It’s early when he receives the message.
0700. Urgent. Meet me.
He’s sitting at the breakfast table when his communicator pings with a notification but he quickly swipes it away making sure no one else can see it. He ignores everyone’s questions and queries when he stands up from the breakfast table, claiming he’s finally caught the bug that’s been making rounds around the barracks.
“Some bug,” Jesse says, “If the captain with strengthened immunity can catch it.”
Rex is about to bite back a response but he decides that he doesn’t owe Jesse an answer when it comes to this, so he only rolls his eyes and abandons his breakfast of sweet honey toast and makes his way to the med bay.
Kix is taking a stock count when Rex walks in and when Rex asks to sign him off for a day with the flu, Kix doesn’t ask any questions. He shakes the medic's hand with gratitude and then he makes his way through the city, head down, strides long, until he reaches the Jedi temple.
His footsteps are quiet, muffled on the carpeted floors of the temple. He knows these halls like the back of his hands. They’re cold and dull. They’re sterile and sanitised and if they could talk, Rex knows what they would say. Disgusting, undutiful, traitorous, wrong. The dull grey paint blurs walls into walls and before Rex knows it, he’s at the door that leads to the usual meeting point.
And just like every other secret meeting, Rex meets you in a forgotten meditation room that he knows off by heart too. Many nights have been spent here, sat on the long meditation benches, cuddled into one another or just talking. Watching the temple gardens and the waterfall through the one way viewing window, whispering to one another. The room, despite its hostile location, has become somewhat of a retreat for the both of you.
But as well as he knows these walls and that room, he knows you better. And as soon as the door seals behind him, he doesn’t even need to look at your trembling lip to know you’ve been crying. The air in the room is thick with emotion, so much so Rex can hardly breathe himself.
He sits with you on the bench seat and pulls you into his body, soothing your hair until your tears start to fall again and your shoulders are heaving with the effort of the sobs that are torn from your body.
He sits with you for what could have been hours. There’s no way to tell the passing of time in these rooms unless you have a watch or a time piece on you but Rex doesn’t mind. The outside world melts away when it’s just the two of you and the sounds of the waterfall.
When your sobs quiet and your breathing evens out, he holds you at arms length, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes are bright, the way only tears can make them so. Your skin is raw and blotchy and bright but Rex thinks you look just as lovely as always.
“Ready to talk to me now, lovely?” Rex asks. As much as he wishes he could read your mind, take in your auror, he is no jedi.
Your bottom lip trembles again as Rex’s hand pushes back your hair from your face, coming to rest on your cheek. “We can’t keep doing this.” You say, another tear dripping down your face. “We are hurting everyone we love, Betraying everything we hold dear by being together.”
His heart breaks but this is not the first time these thoughts have entered your relationship. But the last time, you’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks and he thought this would blow over in a few short weeks. He had reassured you, held you the whole hyperspace journey home to Coruscant, despite the risk you could’ve been found. But here they are a year and a half into seeing each other and these worries are still rearing their heads.
Rex wonders for a brief moment in general Skywalker and senator Amidala have to combat these sorts of insecurities too. But then he decides that they probably don’t because even if they were found out, the worst that would happen is they’d both be fired and exiled from their respective positions. Rex on the other hand… well… it probably wouldn’t be as happy an ending for him. He would be labelled a traitor and he'd be killed by firing squad.
He pulls you into his body again, rubbing soothing patterns onto your skin, and playing with your hair the way he knows you like, that puts you at ease. “It’s always been you.” He whispers. “We don’t do this for anyone else.” He says, “Just us. It’s just for us. It is selfish, but it’s war, cyar’ika, we are allowed something for us.”
It’s enough to soothe you, enough to let you cuddle in closer to his warmth and his strength. Enough to make you settle into his love.