Cody X Reader - Blog Posts

212th material List🧡🍑🍊🔶🏵️

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

Commander Cody

- x Twi’lek Reader❤️

- x Queen Reader❤️

- x Jedi reader “meet me in the woods”❤️

- x Jedi Reader “Cold Wind”❤️

- x Bounty Hunter Reader “Crossfire” multiple chapter❤️

- x GN Mandalorian Reader “One Too Many” ❤️

- “Diplomacy & Detonations” ❤️

- “I Think They Call This Love”

Waxer

- x Twi’lek Reader “painted in dust”❤️

Overall Material List

“Diplomacy & Detonations”

Commander Cody x Village Leader Reader

Their ship barely had time to land before blaster rifles were pointed at them.

“I told you I didn’t want help,” came a voice from the treeline—sharp, challenging, full of attitude.

Commander Cody raised a hand to signal the 212th to hold. From behind him, Obi-Wan calmly stepped forward.

“We’re not here to interfere, only to support your defense—”

“You are interference,” the voice snapped.

Then you stepped into view.

A whirlwind of belts, loose straps, feathers, and leather. Goggles shoved to your forehead, hands on hips, expression full of contempt. You looked at the fully armored, clean-cut clones like they were an invasive species.

Obi-Wan bowed slightly. “You must be the village leader—”

You held up a hand. “No, no, don’t butter me up with that Jedi etiquette crap. You’re uninvited.”

“I think you’ll want to hear what we have to say,” Cody said, stepping forward.

You blinked at him. Then walked slowly around him, circling like a predator.

“Mm. Square jaw. Soldier posture. Serious as a stun baton to the ribs. You’re the commander?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Unfortunate.” You gave a nasty grin. “I was hoping for someone I could beat in an argument.”

He didn’t flinch. “You’re welcome to try.”

You smirked.

Just as you squared your shoulders, ready to argue—maybe throw a punch—a group of kids came tumbling out from the trees. A little one tugged your coat.

“Boss! Are we really getting Republic soldiers? That means laser tanks, right? And hot rations?”

You didn’t even turn. “Not now, shitheads, I’m busy beating up strangers.”

Cody blinked. Waxer coughed to hide his laughter. Ahsoka’s eyes went wide. Anakin mumbled, “Oh, Force.”

Later, around a crackling fire in your chaotic half-open planning tent (made of repurposed sailcloth and wire), Obi-Wan laid it out clearly.

“The Separatists are planning a full invasion. Three battalions of B1 units, two AATs, and an orbiting cruiser for support.”

You sipped from a cup of what smelled like fermented jungle fruit and blinked slowly. “So… what you’re saying is… there’s gonna be a fight?”

“Yes.”

“And it’ll be… big?”

“Yes.”

You sat up straighter. Your grin turned hungry.

“Fine. I accept your help.”

Cody raised a brow. “That fast?”

You threw your arms out dramatically. “You brought me violence! You should’ve led with that!”

Boil leaned over to Waxer. “She’s gonna get us all killed, isn’t she?”

Waxer whispered back, “Yeah. But it’ll be fun.”

⸻

Two days later, you were mid-dismantle of a thermal sensor when Cody approached.

“You shouldn’t be in the blast zone. This isn’t standard military procedure.”

You blew a strand of hair from your face and smirked. “I’m not a standard anything, Commander.”

Cody exhaled. “You’re reckless.”

You held up a small grenade. “I call it chaotic innovation.”

“It’s dangerous.”

You grinned. “So are your cheekbones, but I don’t hear anyone complaining.”

He blinked. “…What?”

You tossed the grenade to him. He caught it reflexively.

“Good hands,” you said. “I like that.”

He stared down at the live grenade in his palm.

“Is this—armed?”

You winked. “Might wanna disarm before you end up splattered on that wall.”

⸻

When the droids finally attacked, you were thriving.

You rode into battle standing on a makeshift hover-skiff, brandishing a long spear with fireworks tied to it, cackling like a banshee.

Cody shouted into the comm: “Can someone please get her out of the crossfire?”

Waxer replied: “We tried. She bit Boil.”

Boil yelled: “She did NOT! I just tripped—!”

“You tripped because she kicked you!”

⸻

Later that night, after the battle, the village lay safe. The droids were in pieces. And you sat on a fallen log with your knees tucked up, staring at the jungle.

Cody approached, helmet off.

“You did well today.”

You sighed. “Don’t ruin it with compliments.”

He smirked. “I’m trying to be civil.”

You eyed him. “Why? Planning to ask me to dinner?”

A pause.

“…Would you go?”

You stared.

Then laughed. “Commander. If you take me to dinner, I’ll probably start a bar fight and make you pay the tab.”

“Noted.”

You tilted your head. “You’d really take me?”

Cody shrugged, voice quiet. “You fight for your people. You’re unpredictable, reckless… and you’ve got guts. I respect that.”

You squinted. “That’s either the sweetest thing anyone’s said to me… or the scariest.”

He held out a hand.

You took it, grinning wide. “Alright, Tensejaw. Maybe I’ll let you stick around.”

Hello! I saw that you do song fics and I had the idea for a Cody X Reader with the song “I think they call this love” by Elliot James. Been obsessed over this song for awhile and I think it would be really cute! Xxx (and if it’s possible to add a few of the others clones teasing Cody even obi wan?)

“I Think They Call This Love”

Commander Cody x Reader

Coruscant at night was too loud for someone trying not to fall in love.

Cody wasn’t even sure when it started. It might’ve been the day you were transferred to his unit. Might’ve been the first time you fixed the aim on a malfunctioning turret like it was nothing. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the first time he heard you hum.

You always did that—murmured little melodies under your breath when you thought no one was paying attention. You’d tap your fingers along your belt or your mug, shoulders swaying lightly to some old Core World tune. It was never full-on singing—just enough to hook in Cody’s brain like a memory.

And tonight? You were humming that one again.

“I think they call this love… I think they call this love…”

You were dancing with Waxer near the bar at 79’s, laughing so hard your drink almost spilled, one hand gripping his vambrace as he attempted to twirl you—poorly. Boil leaned against the counter, snickering into his glass.

“I swear, she’s gonna break your neck,” Boil said. “And then Cody’s gonna have to fill out the paperwork.”

Cody sat a few stools down, arms crossed, pretending very hard that he wasn’t staring.

“You know,” Boil added loudly, “if Cody glared any harder, he’d melt the floor.”

“Shut up,” Cody muttered.

“Yeah, sure. Real subtle, Commander,” Waxer called over, catching your hand before you nearly toppled him over. “You’ve been watching her like she’s a walking war crime.”

Wolffe chuckled beside Cody, taking a long sip of his drink. “He gets like this every time. We’ve placed bets. So far, Obi-Wan’s winning.”

Cody turned slowly. “Obi-Wan’s betting on me?”

As if summoned by sass, Obi-Wan appeared behind them, raising a glass like he’d been lurking all night. “Only because I believe in you, Cody. Also because I know how utterly incapable you are at expressing your feelings.”

“Fantastic.”

“Don’t worry,” Rex added dryly. “You’ve got time. She only flirts with you every time she breathes.”

Cody groaned and looked back toward the dancefloor—and you were already walking his way.

Boots light, smile glowing, music catching the end of your latest hum as you slid into the stool beside him. You didn’t look at the others. Just him.

“You okay there, Commander?” you asked, head tilted. “Or should I get you a medic for whatever emotional crisis you’re currently going through?”

Cody blinked. “I—what?”

You leaned closer, voice lower now. “They’re not exactly subtle,” you said with a smile. “And neither are you.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“You were,” Boil chimed in behind you.

Waxer raised his hand. “Respectfully, he’s been staring for about four months.”

You laughed under your breath and turned fully to Cody, your knees brushing his. “You gonna keep letting them talk for you?”

Cody exhaled slowly. You were so close. Your eyes searched his, not playfully now—but curiously. Hopefully. The hum of the bar faded as your presence filled his whole damn world.

“I think…” he started, voice a little hoarse. “I think I’m in love with you.”

A pause.

Then you grinned. Not surprised. Not mocking. Just relieved.

“That’s funny,” you said softly. “Because I’ve been waiting for you to figure that out.”

And then—you kissed him.

Quick, warm, but everything changed in that second. His hand slid to your waist before he could stop it, and you smiled against his lips like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.

Behind you, cheers erupted.

“Finally!” Waxer crowed.

“You owe me twenty credits!” Rex shouted at Wolffe.

Boil let out a low whistle. “Hope you’re ready to be the only thing Cody stares at now.”

Obi-Wan raised his glass and added, “It’s about time our fearless Commander admitted he had a heart.”

You didn’t even look back. You just pressed your forehead to Cody’s and whispered, “Don’t let go of me, okay?”

He didn’t.

Not now.

Not ever.

The music swelled again behind you, and for once, Cody let himself listen.

“If this is what they call love…”

He smiled.

Then he wanted all of it—with you.

Happy May 4th! Hope you’re having a great weekend!

I was thinking a Bad Batch or 501st, or even 212th x Reader where they’ve been in a relationship (can be platonic) but after some time it’s gone stagnant.

Like how in relationships it takes romance and quality time to keep a relationship alive and in my experience it’s always the guys who forget they have to do more and not just get completely complacent. And the boys need to fight to get her back and keep her. Maybe slip in some jealousy?

Love your writing! 💕

“What We Leave Behind”

The jungle was quiet tonight.

For once, the rain held off. Just the hum of night creatures and distant comm chatter whispered through the dark, while you sat alone beside the supply crates, helmet at your feet and dirt caking your boots.

Cody hadn’t come looking for you.

Again.

He was always somewhere—needed, summoned, occupied—and you understood that. You always had. But lately, it felt like you were something he’d already won. Like he didn’t have to try anymore.

The warmth between you had cooled. No more late-night brushes of fingers or small grins in the mess tent. The distance had grown, and Cody hadn’t fought it. Hadn’t fought for you.

Bly had noticed.

The 327th commander had been respectful, sure—but his gaze lingered longer than it used to. He complimented your marksmanship. Laughed at your dry humor. Today, as you stood beside him surveying troop formations, he’d murmured, “Hard to believe Cody lets you drift so far. If you were mine, I wouldn’t take my eyes off you.”

It was bold. But his tone had been soft, almost regretful. And your smile… well, that had been real.

You hadn’t smiled in days.

Which was exactly when Cody saw.

And said nothing.

Until now.

“There you are.”

His voice rolled low from the shadows. You looked up and found him leaning against a crate, arms crossed, helmet under one arm, jaw tight.

“Yeah?” you said flatly. “If you’re looking for Bly, I think he’s still on comms.”

Cody’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not looking for him.”

“No?” you drawled, standing. “Funny. Seemed like you were staring straight at him when he spoke to me.”

“Because he was staring straight at you.”

You crossed your arms, biting back the bitterness. “Someone had to.”

Cody stepped forward, just enough that the firelight caught the tension in his face. “You think I don’t see you?”

“I think you forgot how to,” you snapped. “I think somewhere along the line, I became part of your routine. Not your choice. Not your fight.”

His brow furrowed. “This is all a fight.”

“Exactly. And you stopped fighting for me.”

He flinched like you’d struck him.

Silence stretched between you—tense, aching, taut as a live wire.

Then, softly, “He doesn’t care about you.”

Your eyes burned. “No. But he noticed me. And I haven’t felt noticed by you in weeks.”

Cody swallowed hard, stepping closer. “I never stopped. I just…” he looked down, then back up with something shattered in his gaze, “I thought I already had you. I didn’t realize I had to keep earning it.”

You were close now—closer than you’d been in days. Your breath hitched as his hand brushed yours.

“I’m not a campaign, Cody. I’m not some territory you claim and forget.”

His touch firmed at your waist, eyes stormy with something between guilt and want. “I didn’t forget. I just—got lost. I’m sorry.”

The kiss came hard—pent-up frustration, regret, longing. You clutched at his armor, grounding yourself in the heat of it. In him.

When you broke apart, gasping against each other in the humid night, you whispered, “Don’t make me feel like I need to be someone else’s, just to remember I’m still worth wanting.”

Cody pressed his forehead to yours. “You’ve always been worth fighting for. I just forgot I needed to keep fighting, even when I thought I’d already won.”

From the tree line, unseen, Bly watched for a moment longer, unreadable behind his visor—before turning away.

Tomorrow, it would rain again. The jungle would close in. The war would keep raging.

But tonight, Cody remembered.

Hi! I was thinking a Rex or Cody x Gen!Reader(maybe they’re a bounty hunter or just a Mandalorian) where they’re working together and they get accidentally married in mandoa and don’t find out right away? 💕

This is probably not what you requested but hope you like it either way.

“One Too Many”

Commander Cody x GN!Mandalorian Reader

The campaign on Desix had been long, bloody, and miserable. So when word came that the Separatist holdouts had finally surrendered, Obi-Wan Kenobi declared the night a rare “official respite.”

The planet was a dustball at the edge of nowhere — the kind of place smugglers, bounty hunters, and desperate soldiers all stumbled through sooner or later.

You were there for work. Quick job, quick pay, quick drink.

You hadn’t expected to find half the Grand Army of the Republic crowded into the cantina. You especially hadn’t expected to find him — broad-shouldered, scarred, handsome in a way that was dangerous when someone was three shots deep.

Cody.

You didn’t know his name at first. Just another trooper, you thought — until you saw the way the others deferred to him. Until you saw the way he held himself, even off-duty.

Like a man carrying an entire war on his back.

You liked him immediately.

You were reckless like that.

The 212th’s celebration had started simple: a little victory, a little breathing room, a little dust-choked cantina at the edge of nowhere.

Then the liquor came out.

One drink turned into three. Three turned into seven.

You barely remembered how it started — one minute you were slumped over the bar next to a broad-shouldered, grim-faced trooper who was nursing a drink like it was going to run away, and the next you were both howling drunk, arms thrown around each other, laughing at something Waxer said about when Cody bought you a drink.

Mando’a started slipping from your mouth when you got drunk — curses, jokes, old wedding songs you half-remembered from your clan.

Boil dared Cody to kiss you.

You dared Cody to marry you.

And for some kriffing reason, Waxer got it into their heads that you should actually do it.

There was a chapel down the street.

A real one.

Old Outer Rim-style — rustic, rickety, still covered in someone’s half-hearted attempt at decorations from a wedding months ago.

“You won’t,” Boil slurred, clinging to Waxer.

“I kriffing will,” Cody said, jabbing a finger at you.

You were grinning so hard your face hurt. “You won’t.”

He grabbed your wrist and started marching, half-dragging you through the dusty street. Waxer and Boil stumbled after you, cackling like a pair of devils.

Behind you, Master Kenobi — General Kenobi, The Negotiator, Jedi Master, paragon of wisdom and serenity — trailed along with a wine bottle in one hand, sipping casually like he was watching a street performance.

“Should we… stop them?” Waxer hiccupped.

Kenobi just raised an eyebrow. “Why? It’s quite entertaining.”

Inside the chapel, some sleepy old droid still programmed for ceremonies blinked itself awake when you all stumbled through the door.

“Are you here to be joined in union?” it asked mechanically.

“Yeah!” Cody barked, waving his hand. “Get on with it!”

You were laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe. Waxer was sobbing into Boil’s shoulder from laughter. Boil was recording it on his datapad.

You were pretty sure you threatened to punch Cody halfway through the vows, and he threatened to throw you over his shoulder and “get this over with,” and Waxer tried to officiate at one point but got distracted by the ceiling lights.

The droid somehow got the basic requirements out of you: names, yes, consent, yes, promise to stick together, sure why not, insert your clan name here, slurred into nothing.

“By the rites of union under the local customs of Desix,” the droid droned, “you are now spouses.”

There was a long, stunned pause.

Cody blinked at you, bleary and still holding your wrist.

You blinked at him, grinning like an idiot.

Waxer whooped.

Boil flung rice he stole from the droid’s ceremonial basket.

Obi-Wan gave a golf clap, smiling into his wine bottle.

Cody tugged you in by the front of your shirt and kissed you square on the mouth.

It was clumsy and a little sloppy and completely perfect.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, chuckling low in his chest.

“Remind me to actually take you on a date next time,” he muttered.

You snorted, dizzy and stupidly happy.

“You’re such a cheap date,” you teased.

“You’re the one who married a clone after six drinks,” he shot back.

Obi-Wan’s voice floated lazily from somewhere behind you.

“This isn’t the first Mandalorian shotgun wedding I’ve attended.”

You flipped Kenobi off over Cody’s shoulder without looking.

⸻

Your head was killing you.

It was the kind of hangover that felt like someone had stuffed a live thermal detonator into your skull and set it to “gently simmer.”

You woke up sprawled across the pilot’s chair of your battered little freighter, helmet on the floor, boots still on, jacket half-off.

You groaned, clutching your head, trying to piece together what the kriff happened last night.

You remembered… the cantina.

Maybe some clones?

Drinks?

A lot of drinks.

And then — nothing. A void.

Total blackout.

You muttered a curse under your breath, shaking off the cobwebs.

“Not my problem anymore,” you said hoarsely, slamming the hatch controls.

The ship lifted off with a coughing rumble, engines flaring as you tore away from that cursed dustball of a planet without a single look back.

Freedom.

Peace.

Hangover and all, at least you—

—CLANG.

You jumped, hand flying to your blaster as something banged inside the ship.

You spun around, heart hammering, expecting a bounty hunter or a drunken mistake you forgot to ditch.

Instead, a half-dressed clone trooper stumbled out of your refresher.

You stared.

He stared.

Both of you looked equally horrified.

“What the kriff are you doing on my ship?!” you barked, blaster half-raised.

The clone — broad, buzzcut, golden armor pieces still strapped to one shoulder — squinted blearily at you.

“…Am I still drunk?” he mumbled, rubbing his face. “Or are you yelling?”

You pressed the blaster harder into your hand to resist the urge to shoot the ceiling out of pure frustration.

“Who the hell are you?” you demanded.

“Uh.” He looked down at himself, like maybe his armor would have answers. “Waxer.”

“Waxer,” you repeated flatly.

There was an awkward beat.

He looked around, frowning harder. “This… this isn’t the barracks.”

“No shit, genius,” you snapped. “It’s my ship.”

Waxer scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish.

“I… think I followed you.”

“Why?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I dunno, vod. You seemed… fun?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose so hard you saw stars.

This was a nightmare.

You had to focus. Okay. One problem at a time.

“Do you remember anything about last night?” you ground out.

Waxer leaned heavily against the wall, thinking so hard it looked painful.

“Uh… bar… drinks… Boil dared Cody to…” He trailed off, brow furrowing. “Somethin’ about a chapel?”

You stared at him, ice sinking into your stomach.

“…A chapel?”

“Yeah,” Waxer said, rubbing his temple. “Pretty sure there was a wedding? Someone got married?”

You nearly dropped your blaster.

“No, no, no,” you muttered, pacing in a tight circle. “Not me. Not a chance.”

Waxer gave you a once-over, squinting.

