It's 1 a.m., and instead of sleeping I am listening to the Dr. Who TV show soundtrack and typing FF.

This is inspired by another one-shot I did fairly recently, where Spinner talks about promises and flying.

May or may not add a second little snippet to this. Not sure yet.

Enjoy!

Promised On Stars

You promised.

The words had been a whisper on her lips, a breath of air that brushed his cheek as he leaned down to listen.

Rex closed his eyes, squeezing them as tightly shut as he could. Maybe, maybe if he thought hard enough, if he blinked long enough, maybe it wouldn't be real, maybe it wouldn't have happened. Maybe, just maybe, he'd open his eyes and she'd be there, leaning against the doorframe of his office, bright smile on her face, claiming this was all a horrible prank gone wrong. He opened his eyes, knowing that it wasn't a prank, that it was real, that she was really gone.

She's really gone.

Something formed in his throat, stung behind his eyes, and an odd, gasping sound choked its way out of him. He had promised. Promised her his life, his loyalty, his faith. Promised her with useful information and respectful advice. Promised her with support when she needed it, a shoulder to cry on when she hurt, a person to come to when she needed answers.

And the one time she'd needed it the most, she'd needed the loyalty and the support and the person, the one time, he wasn't there to provide it. And then he'd had to hunt her down. He'd had to chase her, pursue her, track her, her the prey, him the predator. He'd had to pretend, in front of his superiors, that he hadn't made that promise.

He'd seen her jump. He'd run up beside General Skywalker and watched her jump from the sewer pipe, leaping and hanging, suspended in midair for a moment, and he thought that she was beautiful in that moment. She looked as if she were ready to fly, to escape, and he'd wanted her to. He had seen her fly, dancing and twirling with the lightsabers, green and yellow-green, taking out masses of droids, protecting the men, her men.

They'd caught her, of course, in that warehouse with the nanodroids. Then there'd been her trial. Rex had wanted to go, spoken to General Skywalker about it. The general had shaken his head. "You can't, Rex. I'm sorry." And Rex knew that was another failure to add to the list, because part of that promise had been to stand behind her, hold her up, literally or figuratively, and he wouldn't be able to this time, when she needed the most holding.

She was found not-guilty, and though no one in Torrent was surprised, everyone was relieved. The commander, their commander, she'd never turn traitor, and Rex wanted to tell her, wanted to assure her that he'd tried, he'd tried to keep his promise, he'd done his best.

He heard she was going to the Temple, and hurried over, waiting at the stairs, not daring to wait for her in the building itself. She had come down the steps, face tired, eyes sad and old beyond her years, but her steps were determined. Rex moved, standing where he knew she would see him. And she did see him, a small smile curling on her lips, a smile that didn't reach those sad eyes, and he wondered if he'd been able to keep that promise, would her eyes smile with her mouth.

"Hi, Rexster."

The words, soft and quiet, were what alerted him to the fact that something was wrong. He moved a step closer, close enough to feel the heat from her body, close enough to breathe in her scent, but not touching. Never touching.

"Hey, kid."

He hadn't called her that for a long time, weeks, months, maybe even a year. She wasn't a kid anymore. She had grown, and he knew that and saw that, but something in him, something coiling in his stomach and clenching around his heart, made the word slip out.

They stood in silence, waiting, watching, listening. Finally, she spoke, blue eyes, those wonderful blue eyes that had sparkled with laughter, glowed with ferocity, shone with love, they stared at some distant point over his shoulder, and he wondered what had gone so terribly wrong that she wouldn't even look at him.

"I'm leaving, Rex."

Three words. Three words and his world shattered.

"Leaving where, commander?"

She met his gaze, if only for an instant. That sadness, the old age, behind them stars glittered, the stars she had seen and traveled to and past, the stars they had talked about during late-night meetings on the Resolute, just the two of them, the stars he had made his promise on.

"The Order. I'm no longer a Jedi, and no longer a military officer in the Republic Army."

Shattered, again. Pieces and shards that cut into his heart and his mind, and caused an odd buzzing sound to fill his head. He had opened his mouth to say something. He remembered parting his lips, trying to get the words out, but she cupped his cheek, gently closing his mouth, thumb tracing along his cheekbone.

"You promised, Rex."

And he bowed his head into her touch, because he had. He had promised. He had promised her his life, loyalty, and faith. He had made her that promise on the blood of battle, the bodies of their men. He had made that promise on the stars in her eyes, on the fire in her touch.

But he had made another promise, too. One to the Army, one to his brothers. One that, no matter that it shattered his world, no matter that it cut his heart, one that was infinitely more important. More important because she reminded him, more important because she said so.

She leaned up and he leaned down and they met somewhere in the middle, a kiss that was more a dream than anything else, a dream of possibilities that would never be, could never be, and then she stepped back and he straightened up, and she gave him a smile that lit the stars in her eyes, that made them burn so bright he was momentarily blinded.

You promised.

In the privacy of his office, the door closed, light off, he felt the tears, cold on his cheeks, bitter in his mouth.

I did, Commander. I'll take care of them for you.