I was,” you replied flatly.

“Tragic,” Gree said, stepping closer, voice smoother than it had any right to be. “This place is full of trouble tonight.”

“Is that what you are, Gree? Trouble?”

“You’ll have to find out.”

And just like that, Cody, Wolffe, Bacara, Ponds, and Neyo filtered in from the second level, coming down the steps like they were part of a slow-motion holodrama.

Cody looked you over once, eyes flickering to the drink in your hand. “Didn’t think we’d see you here.”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t see you here,” you replied, teasing, heat behind the words.

Wolffe smirked. “Too bad.”

Ponds gave a low whistle. “She’s gonna kill one of you tonight.”

“I volunteer,” Bly said without hesitation.

Bacara rolled his eyes and took a slow sip of his drink, staring at you over the rim of the glass like he was thinking something entirely inappropriate—and probably correct.

And Neyo—stone-cold, unreadable—just nodded. “You clean up well, General.”

That made a few of them pause. Compliments from Neyo were about as rare as a Tatooine blizzard.

You were suddenly hyper-aware of how your shirt clung to your skin, how the lights in the bar made everything seem lower, warmer, closer.

Fox appeared beside you without a sound, holding out a drink. “On me.”

You hesitated. “You trying to get me drunk, Commander?”

“If I were, I’d start with something stronger,” he said, voice low, his knuckles brushing yours as you took it.

“Careful,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You might be starting something you can’t finish.”

“I always finish what I start,” Fox replied smoothly, dead serious.

The tension snapped tight like a tripwire.

Cody moved closer behind you, his breath brushing your neck. “You should be careful with us, General.”

Wolffe stepped in next to him, eyes gleaming. “Or don’t. We like dangerous.”

Gree leaned in from the other side. “And we play well together.”

“You all are shameless,” you muttered, taking a sip just to hide your smirk.

“No,” Ponds said with a shrug. “Just very, very interested.”

You looked around—at eight sets of eyes, different in every way except one thing: they wanted you. Wanted to impress you, challenge you, make you forget—if only for one night—that the galaxy was falling apart outside these walls.

You downed the rest of your drink and smiled, slow and dangerous. “Alright, boys. Try and keep up.”

The night was just beginning.

The music had shifted. Slowed. Lower bass, seductive rhythm. Clone troopers were still everywhere, but the spotlight wasn’t on them anymore.

It was on you.

You hadn’t planned to be the center of the room, but when you started moving through the crowd—hips swaying just enough, eyes catching every glance—you had their undivided attention. Especially when Commander Bly snuck up behind you and took your hand.

“Dance with me,” he said, already guiding you onto the floor like he’d waited years for the excuse.

You let him.

Bly danced like he fought—confident, smooth, close. One hand gripped your hip, the other held yours. His gold armor was traded for casual blacks, but the heat rolling off him was all battle-born adrenaline and want.

“You keep looking at me like that,” you murmured in his ear, “and I’ll start thinking you’re falling for me.”

He faltered—actually faltered. Blinked once, then twice.

You leaned in, lips grazing his jaw. “What’s the matter, Bly? Didn’t think I could flirt back?”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

You slipped away with a smirk.

Gree was next—casual, clever, always too smooth for his own good.

“Careful,” you said, nursing a drink beside him at the bar. “You look like you’re planning something.”

“Just wondering how someone like you keeps every commander in the GAR wrapped around your finger.”

You leaned in, gaze dark. “Who says I don’t already have you wrapped around mine?”

He choked on his drink.

You patted his back, sweet as sin. “I’ll be gentle.”

⸻

Fox looked like he was ready for a war crime when you sat beside him.

“I thought you hated attention,” you said, sipping from your glass.

“I do.”

“And yet,” you murmured, brushing your knee against his, “you keep watching me like I’m a damn threat.”

Fox’s eyes flickered. His jaw clenched. “You are.”

You leaned close. “Then do something about it.”

He looked away. Tight. Tense.

Flustered.

⸻

Neyo didn’t flinch when you approached—but his grip on his glass tightened when you laid your hand lightly on his chest.

