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In the months they’d spent at war, Rex had grown used to many things he’d never have imagined experiencing even once, from acting as a captain to his general’s endless curiosity about his life and, more recently, spending evenings with that general frantically searching the holonet for tips on the needs of Togrutan teenagers. Rex had entered the war prepared to fight alongside his brothers, and Cody had trained him in the midst of it for what it meant to lead them. But no one had prepared Rex, who had been the youngest in his own batch even before the commanders had taken him under their wing, for the arrival of their Commander—and, it seemed, no one had prepared Skywalker for it either. Which was how, one day, Rex found himself relaying instructions to Knot, who was in charge of the galley, on how Commander Tano’s food needed to be prepared after a week-long study into Togrutan diets.
“Do you know how hard this is going to be, with the supplies the GAR gives us to work with?” Knot had grumbled, frown deepening as he’d scanned the list of requirements. “I can barely put everything together for the boys, and we’ve literally been genetically engineered to make that a simple task.”
“And we both know you’d never say no to helping a vod if they needed it,” Rex had replied, and Knot had lifted a brow.
“True. But that doesn’t apply to this situation.” Which meant, really, but Commander Tano isn’t my vod>. And she wasn’t. As far as Rex knew, she hadn’t even met Knot yet, much less had time to bond with him. With Rex, on the other hand—
“For me, then,” he said, lowering his voice. “For…my vod’ika.”
Knot’s face didn’t betray any surprise, but he examined Rex carefully before nodding and heading back to work.
He hadn’t brought it up again, for which Rex was grateful, and Rex hadn’t so much as implied to anyone else that he’d claimed the Commander as his younger sibling. That he thought of her, more often than not, as Sok’ika rather than by her title, was his own business.
It was something of a blessing from the Ka’ra, Rex thought later, that he’d gotten the practice with Ahsoka, not to mention that it had come before she’d seen much of the war. It meant that in this moment, when he stood outside a door bracing himself for the job of helping two rookies—kids still, really—through their losses, he could recognize that he hadn’t wanted them in the 501st just for their courage or cleverness. He’d wanted them for the same reason Cody had requested him to be stationed in the 212th at the beginning of the war: in the 501st, he had the best chances of being able to make sure they were okay.
Rex pushed open the door, and twin heads snapped up to face him. From the way the two were sitting, they’d been discussing something—or, perhaps, saying remembrances together.
Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Hevy, Cutup, Droidbait, Rex thought, but to Fives and Echo he only lifted the can in his hand.
“Paint,” he said simply. “We’ve only got 501st blue in bulk, but if you want other colors just ask around—lots of the boys have traded with other battalions to be able to add smaller decorations.” He waited a beat, and then added, “You’re not shiny anymore—time to look the part.” He set the can down, along with the brushes he’d brought, and stood to leave.
“How do we choose what to put on it?” Echo asked, just as Rex reached the door. “I mean…how do others choose—how did you?”
“I worked on it until I thought it looked cool, mostly,” Rex said, grinning at the surprise on their faces. “Some brothers are always changing their design, making it complicated. Others like keeping it simple—Sands only has a few stripes on his, says it lets his tattoos shine.”
From Echo’s face, none of this was helping.
“That’s only some of the brothers, though,” Rex continued before he could say so. “Most of them are like me—they found something they thought looked good, the right combination of lines or marks, but all that was worked around one element, something that has meaning to them.”
“What’s yours?” Fives asked, and Rex very purposefully did not crack a smile at his eagerness, or at the way Echo’s eyes scanned his armor, trying to figure out which piece of the design was unique—something there hadn’t been time for in the midst of the fighting on Rishi Moon.
“Nothing you can see right now,” he admitted. “When I got back from the first battle of the war, on Geonosis, I was given military awards with a few other brothers. But the trainers pulled me aside specifically, after everyone else had left, to bestow jaig eyes.” Echo’s and Fives’s wide eyes told Rex that he didn’t need to clarify what this meant. A part of him was grateful to know that they were still teaching the cadets pieces of their culture, even with the increased pressure from the war. “They were my first marking, on my helmet. I added everything else around them later, for the looks. But those…they mean something.”
“Captain.” Rex turned to find Echo, standing in a regulation-perfect salute. Beside him, Fives offered a lazy salute of his own, clearly unconcerned with keeping up appearances in such a clearly casual encounter.
“Echo—Fives,” Rex offered them a nod. Echo had the can of paint he’d brought them in hand, which drew Rex’s attention to their armor. Fives, he saw, had placed a Rishi eel on his helmet and a Z-6 cannon on his shoulder, memorializing his lost batchmates. Echo, on the other hand, had only simple lines on his.
“Still looking for a finishing touch?” Rex asked, trying to keep his tone lightly curious so Echo would know that wasn’t an issue.
“I…have an idea, sir,” Echo responded, sounding a bit nervous. Fives bumped his vod’s shoulder in support, and Echo straightened. “If you’re willing, Captain, I’d like to add your handprint here.” He gestured to his chestplate. It was, Rex realized, where he’d stamped the armor with the blood of the eel before they’d taken back Rishi Station—if he looked closely, he could see flecks of it still, stubbornly clinging on in spite of what he was sure had been a careful cleaning job by Echo.
The idea that what Echo wanted to carry around with him in the war was that moment, was something of Rex, struck something deep inside of him, and Rex wondered vaguely if this was how Cody had felt all those years ago when Rex had crumpled into his arms and confessed his fear that he would be decommissioned because of his hair. Rex caught Echo’s gaze and dropped the professional demeanor he usually carried, letting everything he was feeling show on his face.
“I would be honored to help you with your armor, vod’ika,” he said, smile growing as Echo’s eyes widened. Removing his glove and taking the can of paint from Echo, he ran the brush over his palm.
Something about the moment felt sacred—the feeling of the brush on his skin, the wet paint, surprisingly cold, concealing Rex’s hand under the color of his battalion, his men. Echo, standing before him, seemed to have stopped breathing; Fives, to his side, quiet in a way Rex had already come to realize was rare for him.
Ni gaanader gar, he thought to himself as he pressed his hand to Echo’s armor, repeating it as he looked at Fives. I choose you.
“I think Fives and Echo would do well in Torrent, General.” Anakin looked up from the machinery he was fiddling with, studying Rex’s face. Rex wasn’t sure what he found there, but it seemed to be enough.
“If you think that’s what’s best for the 501st,” Anakin said, his easy voice not betraying the challenge in the words, asking Rex if he was doing this for the battalion or for himself.
“I do, sir,” Rex replied. “They’re not up to our usual standards yet, but they have potential that will be reached best if we fold them in now. And I trust them to have my six.”
“Then I’ll sign off on the transfer,” Anakin promised. “Just get me the files—and let Coric and Hez know they’re on the way, so Coric doesn’t kill me next time I’m in the medbay.”
“I always let the officers know they have men coming in. When did—“ Rex cut himself off. “You know what? I don’t want to know. I’ll get to work on those forms, and you can get back to…” Rex looked at the machinery, trying to figure out what, exactly, the General was working on—and failing. “What are you working on?”
Anakin’s eyes lit up at the question, a gleam Rex had learned meant that there were headaches in his future.
“It was Fives who gave me the idea, actually…”