“You do look like you got married,” he said, way too cheerfully for a man half-hungover in your ship’s corridor. “You got that, uh, post-wedding… glow.”

You shot him a look so poisonous he actually flinched.

“You’re lucky you’re not spaced already,” you growled. “Sit down, stay quiet. I need to figure out what the hell happened.”

You turned back toward the cockpit.

Waxer called weakly after you:

“Hey, uh… if you find out if I got married, let me know too, yeah?”

You groaned so loud it shook the bulkheads.

⸻

Cody woke up face-down on a crate in a supply room.

His mouth tasted like regret and sawdust.

His armor was half-missing.

His head felt like it had been used for target practice.

He groaned, dragging himself upright, squinting around.

Where the kriff—?

The door slid open with a hiss, and Boil stumbled in, looking just as rough.

“Commander,” Boil rasped, voice like gravel, “we’re…uh…we’re shipping out soon.”

Cody pressed his fingers to his temples.

“Where’s Waxer?” he croaked.

Boil blinked. Looked around like maybe Waxer would appear out of thin air.

“…I thought he was with you?”

Cody cursed under his breath. “We leave in an hour. Find him.”

Boil nodded, clutching the wall for balance, and staggered out.

Cody scrubbed a hand down his face.

Bits of last night floated in his brain — flashes of a bar, too many drinks, laughing until his ribs hurt — and then… nothing.

Total blackout.

He remembered someone — warm hands, a sharp smile — but it was blurry. Faded like a dream.

Before he could piece anything together, General Kenobi appeared, hands tucked casually behind his back, sipping calmly from a steaming cup of tea.

“Cody,” Kenobi greeted pleasantly. “Sleep well?”

Cody groaned. “Respectfully, sir, I feel like I’ve been run over by a LAAT.”

Kenobi smiled, maddeningly unbothered.

“Well, that’s what happens when you elope with Mandalorians,” the Jedi said casually, taking a sip.

Cody froze.

“…Sir?”

Kenobi gave him a sideways glance, the barest twitch of amusement on his mouth.

“Marrying someone you just met. Very uncharacteristic of you,” he mused aloud. “But then again, everyone needs a little excitement now and then.”

Cody’s mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

“I… I what?” he managed.

Kenobi smiled wider.

“As your commanding officer and friend, let me be the first to congratulate you on your marriage.”

Cody stared at him, stomach dropping through the floor.

Kenobi clapped him on the shoulder once, almost kindly, and strolled off down the corridor, humming to himself.

Cody just stood there.

Brain utterly blank.

Marriage!?

Bits of the night started stitching themselves together in his pounding skull — the cantina, the drinks, the bet, the chapel,— a Mandalorian — a ring of laughter and shouting — a kiss that tasted like liquor and adrenaline—

His hands flew to his body, patting himself down.

There, on a thin chain tucked under his blacks, was a cheap metal band — hastily engraved, scuffed to hell — but there.

He was married.

To someone.

He didn’t even know their name.

“Kriff!” he swore, yanking the band out to stare at it.

Boil popped his head back around the corner.

“Commander, uh, bad news — Waxer’s missing.”

Cody’s eye twitched.

“Find him,” he growled. “Now.”

Because if anyone knew where the kriffing Mandalorian was — the Mandalorian he apparently married last night — it would be Waxer.

And Cody was going to kill them both.

⸻

Cody was stalking through the camp like a man possessed.

Clones scrambled out of his way — even Boil looked like he was about to duck and cover — but Cody barely noticed.

He jabbed at his comm unit again, teeth grinding.

“Come on, Waxer, where the hell are you—”

The comm crackled — and finally, mercifully, connected.

Except… it wasn’t Waxer’s voice that answered.

It was a dry, raspy groan, like someone dying a slow death.

“…Who the kriff is this?” a voice slurred over the line.

Cody stiffened.

That voice—

Mandalorian accent. Rough from a hangover.

Unmistakable.

“This is Commander Cody of the Grand Army of the Republic,” he snapped. “Where’s Waxer?”

A heavy sigh crackled through the speaker.

Then some muffled shuffling.

Finally, a different voice — Waxer’s — came on the line, painfully sheepish.

“Uh… hey, Commander.”

“Waxer,” Cody growled, “you have two minutes to explain why you’re not on the ground getting ready for departure.”

“Okay, so, uh…” Waxer sounded like he was desperately trying to piece his dignity back together. “Funny story, sir…”

“Waxer.”

“I’m on a ship. Not, uh, our ship. The Mandalorian’s ship.”

Cody’s eye twitched violently.

“You’re with them?” he hissed.

Waxer coughed, clearly embarrassed.

“Yeah. Turns out, I kinda… passed out in their refresher.”

In the background, you — the Mandalorian — muttered “Stop telling people that,” which Cody was definitely going to circle back to later.

Waxer hurried on. “They could drop me off at Nal Hutta — You know, least disruption, stay outta the battalion’s way…”

“Nal Hutta is a three-day detour,” Cody barked.

“Yeah, I said that too,” Waxer admitted. “They’re heading to Coruscant next, but it’s gonna take a few days.”

Cody paced like a caged rancor, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re telling me I have to leave you in the hands of a hungover Mandalorian,” he said through gritted teeth, “who I may or may not have married last night, and just hope you both make it to Coruscant alive?”

“…I mean, if you put it like that, sir,” Waxer said carefully, “it sounds worse than it is.”

There was a long pause.

Cody closed his eyes.

He could feel Kenobi’s amused stare from across the camp.

The General was lounging under a shade tarp, nursing another drink like he was personally invested in Cody’s suffering.

Cody opened his eyes.

Fine.

No choice.

“Copy that,” he ground out. “Transmit your vector when you make planetfall. We’ll regroup on Coruscant.”

“Yes, sir,” Waxer said, voice obviously relieved.

The comm clicked off.

Cody lowered the device slowly, breathing through his nose.

“Married,” he muttered to himself, in utter disbelief. “Married to a Mandalorian I don’t even remember meeting.”

Kenobi drifted casually closer, hands clasped behind his back, wearing the smuggest expression Cody had ever seen on his otherwise dignified face.

“Don’t worry, Cody,” the Jedi said lightly, voice positively dripping with humor. “Statistically speaking, most impulsive marriages have a fifty percent survival rate.”

Cody stared at him, hollow-eyed.

“That’s not comforting, sir.”

Kenobi took a sip of his drink, beaming. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

⸻

The ship’s hyperdrive thrummed softly as it hurtled through deep space.

You slouched in the pilot’s chair, wearing the hangover like a full set of armor.

Every noise was too loud.

Every light was too bright.

From behind you, Waxer was perched awkwardly on a crate, looking like he had a lot of questions he desperately wanted to ask — and not enough survival instincts to stop himself.

You groaned, slumping forward to rest your forehead against the control panel.

“Don’t say it,” you warned him, voice hoarse.

Waxer scratched the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly.

“…Sooo,” he drawled, dragging the word out, “you and my commander, huh?”

You made a wounded sound into the console.

“I’m never drinking with clones again,” you mumbled.

Waxer chuckled under his breath, clearly finding way too much joy in your suffering.

“Hey, could be worse,” he said lightly. “At least it’s Cody. Solid guy. Good rank. Stable.”

You turned your head just enough to glare at him, one eye peeking out from under your hair.

“I don’t even remember meeting him,” you hissed. “I woke up in my ship, there was a half-dead clone in my refresher, and now apparently I’m married to your kriffing commander.”

Waxer winced sympathetically, but he was absolutely biting back a laugh.

“Details, details,” he said. “You seemed real happy about it last night.”

“I was drunk!” you snapped.

Waxer shrugged, grinning. “Still. Smiled a lot.”

You buried your face back into your arms.

Maker.

You tried to scrape together anything useful from last night — but it was all a messy blur of shouting, music, the burning taste of spotchka, and — somewhere — a deep, rumbling laugh you could almost remember.

You groaned again.

Waxer leaned back against the wall, settling in comfortably like he was ready to spill all the juicy gossip.

“So…what’s the plan?” he asked, way too casually.

You lifted your head just enough to glare again.

“Plan?”

“Yeah, you know. Marriage stuff. Matching armor. Co-signing a ship mortgage.”

You pointed a finger at him.

“You’re lucky I don’t space you,” you muttered.

Waxer just smiled wider.

“Look, could be worse,” he said again, like he was helping. “General Kenobi didn’t even seem mad. He was kinda proud, honestly.”

You groaned and flopped back into your chair, draping an arm over your face.

“You clones are a menace.”

Waxer chuckled.

“Yeah, but you married one, so what’s that make you?”

You made a strangled sound.

The ship sailed on through the stars — heading straight for Coruscant and the world’s most awkward conversation with Commander Cody.

You didn’t know how that conversation was going to go.

But you were pretty sure you were going to need a drink for it.

⸻

The ship touched down at the GAR base on Coruscant with a smooth hiss of repulsors.

You barely waited for the ramp to finish lowering before you were all but shoving Waxer out.

“Go,” you said, practically herding him down the ramp. “Fly, be free.”

Waxer grinned, shouldering his kit bag.

“Thanks for the lift, mesh’la. Good luck with the husband.”

You shot him a murderous glare as he disappeared into the bustling crowds of clones and officers.

And then — standing at the base of the ramp — was him.

Commander Cody.

Still in full armor, helmet tucked under one arm, looking… somehow even more handsome sober.

His hair was tousled, his dark eyes sharp but… cautious.

You felt the smallest flicker of Oh no he’s hot panic spark in your gut.

Cody stepped forward, clearing his throat.

You squared your shoulders, already bracing for it.

“So,” he said, voice carefully neutral. “About… the marriage.”

You gave him a flat look.

“What marriage?” you said, a little too brightly. “I don’t remember a marriage.”

Cody cracked the faintest, tired smile.

“Right. Well. I’m sure there’s a way to… annul it. Or nullify it. Whatever the proper term is.”

You cocked your head, pretending to think.

“Could just say it wasn’t consummated,” you said casually. “Makes it non-binding in some traditions.”

For a half-second, Cody actually looked relieved.

You smirked.

Right up until a very distinct voice behind you both cleared his throat politely.

Both you and Cody turned at the same time.

There stood General Kenobi, sipping from a flask he definitely wasn’t supposed to have on base, looking immensely entertained.

“I’m afraid,” Kenobi said, with that Jedi-trying-to-sound-diplomatic tone, “that would not be accurate.”

You and Cody blinked at him.

Kenobi smiled a little wider, like he was delivering a death sentence.

“From what I recall — and from what half the battalion will never be able to forget — the marriage was…” He paused delicately. “…enthusiastically consummated. On multiple occasions. That night.”

Silence.

Absolute, crippling silence.

You felt your soul leave your body.

Cody’s face turned a shade of red you hadn’t thought possible for a battle-hardened clone.

You slowly turned your head back toward Cody, your expression completely numb.

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

“Right,” he said finally, voice strangled. “Good to know.”

You choked on a sound that was half a laugh, half a groan.

Kenobi clapped Cody lightly on the shoulder as he strolled past.

“Congratulations again, by the way,” he added over his shoulder, absolutely relishing your suffering.

You and Cody just stood there on the landing pad, mutual trauma radiating off you in waves.

Finally, you blew out a breath.

“So,” you said hoarsely, “drinks?”

Cody stared at you.

Then — in the most defeated, exhausted voice you had ever heard — he muttered

“Please.”

“Crossfire” pt.8

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

The twin suns of Tatooine dipped below the horizon, casting a soft, fiery glow across the sand dunes. The planet’s desolation had an eerie beauty to it—one that had become a quiet refuge for the reader and the child. For months now, they’d kept to the edges of this forgotten world, far from the eyes of the Republic and Separatists alike.

The loth cat, whom they’d found scrabbling through the dust on the outskirts of their makeshift farm, had become an unlikely companion. Its sleek, blue-grey fur had started to grow back, its eyes glinting with a sharpness that matched the desert itself. It was, without a doubt, a symbol of something still clinging to life in the emptiness of their exile. And, despite the grueling hardships they’d faced before this, there was a strange comfort in its presence.

The mechanic shop was a far cry from the quiet isolation of a farm. The reader had quickly adapted to the new environment—fixing speeders, engines, and droids. It was more familiar to her than the tedious cycle of planting crops and praying for a harvest. Tatooine had no shortage of broken-down machines, and the demand for repairs was constant. It kept them busy.

The small, makeshift shop was wedged between a cantina and a market stall. Despite its modest size, it was functional. She’d painted a faded sign with crude lettering—Repair & Salvage. Inside, the shop was a cluttered paradise of parts and tools. The air always smelled faintly of oil, rust, and the heat of the desert sun that relentlessly beat down on everything.

The child, now quietly watching her work with his small hands, had started to pick up bits of the trade. He was clever, inquisitive—his Force sensitivity seemed to lend itself to the work, too. But there was still that feeling of unease lingering in the air, something unspoken between them. Despite their time together, she hadn’t fully explained why she’d saved him, why she’d taken him in. And in return, he hadn’t pressed her for answers. Perhaps he didn’t need them.

“Fixing things feels easier than farming,” she muttered one evening, wiping oil from her hands as she glanced over at the boy.

He didn’t respond immediately, focused on cleaning a small tool he’d just finished using. He’d been learning quickly.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he finally said, his voice a mix of curiosity and the wariness he’d developed over time. “But, do you miss… I mean, we could’ve been anywhere, right?”

She paused. The sound of the desert wind whistled faintly through the cracks in the shop walls, but she didn’t answer immediately. There was a silence in the room as the loth cat padded over and jumped onto a nearby crate, curling up into a ball. The child’s question hung in the air.

“Do you miss it? Being with them?” he repeated, voice quieter this time.

It took her a moment before she spoke. She stood and leaned against the workbench, looking out toward the open door. The desert stretched endlessly beyond, quiet except for the distant hum of a passing speeder.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But we’re safer here. And it’s… simpler.” Her voice faltered for a moment, her gaze lingering on the horizon before it shifted back to him. “We can keep you safe here. That’s what matters.”

The child nodded slowly, but she could see the wheels turning in his head, the lingering doubt. He was old enough to understand that safety wasn’t always as simple as finding a new place to hide.

But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that hiding was only temporary, that the world would eventually catch up to them. She wouldn’t let that happen, not if she could help it. And she wasn’t sure if that made her a fool, but it was the only thing she could do to atone for what she’d dragged him into.

Their quiet life in the desert was their only solace. She’d gotten used to the sound of the loth cat’s purring in the corner, to the child’s shy attempts to fix things beside her, and even to the heat of the desert sun that felt like it never stopped beating down on the sand.

But as days bled into months, the feeling of being watched—of being hunted—never quite left. She couldn’t shake the sensation that someone, somewhere, knew where they were. Even on this barren world, she couldn’t escape what had been set into motion. The ghost of the Republic, of the Jedi, of Palpatine and his web of lies, was still out there, waiting for her to slip.

One day, while she was working on a speeder engine, a familiar sound—a crackle through the comm—broke the stillness of the shop. Her hand froze, mid-repair. Her eyes shot to the communicator on the counter.

“Don’t even think about it,” she muttered under her breath, hoping it wasn’t what she feared.

The transmission crackled again, louder this time. She wiped her greasy hands on a rag and sighed, reluctantly walking over to the comm. Her fingers hovered over the switch. She hesitated. The child’s curious gaze fixed on her, but he didn’t say anything.

With a deep breath, she pressed the button.

“Yes?”

It was Rex’s voice. Strong. Familiar.

“Hey,” he said, his tone almost tentative. “Where are you?”

She glanced back at the child, who was now fidgeting with a broken droid part. He didn’t look up, but the tension in the room was palpable. She bit her lip.

“Somewhere safe,” she replied, her voice cold. “Not where you want to be.”

There was a pause on the other end, Rex’s voice quiet for a moment, like he was weighing his next words. “We’ve been looking for you. You’ve been gone a while. The Jedi are still—”

“I’m not interested in the Jedi,” she interrupted sharply. “I told you, I’m done with that. You should be, too.”

Another silence, heavy, before he responded again, quieter now. “Look, I don’t care where you are. I don’t care about the Jedi or the Separatists. I care about you.”

She exhaled sharply. She could hear the weight in his words, feel it pull at the corners of her heart. But she had to stay strong.

“I’m not the same person you knew, Rex,” she said, her voice softening but still firm. “I can’t—”

“We’re coming for you,” Rex cut in, a promise hidden beneath his words. “Wherever you are. We’ll find you.”

The line went silent again, but this time, she didn’t reach for the comm to hang up. She stood still, her eyes drifting to the child, who had now stopped fidgeting and was staring at her intently. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say next.

But the choice had already been made. She couldn’t let the past come for them—not now.

“Stay where you are, Rex,” she said, her voice low. “This life… it’s the only one we can have now.”

The transmission ended abruptly, and as the static faded, she felt the weight of her decision sink deep into her chest. She couldn’t outrun her past forever, but she had to try. For the kid’s sake. For hers.

The comm clicked off, and the desert wind whistled through the cracks in the walls once more.

⸻

*After order 66*

The heat of Tatooine never relented, always oppressive, always relentless. The twin suns glared down, but in the small mechanic shop, the air was thick with the hum of droids and the scent of oil. The faint noise of the desert outside was a constant, but it had become part of her rhythm now. The shop was her sanctuary, her space of peace—and for a while, it had felt like the world had forgotten her.

She had heard the whispers, of course—the rumors of Rex’s death, of Cody’s desertion from the Empire. The news had spread in quiet circles, murmured over cantina tables and in back-alley conversations. But she hadn’t believed them—not fully. She couldn’t. She’d mourned them, both of them. And with that mourning, something cold had settled in her heart. The truth she couldn’t face, the possibility that both men, once so important to her, were lost to her forever, had nearly shattered her.

But now, in the stillness of her shop, as she wiped grease from her hands, she heard the sound of footsteps outside the door—two sets, both heavy with purpose. A faint chill ran down her spine, her senses on alert, even after all this time.

She wiped her hands again, her mind racing. It had been months—years, even—since she’d had a real visitor, someone who wasn’t just passing through the dusty town, looking for a quick fix. Her first instinct was to ignore it, to retreat into the silence of her world. But she couldn’t. Not this time.

She turned her back to the door, taking a deep breath, unsure whether to brace herself or pretend nothing was coming. But then the door creaked open, the soft jingle of the bell above signaling an arrival.

“Morning, ma’am,” a voice said.

She froze.

It wasn’t just the familiarity in the voice—it was the tone, the cadence, the weight of it. A voice she hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime.

Her heart stopped, her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she turned, her eyes locking onto two figures standing in the doorway. Two familiar figures—no, too familiar. One was tall, his hair a bit longer than she remembered but still as worn as ever. His posture was stiff, but there was that same quiet intensity in his eyes. The other was just as imposing, broad-shouldered, his face still marked with the same stoic expression, though his gaze now held something darker. Something more… raw.

“Rex?” she whispered, unable to believe what she was seeing. She looked at Cody, and her throat tightened as recognition flooded her.

They stood there, like ghosts come to life, wearing the familiar gear of the Republic clones, but now twisted, aged, and worn by time. They were still wearing the armor, but it was scratched, weathered, and battered, not the pristine white she had once known.