“You don’t say much,” you whispered, “but I bet you think about me more than you should.”

His eyes were locked on yours. Still silent.

“You going to prove me wrong?”

He looked down, just for a second. Then turned and walked away—only to stop, just out of reach, and glance back like he wanted you to follow.

God, he was dangerous.

Ponds approached and gave you a smile like calm water hiding a riptide.

“Having fun?” he asked.

“I am now.”

You rested a hand on his arm, feeling the strength there. “You ever going to stop being the sweet one?”

His smile dipped just slightly, darker now. “Only if you ask nicely.”

You stepped closer, voice low. “What if I beg?”

He stared at you like you’d kicked him in the chest.

Bacara barely moved when you brushed his hand at the table, except for the twitch in his jaw.

“You don’t talk much either.”

“I talk when there’s something worth saying.”

You tilted your head. “Then say something. Right now.”

Bacara met your gaze for a long, charged moment. Then—

“You’re dangerous.”

You smirked. “Took you that long to figure it out?”

He shifted in his seat, suddenly needing a long drink.

⸻

Wolffe was already grumpy when you got to him, sitting in the corner like he’d rather be anywhere else—but the second you sat on the arm of his chair, his whole body went rigid.

“What?” he grunted.

“Nothing,” you said sweetly, playing with the edge of his collar. “You just always look like you want to throw me against a wall.”

He inhaled sharply. “Don’t test me.”

“Oh, I am.”

And just for fun, you kissed his cheek. Quick. Sharp. Possessive.

Wolffe went absolutely still. “You’re a menace.”

“You like that.”

⸻

Cody found you at the end of the night—when your guard was just a little lowered, your drink half-finished.

“You were playing us all along,” he said, leaning on the bar beside you, eyes burning.

“Not playing,” you replied. “Just reminding you who’s in charge.”

He chuckled, low and slow. “Then dance with me.”

You didn’t resist when he pulled you back onto the floor, slower this time. Closer.

“You like control,” he murmured in your ear.

You turned in his arms, meeting his gaze dead-on. “Only when they’re strong enough to take it from me.”

Cody stared at you like he wanted to drag you out of the bar and ruin you.

And maybe… just maybe… you’d let him.

You hadn’t meant to start a war in 79’s—but then again, you’d never played fair, had you?

The music was sultry, all slow bass and sin. The lights were low. You’d been dancing with Cody for all of three minutes, and you could already feel the eyes on you. His eyes.

Fox had been brooding at the bar, nursing his whiskey, watching you like a hawk all night. You’d shared a moment earlier, sure—a drink, a brush of skin, words that lingered.

But now you were wrapped up in Cody.

Hands at your waist, lips near your ear, warm breath as he murmured, “You’re playing a dangerous game, General.”

You looked up at him, smug. “Only if someone plays back.”

Cody smirked. “Oh, I’m playing.”

He pulled you in tighter, hand trailing down your spine, and that was it—that was the trigger.

You didn’t see Fox at first—you felt him.

Storming across the floor like a man possessed. Controlled, measured fury wrapped in sleek civilian clothes. A few troopers nearby saw him coming and stepped aside like instinct told them don’t be in his way.

You barely had time to blink before—

“Enough.”

His voice cracked like a blaster shot.

Cody’s hand stiffened at your hip. You turned slowly—heart pounding—to find Fox right in front of you.

Eyes dark. Jaw clenched. Dangerous.

“What’s your problem?” Cody asked, tone calm but wary.

Fox didn’t look at him. Not once. His eyes were on you. “This what you came for?” he asked, voice low and bitter. “To play us against each other like it’s all some kind of game?”

You tilted your head, meeting his fury with wicked calm. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Commander.”

His hand shot out—not rough, not cruel—but demanding. His fingers wrapped around your wrist and tugged you a step closer. “I’m not jealous.”

“No?” you asked, breath catching slightly.

“I’m done pretending you’re just another officer.” His voice dipped, raw and sharp. “I see you dancing with him like that and I want to put my fist through the wall.”

A slow hush had fallen across the floor.

