Rila: So I'm going to admit, I found the songs that inspired this and Incendium on a tumblr post concering Thor and Loki's relationship as brothers. Also...can you tell by the titles that I like fire? :3 Tentatively poking my way around in the unknown of the Rebels series that's going to be airing in the future - I've seen (not sure if it's official or not) a picture of Rex, and he still looks as handsome as ever. ;) Anyway, the song that inspired this is Bells for Her by Tori Amos. Unbeta-ed for the first chapter — I'm just eager to prove that I'm still alive! :D
Disclaimer: It's been far too long since I've jumped back on their bandwagon. I missed them!
Word Count: 550
Sometimes, Rex had been told, people looked back on what they'd done in the past and compared it to what they were doing in the present. Sometimes it made them proud to see how far they'd come, how much better they'd gotten. But there were times, Rex had also been told, when the past didn't offer such comfort. Either way, there was a name for it.
Hindsight.
Hindsight was something that Rex found himself referring to more and more these days with the fall of the Republic and rise of the Empire, and it often resulted in the latter emotion within him. His past did not offer him comfort about where he stood now — rather, it made him angry.
What am I doing?
How often had he stressed the importance of choices, how often had he longed for that privilage — only to not think twice in following his brothers? They all shared the same face, slept in the same rooms, did the same things — but it wasn't as it had been during the days of the Republic.
And Rex didn't like it. Didn't like it at all — and yet he remained, something that bothered him more often than not. Too often he'd thought about deserting, though the consequences that would face him were he to be caught kept him from following through. A part of him thought that he would be executed, though another reasoned that they would simply send him for reconditioning. A fate worse than death.
But there were days where he thought this to be worse than death, following orders that he didn't agree with, at the beck and call of a man that he had once called "General Skywalker". But that man was gone now, and in his place was someone that Rex didn't understand — and didn't want to.
"Captain." Brought from his thoughts, Rex lifted his head. Standing in the doorway, his fellow clone's face was hidden from view by a smooth plastoid helmet, not unlike Rex's own. It lay beside him on the bed, stripped of the familiar blue paint. The same had been done to his armor, and Rex felt as though, without the familiar paint, it belonged to someone else. "Captain."
There was a note of annoyance in the clone's voice, and Rex exhaled before standing and reaching for his helmet. "Alright," he murmured before pulling the helmet on. "Let's go."