“Not the best welcome we’ve had, huh?” Rex said, his voice laced with a dry humor she remembered too well, though there was something hesitant in his tone.

Her knees nearly buckled as she stared at him, her heart thumping in her chest. “How—how are you here? How are you both here?” she stammered, stepping back slightly, unsure of what to make of it all.

“We heard a lot of things,” Cody replied, his voice deep and serious. “About the kid. About the Empire. We couldn’t… we couldn’t stay away any longer.”

“Is it really you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t want to believe it. Part of her didn’t want to face the possibility that this was real—that they were truly standing there in front of her.

Cody stepped forward, his hand reaching out as if to steady her, but she backed away instinctively.

“I swear, it’s us,” Rex said quietly, watching her carefully. “We’re still alive, still standing. After all this time… we couldn’t let you stay alone. Not anymore.”

She swallowed hard, feeling something warm and painful flood her chest. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her words caught in her throat.

“How? What happened?” she asked, finally finding her voice again, but even her tone was filled with disbelief.

Rex and Cody exchanged a look, their expressions heavy. There were so many things they both needed to explain—too many things. But neither of them was sure where to start.

“We’re deserters now,” Cody said flatly. “The Empire doesn’t want us anymore. After what happened… after Order 66…” He trailed off, his words thick with the weight of their shared past. “We couldn’t stay loyal to them. Not after all they did. Not after we saw the truth.”

“We couldn’t stand by and let them control us,” Rex added, his voice quieter, filled with regret and guilt. “The Republic turned into something else. And we both walked away. We couldn’t just pretend it didn’t happen. We tried to move on, but… we couldn’t forget you. Or the kid.”

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you were… I thought you were dead. I mourned both of you. I believed the rumors.”

Cody’s jaw tightened, and Rex’s eyes softened with something like sorrow. “We had to keep our distance,” Rex said. “We didn’t want to lead anyone to you, especially after what happened. We thought… we thought if we stayed hidden long enough, it might be safer for you. But we didn’t want to lose you, either.”

She nodded slowly, as if processing everything at once. The shock, the disbelief, the pain. It had been so long. Too long.

“Why come here now?” she asked, her voice steadying as she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “What’s the point of all this?”

Rex stepped closer, his gaze intense. “We just want to be with you. Help. If you’ll let us. We can’t go back to what we were. But maybe we can move forward, together. The three of us.”

The child, who had been quietly watching from the corner, suddenly walked over, looking up at them with wide eyes. “Are they… the ones from before?”

She looked down at the boy and then back at Rex and Cody, a soft, bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Yes,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “They’re the ones.”

Cody gave a small nod in return, his face unreadable but soft. “And we’ll do what we can to keep you both safe. If you’ll have us.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their shared past, and the unspoken understanding that nothing was ever going to be the same as it was before. Yet, despite everything, here they were—alive, standing together once again.

Her heart, which had been a tangled mess for so long, slowly began to settle, and with it, the promise of something new. Something that, despite all the pain and the losses, felt like it could be worth fighting for.

“Then stay,” she said, her voice steady. “Stay with me. Stay with us.”

The sun had set on Tatooine, the twin moons casting long shadows across the desert. The familiar, yet bittersweet weight of the night settled over the small mechanic shop, but something was different. There was an unspoken tension, a fragile peace woven through the air.

Inside the shop, the hum of tools and machines was the only sound, the soft whirring of droids as they worked on various repairs. The child, now safely nestled in the corner with a toy in his hands, had grown accustomed to the rhythm of life here, as had she. But tonight was different. Tonight, there was a quiet anticipation—one that stirred within her chest, making her feel both hopeful and uncertain.

Rex and Cody were here, standing by her side in a way they hadn’t been before. The space they shared wasn’t just that of comrades or soldiers—it was the space of something far more complex, fragile, and yet, somehow, stronger than anything she had known before.

They hadn’t talked much about the past, not yet. Not everything. The war, the betrayal, the chaos—they still lived in their memories like ghosts. But there was time for that later. Tonight wasn’t about the past. It was about rebuilding, about forging something new.

Cody stood by the door, his posture relaxed, though his eyes still carried the weight of everything they’d all been through. Rex was sitting at the table, his gaze drifting between her and the child, a hint of a smile on his lips. The same quiet intensity lingered in his eyes, but tonight, it felt less like a burden and more like a promise.

She looked at them, her heart catching in her throat. For so long, she had feared she was alone, that the world had moved on without her. She had convinced herself that the bonds they once shared were lost to time, erased by the chaos of the galaxy. But here they were, standing before her—not as clones, not as soldiers—but as something more. Something that might just survive.

“You know,” she said, her voice quiet, but firm. “I thought I was done fighting. Done running. I thought the past would always catch up to me.”

Cody tilted his head, his gaze softening. “We all thought we were done fighting.”

Rex nodded, his expression serious but warm. “But sometimes, the fight isn’t over. Sometimes, we get a chance to do things differently. And we’re here, for whatever comes next.”

She took a deep breath, letting the words sink in. Her heart ached with the weight of everything—everything they had lost, everything they had fought for. But as she looked at Rex and Cody, something settled in her chest. She realized that while the war might have shaped them, it didn’t define them. They were more than just soldiers, more than just their pasts. They were a part of something new.

The child looked up at her, his bright eyes filled with hope. “Are you going to stay with them now?”

Her heart fluttered, and she nodded, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’m going to stay. We’re all going to stay.”

She turned back to Rex and Cody, her gaze lingering between them. For a moment, the weight of everything they had gone through felt like it was fading. It was still there, lingering in the background, but it no longer defined them. Not anymore. They had a future, one they would build together, in this quiet corner of the galaxy.

The quiet hum of the shop filled the space around them, a steady rhythm that was somehow comforting. They had been through war, through loss, through pain—but here, in this small mechanic shop on a distant desert world, they had found something else. Peace. Hope. And maybe, just maybe, a chance to heal.

As the night stretched on, they sat together, the world outside growing darker and quieter. But inside, there was a warmth that none of them had felt in a long time.

And for the first time in years, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

They had survived. Together. And they would continue to, one step at a time.

The future was uncertain, but for once, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were together. And that was enough.

Previous Chapter

A/N

I absolutely hate how I ended this, but tbh I also absolutely suck at endings so this makes sense.

“Crossfire” pt.7

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

The camp was quiet now. The chaos had died down into murmurs, tired footsteps, the clatter of armor being stripped off and stacked beside sleeping mats. She wandered through it like a ghost, feeling out of place but… not unwelcome. Not entirely.

She spotted him near the supply crates, still in his blacks, helmet off, hair mussed from the fight. Rex looked up as she approached, his posture straightening slightly like muscle memory kicked in before the rest of him caught up.

“Hey,” she said.

He didn’t smile, but his expression softened—just enough.

“Didn’t expect you to come find me,” Rex said. “Figured you’d be off the minute your boots cooled.”

“Yeah, well…” she kicked a rock with the toe of her boot. “Running hasn’t exactly worked out great for me lately.”

Rex folded his arms, waiting.

“I wanted to check on you,” she added. “See how you were holding up. After today.”

“After everything, you mean?”

She met his eyes. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause, not uncomfortable, just… heavy. She leaned against a crate beside him and crossed her arms to match his posture, head tilted up to the stars.

“You still got that scar?” she asked casually. “The one on your jaw. From the skirmish on Felucia?”

He gave her a look. “You remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things about you, Captain.”

She offered him a crooked smirk, the kind she used to wear like armor. Playful. A little bold. A spark in the rubble.

Rex didn’t return the smile—but the way he looked at her made her throat tighten.

“You think flirting with me is going to fix this?” he asked quietly.

She lost her grin.

“No,” she said. “It’s just… easier. Than everything else.”

His shoulders dropped a little, some tension leaving his frame even if the rest stayed knotted. He didn’t look angry. Just… tired.

“I missed you,” she admitted, more earnest than she meant to be. “Even when I was running. Especially then.”

Rex looked down at her—really looked—and she saw the conflict written across his face like ink on skin.

“I didn’t know where you were,” he said, voice rough. “Didn’t know if you were alive. If you were working for the Chancellor still, if you were working for anyone. It’s hard to miss someone when you don’t know if they’re already gone.”

That one hit. She nodded, eyes flicking away for a moment.

“I was scared,” she said. “Of what I was doing. Who I was becoming. Of what you’d see if you looked at me too long.”

“I saw someone who gave a damn,” Rex said. “Still do.”

She looked at him then, and for a moment, everything else—Palpatine, the Council, Cody, the kid—blurred out into silence.

He stepped closer, just slightly. She didn’t move away.

“I’m not saying it’s fixed,” he said lowly. “But I’m still here.”

She reached out, fingertips brushing his hand, testing the water like she was scared it would burn her. He let her.

“I missed you too,” she whispered.

They stood there for a while, in that silence. The tension still coiled, still unresolved—but different now. Softer.

The kind that might, with time, unravel into something real.

⸻

The shuttle touched down on Coruscant with a low hum, metallic feet clunking into the hangar platform. The ramp hissed open, revealing the cold blue glow of the Senate District skyline in the distance. She breathed it in—familiar and suffocating all at once.

Rex had disappeared into a sea of 501st troopers. Anakin and Ahsoka had gone to debrief. The kid—the kid—was somewhere out there now, no longer hers to protect, though the phantom weight of responsibility still clung to her shoulders like wet armor.

And Cody…

Cody had been quiet the whole way back. Not cold, not rude—just restrained. Professional. Distant.

She knew that look. It was the same one she wore when she was hurt but too proud to bleed out in public.

So she went looking for him.

The GAR barracks were quiet this time of day, most men off-duty or in mess. She spotted Cody’s armor first, piled neat outside a side room, the door half-cracked. She knocked once—light—and pushed the door further open.

Cody was sitting on the edge of his bunk, bare-chested, arms braced on his knees, deep in thought. He looked up, startled at first, and then his mouth pulled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“You look like you’re about to deliver bad news,” he said, voice low and wry.

“I’m not,” she said. “I just wanted to talk.”

He nodded, gestured to the spot beside him on the bunk.

They sat in silence for a beat. The air between them tense but not hostile.

“I don’t want things to be weird,” she said. “Between us.”

“Kind of hard for them not to be,” Cody replied, tone not sharp, just… tired.

“I know,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “But I’m trying. I’m done running. I just—I want to fix things. Or at least make it so we can be in the same room without all the oxygen leaving it.”

Cody huffed a small breath. “You don’t need to fix things. Just stop acting like you can flirt your way out of every mess you cause.”

That one stung, but she accepted it.

“I know,” she said softly. “I know.”

He turned to her. His eyes didn’t hold anger. They held ache. And something else—something deeper. Something he wasn’t saying.

She opened her mouth to say more—

—and the door slammed open.

“There you are!” Quinlan Vos strode in like a tide, full of unfiltered charisma and absolutely no awareness of personal boundaries.

Obi-Wan followed, much slower, brow furrowed with concern. “Apologies for the intrusion, but we’ve been looking for you.”

Cody stood, arms folding tightly across his chest, clearly not thrilled.

She didn’t move from the bed. “I’m a little busy.”

“So it seems,” Obi-Wan remarked mildly, eyes flicking between her and Cody.

Quinlan plopped down on Cody’s empty chair like he owned the place. “The Council wants to talk. They’ve got questions. About Palpatine. About the kid. About you and your… pattern of disappearing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why do I feel like I’m constantly on trial.”

“Because you kind of are,” Quinlan said with a grin.

Obi-Wan sighed. “We’re not your enemies. But we do need to understand why you made the choices you did.”

She stood up now, shoulders stiff. “And I’m trying to explain those choices—to the people who matter to me. But you keep showing up like two banthas at a tea party.”

Cody, behind her, almost smiled.

“Can it wait?” she asked Obi-Wan directly.

He hesitated.

“…Fine,” he said at last. “But not long.”

He and Quinlan left with far more noise than they entered.

She sighed and turned back to Cody.

“…See what I mean? Never a quiet moment.”

Cody studied her, his expression unreadable. “You don’t owe them your soul.”

“No,” she said. “But maybe I owe them a piece of the truth. Just… not before I say what I need to say to you.”

Cody gave her a slow nod. “Then say it.”

She looked at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the words that clawed to the surface.

But for once—maybe for the first time—she let them stay unspoken. Let them sit there in the space between them, heavy and real and understood.

The door had long since shut behind Obi-Wan and Quinlan, the echo of their presence still lingering. But now, it was quiet again. Just her and Cody. And the weight of what she hadn’t said.

She looked up at him, heart hammering harder than it had in any firefight.

“Cody,” she began, voice low, almost unsure. “I need to say something. And it’s not fair, but it’s honest.”

He raised a brow, still standing a few feet away. Guarded, but listening.

“I love you.”

That stopped him. His arms slowly uncrossed.

“But—” she continued before he could react, “I love Rex too.”

Cody’s face didn’t shift. Didn’t wince. Didn’t soften. Just—stilled.

She took a step closer. “And I don’t know what that says about me, or what it means, but I’m tired of pretending I only feel one thing at a time. I tried to choose. I did. But every time I think I have, I see the other one and it just—breaks something in me.”

He let out a long, quiet breath.

“I’m not asking you to be okay with it,” she added quickly. “I’m not even asking you for anything. I just needed to say it. To stop lying about how I feel and hoping it’ll get easier if I just shove it down hard enough.”

A long silence passed.

Then Cody finally spoke. “You’re right. It’s not fair.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“But it’s real.” His voice had softened, barely above a whisper. “And I’d rather have your truth than someone else’s lie.”

Tears burned her eyes, sudden and hot. She didn’t cry. Not for years. But this—this kind of vulnerability? This was harder than bleeding out in the field.

Cody stepped forward, gently touching her cheek with a calloused hand. “You deserve a love that doesn’t make you choose.”

She leaned into his touch, even as guilt twisted inside her.

“Rex deserves to hear it too,” Cody added after a beat. “But for now—just… thank you. For being honest.”

⸻

The Jedi Council chamber was quiet in the way only heavy judgment could make it.

Sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting long shadows across the room where the Masters sat in their semi-circle. Windu, Yoda, Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Luminara, Kit Fisto, and Obi-Wan.

She stood in the center, still dressed in half of her mission gear, the other half forgotten in the chaos of being summoned straight off the landing pad.

Mace Windu leaned forward first. “We appreciate your cooperation, though your presence here is long overdue.”

“I didn’t think I was a priority,” she said dryly.

“You’ve been a priority since the moment you vanished with a Force-sensitive child under mysterious circumstances,” Ki-Adi-Mundi snapped.

She raised her chin. “I didn’t kidnap him. I saved him.”

“From whom?” Luminara pressed. “From the Chancellor himself?”

“No,” she lied smoothly. “From a bounty. Someone—anonymous—put a price on the kid’s head. I took the job, found the kid, couldn’t go through with it. So I ran.”

Windu’s gaze was steel. “You expect us to believe a bounty hunter with personal access to the Chancellor just happened to take that contract?”

“I was close to Palpatine,” she admitted. “He trusted me. I never asked why. But I’m not loyal to him—not anymore. I saw enough to know I was a pawn. I just didn’t know what kind of game.”

“And the child?” Yoda asked softly.

“I gave him up. To the Republic. He’s safer now than he ever was with me. But I won’t apologize for keeping him alive.”

Kit Fisto watched her with new eyes. Quieter than before. Maybe… less suspicious. Maybe not.

“You told me once you feared the Chancellor,” Windu said, looking at her directly. “Do you still?”

“I fear what he’s capable of,” she said. “But I fear myself more. I made too many decisions in his shadow. I want to start making my own.”

The room was silent for a long moment.

Then Yoda turned to the others. “Much darkness clouds the future, but truth… glimpses of it, I sense in her words.”

Windu nodded. “We will deliberate. In the meantime, you are not to leave the planet. Is that understood?”

“Crystal,” she said, and turned to walk out, her heart thudding.

She had told some truth, enough to avoid chains—but not enough to put the game to rest. Not yet.

⸻

The summons came before sunrise.

No official escort this time. Just a short, encrypted message on her private channel—a voice she knew too well, cold and commanding:

“Come. Now.”

She hadn’t slept anyway. After the Council interrogation, after saying too much to Cody—and not enough to Rex—her nerves were frayed like wires sparking against metal.

The Senate building was quiet when she arrived, its corridors dim and eerie. Palpatine’s chambers were even darker—lit only by the soft red of Coruscanti dawn bleeding through heavy curtains and the low hum of security panels locking behind her.

He was waiting, seated in his throne-like chair, hands folded, hood drawn low over his brow.

“You lied to the Council,” he said without preamble. His tone held no accusation—only satisfaction.

She didn’t respond.

“You said nothing of my involvement. Not a single hint. You protected me.” A faint smile curled at the edges of his mouth. “That kind of loyalty is… rare.”

She shifted her weight, unsettled. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“But you did it well.” He stood slowly, walking toward her with quiet, measured steps. “The Jedi are grasping at shadows. And now they trust you just enough to leave their guard down. Perfect positioning, wouldn’t you say?”

“I didn’t come here to be your spy.”

He chuckled. “No. You came here to survive. And you’ve done that—exceptionally.”

She said nothing, jaw tight.

Palpatine clasped his hands behind his back. “The child you so kindly spared… he will serve a greater purpose than you could ever imagine. The Force hums in him—volatile, angry, raw. He will be an excellent assassin one day.”

Her throat went dry. “He’s not a weapon.”

“He’s an asset,” he corrected coolly.

“He has a name,” she snapped, louder than she meant to. “Kes. His name is Kes.”

Palpatine paused. Then, slowly, he turned to face her fully. “Names,” he said, voice lower now, more dangerous. “Names are tools. Just like loyalty. Just like you.”

Her hands curled into fists.

“I spared him,” she said, steadying her voice. “I hid him. I protected him. That doesn’t make me loyal to you.”

“No,” he said, almost fondly. “But it proves you can be used. Even against your will.”

She flinched. Because it was true.

Palpatine leaned closer, his presence overwhelming. “The boy will be trained. Molded. And when the time comes, he will take a life with his own hands. You will see.”

She met his gaze. “Over my dead body.”

The Sith Lord only smiled. “If necessary.”

⸻

She didn’t remember much of the walk back from the Senate building. The city buzzed around her, speeder traffic whipping by overhead, durasteel walkways trembling with the movement of life, but she moved through it all like a ghost.

Palpatine’s words still burned behind her eyes.

He will take a life with his own hands. You will see.

No. No, not if she could help it.

She barely registered her fists slamming against the barracks door until it opened. Rex stood there, still half-dressed in blacks and greys, fresh from training. His expression shifted from surprise to something more serious the moment he saw her face.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, pushing past him into the room.

He closed the door slowly behind her. “I figured.”

She paced the floor, hands on her hips. “I told Cody I loved him.”

Rex blinked, stiffening slightly. “Okay…”

She turned toward him, eyes sharp, voice louder now—heated. “And I love you, too. I love you, Rex. Not in some vague, flirty way. I mean it. I feel it in my chest like a damn explosion.”