You stepped into Fox’s space, bodies nearly touching. “So do something about it.”

For a second, he didn’t breathe.

Then—

His hand slid to your waist. Possessive. Hot. “Dance with me,” he ordered. Not asked. Ordered.

You could have said no.

But you didn’t.

You let him lead you back to the center of the floor, every trooper watching now, every step like a declaration. Fox danced like he wanted to erase Cody’s hands from your skin. He kept you close. Too close. The kind of close that whispered mine without ever saying a word.

“Next time,” he growled in your ear, “I won’t be so polite.”

You smirked against his neck. “That was polite?”

He held you tighter. “You haven’t seen me lose control yet.”

And part of you—twisted, wild, aching—wanted him to.

⸻

A/N

No idea where I was going with this tbh, think I went down my own little route and it ended up liked this 🫤

“My Boys, My Warriors” pt.3

Clone Commanders x Reader (Platonic/Motherly)

⸻

The fires in the Kalevalan mountains burned low, the cold wind howling through the high passes. The Death Watch camp was bustling—more recruits, more stolen weapons, more rumors.

And then, the arrival.

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Duchess Satine Kryze.

Uninvited.

You stood with Vizsla on the high ridge as he drew the blade from his hip. The Darksaber hissed to life like a living flame—black as night, glowing at the edges like the promise of death.

The effect on the Mandalorians below was instant: awe, devotion, fevered whispers.

But your stomach twisted.

“This isn’t the way,” you muttered under your breath.

Vizsla grinned, eyes gleaming. “It’s our way now.”

You didn’t answer. Not yet.

When Kenobi and Satine confronted Vizsla, words were exchanged. Accusations. Pleas.

Then lightsabers.

Vizsla went for Kenobi—sloppy, showy. It was never about skill with him. It was about spectacle.

You intervened. Not to protect Vizsla. But to test Kenobi. To understand.

Your beskad clashed against his blade, sparks flying. He was strong, but not unkind. Precise.

“You trained the clone commanders,” he said mid-duel, surprised. “You’re her.”

You didn’t answer. Only pushed him harder.

He deflected and stepped back, breathing heavy. “They still speak of you.”

Your guard faltered. Just a beat. But he saw it.

“Cody is my Commander.”

You let them go. Kenobi and Satine escaped into the mountains under cover of night. Vizsla fumed. Called it weakness. Called you soft.

You didn’t respond.

But later, in secret, others came to you—Death Watch members uneasy with the fanaticism growing in Vizsla’s wake. You weren’t the only one with doubts.

You weren’t alone.

Not yet.

⸻

“General?” Cody asked, voice low.

Obi-Wan glanced up from the datapad, still damp from the rain on Kamino. The war had kept them moving—campaign to campaign—but this conversation had waited long enough.

“What happened on Kalevala,” Cody said. “You recognized someone.”

Obi-Wan studied him a moment, then nodded. “Yes.”

Cody looked down, exhaling.

“I think…” Kenobi paused, unsure how to soften the blow. “I think it was your buir.”

Cody’s breath hitched. He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. For a long moment, he said nothing.

“I didn’t believe it at first,” Kenobi went on gently. “But her fighting style. Her presence. It was unmistakable.”

Cody sat on the crate beside him, helmet in his lap. “She used to sing to us,” he said quietly. “Used to say we’d be legends.”

Obi-Wan’s voice softened. “I don’t think she’s lost. Not entirely.”

“She joined the Death Watch.”

“She didn’t kill me when she could have.”

Cody blinked hard. “She always said if you had to fight… you fight for something worth dying for. Maybe she thinks she’s doing that.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Maybe. Or maybe she’s trying to protect something she already lost.”

Later That Night

Cody stood outside his quarters, datapad in hand. He stared at the encrypted channel. No new messages. Nothing in months.

But still… he keyed in a short phrase.

Just two words.

Still there?

He sent it.

And waited.

The barracks were quiet tonight.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that only happened right before everything changed.

Cody sat on the edge of his bunk, polishing his helmet even though it was already spotless. The other troopers in his unit were mostly asleep, some murmuring in dreams, others shifting restlessly. Outside, thunder rolled low across the skies.

