Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

After they return the third kid and relocate the third family, Ahsoka swivels in her pilot’s chair, and looks at Rex straight on.  Making their way back to Pabu, where she’ll drop him off and jet away as always.  She hasn’t given him that intense Jedi-stare since they parted ways after… after, so really, he can’t be blamed for being unused to it.

He braces himself for whatever heartrending thing is about to leave her mouth.  Goodbye.  Or, Goodbye; we cannot do this again.  Or, Our missions have only intertwined this once, so don’t get used to seeing my face around.  Or, I met the Bad Batch and now they’re my favorite clones. See you later, reg.

Instead:

“Rex,” low and serious.  Weighty.

He tenses, and takes a sip of his caf to disguise it.  It doesn’t help; she made it, so it tastes like shit, and it’s not endearing, her not having figured out human tastebuds yet.  It’s not.

“Yes, sir?” he says.  Adds a bit of flavor on the sir, bite away at the tension she’s about to bring down.

He’s so dedicated to keeping himself unbothered that she knocks his feet out from under him with a sentence.

“You and I should fuck.”

He chokes on the caf.  It tastes even worse coming back up, but he already knew that, unfortunately.

—

Hold up.  Let’s start from the beginning.

—

It takes a bit for Echo to comm Gregor and Rex and Howzer and the five new brothers they’d literally just managed to pick up, but when he does, it is—as always with Echo—both frighteningly deadpan and utterly fucking unbelievable.  

They’d found Tantiss.  Omega’d engineered a rebellion of her own, escaping and freeing other children—yeah, four of ‘em, found ‘em in the middle of a combat zone—by way of unleashing the Zillo Beast.  I know.  Brilliant.  They’d fought those shadow clones, a handful of them.  Speaking of, Crosshair lost his hand; well, not lost, it’d been chopped off, thanks to the aforementioned shadow operatives.  Also both Nala Se and Hemlock were dead, and they had a new sister their age—Emerie, she’s alright now, I guess, she’s working on it—who was willing to help out the, oh, about twenty new brothers he’d be bringing their way.  Hope Pantora Base is ready.  Rex, Hunter needs to coordinate something with you, so keep an ear out for his comm.

Howzer is left blinking, a little stunned, but Gregor’s cackling like the madman he is, since he’d become used to Echo’s normal manner of post-mission delivery.  The five new kids—not kids, he’s pretty sure a couple are Gen1s too—Throttle, Squawk, Raptor, Herc, and Lex, seem to view Echo’s transmission with varying degrees of either interest, skepticism, or flat-out awe.

Rex just sighs, and starts explaining.

“That’s Echo, my second,” Rex says, pressing a bacta patch against a lucky shot on the back of his knee.  As always, exfil had been a bit hectic; it’s essentially a tradition at this point.  No one had died, so that means it’s just a bit hectic and not an actual mess.  “Formerly ARC of the 501st, and then joined up with Clone Force 99 before we met back up after—” not the Order, not that, “—the war ended.  We’ve been looking for Tantiss for a bit, really, since they’ve been experimenting on brothers there.  Long story; sounds like he was successful.”

Squawk—curling tattoo of a skeletal hand carving up his neck—tilts his head.  “Did he say sister?”

Figures.  But Raptor, with a truly vivid red scar dragging his upper lip high towards his nose, just jostles him instead before Rex can start speaking.  “C’mon, Squawk, you don’t think the Kaminoans just played nice with their little dolls, did you?  Of course they experimented.”

Rex would love to join in, but his comm starts to flicker again, this time the code that the Batch set a while ago for short-burst transmissions.  Short-burst means it’s more likely to be heavily encrypted: more data available for security when you only have to encode text instead of all the data inherent in collating voice and image.

Hm.  

He cuts his eyes to Howzer, and nods.  Howzer returns it, and begins inserting himself into the conversation, answering questions about the operation and what the men should expect, normal procedures, the lovely little minutiae of logistics when it comes to a rebel operation.  Gregor’s piloting and joining the discussion as necessary, so Rex excuses himself to the cargo bay, limping only slightly.

There’s a message waiting for him, and it makes his heart stutter.

Rex closes his eyes and breathes deep.  He’d been too obvious.