He stared at her, caught off guard. “You’re angry.”

“I am angry,” she said, voice cracking. “But not at you.”

He stepped closer, expression softening as he tried to piece her together. “What’s wrong with you?”

Her mouth opened. Closed. The breath that came out after was shaky, jagged. “It’s the kid. It’s Kes. I don’t trust he’s safe.”

“I thought—he’s with the Republic now, right?”

She gave a bitter laugh. “Safe? From him?” Her voice dropped. “He wants to train him. Turn him into some twisted weapon. He called him an asset, Rex.”

Rex’s brows furrowed. “Who?”

“He’s not a tool. He’s a child. And I think… I might be the only person who can actually keep him safe.”

Rex looked at her for a long time, something unreadable in his eyes. “You still working for the Chancellor?”

“No,” she said quietly. “Not in the way I used to. But I can’t just walk away from this, not now. I know too much. And I know what he’s planning.”

Rex reached out, gently taking her arm. “Then what are you going to do?”

She looked at his hand, then into his eyes.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But whatever it is… I don’t think I’m coming back from it.”

⸻

The barracks were still, the artificial lights dimmed to simulate night. Most of the 501st were out or asleep, and for once, no one was shouting over a game of sabacc or sparring in the hall.

Rex sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, her words echoing in his skull like distant artillery.

I love you, Rex.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight. There were thousands of things he wanted to feel about it—pride, warmth, something like victory. But it came with a storm he didn’t know how to name.

She’d told Cody the same thing. She didn’t want just one of them.

He could’ve handled that. Maybe. They were soldiers—brothers—used to sharing everything. But this wasn’t a blaster or a battlefield.

This was her.

What kept him anchored to the floor, instead of pacing the room or sending a message to Cody to yell at him for no good reason, was the other thing she said. The thing that mattered more than love or jealousy or pride.

He called him an asset. I think I’m the only one who can keep him safe.

Kes. The kid. The Force-sensitive child she’d stolen, protected, run with, lied for.

And now she was talking like she’d disappear again. Like she had to.

Rex leaned back, exhaling slowly, head resting against the cool durasteel wall. He stared at the ceiling, mind ticking over the gaps. She hadn’t just been a pawn. Not really. She’d been close to Palpatine. Trusted. Useful. And now she was unraveling from the inside out, spiraling between duty, guilt, and love.

He didn’t blame her for loving Cody.

Didn’t even blame her for loving him, if he was being honest.

But what was killing him was the way she looked when she said she might not come back. Like it was already decided.

Rex sat forward again, elbows digging into his thighs. He could still smell her on his skin—warmth and dust and a hint of whatever Corellian brandy she’d drowned herself in last night.

He didn’t know what scared him more.

That she’d leave again.

Or that she wouldn’t.

And when she finally did make her move—when she ran headfirst into whatever hell she was walking toward—he wasn’t sure if he’d chase after her, or let her go.

But he was sure of one thing.

She didn’t have to face it alone.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

⸻

Cody stood in the shadow of the veranda outside the Jedi Temple. It was late. Not quite night, not quite morning—the sky caught in that soft, silver pre-dawn hue. And Coruscant, the city that never truly slept, hummed below like it didn’t care about anyone’s heartbreak.

He hadn’t gone back to his quarters. Couldn’t. Not after what she’d said.

I love you.

And then—I love Rex too.

He leaned forward, arms braced on the railing, the wind tugging at the edges of his armour.

The words weren’t what haunted him. Not really. He knew her. Knew how fiercely she loved—how wildly her loyalty curved into everything she touched. Of course she’d fall for Rex too. Of course it wouldn’t be clean, or easy, or fair.

He didn’t even blame her for it.

But it stung, deeper than blaster fire. Not because she loved them both—but because even now, after everything, she still looked like she was halfway out the door. Like her mind had already started packing bags she didn’t plan to unpack again.

Kes.

Cody’s fingers flexed on the railing.

The boy’s name hadn’t been spoken when she’d told her lie to the Council—but he’d heard the truth in her voice, beneath every beat of it. She’d kept him alive. Protected him. Cared for him in a way no bounty hunter had any right to.

Palpatine’s orders or not, she’d chosen the kid. Chosen to lie, run, risk everything.

That terrified him.

Because if she was willing to walk away from him for the kid… she’d do it again. In a heartbeat.

And he didn’t know if he could survive her leaving twice.

He exhaled slowly, the wind catching the breath like smoke. He could see himself from the outside—Commander Cody, poised, sharp, unreadable. A model soldier.

But inside? He was chaos.

He wanted to go to her room. Say something—anything. Ask her to choose him. Or don’t. Or promise to come back. Or stay.

But he wouldn’t beg.

She had enough people trying to pull her in opposite directions. She didn’t need another weight on her shoulders.

Still… he couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking about him now. If she was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, just as lost.

Don’t run again, he thought. Not from this. Not from me.

And if she did?

He’d find her.

And bring her home himself.

⸻

The air in her apartment was heavy.

It was always quiet before a storm. Before chaos. Before death.

She moved like a shadow, deliberate and silent, pulling her gear piece by piece from beneath the floorboards. Her knives. Her blaster. Her comm jammer. Her datapad with every possible layout of the facility burned into its memory.

She was going in alone.

There was no other way.

Kes was being held somewhere deep within the restricted levels of the Republic Intelligence Annex—a place so far off the grid it didn’t technically exist. He hadn’t shown up on any of the usual rosters. No holos. No files. Just whispers. Rumors.

She didn’t trust anyone else to get him out.

And the Chancellor… Palpatine.

She didn’t care if it was madness. She didn’t care if it meant her own death. The moment he’d looked at Kes like he was a tool, a weapon, an asset, something in her broke.

She wasn’t a Jedi. She didn’t have to play by their rules.

She’d already made up her mind.

The door panel chirped, breaking the silence.

She froze.

One hand gripped the vibroblade still resting on the kitchen bench. Her heart pounded hard, but her face remained unreadable.

Another chime. This time more insistent.

She took a breath. Stepped toward the door.

It slid open.

And there they were.

Cody. Rex.

She should’ve known.

Both of them stood just outside, dressed like they hadn’t had time to change out of their armor. Faces hard, eyes flicking past her to the gear stacked on the counter behind her.

Cody spoke first. “You’re leaving.”

She didn’t answer. Not with words. She turned her back on them both, walking toward her gear like she hadn’t just been caught mid-plan.

“I don’t have time to explain,” she said as she fastened her utility belt.

“We figured,” Rex said. “So explain on the way.”

“No.” Her voice was sharp, steel underneath. “You don’t get to follow me this time.”

Cody stepped inside. “We didn’t follow you. We found you. Big difference.”

She spun, eyes locking onto Cody. “You don’t get to be the voice of reason right now, Cody. Not when I’m going to kill your Chancellor.”

The silence hit like a thermal detonator.

Rex looked at her like he hadn’t expected to hear her say it aloud.

Cody didn’t flinch.

“I’m going to get Kes out,” she said, quieter now. “And then I’m going to end this. Before it starts.”

“You think assassinating the Chancellor is going to stop what’s coming?” Rex’s voice was tight. “Do you even know what that’ll unleash?”

“I don’t care,” she snapped. “He’s using that kid. He’s manipulating all of us. And the longer I wait, the worse it gets.”

Cody took a single step closer. Not threatening—just there. Solid. Like he always was.

“You’ll die,” he said. “You know that, right?”

She nodded. “I made peace with that a long time ago.”

Rex stepped forward now, voice low, fierce. “Then let us help. Let us at least stand with you.”

She stared at them both. Her throat tightened.

She wanted to say yes. Stars, she wanted to say yes so badly.

But—

“If either of you die because of me,” she said, “I’ll never forgive myself.”

“We’re soldiers,” Cody said. “We’ve already made peace with dying.”

“But not with you dying alone,” Rex added.

The silence stretched long. Her eyes burned.

She turned away, back to her weapons. She was shaking, just slightly.

And then… she spoke.

“No.”

They both stilled.

She faced them now, eyes sharper than either had ever seen. “I can’t let either of you come with me.”

“Why?” Rex asked. “Because it’s dangerous? We live in danger. That’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not about danger,” she said. Her voice cracked, just slightly. “It’s about you. About him. About both of you. I love you—both of you—and I will not be the reason your stories end in a hallway you were never meant to be in.”

Cody stepped closer. “That’s not your choice to make.”

“It is this time,” she said. “Because if I lose either of you, I don’t just lose a soldier. I lose the only damn thing I’ve got left in this kriffed-up galaxy.”

Neither of them spoke.

And then, gently, she picked up her blaster, slid it into its holster, and looked at them for what might’ve been the last time.

“You don’t have to understand it,” she said. “Just… let me do this. Alone.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She didn’t want to hear them fight her on it.

She just stepped out the back door, into the night.

And left them both behind.

⸻

She didn’t go to the facility alone.

Not exactly.

She had a contact.

Someone who didn’t care for the Republic, the Jedi, or much of anything beyond credits and personal satisfaction.

Cad Bane.

She hated him.

He’d say the feeling was mutual.

But she also knew he’d show up if the job was dirty enough, personal enough—and promised to make things just complicated enough to be interesting.

So, when she stood in the shadows near the Coruscant underworld comm relay, keyed in the frequency and said nothing but “I’m cashing it in”, there was a beat of silence, followed by his dry, smug voice.

“Took you long enough. Where’s the target?”

She sent him the encrypted drop zone coordinates, along with a note:

If I’m not there by this time tomorrow, I’m dead. Take the kid somewhere safe.

He didn’t respond. That meant he understood.

She climbed the side of the Republic Intelligence Annex like she had done it a thousand times before.

Because she had.

Not this exact building, no. But enough like it. Enough to know how their sensor blind spots layered. Enough to know the door panels ran off an old auxiliary power line she could override with a reprogrammed comlink. Enough to slip past the outer perimeter before anyone ever saw her coming.

The inside was colder. Cleaner. Sharp-edged metal and flickering overhead lights. It wasn’t meant to feel human. It was meant to strip identity. The place was surgical in its cruelty.

She moved like smoke. Swift. Silent. Lethal.

Floor by floor, she moved through the corridors.

Until she saw it.

The hallway. The black-glass door with the lock system coded to bioscans. The child’s name wasn’t on any sign, but she knew he was behind it.

She cracked her knuckles, pulled a thumb-sized detonator from her belt, and slipped it into the seam of the scanner.

A flicker. A soft click. And then—

Boom.

The door gave.

She sprinted in through smoke and static.

There he was.

Kes.

Slumped on the floor, eyes wide, body curled up like he was used to expecting violence. His force signature was alive—but dimmed. Buried.

She dropped to her knees and pulled him into her arms.

He looked up at her. “You came.”

“Of course I did.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Not yet.”

She took out a stimpak and injected it into his arm. “We have to move. Can you walk?”

He nodded. She didn’t wait. She pulled him to his feet and wrapped his small arm around her neck.

The sirens started.

Of course they did.

Guards stormed the lower halls.

Blaster fire lit up behind them, but she didn’t stop. She ran, dragging the kid through maintenance shafts, down an auxiliary lift, bursting into the speeder bay just in time to hijack a transport and shoot out into the traffic lanes above the city.

She weaved and twisted through Coruscant’s sky, sirens behind her, and a fragile hope burning in her chest.

Kes was safe.

For now.

They landed in a scrap yard on the edge of the underworld district, just near the slums. The air was thick with fuel and metal and smoke. She tucked Kes behind a decaying repulsor rig and handed him a stolen ration bar.

“If I don’t come back by tomorrow,” she said, crouching beside him, “Cad Bane will find you. He has the coordinates. You run. You survive. You hear me?”

“You’re not gonna die,” Kes whispered.

She smirked faintly. “Kid, I’ve been trying to die for years. But you… you’re different. You’ve got a future.”

She squeezed his shoulder, then vanished into the shadows.

She had one more stop to make.

And Palpatine wouldn’t see it coming.

⸻

She didn’t knock.

She didn’t need to.

The side entrance to the Chancellor’s private chambers peeled open after her third override attempt, a hiss of smoke and whirring gears inviting her into the lion’s den. Every step she took echoed like thunder through the polished marbled halls, golden-red light casting long, terrible shadows over everything.

It felt wrong.

He wasn’t supposed to be alone.

He never was.

But the throne sat empty in the center of the chamber—its occupant standing by the wide viewport, hands clasped behind his back, city lights dancing across his reflection.

“You’re late,” Palpatine said without turning.

She drew her blaster.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t hesitate.

She fired.

The bolt twisted in midair—curved—like the space between her and him had turned to oil. It splashed against the wall, leaving a crater, and Palpatine finally turned to face her, slow and measured.

He was smiling.

“Predictable,” he whispered.

Lightning surged from his fingers before she could blink.

It hit her like a wrecking ball.

She hit the ground screaming, bones screaming with her. Her blaster flew out of reach. Her limbs convulsed—vision swimming. The pain was like drowning in fire.

“You think yourself above your role? A pawn with a little sentiment?” Palpatine hissed, walking toward her, cloak dragging behind him like smoke.

He leaned down.

“I gave you purpose. I gave you everything.”

Her hand slipped to her boot. Blade.

“You gave me rot,” she spat, and slashed.

The blade caught his cheek.

He didn’t even flinch.

But he bled.

That was enough.

He threw her across the room with a flick of his wrist. She shattered a statue. She couldn’t breathe.

The alarms began to blare.

Corrie Guard. Jedi. Everyone was coming.

“You won’t get far,” he said, voice like thunder, like prophecy. “Run, girl. Run until the stars burn out. They’ll all be hunting you now.”

She didn’t answer.

She crawled, dragged herself to her feet, one hand clutching her ribs. She didn’t even remember how she escaped—smoke bombs, a hidden exit route, a chase through skylanes with every siren screaming her name. The Guard was relentless. She saw Cody. She saw Fox. She even saw Kit—his face torn between duty and disbelief.

She didn’t have time to process it.

She just ran.

By the time she reached the rendezvous point—blood in her mouth, cloak torn, and the weight of failure dragging behind her like a corpse—Cad Bane was already there. So was Kes.

“You look like hell,” Bane drawled.

“Bite me,” she rasped, grabbing Kes’s hand. “We’re leaving.”

Bane handed her coordinates to a small craft already programmed and pre-fueled. She didn’t say thank you. He didn’t expect it.

They jumped into hyperspace an hour later.

⸻

The stars faded into the dusty pink of dawn as they crested over the hill that led to the farm.

It hadn’t changed.

Still crooked fences. Still half-dead crops. Still peace in its imperfection.

Kes looked up at her, his big eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

“Why the farm?” he asked softly.

She breathed in the air, cracked and burned and hers.

“We have our Loth cat to find,” she said.

Kes blinked. “That’s… that’s it?”

She half-smiled. “It’s as good a reason as any.”

The war had followed her.

Death had nearly claimed her.

But for now, in this quiet stretch of forgotten land, with the boy she’d risked everything for beside her, she finally let herself breathe.

Just once.

Before the storm returned.

⸻

The silence in the Jedi High Council chamber was so dense it felt like suffocation.

The doors had shut behind Master Windu with a hiss. He remained standing for a moment before stepping into the center, his brow tight with what could only be called restrained fury. Around him, the Masters sat in their usual solemn arrangement—Yoda, Obi-Wan, Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Shaak Ti, Kit Fisto, and the rest. The air was thick with tension, laced with the sharp edges of disbelief and bitter revelation.

“She tried to kill the Chancellor,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said first. Cold. Certain. “This is beyond treason. It’s an act of war.”

“She also escaped,” Master Shaak Ti added, her voice quieter, more contemplative. “From a secure facility. With a child Palpatine has repeatedly refused to explain.”

“The same child she risked her life to hide for months,” Kit said calmly, though his gaze flickered toward Yoda, seeking his temperature on this. “She did not kill him. She ran. Hid. Protected him.”

“She lied to this Council,” Mundi snapped. “On multiple occasions.”

“As do many who fear the truth will be used against them,” Kit countered.

Windu raised a hand. Silence reclaimed the room.

Obi-Wan leaned forward then, voice calm but lined with suspicion. “What was she doing in the Chancellor’s private tower in the first place? Without clearance. Without authorization.”

“She was summoned,” Windu answered.

That landed like a blow.

Even Yoda stirred at that, tapping his gimer stick once against the floor. “Truth, this is?”

Windu nodded once. “The Chancellor requested her presence. Privately. No report filed. No witnesses. Just hours before the attempt.”

A heavy silence followed.

“She did not go there to kill him,” Kit said. “Not originally.”

“She still tried,” Plo Koon said softly. “But perhaps not without cause.”

Yoda closed his eyes. For a moment, the ancient Jedi looked every bit as old as the war.

“Seen much, we have. But seen enough, we have not.”

“Agreed,” Windu said. “The fact that she is still alive… it complicates this. If she had truly wanted him dead, if she had planned this with precision—she wouldn’t have failed.”

“She wasn’t aiming to succeed,” Obi-Wan murmured. “She was desperate.”

“And she escaped with the child,” Shaak Ti added. “Which the Chancellor has referred to, multiple times, as an asset. Not a person.”

Yoda’s eyes opened.

“Uncover the truth, we must. Speak to the Chancellor… again, we shall.”

Mundi stood, disbelief etched across his face. “You cannot be suggesting that he is the problem.”

Yoda met his gaze.

“The Force suggests… many things.”

⸻

The barracks were quiet for once. No drills, no blaster fire, no shouting across bunks. Just the buzz of overhead lights and the low hum of Coruscant’s cityscape outside the narrow windows.

Cody sat on the edge of a durasteel bench, still in partial armor, helmet discarded at his feet. He hadn’t spoken in what felt like an hour.

Rex stood nearby, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly. There was a long, bitter silence between them—one that came after too many emotions had been left unsaid for far too long.

“She almost died,” Rex said finally, voice low.

“She should be dead,” Cody answered without looking at him. “Attempting to assassinate the Chancellor? Alone? That’s suicide.”

“She’s alive,” Rex replied, softer now. “But she ran. Again.”

Cody let out a tired exhale, dragging a hand through his short hair. “She always runs.”

There was no malice in his voice. Just grief.

They were quiet again before Cody finally broke it.

“You loved her.”

Rex didn’t flinch. “Yeah. You did too.”

Cody nodded once, jaw tight. “I kept telling myself it was duty. Obsession. That I could let her go. But I never really wanted to.”

Rex stared at the floor. “She told me she loved me. Right before she disappeared.”

“She told me the same.” Cody gave a humorless laugh. “Then said she wanted both of us.”

Rex looked up. Their eyes met, and for the first time, neither of them looked away.

“And if things were different?” Rex asked.

Cody shook his head. “If things were different, we wouldn’t be in this war. We wouldn’t be soldiers. She wouldn’t be a target. That kid wouldn’t be hunted.”

Silence again.

“She was trying to do the right thing,” Rex said. “Even when it meant becoming the villain in everyone’s eyes.”

