Precipice by shadowsong26

Part 3: Captain

Captain: Chapter 1

Even after over two standard years on the run, Rex still felt hellishly uncomfortable in civilian dress. He'd been a soldier all his life; it was what he was designed to be, and, more importantly, what he was good at. It was one thing to step out of uniform for an undercover mission with-with a ranking officer, under orders, and he had done that before without question or complaint. But this was different. No one had sent him here. No one had ordered him to dress this way.

On the other hand, even if it had been safe, just the thought of the alternative made his skin crawl even more.

He didn't dream about the Temple anymore, not like he had the first six months or so, but it still haunted his every breath. Putting on his armor again, or even a duty uniform, would make it impossible to move on from the way he and his brothers had betrayed everything.

The way they'd been betrayed.

Most of them, so far as he knew, had stayed with the GAR-the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps now. Rex-and maybe some others, but he hadn't met anyone-hadn't had it in him to do that. He'd delivered his report to his new superiors after the Temple, because it was easier to stick to rote routines and established procedures than to think about what had happened. About what he'd done. And then, the first chance he'd gotten, he'd done what he always swore he would never do.

He'd abandoned his brothers, and deserted his post.

He'd stripped off his armor-the bodyglove underneath was nondescript enough-stowed away on a semi-legal freighter leaving from one of the seedier districts of Coruscant, and done his best to disappear.

First chance he got after that, he left the freighter and stole a medical droid to cut out his chip. Once it was done, he'd destroyed the droid as thoroughly as he knew how, scattering the pieces among a half-dozen junk dealers so no one could use it to trace him. He wasn't proud of that, exactly-of any of it-but the alternative was, again, worse .

From there, he'd ghosted from place to place until the nightmares stopped, keeping his head down and doing whatever he had to, short of outright murder, to survive. But every day he woke up, and saw the scar on the side of his shaved head, and knew- never again. I will never again be forced to hunt down and kill my-to hunt down and kill children. I am my own man. Now and forever more.

With enough repetition, he'd managed to convince himself of that fact. As time went by, he'd gotten better at coping with the reality of his life after the Temple. Bit by bit, he built a new existence for himself. He stuck to the fringes of the galaxy still, because it was safer. He favored planets on the Outer Rim with climates that were inhospitable enough he could get away with covering most of his face, and where there was minimal Imperial presence.

He hired himself out as a security guard, but shied away from making any sort of connection with the Bounty Hunter's Guild or any other organized entity. Sure, it would have made things easier ( and he wouldn't have been alone anymore ) but the risk of recognition was too high. He cultivated a quiet reputation for competence and discretion, and he got enough offers that he was able to eat and move from place to place by more or less legal means. Or as legal as things like that ever got in this part of the galaxy. It wasn't a good life, not by a long shot-not as he defined it-but it wasn't a terrible one, either.

Rex was, for the moment, between jobs. He'd stopped on a planet whose name he had already forgotten; it was mostly used as a waystation by various travelers and small-time traders, legal and otherwise. There was a bigger garrison than he liked, due to a valuable mine on one of the planet's moons, but the other advantages of the place outweighed that consideration for the moment. Due to the near-constant dripping rain, almost everyone went around with hooded cloaks, and no few wore scarves around some part of their face. In short, especially if he kept his blasters mostly hidden from sight, Rex blended in nicely. Provided he wore the kriffing uncomfortable civilian clothes.

He'd headed down to a covered market near the spaceport early this morning. Places like that, he'd found, were the best for him to find work that was at least mostly honest but didn't involve too many questions. Cantinas tended to skew too far away from the former for his liking, and just about anything else had issues with the latter. So, markets-with the added benefit that he could stock up on what supplies he preferred to carry with him.

He'd been at it for about an hour, outwardly relaxed, letting his eyes drift over the crowd for likely employers or useful supplies, when everything changed in a heartbeat.

It was only a glimpse, as his eyes wandered over the crowd, but, bent over a fruit stand, covered in a hooded cloak exactly like the ones everyone else in the market was wearing, he saw-

He knew the set of those shoulders.

In that instant, Rex couldn't breathe. He had to get out of there.

With less far grace and discretion than he would have liked, he pushed his way out of the market to the alley outside, loosening his scarf just enough that he could suck in more air.

It can't be him. You're losing it, Rex; your brain must be waterlogged or something, it wasn't him. It wasn't him. It can't have been.