And then—

Ping.

His datapad lit up.

An encrypted file.

No message. No words. No source.

He stared at it.

He knew that signature. Knew the rhythm of its encryption—she’d taught it to them. Said it was how Mandalorians passed messages in the old days. Heartbeats in code. A kind of song.

And now…

A file.

Cody clicked play.

And the room was filled with a voice from his childhood.

“Do you still dream? Do you, do you sleep still?

I fill my pockets full of stones and sink

Thе river will flow, and the sun will shine 'cause

Mama will be there in the mornin'”

Her voice was soft, low, carrying that rough edge it always had—like wind against beskar. He remembered hearing it in the cadet bunks, late at night, when the storms outside made even the toughest of them curl tighter under their blankets. He remembered her kneeling beside the youngest, brushing a hand over their short buzzed hair, humming softly.

He remembered how it made them feel safe. Like they were home.

And now, years later, on the edge of the Clone Wars…

He was hearing it again.

“Slumber, child, slumber, and dream, dream, dream

The river murdered you and now it takes me

Dream, my baby

Mama will be there in the mornin'”

He blinked, chest tight.

Cody didn’t cry. Not in front of his men. Not in front of anyone.

But tonight, he pressed the datapad to his chest and closed his eyes.

You okay, sir?”

It was Waxer, leaning in from his bunk. Boil sat up too, eyes curious.

Cody cleared his throat. “Fine.”

Boil tilted his head. “Was that…?”

Cody nodded once. “Yeah.”

The others didn’t press. But slowly, one by one, troopers across the barracks stirred. Listening.

No one spoke.

They just let her voice fill the room.

⸻

On Mandalore’s moon, the woman who had sent the file stood beneath the stars.

Helmet tucked under her arm.

She watched the horizon and murmured to herself, “Fight smart. Fight together. And come back.”

She would never send them words.

They already knew them.

But she could still sing them to sleep.

⸻

The fire crackled low in the mouth of the cave, throwing shadows across the jagged stone walls. Outside, the frost of the moon’s night crept in, but inside, the warmth of the flames and the quiet hum of her voice kept it at bay.

She sat cross-legged by the fire, her helmet resting beside her, eyes unfocused as she sang under her breath. The melody was soft, familiar, drifting like smoke.

Behind her, a few Death Watch recruits murmured amongst themselves, throwing glances her way, unsure of what to make of the rare lullaby from a warrior like her.

One of them approached. Young. Sharp-eyed. Barely out of adolescence, with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove.

“Buir,” he said cautiously, the word catching awkwardly in his throat. “That song. You sing it a lot.”

She didn’t look at him. Not right away. She just nodded, still staring into the flames.

“Who was it for?” he asked. “Someone on Mandalore?”

Her voice came low, worn. “No.”

The recruit waited. He didn’t sit, but he didn’t leave either. After a moment, she gestured for him to join her by the fire. He sat slowly, hands resting on his knees, trying to act like he wasn’t still scared of her.

She let the silence sit a little longer before she answered.

“I trained soldiers once. Before the war broke out. Children, really. Grown in tubes, bred for battle. They were mine to shape… my responsibility.”

“You mean the clones?” he asked, surprised. “The clones?”

She nodded slowly.

“They were… good boys,” she said, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Too good for what the galaxy would ask of them.”

“You cared about them,” the recruit said, almost like it was an accusation.

“I still do,” she replied without hesitation.

He looked at her—this woman in weathered beskar who fought harder than anyone in Death Watch, who’d left behind her name and her history to walk the path of insurgency. The woman who could break bones without blinking… and yet sang lullabies to shadows.

“They’re fighting for the Republic now,” he said. “Isn’t that… the enemy?”

She looked at him then. Really looked at him.

“I didn’t train enemies,” she said. “I trained survivors. Sons. And no matter where they are, or who they fight for, they are mine.”

The recruit shifted uncomfortably.

“I thought you joined Death Watch to protect Mandalore,” he said. “To fight the pacifists, the weakness Satine brought.”