“Even ours,” Cody added quietly. “And now she’s out there. Hunted. Alone. Again.”

Rex stepped forward, tension rolling off him like a crashing tide. “I want to go after her.”

“So do I,” Cody said, standing.

The two commanders stared at one another—two halves of the same loyalty.

But they both knew the truth: chasing her meant turning against everything they’d been raised to serve.

The Republic. The Jedi. The Chancellor.

Everything.

“She’s worth it,” Rex said eventually.

Cody didn’t answer right away.

But the look in his eyes said everything.

⸻

The Chancellor’s office was dimmed, blinds drawn. Only Coruscant’s dull, flickering lights spilled shadows against the walls, mixing with the warm glow of red and gold decor.

Palpatine sat with folded hands, the lines in his face calm, unreadable.

Mace Windu stood at the center of the room, flanked by Yoda and Ki-Adi-Mundi. Plo Koon lingered near the window. Kit Fisto remained closer to the rear, saying nothing, watching everything.

“She nearly assassinated you,” Windu said. “And yet you still refuse to pursue her with the full force of the Republic?”

Palpatine offered a diplomatic smile. “She was misguided. Broken. This was the action of a lost, frightened woman.”

“Frightened women don’t break into highly classified facilities with bounty hunters and walk out with a Force-sensitive child,” Ki-Adi-Mundi cut in.

“Nor do they try to kill the Supreme Chancellor,” Windu added.

“Attempt to,” Palpatine corrected softly.

The silence that followed was sharp.

“Tell us, Chancellor,” Yoda finally spoke, his voice calm but piercing. “This woman. Long known to you, she is. Trusted her, you have. But trust her still, do you?”

Palpatine’s eyes narrowed slightly. “She was once loyal. Brave. Unafraid to do what others would not. I used her, yes. But perhaps I was mistaken in believing she could survive the strain of such secrets.”

“Secrets you still refuse to share,” Kit spoke for the first time. “You gave her access to military intel. Brought her into council-level missions. And yet she was never a Jedi, never Republic command, never even vetted. Why?”

Palpatine’s expression darkened, just for a moment. “Because she was effective. Because she could go where others could not. Because she understood what was at stake.”

“And now?” Windu asked.

“She’s dangerous,” Palpatine answered flatly. “And broken. Likely unstable. If she comes for the child again, she will be dealt with accordingly.”

“The child is safe now,” Yoda said.

“Is he?” Palpatine asked mildly. “With a mark on his back and half the galaxy looking for him?”

“You put that mark on him,” Windu said. “You sent her after him to begin with.”

For a moment, silence cracked like ice between them.

Palpatine didn’t blink. “That accusation is as reckless as it is unfounded.”

“We’re done playing blind,” Kit said. “You’ve kept her under your protection long enough. Whatever game you were playing, it’s cost lives.”

Palpatine stood. “I have no more information to offer you. If she resurfaces, she will be arrested. Until then, the matter is closed.”

The Jedi exchanged glances.

But no one believed that.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Crossfire” pt.6

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

The night air was still, too quiet for Coruscant. As if the city itself held its breath. The reader sat on the stone edge of a koi pond in the Jedi Temple gardens, picking at the frayed edge of her sleeve.

She hadn’t come here to pray. Or meditate. She came because she couldn’t breathe in her apartment anymore.

Kit Fisto approached silently, boots barely making a sound against the stones. She didn’t flinch when he spoke.

“You found the quietest corner of the Temple.”

“I didn’t think Jedi gardens were known for wild parties.”

He chuckled, easing down beside her, his presence—warm, calm, steady. It was infuriating how grounded he always was.

“You look better than this morning,” he said.

“I look like someone who kissed two men, woke up next to a Jedi Master, and has no idea what the hell she’s doing with her life.”

Kit’s smile widened. “I wasn’t going to say it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks for getting me home.”

“I didn’t do it for thanks.”

They sat in silence, the pond rippling as a fish darted beneath the surface.

She sighed. “Do I seem like a monster to you?”

“No.”

“Even after everything?”

“I think you’ve been carrying too many secrets for too long. That doesn’t make you a monster. It makes you tired.”

She looked at him. “Do you tell that to all the girls who stumble into your arms drunk off their head?”

“No,” he said. “Only the ones who cry about clone commanders in their sleep.”

Her throat tightened. “Of course I did.”

“You said you love them both.”

She dropped her head into her hands. “Stars, I’m a mess.”

“That’s not news.”

They both laughed, but it faded quickly.

Kit’s voice turned more serious. “You trust the Chancellor. But you fear him.”

“I do,” she whispered. “More than anything.”

Before Kit could respond, another voice echoed softly from behind.

“You’re not the only one.”

She turned sharply to see Mace Windu standing a few steps away, arms crossed, his gaze steady but not unkind.

“Didn’t realize this was going to be a group therapy session,” she muttered.

Windu stepped forward. “Kit told me what you said last night. About your fear. Your confusion. Your… feelings for the clones.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered.

“I’m not here to scold you,” Windu said. “But I need to understand. Why do you keep aligning yourself with the Chancellor if you don’t trust him?”

“Because I don’t know what happens if I don’t,” she admitted. “He knows everything about me. He saved me once—or at least made me think he did. I’ve done things for him I can’t take back. And I’m scared if I stop playing the part, he’ll destroy me.”

Kit’s hand rested gently on her back. Windu’s expression softened—not pity, but something close.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Windu said. “We may not know what you are to him, but you’re not just his anymore. You’re part of something else now. The clones trust you. Some of the Jedi trust you. Don’t waste that.”

She met his eyes. “I don’t know how to be anything but what I’ve been.”

“Then start small,” Kit said. “Be honest.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“Most truths are.”

Windu gave a slight nod, then turned to leave.

Before he did, he added, “You’ve still got a choice. Don’t wait until it’s taken from you.”

She sat there for a while after he left, Kit still beside her.

“Truth hurts,” she murmured.

Kit gave a small smile. “So does love.”

⸻

She didn’t take the main lift. Didn’t want to run into anyone. After her talk with Kit and Windu, she was raw—peeling open layers she’d kept tightly shut for years. Now, every footstep echoed like a secret she hadn’t meant to tell.

She was halfway through the lower halls when a voice pulled her to a stop.

“You always run off when things get real?”

She froze.

Rex.

He stepped out of the shadows near the archway, arms crossed, helmet in hand, dressed down in fatigues. No armor. No rank. Just him. And that was the problem.

“I wasn’t running,” she said quietly.

“You never are,” he replied. “You disappear. You lie. You kiss me, then you kiss Cody, then you run again and act like none of it ever happened.”

She turned toward him, lips parted in protest—but he wasn’t done.

“I don’t care about what happened at 79’s,” he said. “Not like that. I care that I don’t know where I stand with you. And I don’t think you know either.”

“That’s not fair—”

“No. What’s not fair is you looking at me like you want to stay, then leaving before I can ask you to.”

She looked away. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“I know,” Rex said, stepping closer. “But you’ve got it. All of it. You have me. And Cody. And the damn Jedi Council watching your every move. And that kid you saved, even if he’s gone now. You’ve got hearts in your hands, and you’re squeezing them like you don’t realize they’re breakable.”

She flinched.

“You don’t get to keep pushing us away and pulling us close when it suits you,” he added, softer this time. “Pick something. Anyone. Or don’t. Just stop pretending it doesn’t mean something.”

The silence settled between them, heavy and sharp.

“I’m trying,” she finally whispered. “I’m not used to being wanted. Not like this. I don’t know what to do with it.”

Rex stepped closer. Close enough she could feel the heat from him, the frustration in the way he held his jaw so tight.

“Start by not lying,” he said. “To me. To Cody. To yourself.”

She met his eyes. “If I tell you I’m scared of what happens if I choose one of you…?”

“I’d say you’re human.”

“What if I choose wrong?”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you already know who it is,” he said, and for once, he didn’t say anything more. Didn’t push. Just looked at her like he was waiting for her to catch up.

She blinked, her mouth opening to speak—but footsteps echoed behind them.

Cody.

He stepped into the corridor, freezing at the sight of them. His eyes flicked between them, jaw tightening just a fraction.

Rex didn’t move.

Neither did she.

“You two done?” Cody asked coolly.

“Not even close,” Rex said.

Cody’s gaze locked with hers. “Then maybe it’s time I had a turn.”

The hallway felt too small for the weight in the air.

She looked between them—Rex, steady and wounded, and Cody, cold and unreadable, his arms crossed like a shield.

Cody broke the silence first.

“So,” he said, voice low. “What’s your excuse this time?”

“Cody—” she started.

“No, really. I want to know. You ran off, again. Lied to the Jedi Council. Lied to us. And you show back up at 79’s like nothing happened.” His tone was calm, but there was something brittle underneath. “So what is it this time?”

She exhaled, stepping forward. “I didn’t know what else to do. I had to protect that kid. And if I told anyone—even you—it would’ve put him in more danger.”

“You think I wouldn’t have protected him?” Cody asked, hurt flashing behind his eyes. “You think we wouldn’t have helped you?”

“I couldn’t risk it.”

“You didn’t trust us.”

“I didn’t trust anyone.”

That landed heavier than she expected.

Rex shifted, jaw clenched. “She didn’t even answer my comms, Cody. Not once.”

“I know.”

The silence swelled again—until she took a step closer to both of them.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were small, but real. Fragile, like they might shatter if she tried to backtrack.

Cody’s posture eased, just slightly. “We’re not looking for perfect,” he said quietly. “We’re just tired of being temporary.”

Her heart cracked open—again.

And then—

“Well isn’t this cozy.”

Quinlan Vos strolled around the corner like he was walking into a lounge instead of an emotional standoff.

“Oh great,” Cody muttered under his breath.

Right behind Quinlan came Kenobi, hands folded in front of him like he hadn’t just walked in on the messiest love triangle in the Temple.

“I sensed tension,” Kenobi said lightly. “But I wasn’t expecting it to be this personal.”

“Obi-Wan,” she said with a groan, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This really isn’t your kind of conversation.”

“And yet here I am,” he replied smoothly.

Quinlan leaned against the wall, eyes dancing with mischief. “So who’s it gonna be? Helmet One or Helmet Two?”

Rex looked like he was about to start throwing punches.

Cody sighed. “I will actually kill you, Vos.”

Vos raised his hands. “Hey, no need for violence. Unless it’s a duel for affection. In which case, I’ve got credits on the shiny one.”

“I swear to the stars—” she started.

Kenobi held up a hand, stepping between them. “Enough. We’re not here for… whatever this is. The Council requested an update on the three of you. We came to ensure you’re not tearing each other apart.”

Quinlan smirked. “Looks like she’s doing the emotional tearing, Obi.”

“Quinlan.”

“Alright, alright,” Vos said, grinning as he backed away. “But if someone gets stabbed over this? I better be invited.”

“Out,” she said, pointing. “Both of you.”

Kenobi gave a soft chuckle and turned to leave, but not before glancing over his shoulder.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, tone more serious now, “sometimes the hardest thing isn’t choosing between two people—it’s choosing yourself. Just don’t take too long. Wars don’t wait for hearts to decide.”

And with that, he disappeared down the corridor, dragging Quinlan along with him like an annoying older brother babysitting a younger one hopped up on spice.

The hallway fell quiet again.

Cody looked at her.

Rex didn’t move.

She let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know how to choose.”

“You don’t have to right now,” Cody said, stepping closer. “But stop pretending we don’t matter to you.”

“You do,” she whispered. “You both do.”

Rex finally spoke. “Then stop running.”

⸻

The air in her apartment was too still.

It felt wrong, being somewhere safe. Somewhere silent. Somewhere without the constant hum of danger or the weight of another lie slung over her shoulders like armor.

She sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, the lights dimmed.

A glass of something strong sat untouched on the nearby table.

Her thoughts weren’t on Rex. Or Cody. Not really. Not even on the awkward, lingering heat of Kit Fisto’s presence that still clung to the corners of her memory like steam on glass.

They kept drifting—to the kid.

To the boy with the too-serious eyes and the hands that fidgeted when he thought she wasn’t looking. Who had followed her across half the galaxy, trusting her with a kind of blind faith she didn’t think she deserved.

To the one she couldn’t kill.

To the one she’d almost raised.

She could still hear his voice, the way he’d called her “boss” like it was a title and a joke all in one. The way he looked when they’d watched the suns set over Kashyyyk, his feet dangling off a root bridge too high for a child to be comfortable on.

“Why do people kill people like me?” he’d asked once.

She didn’t answer then.

She didn’t have an answer now.

She rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of every choice she’d made—every body she’d stepped over, every path she’d walked blindly, every whispered promise to herself that she could control this, steer it, fix it.

And now the boy was back in Republic custody.

Safer, maybe.

But she didn’t believe that—not really.

Palpatine had plans again. She could feel it. The shadows were curling inward, and she knew enough to know his approval was just another kind of leash.

Maybe Windu was right to be wary.

Maybe Kit was a fool for softening.

Maybe she’d always been a weapon. Just one that had gone a little bit rogue.

She stood up, slowly. Restless.

The floor was cold under her feet.

She wandered to the window. Coruscant glowed like a promise she never believed in.

And still… her hand went to her chest, fingers brushing the chain she wore. The one the boy had made her. Twisted wire and beads and a piece of scrap metal etched with a crude smiley face.

He’d given it to her after their first week on the farm.

“For luck,” he’d said.

She should have thrown it away. Burned it.

But she never did.

And as the lights of the city blinked in rhythm with her quiet regret, she found herself whispering into the night.

“I hope they’re being kind to you, kid.”

She wasn’t sure if she was talking to him… or to the ghosts that never stopped following her.

⸻

The transmission came through at dawn. She hadn’t slept.

Palpatine’s voice was calm, syrupy sweet as always. “There’s a matter requiring your unique talents,” he said. “You’ll rendezvous with General Skywalker and his battalion. Details will follow.”

No time to think. No time to refuse.

So she didn’t.

⸻

The hangar was already buzzing when she arrived, helmet under her arm, armor pieced together hastily, mismatched from past missions. The 501st was preparing for deployment, their blue-striped armor shining like blades in the rising sun.

She caught Rex’s gaze across the room. He looked tired. He always did lately.

Anakin stood with a datapad, barking orders. Ahsoka stood near him, arms crossed, lekku twitching with unease the moment the reader approached.

“You’re late,” Skywalker said without looking up.

“I’m here,” she replied coolly.

“Then suit up and get ready. We leave in ten.”

She moved to prep her gear, but Ahsoka intercepted her with a tone too casual to be friendly. “Still working for the Chancellor, huh?”

The reader didn’t answer, just gave her a sideways glance and kept walking.

“I mean,” Ahsoka continued, following, “after everything that’s happened—you being gone, the Jedi Council questioning your motives, Palpatine conveniently keeping you around while trusting no one else. Doesn’t any of that seem off to you?”

The reader paused, slowly turning toward her. Her voice was quiet, but heavy. “You think I don’t ask myself the same questions?”

“Then maybe it’s time you stop pretending you’re above all of this,” Ahsoka snapped. “You play all sides. You lie. You vanish. And now you’re back like nothing happened.”

The reader took a step forward, gaze locked on the younger woman. “You think I want this? You think this is a game to me? You were raised in this war. Trained for it. You have people who believe in you, a name that means something. I was bought. I was used. You want to give me a reality check, kid? I live in it.”

Ahsoka blinked, momentarily stunned.

“You’re lucky,” the reader added. “You still think there’s a clean side to stand on.”

With that, she brushed past Ahsoka and made her way toward the LAAT gunship.

Rex was already inside, waiting.

She sat across from him, eyes closed, palms resting on her knees as if trying to keep her heart from falling out of her chest.

“You alright?” he asked after a while.

“No,” she said honestly.

He nodded like that answer made perfect sense. Like he wasn’t alright either.

The gunship lifted. The world blurred outside.

Another mission. Another role to play.

But this time, the pawn wasn’t so willing. And she was starting to learn how to bite.

⸻

The LAAT rocked hard as it breached atmosphere, the roar of wind and engines loud enough to drown out thoughts, fears—names she couldn’t stop saying in her head. Cody. Rex. The kid.

But beside her, General Skywalker sat unfazed, legs spread, arms braced loosely on his knees, like he was born for turbulence. He glanced at her mid-bounce and smirked.

“Bet you missed this,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the rumble.

She scoffed, tucking a few loose strands of hair under her helmet. “Missed being shot at? Only thing I miss more is spice mines and low-rent bounty gigs.”

Anakin grinned. “See? I knew you were fun.”

And to her own surprise… she laughed.

He didn’t ask where she’d been, didn’t pry about the Chancellor, didn’t even hint at what everyone else couldn’t shut up about. Just treated her like a soldier. Like a comrade.

When they hit the ground—dust choking the air, blaster fire already echoing in the distance—he took point without hesitation. She fell in beside him, blasters drawn, movements fluid, practiced. They didn’t need to speak to understand one another.

Flank, move, clear. He gave hand signals, and she followed instinctively. His saber lit up the smoke like a beacon, cutting through battle droids as easily as breath.

They moved through a warzone like ghosts—an unlikely but effective pair. She covered his blind spots, he powered through hers. The 501st swept behind them like a blue tide, and for the first time in months, she felt something almost like useful again.

At the edge of the battlefield, they ducked behind a crumbling wall to regroup.

Anakin exhaled. “You know, I get it,” he said suddenly.

She looked at him, brow furrowed under her helmet.

“Running. Hiding. Playing a part so big you forget who you actually are underneath it.”

A long pause. She stared out over the smoke-covered field, unsure of how to respond.

“You ever think about leaving it all behind?” he asked. “Just… disappearing?”

She glanced over at him, lips twitching. “I did disappear.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling. “Yeah. But not the way you wanted to.”

She didn’t respond, but the truth of it burned behind her ribs.

A voice came crackling through comms—Rex, coordinating the rear line. The reader’s pulse skipped without reason. She forced herself to focus.

“Let’s go,” Anakin said, pushing up from cover and drawing his saber again. “Back to the chaos.”

She followed, silently grateful for the moment.

He hadn’t asked about Cody. Or Rex. Or the kid.

He hadn’t made her explain herself.

And for now, that made him the easiest person in the galaxy to be around.

⸻

The adrenaline was still thrumming in her blood as she pulled off her helmet and leaned against a sun-scorched wall. The air smelled like ash and ion discharge, and her armor was coated in dust and dried blood—not all of it hers.

She barely had a second to exhale before Ahsoka appeared like a shadow in the corner of her eye.

“You’re not going to disappear again, are you?” Ahsoka asked flatly.

The reader blinked, slow and tired. “Not planning on it.”

Ahsoka folded her arms, her lekku twitching ever so slightly. “I don’t get it. You show up, cause chaos—emotionally and otherwise—leave, then come back like nothing happened.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“No,” Ahsoka agreed, “but you owe someone one. Cody? Rex? The Council? The Chancellor? You burned every side of the board and expect to keep playing the game.”

The reader narrowed her eyes, pushing off the wall. “I don’t expect anything.”