The body language hadn't been right, anyway. But that was no guarantee; Rex himself didn't move the same way he used to, either, and it was entirely deliberate. After all, it was one thing to move like other people to avoid standing out, but moving exactly like millions of other men around the galaxy was another thing entirely.

Besides, given everything that had happened when-that had happened that day, a change in Anakin Skywalker's body language was all too easy to explain.

He sank down onto his haunches, burying his face in his hands.

No. No, no, it's not him. He's not-you saw him-

Unbidden, memories flowed into Rex's head.

Skywalker, perched on a ledge-one of what must have been thousands in Rex's memory-ready to swan dive into an entire kriffing droid battalion and come out intact; he somehow always came out intact.

Skywalker, joining him and the others around a fire when they were stationed on a nameless backwater not so different from this one, trading stories and good fellowship.

Skywalker, sparring with Commander Tano, while Rex and the others kept watch, the two Jedi fondly teasing each other even as they searched resolutely for weak points they rarely found.

Skywalker, incandescent with rage, storming off to rescue Tano or Kenobi or that Senator he pretended he wasn't in love with-even Rex and his brothers a few times.

Skywalker, drenched in blood, the floor slick around him, his robes heavy with it, barely holding onto his lightsaber, a dead child who looked too much like the Commander at his feet.

Skywalker, pleading with Rex, begging him to stop; for the first time since Rex had met him, his reckless, indomitable General was begging .

Skywalker, falling.

Skywalker, dying.

You have to stop this. I know you can stop this. You're better than this. Rex, look at me. Rex-

"Rex?"

Slowly, Rex returned to the present and looked up.

Skywalker still had his hood up, screening his face, but there was no denying that voice. Rex had listened to it, day in day out, for three years. He knew it almost as well as he knew his own.

His General was standing at the mouth of the alley, his stance guarded but not yet aggressive. One hand was deceptively casually hidden beneath his cloak, but Rex knew that it was on the hilt of his lightsaber, ready to pull it out in an instant.

No denying it now. Somehow, miraculously, Skywalker had survived. Somehow, he was here.

This is it. We killed just about everyone he ever loved, and then I ran so I wouldn't have to deal with the consequences. I am a coward and a murderer. I have dishonored the service I gave him.

"I'm sorry," Rex whispered, lowering his eyes again, knowing damn well that saying it wasn't enough. It wouldn't ever be enough. He had learned to live with what he'd done, but he would never be forgiven. Not by Skywalker, not by himself. He would die in this alley, and know it was justice.

At least he got to know, in the end, that Skywalker at least had survived. That, somehow, he'd survived getting shot close to a dozen times, bleeding all over the Temple from at least a half-dozen shrapnel wounds, and falling off of the High Council spire.

I should have known. There's not much can kill my-not much can kill General Skywalker.

It was a comfort, in the end, to have one less death on his conscience.

But all that happened was Skywalker's visible hand-the prosthetic, Rex noted-flicked slightly, and Rex felt his own hood fly back off his head.

And then, to Rex's surprise, Skywalker visibly relaxed.

"You cut your chip out," he said, his other hand coming out from under his cloak, without the lightsaber.

What? "Yeah," Rex said. "As soon as I could. I didn't…I should've done it sooner. I should've...I should've listened to Fives."

Skywalker bowed his head, tensing up again without going for his lightsaber. "We all should have," he said quietly.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything, and Rex felt the air grow close around him again; dense and full of static tension. The only sound was the incessant patter of rain on the sidewalk. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

None of this made sense . Yes, he'd cut out his chip, but it didn't change what he'd done, not any of it. And how the hell had Skywalker survived all those shots, that much bloodloss, that fall? Even he had to have limits.

Skywalker took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and the air lightened again.

Rex took a breath of his own, not at all sure what to make of any of this. The fact that he was still breathing at all chief among them. Yes, he and his General had been close-or as close as they could be, given their professional relationship; certainly closer than most Jedi got to their clone 2ICs-but that was before…that was before the Temple.

"Come with me," Skywalker said.

"I…what?" What the kriffing hell?

"Come with me," he repeated, offering a hand for emphasis.

Rex just stared at him. That's it. I'm dreaming. There is no kriffing way this is real. Even if he survived, even if he found me-there's no way in hell this would happen.

Skywalker shifted a little, clearly sensing his doubts. "I could use your help. You know me. You know how I think. We've worked together before." He shifted his hood a little, so Rex could meet his eyes, and see them clearly. "And I trust you," he finished, quietly, but with conviction.