Then he takes off his helmet and peels back the inner lining, digs out the tiny commlink that’s just for her, and presses the button.  If she responds, then he’ll think about it.  For now, he sticks the commlink back in, where it’ll vibrate against his temple—where the chip had been, a sick little bit of maudlin remembrance—if she responds.  She’s busy with another man’s rebellion these days, and he understands why (too dangerous to be around the brothers), but it still rankles some deep part of him.

Of course, she responds just as he’s stuck the commlink back in, machinery buzzing against the plastoid, so he hurriedly jams his bucket back on and switches to the private connection.

“Rex?” her voice crackles through. It’s rough, like she’s waking up. “What’s up?”

“Got some kids who need to be reunited with their families, Commander—held by the Empire for experimentation, but we got ‘em out.  Seems like it might be up your alley, if you’ve got the time for it.”

“Hello to you too, Rexter,” she says, and then laughs, tired and gentle.  “You’re right.  It’s definitely up my alley.”

“Thought it might be.”  Then, because that deep rankled part of him rears itself up: “Feel down for a tagalong?”

“Oh?” There’s something wary in her voice, and he immediately feels stupid.  Keeps going, though, because he’s already started digging this hole; might as well finish it.

“Just—I’ve dealt with one Force-wielding youngling, and she was enough of a handful.  Wondered if you wanted some help.”

“Rex, I used to escort multiple younglings on pilgrimage to—on pilgrimage.”  A beat.  “Also, I was a delight, thank you.”  He can hear her smirk through the poor comm quality, and he can’t help his own little smile in return.

“As I recall, you ran into Grievous on one of those missions.  Probably could’ve used the backup, right?”  A similar beat.  “You were a terror and you know it.”

“I will concede only a few counts of terror.”

“Which ones?  Because I’m still not going to excuse you convincing those shinies that you were venomous.”

“You say that, but I heard you losing your shit after you shouted at me.  You were nearly crying.”

He does have to stifle a snort at the memory of her being forced to apologize to a new squad, as both he and General Skywalker looked on, both trying to affect a stern sort of disappointment that neither had quite perfected at that point, not for her.  But then Skywalker had looked at him, mischief in his skew glance, and clacked his teeth together loud in the middle of Ahsoka’s apology.  One of the shinies had damn near jumped out of his armor at the sharp noise, and she’d turned around to start shrieking at her master, so of course Anakin’d begun shouting back, and then he’d had to break up their argument before it escalated into all-out warfare in front of the new troopers.

“I was despairing over your future.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

Rex lets himself breathe.  It’s nice to talk with her, to talk with someone without the weight of leadership pressing down his lungs.  After Teth… 

Well.  It’s just nice to talk with her.  But sometimes that’s all life gives you, and he has to be grateful for that much, at least.

“If you don’t want me to come along, I understand, Ahsoka,” he says.  “You’ve got your own deal going.”  Shrugs, even though she can’t see it.  “Just wanted to float the offer, that’s all.”

Her side of the link is silent, for a bit, until:

“Yeah.  Yeah, Rex, I think that’d be good.  I could use a tagalong.”

He laughs into the comms.  It’s not much of one, rusty and gruff, but it feels realer than most have, these days.

“Glad to hear it, Commander.  I’ll let you know more details once I have them; I think it should be a standard rotation before we have some dossiers.”

“Alright.  I’ll confirm receipt, and we can set up a rendezvous afterwards.”

“Sounds good.”  Then, for lack of anything better to say, “Rex out.”

“Tano out,” she responds, a little bit more punch on that last letter than necessary.  After that, it’s just static, and Rex toggles to the encrypted chat with Hunter.

—

It’s only Rex touching down on the surface of Pabu this first time.  He hasn’t visited before; it’d always been Echo, rightfully, but he can see now why Echo speaks so fondly of the place.  Hunter, Omega, and Wrecker are waiting for him at the top of the city, although Rex can see Crosshair skulking around in the distance.  

Along with those familiar faces, though, there are four technicolor children in roughspun clothes.  They look a little wary, but curious overall.  One’s quite a bit younger, almost a tubie, still in a sling, and comically tiny compared to Wrecker’s bulk.  Because of course Wrecker is wearing the sling.  This means he can’t crush Rex to him in one of his normal hugs.