“I did,” she said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean I stopped loving the people I left behind. Sometimes war splits you down the middle. Sometimes you fight with one half of your soul… while mourning with the other.”

The fire crackled between them.

After a long pause, the recruit finally asked, “Do you think they remember you?”

She smiled, just a little.

“I hope they remember the song.”

⸻

The air on Mandalore was thin and sterile—peaceful in a way that felt almost unnatural.

Walking through Sundari’s wide, shining corridors in full armor again, the reader felt the stares of pacifist advisors, senators, and citizens alike. A Mandalorian warrior hadn’t walked these halls in years. Not since they were exiled—branded relics of a bloody past the new government had tried to bury.

She kept walking.

Each step echoed with restraint, but not regret.

When she reached the palace gates, the guards blocked her path, hands twitching toward the stun batons at their sides.

“I seek audience with the Duchess Satine,” she said, voice even. “Tell her an old warrior has come home to bend the knee.”

The guards exchanged skeptical glances, but one of them relayed the message through their comms. A beat passed. Then another.

Then: “The Duchess will see you.”

Satine Kryze sat tall on her throne, draped in royal silks, her expression unreadable.

The reader approached slowly, helmet in hand, her armor still painted in the battle-worn shades of Death Watch—though the sigil had been scorched off.

Satine’s eyes narrowed. “You walk into my court bearing the same steel that once stood with Vizsla and his radicals. Why should I hear a word from your mouth?”

The reader dropped to one knee.

Not in submission.

In promise.

“I left them.”

Satine arched a brow. “And I’m meant to believe that?”

“You’ve heard what Vizsla plans. He wields the Darksaber like a hammer, believing Mandalore’s strength is only measured in fire and conquest.” Her voice was low but sure. “But true strength is not brutality. It’s knowing when not to strike. It’s survival. Legacy.”

Satine rose from her throne slowly. “That sounds more like my philosophy than that of a sworn Mandalorian.”

The reader’s head lifted.

“I am sworn to the Creed,” she said. “The whole Creed. Not just the warmongering chants of the fallen, but the heart of it—the protection of our people. The survival of our world. That is the way.”

Satine studied her.

Something in her eyes softened.

“You pledge yourself to me?”

“I pledge myself to Mandalore,” the reader answered. “And right now… you are the only one keeping her heart beating.”

A long pause.

Then Satine stepped forward, extended a hand.

“Then come,” she said. “If you would stand for peace, walk beside me. I leave for Coruscant in the morning.”

⸻

The duchess’s starcruiser hummed steadily through hyperspace, bound for Coruscant. Peace had no place in the stars anymore—pirates, bounty hunters, Separatist saboteurs—any one of them could strike at any time. Satine’s diplomatic voyage needed more than security.

It needed Jedi.

And hidden among the entourage was a shadow in Beskar.

You.

You stood silently behind the duchess, armor painted anew—neutral tones, a far cry from your old Death Watch markings. Most on board didn’t recognize you, especially with the helmet on. But Obi-Wan had looked twice when he boarded. Said nothing. Just gave you a subtle nod—acknowledgement… and warning.

You were a guest here.

But you were also something dangerous.

t started when the droid attacked. The assassin model, slinking through the ventilation shafts like a ghost.

The ship rocked as explosions tore through the hull—one hit dangerously close to the engines. Screams echoed down the halls.

As the Jedi and clone troopers mobilized, you were already moving, your beskad drawn from your hip in a practiced motion. The moment you cut through the access panel and leapt into the ducts after the droid, Obi-Wan barked, “She’s with us—don’t stop her!”

You burst from the duct with a grunt, landing in a crouch between clone troopers and the assassin droid that had been pinning them down. In one quick move, you flipped the beskad in your hand and hurled it—metal slicing through the droid’s neck and sending sparks flying.

The clones blinked, surprised.

Then one of them spoke, stunned.

“…Buir?”

Your eyes met his.

Cody.

He looked older now. Sharper. War-worn. But the way he said that word—the softness beneath the gravel in his voice—stopped your heart for a beat.

“Cody,” you breathed.