“I can’t tell if you’re loyal or just really good at pretending.”

Before she could snap something cutting back, a calm voice intervened behind them.

“That’s enough, Snips.”

Anakin strode into view, hands on his belt, expression unreadable. Ahsoka glanced between the two of them, jaw tight, but ultimately nodded and walked off with a muttered, “Fine. But she’s not off the hook.”

Once she was gone, the reader exhaled through her nose. “She’s got a mean right hook. Bet she’s even worse when she’s got words.”

“She’s protective,” Anakin said with a shrug. “But she’s not wrong. Just… a little blunt.”

They stood in silence for a while, watching the twilight settle in soft purples and oranges across the broken landscape. She looked over at him, surprised to see him still there, just… waiting.

“No lecture?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“No cryptic Jedi wisdom?”

“I’m fresh out,” he said with a smirk. “You want some unsolicited advice instead?”

She gave him a dry look. “Why not. Go for it.”

Anakin leaned against the same wall she had been using as support. “You’re a mess.”

“Thanks.”

“But so is everyone. That’s the secret no one talks about. We’re all running on fumes, bad decisions, and half-formed ideas of what we think is right.”

She let out a breath of a laugh. “And here I thought you Jedi were supposed to be the poster boy of moral certainty.”

He shrugged. “Not me. Never was.”

Silence again. This time, more comfortable.

“I liked fighting with you today,” she admitted, surprising herself more than him.

He smiled. “I like fighting with you too.”

She studied his profile. “You’re not like the others.”

“That’s probably both a compliment and an insult.”

“Take it however you want.”

They both chuckled softly.

“Thanks for not asking about the Chancellor. Or the others. Or—”

“You don’t have to talk about it unless you want to,” Anakin said simply. “Not with me.”

She looked down at her hands, cut up and shaking slightly. “I don’t even know what I’d say.”

“Then don’t say anything yet,” he said. “Just… be here. For once.”

Her chest ached at the simplicity of it. She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

And for a moment, just a moment, she was someone without secrets.

⸻

Prev Chapter | Next Chapter

“Crossfire” pt.5

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

The glow of neon signs cut jagged shadows into her face as she pushed open the doors to 79’s. The music hit like a punch to the chest—thick, thrumming, alive. She hadn’t meant to end up here.

But when she’d gotten off the transport, alone and empty-handed, with the kid now a ‘Republic asset’ and Palpatine’s cold praise still ringing in her ears, this was the only place her feet knew how to take her.

The clone bar was alive with movement and noise, filled with off-duty troopers trying to forget the war for a few short hours. They laughed, danced, drank like their lives depended on it.

She just wanted to disappear into it all.

The bartender handed her something neon and stupid. She drank it fast, then another. And another. The buzz settled in her limbs like comfort. Like numbness.

He was just a kid. Force-sensitive, and full of light. And I handed him over to Palpatine.

She tried not to think about it. So she drank more.

And then—they walked in.

She saw them before they saw her. Cody, in civvies but still too clean-cut, golden-brown eyes scanning the room like he couldn’t turn off the commander inside him. And Rex, just a few steps behind, his shoulders broad, jaw tight, wearing the weight of command like a second skin.

She blinked slowly, trying to decide if this was real or just the alcohol playing tricks.

It was real.

They saw her. Stopped short. Eyes locked.

And then they came to her—Cody first, Rex just behind.

“You’re alive,” Cody said, voice low, controlled, but his gaze moved across her face like he was checking for wounds.

They were both staring. They weren’t angry—not really. They were trying to hide the storm of questions behind their eyes. She didn’t owe them anything. But that didn’t stop the guilt from slinking down her spine.

“So…” She lifted her drink lazily. “What brings the Republic’s golden boys here tonight? Hoping to find someone to help you forget how screwed everything is?”

“You were gone for months,” Rex said quietly. “And you didn’t answer a single comm.”

Cody added, “You could’ve told us you were alive.”

She glanced between them. “Why? So you two could fight over who gets to scold me first?”

That stung. She saw it in Cody’s jaw, the twitch in Rex’s brow. She hadn’t meant it. Or maybe she had.

The music shifted to something slower, darker. The kind of song that made people sway too close.

Cody surprised her by offering a hand. “Dance with me.”

She laughed, bitter. “Feeling sentimental, Commander?”

He didn’t smile. Just held out his hand again.

She took it.

On the dance floor, Cody kept one hand steady on her hip, the other barely brushing her back. He was tense—like he didn’t trust himself. She moved closer, body brushing his. Just enough to test him.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers.

“You like trouble,” she shot back.

He kissed her.

It wasn’t rough or desperate. It was slow—cautious. Like he’d waited too long and didn’t want to screw it up. She kissed him back, lips brushing his softly, dangerously, until someone bumped into them and she stumbled, heart suddenly pounding.

She pulled away. “I need air.”

She didn’t look back as she weaved through the crowd and pushed out into the alley.

The night air was damp. She pressed her back against the wall, tilted her head up, breathing hard. The buzz in her chest had turned sharp now. Fractured.

“What was that about?” a voice asked behind her.

She turned.

Rex.

Of course.

He stood in the mouth of the alley, arms crossed, eyes dark.

“Jealous?” she asked, half-laughing, half-daring him to admit it.

He stepped closer. “You shouldn’t play with him.”

Her smirk faded. “I’m not playing.”

“You kissed him. After months of silence, you show up drunk and just—”

“What, you mad I didn’t kiss you first?”

He didn’t flinch. “You’re not okay.”

Something cracked in her.

“I’m trying,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to do any of this. The war, the kid, you. I never signed up for this mess.”

They stared at each other in the quiet.

Then Rex crossed the space in three strides and kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. It was fire. Frustration. Longing. Everything unsaid between them. She clutched his shirt, fingers tangled in the fabric. When he pulled away, his breath was ragged.

“I’ve been thinking about you every damn day,” he said.

Her heart slammed in her chest. “Then why didn’t you come find me?”

“Because I didn’t want to find you dead.”

The words dropped like lead.

She stepped back, swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to hurt either of you.”

“You still did.”

She nodded. “I know.”

He left her standing there, alone in the alley, unsure which kiss she regretted more—and which one she wanted again.

⸻

“You kissed her?” Cody’s voice cut the dark like a vibroblade.

Rex didn’t even flinch. “You did too.”

Cody let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. I did. Because I’ve been worrying about her for months. Because I thought she might be dead. Because when I saw her again, I felt like I could finally breathe.”

“She kissed me back.”

“She kissed me back, too,” Cody snapped. “You think this is some kind of pissing contest?”

Rex stepped forward, voice lower now, rawer. “No. I think it’s too late for either of us to play noble.”

There was a pause—long and quiet. Neither of them looked at the other.

“She doesn’t belong to us,” Cody said, jaw clenched.

“No,” Rex agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want her to.”

Cody nodded slowly. “Then we’re both idiots.”

“Yeah,” Rex muttered. “But we’re in it now.”

Silence.

They didn’t say anything else. They couldn’t. There was no answer—no right move. Only damage done and more to come.

⸻

Her head was trying to kill her.

It had to be.

The pounding behind her eyes felt like someone had set off a thermal detonator inside her skull, and her mouth was dry enough to make Tatooine jealous. She rolled over, groaning, pulling the blanket over her face.

And then she noticed it.

Breathing.

Not hers.

She froze.

Lifted the blanket.

And there—laying on top of the covers, one arm behind his head, the other holding a data pad, perfectly at ease—was Kit Fisto.

She bolted upright with a groan, clutching her temples. “Please tell me we didn’t…”

Kit set the datapad aside. “No. You were very vocal about not wanting anyone in your bed unless it was Commander Cody or Captain Rex.” He smirked, just slightly. “You said, and I quote, ‘If I can’t have both, I don’t want either. But I do want both.’”

Kit’s lips pulled into a serene grin. “You passed out the first time halfway through crying about your crops.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I found you stumbling through the lower levels, completely smashed,” he said, voice maddeningly calm. “I walked you home. You insisted I stay because the ‘walls were conspiring against you’ and also because you thought I was ‘probably the only Jedi who doesn’t want to vivisect you.’”

“…Sounds about right,” she muttered.

“You also tried to get me to do a dramatic reading of your bounty logs.”

She groaned again. “Kill me.”

“I would’ve, but then you started crying again.”

“Okay!” She threw the blanket off and swung her legs over the bed. “Thank you for your public service, Master Fisto. You may go now.”

Kit rose with Jedi smoothness, unfazed. “You told me you trusted me, last night.”

She paused.

“And you said you didn’t know if you trusted the others anymore. Not even yourself.”

That sat in the room for a beat too long.

She turned to look at him, eyes bloodshot but suddenly sober. “Did I say why?”

He shook his head. “No. You fell asleep on the floor halfway through telling me about a defective hydrospanner.”

She let out a weak laugh.

Kit stepped toward her, not close, but close enough to offer peace.

“I don’t think you’re the enemy,” he said softly. “But I do think you’re lost. And I think you’re trying to keep the war from turning you into something else.”

She stared at him, the noise of last night crashing down like static. Rex. Cody. The kid. Palpatine. The Council.

Kit stood and poured her a glass of water. “You cried. You yelled. You kissed one of the clones on a dance floor and kissed the other in an alley. And then you tried to fight a waitress because she wouldn’t give you more shots.”

Everything was bleeding together.

“Why didn’t you just leave me in the gutter where I belonged?”

“Because, despite my early concerns, I don’t think you belong in a gutter.”

She sipped the water. “I’m sorry.”

He gave her a nod. “I’ll leave you to sleep it off. But… maybe don’t wait too long to talk to the people you care about. This mess? It only gets worse if you let it rot.”

“I should’ve stayed gone,” she whispered.

Kit didn’t argue. He just nodded once and said, “But you didn’t.”

And then he left.

Leaving her alone in the echo of too many choices—and a very, very bad hangover.

⸻

Silence took over the apartment, broken only by the kettle still screaming on the stove. She didn’t move. Just stared at the ceiling. The weight of the night was heavy. The confusion heavier. Every memory came in splinters—Rex’s hand on her waist, Cody’s voice in her ear, the heat of lips, the taste of regret.

A knock at the door pulled her from the spiral.

She froze.

It knocked again. Three times. Familiar.

She crossed to the door and opened it slowly.

Rex stood there, hands in the pockets of his civvies. No armor. No helmet. Just tired eyes and a quiet storm in his chest.

“…Hey,” she rasped, voice still ruined from alcohol and heartbreak.

He gave her a once-over. “You look like hell.”

“Feel worse.” She stepped aside without another word.

He walked in slowly. Glanced around like he was expecting someone else. “You alone?”

“Kit Fisto left an hour ago. He was just being decent.” She watched his jaw twitch. “Nothing happened.”

He didn’t look at her. Just stared at the empty bottle on the counter. “Everyone’s talking.”

“I know.”

He finally turned. “You kissed me.”

She swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Then you kissed Cody.”

“…Yeah.”

He took a breath, like he’d been holding it for too long. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I didn’t plan to.”

He looked at her then—really looked at her. Like he was searching for something beneath the haze and the jokes and the armor she wore.

“What do you want?” he asked.

She looked down. “I don’t know.”

“You can’t keep hurting us while you figure it out.”

“I’m not trying to,” she whispered.

“Then stop running.”

Silence.

She didn’t know what to say. Not yet.

Rex turned to leave.

But at the door, he paused. “When you figure it out… when you really know—come find me. If it’s not me, I’ll live. But don’t kiss me again unless you’re sure.”

Then he left.

And for the first time in months, she didn’t want to run.

She wanted to stay. And clean the pieces she’d scattered.

⸻

Whispers traveled fast in the Temple.

Faster than transports.

Faster than truth.

By the time Master Kit Fisto stepped into the Council chambers, most of the senior Jedi were already seated—and they were looking at him with measured, expectant expressions.

Even Master Yoda’s ears twitched a little too knowingly.

Mace Windu’s stare was sharp as a lightsaber. “We’ve heard some… interesting accounts of your whereabouts last night.”

Kit didn’t blink. “Then I assume you already know I spent the evening ensuring a very drunk bounty hunter didn’t choke on her own regrets.”

Murmurs among the Masters. Ki-Adi-Mundi’s brow furrowed. “This isn’t the first time she’s been seen involving herself with members of the Republic.”

Luminara’s tone was clipped. “Nor the first time she’s manipulated proximity for influence.”

Obi-Wan folded his arms, but said nothing.

“She didn’t manipulate anything,” Kit said evenly. “She confided in me. The kind of honesty we’ve been demanding from her.”

Mace tilted his head. “And?”

Kit looked at him directly. “She’s in love with both of them—Commander Cody and Captain Rex. But that’s not what concerns her most.”

Now Obi-Wan stirred. “Go on.”

Kit’s voice was low. “She’s terrified of the Chancellor.”

Yoda’s ears perked. “Hmmm. Afraid, she is?”

“She didn’t say it directly. But I could hear it. She’s afraid of what she knows… and what he might do if she doesn’t play along.”

“That doesn’t mean she isn’t dangerous,” Ki-Adi-Mundi warned.

“It means she’s been alone in the middle of a political war, with no clear side to stand on,” Kit replied firmly. “We sent her into the shadows and now condemn her for adapting to them.”

“She took a child from a warzone,” Luminara said. “Lied about how she got him. Hid from the Republic.”

“Because she was ordered to,” Kit said, sharper now. “And when that order changed—to something unthinkable—she defied it. She saved him.”

Silence followed that.

Windu was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Do you believe her loyalty lies with us?”

Kit hesitated. Then nodded. “I believe her loyalty lies with the people she cares about. And right now… that includes two of our most trusted commanders and Captains.”

Obi-Wan finally spoke. “The Chancellor won’t like this.”

“No,” Windu agreed, standing. “But he doesn’t get to dictate how we perceive loyalty. Or love.”

Yoda’s voice, gentle but sure, followed: “The dark side clouds much. But clearer, the truth becomes. Watch her, we will. But trust her, we must begin to consider.”

Kit bowed his head. “Thank you.”

As the Council slowly began to adjourn, Windu approached him quietly.

“You’ve changed your mind about her.”

“I have,” Kit admitted. “Because I stopped looking at her record… and started listening to her heart.”

Windu nodded once. “We’ll see if that heart leads her back to us—or away for good.”

⸻

She had just finished showering off the night—physically, anyway. The emotional fog still clung like smoke in her lungs. Her clothes were clean, the kettle quiet, and the apartment smelled faintly of burned caf.

When the knock came again, softer this time, she already knew who it was.

She opened the door, and there stood Commander Cody. Arms crossed. Still in his armor minus the helmet. His posture was less “soldier on a mission” and more “man at the edge of patience.”

He gave her a once-over. “You look better.”

She gave a tired smile. “You should’ve seen me this morning.”

“I did. In the alley.”

That shut her up.

He stepped inside, letting the door hiss shut behind him. He didn’t bother walking further in—just stood there, facing her like she was on trial. And in a way, she was.

“You kissed me,” he said flatly.

“I did.”

“You kissed Rex.”

She nodded. “I know.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Do you want us to fight over you?”

“No.” Her voice cracked like old glass. “Never.”

Cody tilted his head. “Then what are you doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” He stepped forward. His tone was low—not angry, not accusing—just tired and honest. “You know exactly what you’re doing. You run when it gets too real. You lie when someone gets too close. You play both sides of everything so no one ever gets close enough to hurt you.”

She looked away.

“I don’t care who you choose,” he said, voice gentler now. “Rex, me, no one. I care that you keep lying. You keep manipulating people. You keep running. You say you care about us, but you treat us like we’re temporary. Like we’ll disappear the second things get hard.”

She stepped back, eyes welling up. “I’m trying, Cody. I didn’t mean for it to get this complicated.”

“Everything gets complicated with you.” He uncrossed his arms. “And I can handle complicated. But I won’t be your second choice. And neither will Rex.”

Silence.

Her throat was raw. “You’re not a second choice. You’re… you’re Cody.”

“Then stop treating me like a backup plan.”

That cut deeper than she expected.

He moved toward the door, then paused.

“For what it’s worth… I don’t regret kissing you. I’ve wanted to for a long time. But if it’s not real—don’t do it again.”

The door opened.

“Cody.”

He stopped.

“I’m scared.”

“I know,” he said softly, not turning around. “So am I. But we don’t get to use that as an excuse forever.”

Then he was gone.

And she stood there, in her too-clean apartment, surrounded by silence and the scent of burned caf, wishing she could burn away the shame just as easily.

Prev part | Next Part

“Crossfire” pt.3

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

You weren’t supposed to be in the clones barracks.

But you rarely went where you were supposed to.

The corridors were quiet, the hum of the ventilation system steady in your ears. Most of the troopers were off-duty or deployed, leaving the barracks feeling like a ghost shell of itself. You moved like you belonged—fluid, confident, precise. The kind of presence that drew attention and made others question their instincts.

Then—

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The voice stopped you mid-step.

Commander Cody stood in the hallway, brow furrowed, arms crossed. His armor was half-off—pauldrons gone, chest plate open, undersuit exposed to the dim light. He looked tired. Suspicious.

And maddeningly attractive.

You offered him your best smile. “Missed the smell of plastoid and repressed emotions.”

Cody didn’t laugh. He didn’t blink. “Answer the question.”

“I came to see a friend.”

“Name.”

You stepped closer, eyes gleaming. “Commander Cody.”

Cody’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t move. “You vanished. No comms. No explanation.”

“And yet here I am,” you whispered, voice lower now. “Alive. Still on the right side… mostly.”

He stared you down. “You don’t belong in this sector.”

“You gonna arrest me?” you asked, chin tilted up, a faint challenge in your tone.

“I should.”

“But you won’t.”

Silence. Charged and heavy.

He looked at you then—really looked. Not as a mission asset or potential threat. Just… you.

You took a step closer, reaching out and brushing your fingers against the edge of his unarmored shoulder. “You gonna keep pretending you don’t like when I do this?”

He didn’t stop you. Didn’t move.

But he didn’t answer either.

And that said more than enough. You pulled your hand away from Cody slowly, leaving a ghost of heat behind.

“Still pretending?” you asked.

He didn’t answer.

But when you turned to leave, his voice stopped you again.

“Don’t make me choose between you and the Republic.”

You paused.

Then, without looking back: “You might have to.”

⸻

Meanwhile – Jedi Temple, Council Chambers

Master Kit Fisto stood in the center of the room, arms folded behind his back, expression solemn. “She’s not just reckless. She’s evasive. Deceptive. She’s manipulating soldiers. Getting close in ways that compromise their judgment.”

Mace Windu’s eyes were cold steel. “I’ve seen the reports. She shouldn’t have been on Teth in the first place. And then she vanishes with a Force-sensitive child?”

Yoda hummed, tapping his cane. “Proof, you lack. The Chancellor’s word, she has.”

Kit pressed forward. “I watched her outside 79’s. The way she moved. The way she spoke to the clones. She’s not interested in loyalty. She’s interested in influence.”

Obi-Wan, leaning forward, tapped the table gently. “I won’t pretend she isn’t… complicated. But she’s fought beside us. Risked her life for the Republic. There’s more to her than subterfuge.”