He looked-he looked almost the same. Same blue eyes, same thin scar cutting across one of them. There was a new one, sliding down his chin to taper off at his throat, but any other-any other evidence of what Rex and his brothers had done to him was still hidden.

Skywalker looked almost exactly the same as he had two years ago, and that just made this whole situation that much more unreal.

"We worked together before," Rex said, after taking several minutes to find his voice again. " Before . The…what I did, sir, I can't…"

Skywalker shook his head. "It wasn't you," he said, with a bite of impatience in his voice.

Again, a string of memories flooded through Rex; Skywalker, bloody and begging for his life, falling from the Temple; the weight of his blaster in his hand; the river of dead he and his brothers had left in their wake.

"That's not how I remember it," he said quietly, shaking off those ghosts a lot faster this time.

Skywalker didn't answer right away. "Well, you cut that part of you out," he finally said. "Maybe if you hadn't, we'd be having a different conversation. But you did . You're not-you wouldn't-you wouldn't do something like that again, right? Even if I ordered you to?"

"No," Rex said. "No, I would never ." Unbidden, his hand drifted up to the scar on his scalp. Never again. I am my own man .

"Then that's good enough for me," Skywalker said firmly. "It wasn't you ."

Rex wanted to believe him. More than he had ever dared to let himself hope, he wanted this to be true. He wanted General Skywalker's forgiveness; he wanted to fight with him, for him, like before. It would give his life meaning and purpose again, restore almost everything he'd lost when he'd fled Coruscant and put on civilian clothes.

This was what he was designed for. This was what he was good at. This was all he wanted-all he had ever wanted, from the moment he was mature enough to want anything.

But it couldn't be this easy. It couldn't be just-steal a medical droid, cut out his chip, and all would be forgiven.

Skywalker faltered a bit, his hand lowering a few centimeters. "I'm not going to make you," he said. "It's your choice. I just…I want you to come with me."

Rex hesitated for another second. He still wasn't sure he should do this, wasn't sure he could do this, wasn't sure he could accept what Skywalker was offering. Not his forgiveness, nor his trust, at least not yet-if such a thing could be done, he would have to earn it. He knew that.

But Skywalker was giving him a chance to try . And this-this was right . This was where he belonged, serving a Jedi General the way he had been bred to do. After everything he'd done, Rex knew that, deep in his bones, deeper than even the chip had gone. So deep it became a reflex.

Before he could change his mind again, he reached up and accepted Skywalker's hand.

The Jedi grinned, and hauled him to his feet. "It's good to have you back, Captain."

"It's good to be back, sir." Even if he didn't feel all the way back yet, just getting as close as he had already made him feel more like himself. "What's the mission?"

"Three guesses."

On reflection, Rex didn't really need them. "Taking down the Emperor."

Skywalker nodded, grim. "Yeah. But, since that's going to take a while, in the meantime, we're doing everything we can to limit his expansion. We're fighting back however and wherever we can. Still on board?"

Rex knew why he was asking. He knew that, if he stayed committed, he'd possibly-probably-end up fighting his surviving brothers.

He closed his eyes, and tried not to think of Umbara.

This is different. I know what I'm getting myself into this time. I'm not being manipulated into another massacre.

"Yeah," he said, opening his eyes again. "I'm in."

"Okay," he said. "Get your gear, and meet me at my ship. Docking bay ninety-four."

"Ninety-four," Rex confirmed. "Uh, any reason we need to bug out in a hurry?"

Skywalker got that look in his eye, one that Rex knew all too well.

"You're gonna go blow something up, aren't you."

"See? You know me."

Oh, yeah. Just like old times . "There's nothing here I can't live without," he said. "I'll come with you."

Skywalker paused for a minute, and Rex could practically see the wheels turning in his head, as he made quick adjustments to however much of his mission he'd actually planned out in advance this time. "All right," he finally said. "If you're sure."

I am not about to let you get yourself killed less than an hour after you've given me the second chance I don't deserve. "I am."

He grinned again. "Then follow me."

Rex nodded, and fell into step behind his Jedi, pulling his hood and scarf back up over his face, struck once more by how right it felt, watching Anakin Skywalker's back again.

I'll do everything I can to earn what you've given me, even if it takes the rest of my life. I'll do everything I can to make things right. His scar itched faintly under his hood, and he felt the incalculable, ghostly weight of too much blood on his hands. And I will never betray you or let you fall again.

I promise.