Before you could say more, another explosion rocked the ship and the Jedi shouted orders. You both surged back into motion, fighting side by side as if no time had passed. Rex appeared at your flank, helmet on but unmistakable.

“Never thought I’d see you again,” he said through the comms.

“You look taller,” you shot back.

“Still can’t outshoot me,” he quipped.

“Let’s test that once we survive this.”

Later, when the droid was destroyed and the ship stabilized, you stood with your back against the durasteel wall, helmet off, sweat dripping down your brow.

Cody approached slowly. His armor was scraped, singed.

He stood in front of you silently.

“You left,” he said.

You nodded. “I had to. It wasn’t safe. Not with the Kaminoans growing colder… not with what was coming.”

His jaw clenched. But then he exhaled slowly, nodding.

“You’re here now,” he said. “That’s all that matters.”

A pause.

“You were right, you know,” he added quietly. “We weren’t ready for the galaxy. But we survived. Because of what you gave us.”

You looked at him—really looked at him—and placed your hand on his chest plate.

“I’m proud of you, Cody. All of you.”

Rex joined, helmet tucked under one arm, a crooked grin on his face. “Buir’s gonna make us get all sappy, huh?”

“I’ll arm-wrestle you to shut you up,” you smirked.

They laughed.

For the first time in years.

⸻

Coruscant never changed.

Even from orbit, it looked like a city swallowing itself—buildings stacked on buildings, lights never fading, shadows never still. You stood by the Duchess’s side as her diplomatic cruiser descended toward the Senate landing pad, flanked by Jedi, Senators, and clone guards, all navigating the choreography of politics and danger.

The moment your boots hit the durasteel of the Senate rotunda, you felt it—that tingle down the back of your neck.

You weren’t welcome here.

But you didn’t need to be.

You were here for Mandalore.

And for them.

As Duchess Satine prepared to speak, you fell back slightly—watching her take the grand platform before the Senate assembly, her calm, steady voice echoing through the chamber. She spoke of peace. Of neutrality. Of independence.

The words stirred an old ache in you—half pride, half grief. She was strong in her own way. You respected that now.

But while the chamber listened, your eyes scanned.

And locked on him.

Standing at attention near the perimeter, crimson armor gleaming under the Senate lights, was Marshal Commander Fox. He hadn’t seen you yet. Too focused, too professional. But you approached him like a ghost walking out of the past.

“Still standing tall, I see,” you said, voice low enough not to draw attention.

Fox turned, his sharp gaze meeting yours—and then widening. “No kriffing way.”

You smirked.

He stared, then let out a small huff of disbelief. “You vanish for years and that’s the first thing you say?”

“You didn’t need me anymore,” you said. “You were always going to be something.”

Fox’s jaw tightened, emotion flickering. “We needed you more than you think.”

“Marshal Commander,” you said, mock-formal. “Look at you. I leave for a couple years, and you’re babysitting Senators now. Impressive.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled. “I thought I was hallucinating. You’re supposed to be dead, or exiled, or something dramatic.”

“Only in spirit,” you replied. “Congratulations, Fox. You earned that armor.”

He hesitated.

Then gave you a quiet nod. “It’s not the same without you.”

“It’s not supposed to be,” you said softly. “You were always meant to outgrow me.”

He looked away for a second, then back, voice lower. “The others talk about you sometimes. Cody. Rex. Bly. Even Wolffe, and that man doesn’t talk about anyone.”

“Tell them I remember every one of them.”

“You’ll tell them yourself,” he said, then added, almost too quickly, “Right?”

You didn’t answer. Just touched his shoulder lightly. “You did good, Fox. Better than good. You lead now. That means you carry the burden… but you also get to set the tone. The next generation of vode? They’re watching you.”

He blinked a few times. “You always were the only one who said things like that.”

“And meant it,” you added.

He nodded, slower this time. “It’s good to see you. You look… older.”

You smirked. “Try keeping your head above water in a sea of Vizsla fanatics and tell me how fresh you look after.”

“Fair.”

⸻

The danger came in silence.