“She’s dangerous,” Mace said firmly. “And she has access to our inner circles through the Chancellor. That makes her a risk.”

“Or a tool,” Obi-Wan countered. “If used wisely.”

“A tool for who, I wonder,” Kit muttered.

Yoda’s eyes narrowed, deep in thought.

“The Chancellor’s friend, she is,” he murmured. “But in shadows, much hides. Watch her, we must.”

⸻

The smell of caf hung heavy in the air. Trays clattered, boots thudded, and clone chatter rose in a dull, tired murmur. The war never stopped—but moments like this made it feel like it slowed.

Rex sat at the edge of a table, arms crossed, a half-eaten ration bar forgotten on his tray.

Across from him, Kix, Fives, Jesse, and Tup were deep in a low conversation, and even though they weren’t exactly trying to hide it, the minute Kix glanced Rex’s way, the silence tightened.

He noticed.

“What?” Rex asked flatly, his tone already edged.

Kix looked reluctant. Jesse grimaced. Fives looked entirely too pleased with himself.

Tup leaned forward and said it bluntly: “She was here last night. Sector C-9.”

Rex’s spine straightened. “What?”

“Commander Cody’s floor,” Kix clarified, stirring his caf. “No clearance. No escort. Just… strolled in.”

“Unannounced,” Jesse added, a bit more cautiously. “Didn’t cause trouble, but still. It’s odd.”

“She’s got a pattern,” Tup said. “Getting close to officers. Playing coy. Smiling at everyone like she knows a secret.”

Fives grinned. “I’d let her manipulate me.”

“Of course you would,” Kix muttered.

“She’s a distraction,” Tup continued. “And a dangerous one. What’s she even doing here again? She’s not military.”

“She’s useful,” Jesse countered. “She’s worked with us before. She gets results.”

“She disappears without a trace and comes back with clearance from the Chancellor,” Kix said quietly. “No chain of command, no protocol. It’s off.”

Rex didn’t speak for a moment, staring down at his tray like it held answers.

Then, softly: “Where is she now?”

Fives looked up from his drink, smirking. “Why? Planning on asking Cody?”

Rex stood up without another word.

⸻

You were leaning against the rusted edge of a shipping container in the lower levels, checking a concealed blaster’s sight when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Didn’t know I needed a guard dog,” you said without looking. “Let me guess—Cody ratted me out?”

“You were in the barracks,” Rex said.

You turned to face him, expression unreadable. “I was.”

“Why?”

You met his stare. “Why do you care?”

Rex’s jaw clenched. “Because I don’t know what side you’re playing anymore.”

You gave a soft, humorless laugh. “Does it bother you that I was with Cody? Or that you weren’t the one I came to see?”

He didn’t answer.

“That’s what I thought,” you said, stepping closer. “You liked it better when I was gone.”

“I liked it better when I trusted you.”

The space between you was close now. Tense. Alive.

“I never asked for your trust, Captain,” you whispered. “But you gave it. And now you’re scared you’ll have to take it back.”

He stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he stepped back.

“Stay away from my men,” he said, voice low.

You tilted your head. “Or what?”

“You won’t get another warning.”

Then he turned and left.

You watched him go, pulse steady, mask in place—but somewhere beneath it, something twisted just a little tighter.

⸻

Mace Windu stood before a star chart, arms folded, as Kit Fisto entered and closed the door behind him.

“She’s sowing division among the clones,” Kit said without preamble. “I’m hearing it from troopers. Rumors. Questions.”

“Even Skywalker’s men?”

“Especially them.”

Mace nodded grimly. “She’s destabilizing morale.”

“Yoda still thinks she may serve a purpose.”

“He’s wrong,” Mace said. “The Chancellor’s got her in his pocket. She’s not our ally—she’s his spy.”

“And if she’s in the field again?” Kit asked.

Mace’s eyes narrowed.

“We keep watching. And when she slips—we move.”

⸻

The city outside glowed gold with the rising sun, but inside the Chancellor’s office, everything felt cold and deliberate. You stood still as Chancellor Palpatine circled slowly, hands clasped behind his back, voice smooth as silk.

“There’s a mission,” he said. “One only you can be trusted with.”

She didn’t flinch. “Who’s involved?”

“Master Windu. General Kenobi. Their men. You will join them as my personal attache.”

A pause.

“Officially, you’ll be assisting in clearing the last remnants of a Separatist stronghold on Erobus,” he continued. “Unofficially, there are certain… elements beneath the facility I want destroyed without the Jedi ever knowing they existed. Do you understand?”

She nodded once. “And if they suspect me?”

He gave a soft, chilling smile. “Then perhaps it is time they learned to trust my allies. You will prove yourself invaluable.”

She didn’t like it. She rarely did. But she knew better than to argue.

⸻

The dropship roared through Erobus’s dead sky. Wind carried the smoke of a long-dead battlefield. The reader sat apart from the Jedi and the clones, her gaze fixed out the narrow viewport.

General Kenobi was in quiet conversation with Commander Cody. Windu sat in silence, fingers steepled in meditation. The clones around her — the 212th — watched her like she was an animal in a cage. Not openly hostile. Just… unsure.

She didn’t blame them.

“Never thought we’d see you again,” Cody muttered as he walked past her toward the front. “You just have a habit of showing up where things are about to explode?”

She smirked. “And you have a habit of being too pretty for your own good.”

He raised a brow but kept walking.

Windu had acknowledged her presence with a nod. Kenobi had raised a brow, but said nothing. This time, there was no need to pretend. She was here by Palpatine’s orders—but acting as if she belonged among them.

They moved quickly, carving through what little resistance remained. The reader fought without flourish—blasters precise, movement efficient, lethal. She noticed how Windu watched her more than he watched the enemy. Not with distrust. With… calculation.

The mission moved fast. She fought alongside the Jedi and the troopers, not quite one of them, but not an outsider either. Not anymore.

She planted explosives in corridors no one else entered. Disabled systems no one else noticed. And when Windu asked too many questions, she deflected with just enough truth to keep suspicion from blooming.

She was the perfect tool.

When the fighting ended and the skies were silent again, the group began regrouping for departure.

But Windu stayed behind.

She stood at the edge of the rubble, arms crossed, staring at the still-burning wreckage. Windu approached silently, his presence calm and weighted.

“You were too comfortable in there,” Windu said.

She tilted her head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“You knew where to strike. What to look for.”

“And?”

His gaze sharpened. “And you’ve done this before.”

She hesitated.

Then said, “I’ve done a lot of things.”

He studied her. Then, in a voice low and almost too calm: “Why do you work for him? Palpatine?”

She didn’t blink. “Because I’m too afraid not to.”

That stunned him — not because she said it, but because of how honest it was.

“You hesitated,” he said simply.

She glanced at him, unbothered. “I’m always hesitant when explosives are involved.”

She exhaled, the smoke curling from the wreckage catching in the light. “The clones… they trust blindly. They don’t see the game being played around them. They deserve better.”

Windu’s voice was low. “So why play the game?”

She was quiet for a moment, then: “Because I’m not brave enough not to.”

Windu stepped closer. “The Chancellor—does he own your fear?”

She met his eyes, finally lowering her hood. “He owns everyone’s fear. I just know better than to pretend otherwise.”

Silence hung heavy between them.

Then Windu said, “You care about them. The clones.”

“I care about them,” she added quietly. “The clones. Maybe that’s the problem.”

Windu was silent for a long time. “Then maybe you’re not the threat we thought you were.”

“But I still am a threat,” she said, soft and sharp.

He didn’t argue. “So is everyone these days.”

They stood side by side, the flames crackling around them. For the first time, Windu didn’t look at her like she was a threat. He looked at her like someone caught between survival and sacrifice—like he understood.

Finally, he said, “Let’s get back.”

As they walked toward the ship, the reader didn’t look back. But deep down, a new kind of fear was blooming—because for the first time, someone from the Council believed in her.

And she didn’t know how long she could keep surviving if that belief ever turned to betrayal.

⸻

The storm had passed, but the sky was still dark.

Republic shuttles hummed, crates clanged, clone troopers barked orders as the camp disassembled around her. The reader stood near the edge of the landing pad, helmet in one hand, half-listening to the static on her comm.

“Classified orders from the Chancellor.” That’s what the officer had said. “Immediate departure. Debrief in person.”

She should’ve walked straight to the shuttle. But she lingered. And he found her.

Cody.

He walked up slow, arms crossed, boots crunching gravel beneath him. His armor was dusted in ash and plasma scarring. She glanced at him but didn’t speak first.

“I figured you’d disappear again,” he said.

“Still might.”

He nodded. “You always do.”

There was no anger in his tone. Just… tired honesty.

She looked up at him fully then. “You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t know what to trust,” he replied, voice low. “You fight beside us. Then vanish. You show up under the Chancellor’s banner with Jedi clearance and secrets you don’t share.”

“I’m doing what I was asked to do.”

“By him.”

She stepped closer. “If I was working against you, you’d already be dead, Cody.”

He didn’t flinch. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean you’re on our side.”

Silence fell between them, heavy as armor.

“I’m not the enemy,” she said finally.

“No,” Cody said, his eyes locked on hers. “But you’re not really one of us either.”

She looked away first. Her jaw clenched, throat dry. “I didn’t come here to explain myself.”

“Didn’t think you did.”

But as she turned to go, his voice followed her — quieter this time, almost uncertain:

“You care about the men. I see that. But whatever it is you’re caught in… don’t let it destroy you.”

She stopped, just for a second. Looked back over her shoulder, the weight of unspoken words between them.

“Too late,” she said.

Then she walked away, boarding the shuttle bound for Coruscant — bound for the Chancellor.

And Cody stood there long after she was gone.

⸻

The doors hissed shut behind her, sealing out the sounds of the city. Inside, the chamber was dim, silent, and airless—more a tomb than an office.

Chancellor Palpatine stood alone by the wide viewport, hands folded behind his back. The galactic skyline stretched endlessly beyond him, golden and glittering, but he never looked at it. His gaze was fixed far beyond, somewhere the reader couldn’t see.

She approached without speaking. She knew better.

After a long pause, he spoke.

“You completed your task on Erobus.”

“Yes.”

“And General Windu now believes you to be… sincere.”

“More or less.”

He turned to face her, that ever-calm expression carved into something unreadable. His voice stayed velvet-smooth.

“And yet I’m hearing troubling things. From the Temple. From officers in the field. About your behavior.”

Her brow lifted. “My behavior?”

“The clones,” he said simply. “Your… fondness for them. Particularly certain commanders.”

A silence settled between them.

He stepped closer.

“They are tools,” he said, tone soft but cold beneath. “Weapons. Instruments of war. Their purpose is clear. Yours is not.”

She straightened slightly. “I care about them.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “A mistake. One that risks unraveling everything I’ve placed you into position to accomplish.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’ve done enough to sow doubt,” he snapped, his voice a sudden blade. “Among the Jedi. Among the troops. You’re being watched. And unless you want to be removed from this game completely, you will stop.”

He let the silence linger, then added with that familiar, venom-wrapped charm:

“No more flirting. No more attachments. No more secrets from me.”

She met his gaze. “You put me in the middle of this war like I’m a pawn.”

“You’re not a pawn,” he said. “You’re a scalpel. Sharp. Precise. And replaceable, if dulled.”

Her jaw clenched. But she said nothing.

He studied her a moment longer, then turned back to the window.

“You’ll be summoned soon. Another operation. One that cannot afford distraction. Stay focused, my dear. Or next time I will send someone else.”

She left without another word, the cold of the chamber clinging to her bones.

⸻

Sunlight filtered through the vast windows, casting long rays across the silent chamber. The Jedi Council had assembled in full, tension clinging to the space like smoke.

Obi-Wan stood near the center, arms tucked into his robes. Kit Fisto paced with measured steps, green tendrils swaying. Luminary Unduli remained seated but rigid, her eyes dark and sharp. Mace Windu watched all of them, silent but alert.

Chancellor Palpatine stood calmly before them, hands folded, robed in deep crimson. The ever-smiling face of the Republic.

“We have reason to believe she’s gone underground,” Kit said at last, stopping mid-step. “Not just off-world—off-grid. She’s not been seen on Coruscant in days.”

Yoda’s ears lifted slightly. “Certain, are you?”

“She hasn’t reported in to her handler. Even the Chancellor can’t locate her,” Obi-Wan added, glancing at Palpatine.

Palpatine smiled thinly. “She works alone. That’s her strength. She’s unpredictable, yes, but not disloyal.”

“With respect, Chancellor,” Ki-Adi-Mundi interjected, “you yourself said her role was to assist the Jedi and the Senate. If she’s acting without instruction, she may no longer be operating in the Republic’s best interest.”

Palpatine’s smile didn’t falter. “She has always completed her missions. Always served the Republic’s cause—even if her methods were… unconventional.”

“She disappears when it suits her,” Luminary said coolly. “We do not know her true allegiance.”

“Nor her past,” Kit added. “Only that she is dangerous. Charming, yes. Tactical. But too close to too many of our clone officers.”

A silence fell again—this time heavier.

“She has gained the respect of some among us,” Mace finally said. “She confided in me. Her concern for the clones felt genuine.”

“And yet,” Kit said, “she manipulates that very concern to gain access and loyalty. I have seen it.”

Palpatine’s expression darkened slightly. “She has been instrumental in your victories. On Teth. On Erobus. She has risked her life for your cause, and for mine.”

“She serves your purpose, Chancellor,” Luminary said carefully. “But does she serve ours?”

Yoda’s voice cut through the room, quiet and calm. “Much we do not see. Dangerous, it is, to distrust allies too easily. But more dangerous still to trust without clarity.”

Palpatine exhaled slowly, placing his hand over his heart. “When she returns—and she will—you’ll see where her loyalties lie. Until then, I advise patience.”

The Council murmured among themselves. Some nodded. Some frowned. Some, like Kit Fisto and Ki-Adi-Mundi, exchanged long, skeptical glances.

The meeting dissolved soon after, but the air remained heavy with unease.

And somewhere far beyond Coruscant’s towers and temples, the reader moved unseen, far from both Jedi and Chancellor.

⸻

The bar was unusually quiet for a Friday night. Clones leaned against the counter, some still half-dressed from field drills, others fresh from debriefs, beer and synth-whiskey in hand. Laughter echoed in pockets. But the air carried something else too—unease.

Rex sat at a table near the back, helmet on the seat beside him. Cody dropped into the chair opposite, his brow drawn tight. They both had the look of men who’d been chasing shadows.

“She’s not answering her comms,” Rex muttered, swirling the drink in his hand. “Not to me, not to anyone.”

“Chancellor doesn’t know where she is either,” Cody said under his breath. “I checked through back channels. Even her client records went dark.”

Rex leaned back. “This isn’t like her.”

Cody didn’t answer right away. He stared at the tabletop for a beat too long. Then:

“Isn’t it?”

That hit Rex like a shot to the ribs. He sat up straighter. “What are you saying?”

“She’s not one of us, Rex. You know that. She comes and goes. Answers to people we don’t even see. And half the time, she’s in our barracks or our war rooms like she belongs there.”

“She helped us.”

“She also got close to a lot of us. Real close.”

Rex scowled. “You jealous?”

Cody shot him a sharp look. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Jesse dropped into a nearby seat, nursing a bruised jaw and a half-drained bottle. “You two talking about her again?”

“We’re trying to figure out where she is,” Rex said.

“Probably off charming someone new,” Jesse smirked. “Girl like that doesn’t disappear unless she’s got a good reason. Maybe she’s doing something for the Chancellor again.”

“Or for herself,” Cody said darkly.

Fives leaned in from the next table, ever the one to eavesdrop. “I heard she was seen boarding a Separatist freighter.”

“What?” Rex snapped.

“Some civvie transport crew in the outer systems. Said they saw someone matching her description getting on with a kid. Republic IDs, but separatist ship. Weird, right?”

Kix joined them, arms folded. “That’s not all. Some of the 212th are saying she had unrestricted access to classified battle plans. And now she’s vanished. Doesn’t look good.”

“Dangerous woman,” Tup murmured from the side. “Real dangerous. She’s been playing the long game. With us. With the Jedi. Maybe even the Chancellor.”

“She’s not a manipulator,” Rex growled. “She’s not the enemy.”

But his voice wavered for the first time.

Cody looked at him—hard, quiet.

“I want to believe that too, vod. But she didn’t just disappear. She chose to.”

A long silence fell over the table.

In the corner, Fives just smirked. “Hot, though. Definitely hot.”

Everyone groaned.

But beneath the laughter, doubt ran deep.

And in the back of Rex’s mind, a seed had been planted. One he couldn’t shake.

⸻

There was a kind of quiet in hyperspace she never got used to.

It wasn’t silence—ships hummed, wires buzzed, engines thrummed low like a heartbeat. But it was a strange, hollow quiet. The kind that filled the space behind your ribs when you were running from something, but didn’t know what yet.

She leaned back in the pilot’s seat, one leg propped on the console, the other jittering restlessly beneath her. The co-pilot’s chair beside her was tilted back, a blanket bunched across it, and a sleeping kid tucked beneath it—her “asset,” according to the encrypted file the Chancellor had burned into her comms a month ago.

Force-sensitive. About eight. Big eyes. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that made her nervous.

She hadn’t given him a name. He hadn’t offered one.

He just followed her like a shadow, never crying, never resisting. He watched her like he was trying to memorize her—every twitch of her fingers, every sigh she let slip when she thought he wasn’t listening. Sometimes, she felt like he was the one babysitting her.

It should’ve made her skin crawl. Instead, it just… got under it. Slipped in sideways. Left a permanent chill.

She was supposed to wait for new instructions. No contact. No Republic. Not even the Chancellor wanted her sending outbound transmissions.

“Too risky,” he’d said. “Stay buried. Until I call for you.”

That was fine.

She didn’t want to hear from him. Not after what he’d made her do.

So she flew. Drifted between systems, one jump ahead of suspicion. Took the kid to Felucia—quiet jungles, strange colors. Then to Naboo. Then to Kashyyyk. The Wookiees didn’t talk much, and when they did, they didn’t ask questions. She liked that.

The kid liked it too.

He smiled when the wind hit his face, laughed when the vines swung low enough for him to climb. He meditated with the elders under the great trees, palms flat, eyes closed, lips moving in languages he didn’t know.

She didn’t know what to do with him.

She could fight men twice her size, break into a warship, and disappear from Coruscant’s grid in under five minutes—but kids?

Force-sensitive, fragile, unpredictable kids?

Not her forte.

Still, she bought him warm food when he was hungry. Sat with him when the nights were too loud. Pulled the blanket up over him when he nodded off mid-jump.

And he… trusted her.

Gods help him.

And Then.

The transmission came mid-jump. An old code. Buried deep.

She opened it. Expected orders. Coordinates. Updates.

Instead, she got this:

“Terminate the asset.”

Just that.

No signature. No voice message. Just those three words in bloodless text.

She sat still for a long time, the cockpit lights casting pale gold across her features.