Rex is very thankful.  He nods to the Batch, shakes their hands (except for Crosshair, still skulking; he gets a nod, though), but quickly focuses on the kids.  Gets down on one knee in front of them.

“Hi,” he says.  “I’m Rex, and my friend and I are going to help you get back to your families.  We have to go one at a time, and you’re not going to be able to live where you used to live, but you’ll be going somewhere safe.  Can you tell me your names?”

They shyly introduce themselves.  The young Mirialan boy is Jax.  The Iktotchi girl is Eva.  The Pantoran girl is Sami, and she’s also the one to introduce the baby:  “That’s Bayrn.”  Bayrn, a fuzzy little Tarlafar, coos at him, and Wrecker strokes his head-fur in response.

Little gods, Rex thinks, they really have gone domestic.

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” he says.  “We’re going to take care of Bayrn first; my colleague found his mother already, and I’ll be meeting up with them in order to help with the relocation.”  Once he’d forwarded the dossiers to Ahsoka, she’d responded saying that she was already close to Caraad, where missing-child bulletins matching the kid’s description had been blaring on the holonews for a month now.  Granted, they’d been stifled by Imperial publications, but apparently Ahsoka had her feelers out for things like this.

It’s good to know she’s doing good too.  Not that he’d doubted it, really, but it’s still nice to know.

The kids seem to understand.  Also, Bayrn’s the baby, and they get that he should be protected first.  Still, Wrecker unclasps the sling and the children—along with Omega, who holds herself more like a cadet than a child—cluster around Bayrn, petting him and telling him that he’ll be going home soon.  The Pantoran girl gives him a little kiss, right between the ears.

It’s a bit of a hassle, getting the sling around the armor.  He’s only half-certain that Hunter isn’t laughing at him, and Omega discreetly slips around his back and untwists the strap, and ah, that’s how it should go.  An unfamiliar weight on his front, and the baby coos and gurgles as he walks back into his ship and punches the coordinates that Ahsoka’d sent him.  It’s a relatively short trip, all things considered; she’d chosen a spot nearby, a nebula to hang out in and wait for his arrival. 

He meets her in deep space, about an hour’s real-time flight off the hyperspace route, and he only has to change a diaper once before he’s adjacent to her ship and they’re connecting the temporary docking tube.  

A small Tarlafar woman rushes through to his ship as soon as the connection is finalized, and Rex hurriedly unwraps the sling, hands her baby over.  She thanks him profusely, slightly broken Basic but so genuine in her appreciation to him and her love for her child that Rex can’t help but to blush a little.

Then Rex looks beyond her, to the opposite end of the docking tube, and he sees Ahsoka for the first time in a year.  She’s leaning on the port, her arms crossed, and she’s smiling wide.

“Hey,” she calls out to him.  He can see the shine off her eyeteeth from here, and there’s a bandage around her left thigh.  “Fancy seeing you here, old man.”

He smiles right back at her.  “It’s good to see you too, Ashla.”  Pre-arranged codenames.  “And don’t call me old, little ‘un. ”

(She’d explained to him once, that no, togruta didn’t really start to hit their full height until their late twenties.  No, she wasn’t gonna be short forever.  No, shut up, no she wouldn’t!  Rex, you’re horrible!  She’ll be taller than him someday!  Yes, the montrals are included, jerk!)

Ahsoka sneers at him, just a little, and he laughs.

Even with the knowledge of what they need to accomplish on this mission, Rex feels downright light as he grabs his pack to bring with him  The newly reunited mother and child are nuzzling each other nearby, and he lets the mother lead the way back across the docking tube to Ahsoka’s ship, where Ahsoka quickly gets them settled in a bunk, offering food, comfort, hope.  He disconnects the ships—Echo’ll come by to pick it up, or some of the new brothers, and it’d be a good test of their own refurbished trackers—and sets the next bit of coordinates. 

Rex is typing in the last set of digits when her soft steps enter the cockpit, and the door hisses shut behind her as she takes her seat in the pilot’s chair.

“You ready?” Ahsoka asks, her grin bright as she turns to him, her hand on the hyperspace lever.  

“Always,” he responds, and his cheeks hurt with the force of his own returning smile.  

She punches it.  Space becomes streaks, becomes blue, and he feels like he’s home.