You and the Duchess had returned to the Senate landing platform, flanked by Jedi and clone escort. The diplomatic skyspeeder waited, gleaming in the light.

The moment Satine stepped into the speeder, a faint whine filled the air—subtle, but wrong.

Your instincts screamed.

“Don’t start the engine!” you barked, lunging forward—too late.

The speeder blasted off—far too fast, veering wildly.

“Something’s wrong with the repulsors!” Anakin shouted. “The nav systems are locked!”

You were already sprinting toward a nearby speeder bike, Obi-Wan mounting another. “We have to catch her!”

Fox was shouting into his comms, coordinating pursuit and clearance through air lanes.

You and Obi-Wan flew through the sky, weaving around towers as Satine’s speeder dipped and jolted erratically.

Your voice cut through the comms, “Hold her steady, I’m going in.”

Obi-Wan gaped. “You’ll crash!”

“Yeah. Probably.”

You leapt from the bike.

Time slowed.

Your gauntlet mag-grip latched onto the spiraling speeder as you crashed hard against the hull. Satine inside looked up, startled.

You smashed the manual override, pried open the control panel, and yanked the sabotage node free—sparks flew, and the speeder jerked before leveling out.

By the time it landed, your shoulder was dislocated and you were covered in soot.

Later, in the quiet aftermath, you sat against a stone column inside the Senate’s private halls, shoulder hastily reset, your armor scorched. Satine was alive, thanks to you. Obi-Wan sat on the edge of a bench nearby, breathing slow and deep.

“She saved you,” he told Satine softly.

“She tends to do that,” Satine said with a tired smile.

You looked up at him, brows raised. “Surprised?”

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

Fox approached quietly, handing you a fresh water flask.

“You didn’t have to jump out of a speeder,” he muttered.

You took a long drink. “Didn’t want you to miss out on another tragedy.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall beside you. “You’re the worst role model, you know that?”

You nudged his shin with your boot. “Yet somehow, you turned out alright.”

He gave you a rare smile. “Welcome home. At least for now.”

⸻

The speeder explosion had rattled the city, but Satine had emerged alive. Shaken, but composed.

You hadn’t left her side once.

Now, with the Senate’s mess behind her—for now—Satine prepared to return to Mandalore. You stood outside the diplomatic chambers, speaking softly with Fox while waiting for her departure documents to be signed. That’s when he said it:

“They’re here. Wolffe and Bacara. I told them you were on-planet.”

Your breath caught.

“I wasn’t sure if I should have, but—”

“No,” you said quickly. “Thank you.”

He didn’t press further. He just gave you a nod and walked off to oversee the Senate Guard rotation.

You didn’t wait.

⸻

The military side of Coruscant always had a different air—colder, louder, filled with tension that clung to the skin like storm-wet armor.

You found them in a quiet corridor beside their departing ship. Wolffe leaned against a crate, arms crossed, helmet at his side, expression unreadable as ever. Bacara sat on a lower bench, hunched, hands folded between his knees.

They looked up at the same time.

It took less than a heartbeat before Bacara stood and crossed the space to you.

“Buir.”

You wrapped your arms around him before he could finish exhaling the word. It was like hugging a rock—solid and unyielding—but you felt the slight tremble in his breath. That was enough.

“You’ve grown,” you said.

“You say that every time.”

“Because you always do.”

Wolffe approached more cautiously, arms still crossed, but the faint flicker of softness in his expression gave him away.

“You didn’t think to send a message?” he asked.

“I couldn’t,” you said honestly. “Too much would’ve come with it. You boys had to become who you’re meant to be without me hovering.”

“We were better with you hovering,” Bacara muttered.

Wolffe gave a grunt. “I thought you were dead, for a while.”

“I know,” you said, quieter. “That was the idea, at first.”

Wolffe stepped forward, finally breaking that last bit of space between you. His brow was tense, eyes shadowed.

“We talked about you. Even now. When things get bad.”

“You remember the lullaby?” you asked.

Bacara scoffed. “You think we’d forget?”

You grinned.

“Where are you headed?” Bacara asked, nodding to your sidearm and armor, half-concealed beneath a diplomatic cloak.