No.

Her hand hovered over the console. She could delete it. Pretend she never saw it.

Or… she could do exactly what he said.

She looked at the boy—still sleeping, thumb tucked near his mouth, his little body curled like a comma in the co-pilot’s seat.

He trusted her. Even after everything. Even knowing nothing.

And she—

She didn’t know how to kill him.

She didn’t want to.

Her fingers slowly lowered.

She encrypted the message. Buried it. Then cut off all outbound comms completely. Even the backup ones Palpatine thought she didn’t know he’d installed.

And for the first time since she agreed to this job, she felt something like resolve settle in her chest.

She wasn’t going to kill the kid.

Not for Palpatine. Not for anyone.

She’d disappear again. Go dark. Real dark.

And figure it out on her own.

⸻

Three months later and the smell of dirt never really left her hands.

Didn’t matter how long she scrubbed them, how hot the water was, how much Wookiee soap she used—the scent was baked in now. Like soot after fire. Like blood under your nails.

The kid was currently chasing a flock of half-feral featherbeasts across the field, shrieking with laughter while they squawked and ran in all directions like headless idiots. He’d tied one of her spare bandanas around his head and called himself “The King of Beaks.” She wasn’t sure if it was a game or a cult.

She squinted up at the twin suns and groaned, wiping sweat from her brow with a dirt-stained sleeve.

“This was a mistake.”

The house—if you could call it that—was lopsided and half-sunken into the earth like it had given up on being vertical. The roof leaked when it rained, which was often. The windows were warped. There was a trapdoor in the pantry she hadn’t opened yet because, frankly, she was afraid of what lived down there.

They’d been here for three months.

Three whole, uninterrupted months of staying hidden, staying off-grid, and pretending to be something other than what they were: a wanted merc with blood on her hands, and a stolen Force-sensitive child the Chancellor wanted dead.

The farm had been unoccupied when they arrived. Or rather, she’d made it unoccupied.

The farmer hadn’t been too keen on visitors, and even less keen on handing over his property to a stranger with a shifty smile and a blaster behind her back. But things got violent, as they do. He tried to gut her with a farming tool. She shot him in the throat. It was a short negotiation.

The kid never asked where the farmer went. He just helped her drag the body into the woods and asked if they could keep the loth-cat that came with the barn.

She said yes. It bit her the next day.

She’d done a lot of things in her life.

Assassinations. Espionage. Slicing into blacksite servers, seducing corrupt senators, starting bar fights, finishing wars.

But nothing had prepared her for running a farm.

Nothing.

The equipment was older than some planets she’d been to. The power converters buzzed at night like they were haunted. One of the water tanks screamed every time you flushed the toilet. The crops didn’t grow right, mostly because she forgot to plant them in any kind of order. She tried eating something she thought was edible last week and spent two hours curled up next to the loth-cat vomiting and hallucinating moisture ghosts.

She was not thriving.

But the kid was.

He’d put on weight. Color came back into his cheeks. He laughed now. Asked her questions about the stars. Sat cross-legged on the porch with his eyes closed, humming softly, moving stones with his mind and smiling like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She watched him from the porch sometimes.

And felt something awful bloom behind her ribs.

Attachment, she thought. Stupid.

Later that night, they sat under the stars on the porch steps, sipping warm synth-milk and watching the night bugs dance in the grass.

“You ever think about going back?” he asked, voice soft.

She didn’t look at him.

“Back where?”

He shrugged. “Where people are.”

She sighed, tilting her head back to look at the sky. The stars looked close tonight. Like she could pick one and climb inside it.

“I’ve never been great with people.”

“You like me.”

“…You’re barely people.”

He giggled, and she smirked. Then, after a pause—

“Do you think they’re still looking for us?” he asked.

The smile faded from her lips.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him yes.

That some of them never stopped.

She reached over and ruffled his hair instead. “We’ll be alright.”

For now.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“Crossfire” pt.1

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

⸻

The Outer Rim. A nowhere planet with a forgettable name. A bar that stank of spilled liquor and dreams that died in the dust. The kind of place where no one asked questions and everyone had something to hide.

Perfect.

You stepped through the door, your boots leaving gritty impressions on the warped floorboards. The air inside was thick with smoke, body heat, and the sour scent of desperation. The music was low, sluggish. There was laughter—loud, drunk, desperate—and the unmistakable tension of blasters under tables.

You spotted them before they spotted you.

Kenobi. Clean robes despite the grime. Always did like to pretend he wasn’t in the gutter with the rest of you.

Skywalker. Brooding in the corner like he owned the galaxy.

Ahsoka. Sharp-eyed, too observant.

And then the clones.

Commander Cody, sitting at the bar, looking like he was trying to blend in but failing miserably. That rigid spine was a dead giveaway.

Captain Rex, by the sabacc table, helmet at his side, hand near his belt. He looked right at home in this kind of chaos.

And of course, they hadn’t noticed you yet. Not yet.

Their target sat in a booth at the far end, sweating bullets. A former Seppie bigshot gone rogue, data chip hidden in his belt, secrets worth a fleet. Everyone wanted him.

And you’d been paid a lot to make sure he didn’t leave this dump alive.

So you didn’t hesitate.

One clean shot between the eyes.

The bar froze. Then erupted.

Blasters were drawn, tables flipped, civilians ducked. The rogue Seppie’s lifeless body slumped in the booth as chaos swallowed the room.

You ducked a shot, returned fire, elbowed a low-level bounty hunter in the face (probably the idiot who’d been hired to extract the Seppie), and spun—only to feel the hard press of a stun round hit your shoulder. Your world blinked white.

⸻

You woke up cuffed, sitting across from the same bounty hunter you clocked earlier. He looked pissed, bleeding from his nose.

“You broke it,” he snarled.

“Yeah?” You smirked. “Want me to break the other half for symmetry?”

“Enough,” Cody growled from beside the shuttle door.

You turned your head lazily toward him. “Commander. Still as charming as ever.”

“And you’re still a pain in my shebs,” Rex muttered, arms folded as he leaned against the wall opposite you.

You gave him a wink. “Thought you liked that about me.”

Skywalker wasn’t as amused. “You just jeopardized months of intel.”

Kenobi, to his credit, looked more tired than angry. “Why did you kill him?”

You shrugged. “Because someone paid me to.”

“That’s your only reason?” Ahsoka asked, arms crossed.

“I’m a bounty hunter, kid. What did you expect—moral qualms?”

The shuttle rattled slightly as it took off. You leaned back in your restraints, smirking at the other bounty hunter who was still fuming.

“If you keep glaring at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you like the pain,” you said.

“I’m gonna gut you.”

“You can try. They’ll probably stop you halfway through. Probably.”

⸻

When the shuttle touched down and they dragged you toward the brig, you kept up the banter, kept smiling through it. They threw you into a cell—right across from someone you hadn’t seen in a while.

Cad Bane.

He sat on the cot, arms folded, hat gone. He looked up slowly, red eyes gleaming.

“Well, well. Look who finally got caught.”

You leaned against the bars, grinning. “Still bitter I outshot you on Lothal?”

He gave a dry chuckle. “Nah. Just funny seein’ you in a cage. Guess even you couldn’t run forever.”

“I’m not running,” you said. “Just biding my time.”

Cad raised a brow. “That’s what they all say.”

From behind you, you heard Rex mutter to Cody, “This is going to be a long debrief.”

Cody replied, “We should’ve left her on Taris.”

You smirked. “You missed me, admit it.”

They didn’t answer—but you swore you saw the corner of Cody’s mouth twitch. Rex didn’t look away fast enough.

Yeah.

This wasn’t over.

⸻

The cell was cold. Imperial-grade, sterile, humming with the low sound of energy fields. The kind of place designed to keep people like you in line.

You sat on the bench, arms draped casually over your knees, studying your chipped nails while the other bounty hunter—Dren or Dray, whatever his karking name was—paced like a caged nexu.

He stopped in front of you. “When we get out of here—”

You cut him off without looking up. “You’re going to try to kill me. Yeah, yeah. You’ve said it five times already. Sixth time’s the charm?”

He growled low in his throat.

Cad Bane laughed from his cell. “If he doesn’t do it, I might.”

You smiled sweetly. “Aww, Bane. Missed me that much?”

He smirked. “Not as much as I missed your karkin’ messes.”

Before Dray could lunge, the door hissed open.

Commander Cody stepped in first, helmet off, expression carved from stone. Rex followed close behind, also helmetless, his eyes scanning the room like he expected you to pull a trick just for fun.

And oh, you wanted to.

“Let’s make this simple,” Cody said. “One at a time.”

He gestured to Dray, who sneered at you before being dragged out by two troopers.

⸻

They threw him into the chair, cuffed to the table. Skywalker stood near the door, arms crossed. Ahsoka leaned in the corner. Kenobi took a seat opposite him.

Cody and Rex remained silent but close.

“So,” Kenobi started, polite as ever. “Why were you sent after the separatist?”

Dray spat blood onto the floor. “Someone big. Black Sun, maybe. Zygerrians. Don’t know. Don’t care. I don’t ask.”

“But you were told to bring him back alive,” Ahsoka pressed.

Dray shrugged. “My job. Pretty sure hers was the opposite.” He jerked his chin toward the door.

Skywalker’s brow twitched. “And you didn’t think to stop her?”

“Have you tried stopping her?” Dray barked a bitter laugh. “She doesn’t stop until the job’s done.”

Kenobi exchanged a look with Cody. “And what do you think her goal really is?”

Dray smirked. “Chaos. She lives for it.”

⸻

They didn’t even bother dragging you. You walked.

Rex stayed close. His arm brushed yours once in the hallway. Neither of you said anything, but the contact lingered.

They sat you in the room, uncuffed your hands—but you didn’t miss the stun baton nearby.

Kenobi this time sat across from you. Ahsoka and Skywalker flanked the wall. Cody stood by the door. Rex leaned against the table, arms folded, watching you carefully.

“Who hired you?” Kenobi asked.

You shrugged. “Don’t know. Credits came clean. Dead drop. Professional middle-man.”

“What were your instructions?”

You smirked. “Make sure the Seppie doesn’t leave the bar alive. Job well done, I’d say.”

“You jeopardized months of intelligence,” Skywalker snapped.

You tilted your head, mock-innocent. “Aw. You poor things. Didn’t have a backup plan?”

Rex cut in, voice low. “Why take that job?”

“Because it paid better than babysitting cadets,” you replied, eyes locking with his.

Cody’s jaw tensed. “You knew we’d be there.”

You let the silence stretch.

Kenobi sighed. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

You leaned forward, grin sharp. “I’ve always played dangerous. And the best part? I win.”

Cody stepped closer. “Not this time.”

You looked up at him. The air shifted. That heat. That damn history.

“You sure about that, Commander?”

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t break eye contact either.

⸻

Later: In the Cells Again

“You’re going to get us all killed,” Dray snapped.

“Only you,” you replied sweetly.

“Keep talkin’,” Cad Bane drawled, “and I’ll kill ya both just to sleep in peace.”

You laughed. “You’re too old and slow, Bane.”

He smirked. “You sure? Maybe I’m just waitin’ for the right moment.”

You stood and leaned against the bars. “You want out, don’t you?”

Bane looked up slowly. “You plannin’ somethin’?”

“Maybe. But I’m gonna need you not to shoot me first.”

Dray scoffed. “You’re conspiring with him?”

You turned. “I’d rather get spaced with Bane than babysit you for another karking hour.”

“You’d die before we even got to the hangar.”

“I’d die after stabbing you in the eye,” you snapped.

“Enough!” Cody’s voice cracked through the corridor. “You’re all on thin ice.”

Rex followed behind him, eyes flicking between you and Cad Bane. “What are they whispering about?”

“Escape,” Bane said easily.

“Sabacc,” you said at the same time, deadpan.

Cody sighed. “Stars help me.”

You flashed him a grin. “Come on, Commander. You never did like me quiet.”

Cody stared at you, tired and tense. “You’re going to make this hell, aren’t you?”

You leaned in through the bars. “Only for you.”

Behind him, Rex didn’t laugh. But he looked away—like maybe he remembered too much.

And it wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

⸻

He came to your cell alone. Helmet under one arm, posture like durasteel—guarded, unreadable. But his eyes… they lingered.

“I don’t get you,” he said finally.

You arched a brow, leaning against the wall. “That’s the fun, isn’t it?”

“You could’ve walked a different path.”

“Couldn’t we all?”

He stepped closer to the bars, voice lower. “You’re good. You’ve always been good. But you waste it chasing the next high, the next payday.”

You met his eyes. “And you waste yours dying for a war you didn’t start.”

Silence crackled between you.

“You know I almost trusted you once?” he said, quieter now. “Back on Ryloth.”

You smiled sadly. “I trusted you too. That’s why it hurt.”

Cody’s jaw clenched. He stepped back.

“Good night,” he muttered.

But as he walked away, you whispered after him, “I liked you best when you didn’t follow orders.”

He paused. Just for a second.

And then he was gone.

⸻

Night cycle hummed over the Republic cruiser like a lullaby—dimmed lights, soft hums of systems in idle. Most troopers were off duty, leaving only the skeleton crew watching the prisoners. Which made it the perfect time.

You sat on the bench in your cell, silent, eyes cast down—but your mind was spinning like a rigged sabacc deck.

From the cell across the hall, Cad Bane shifted. “So. We doin’ this or not?”

You glanced up. “I’m in. As long as you don’t shoot me in the back.”

He chuckled darkly. “Only if you give me a reason.”

“You always find reasons.”

⸻

It started with a cough. A sound code—three stuttered bursts and a hum.

You shifted the small sharp sliver of metal you’d hidden in your boot sole. Slipped it into the lock of your cuffs. Click.

Bane did the same. Quick, smooth. Silent.

Then came the bang—explosive discharge from a faulty conduit Bane had rigged with the power from his bed frame over the past two nights.

Smoke filled the hall.

Guards shouted.

The cell shields dropped.

You were on your feet in seconds, vaulting out, slamming a stolen baton into a clone trooper’s head. Bane rolled beside you, gunning another down with a blaster stolen mid-scrap.

Dren/Dray, the other bounty hunter, stumbled into the hall behind you. “What the hell is going on?!”

“Keep up,” you snapped, firing at a control panel to unlock the main access hatch.

But he didn’t keep up.

He panicked.

He tripped the silent alarm.

And you watched, stunned, as he shot toward you in his confusion—blaster bolt nearly missing Bane, grazing your arm.

“You idiot,” you hissed.

Bane growled. “He’s gonna get us killed.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You turned and shot him point-blank in the chest.

Dren gasped, staggered, eyes wide. “You—”

“Should’ve stayed in your cage.”

He dropped. Dead weight. Smoke and blood.

Bane didn’t comment. Just nodded.

You both bolted.

⸻

Later—after the alarms died, after the blast doors sealed, after you slipped into a half-abandoned maintenance shaft and disappeared into the dark—Rex found you.

He always found you.

You were nursing your arm in an old hangar, steam hissing from busted pipes, blaster on your lap.

He didn’t raise his weapon. Just stood there. Watching.

“Was it worth it?” he asked.

“Surviving usually is.”

He took a few steps closer. His armor scraped the floor. His eyes, so damn tired, locked on yours.

“You didn’t have to kill him.”

You sighed. “He was going to blow the whole thing. He already tried to shoot me.”

“He was scared.”

“So was I.” You looked up. “I still am.”

That caught him off guard. He blinked. “You?”

You gave him a tired smile. “I’m not made of stone, Rex.”

He knelt in front of you, gaze softer now. “I know.”

Your hands brushed when he passed you a med patch. You didn’t move away.

“You could come back,” he said, voice so low you almost missed it.

“Come back to what?” you asked, searching his face. “The war? The orders? The cage?”

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t stop looking.

And you didn’t stop hoping he’d say something that would make you stay.

Instead, you stood. Pulled your hood up.

“If you see Cody…” you started, then paused. “Tell him I liked the way he looked at me. Even when he hated it.”

You turned.

Rex didn’t stop you.

But his voice followed you, low and sure.

“You still owe me a drink.”

You didn’t turn back.

But your smile did.

⸻

The outer rim planet fell behind you in a smear of stars and scorched debris. The freighter Cad Bane had “borrowed” from some now-dead smuggler creaked through hyperspace like a dying animal, but it flew. That’s all you needed.

You leaned against the console, arms crossed, one leg kicked up. Bane was at the controls, hat tilted low, cigar smoldering at the edge of his teeth.

“You always bring the drama,” he muttered without looking at you.

You smirked. “You miss it.”

“Miss the pay. Not the company.”

“You’re full of shit.”

He chuckled. “And you’re still too loud for stealth work.”

You both knew it was banter. The real conversation sat thick between the lines.

You killed a Republic target. In front of the Republic. You got out. And now… now you were heading straight for the heart of it all.

“You sure about this client of yours?” Bane asked finally.

You looked out the viewport. “He pays well. Doesn’t ask too many questions.”

“Too many questions?” Bane repeated with a slow grin. “That’s usually my line.”

You didn’t answer.

⸻

The freighter touched down in a private bay tucked into the shadow of the Senate. No inspection. No questions. It was already cleared.

You didn’t ask how.

Bane didn’t follow. “I ain’t steppin’ foot back on this dirtball unless someone’s bleeding for it,” he muttered, lighting a fresh cigar.

“Suit yourself.”

He gave you one last look as you descended the ramp. “Watch your back, girl.”

You flashed him a smile over your shoulder. “Always do.”

The hangar door sealed shut behind you with a hiss like a final breath.

You weren’t escorted.

You didn’t need to be.

You knew the route—hallways hidden in plain sight, guarded only by shadows and silence. A turbolift opened to a private suite carved beneath the Senate tower. Cold. Ornate. Smelling faintly of incense and age.

He stood there waiting—Chancellor Palpatine.

A soft smile curved his lips. The kind of smile you should never trust.

“My dear,” he said warmly, stepping toward you, “I trust the target was… eliminated?”

You bowed your head slightly. “Clean shot. Left no trace.”

“I’m sure they saw it differently,” he murmured, amused. “Tell me—how did our Jedi friends take the loss?”

“They were angry. Confused. Lost the asset and control.”

Palpatine smiled wider. “Excellent.”

You said nothing.

He stepped closer, his eyes sharper now. “You’ve done well. But I must caution you, my dear—you’ve caught the attention of some very dangerous people. Commander Cody. Captain Rex. Jedi Skywalker…”

“I can handle them.”

He tilted his head. “I’m certain you think so.”

There was something about him—like he could peel the skin from your bones with just a glance.

He reached into his cloak and handed you a small black chip. “Your payment. And… a little something more.”

You took it, eyes narrowing. “What’s the bonus?”

“A new target,” he said softly. “But not yet. When the time comes, I will summon you.”

“And if I’m busy?”

His eyes gleamed like ice in the dark.

“You won’t be.”

You stepped back into the shadows of the Coruscant underworld, chip in hand, heart pounding. Not fear—no. Something worse.

Anticipation.

You’d just made a deal with the devil.

And he was wearing the face of the Republic.