The Lie (Captain Rex)

Moonlit Torment (FLUFF)*

* Contains some intense fluff.

It smoldered on, that burning hearth within your chest. Window after window passed you by, all a blur down the vast corridors of the Jedi Temple. All the while, the moon followed you through each one. You were running by instinct. The guiding hand to your every step was his presence.

You thought about his eyes.

At last, you rounded the corner to a doorway, shifting into tiptoe so as not to wake anybody. Darkness blanketed the room; and while most of the 501st slept here in these quarters, Rex seemed to be absent.

You slinked onwards, down another two rooms, til you reached an unoccupied room with a massive window making up one wall, some sparse furnishings, and a bare cot in the corner. Bingo. You stood surveying the room, panting to catch your breath.

The only reason that you knew these were his quarters was the discarded torso and arm armor on the far side. Beside that pile lay his battered, stained helmet, tipped over.

Suddenly, a large shadow blanketed the floor before you. He's right behind me, isn't he?

"Moony?" came the voice from behind you. Rex spoke hesitantly, uncertainly, with a note of hope. "Y/N? What are you..."

He trailed off when you turned around. "Rex," you said, your voice a little breathless from having run so far. "I'm back."

"You're back," he echoed. "That's...that's good."

You studied him, for a moment. He was there, alright; standing with the top half of his armour off, and shifting slightly from foot to foot. The moonlight kissed his sharp, angular features in the most delicious way.

It shamed you, yet you couldn't help but notice, beneath his black body glove, the steady ripple of muscle; from his solid chest, to his formidable arms. They could probably crush your ribcage, if he really wanted to. A random thought, but an insightful one.

Stop. I shouldn't be having these thoughts.

He crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels, giving a soft 'hmm'.

He was studying you, too; his deep brown eyes scanned over your smaller form from head to toe, hitching when they reached the bandage on your shoulder, and settling back on your distrait face.

"You ran off," he finally murmured. "Why?"

Straight to the point, as always. You met his steady gaze. "You want me to be honest? I could not mentally handle all that noise."

"No, don't lie to me," he began, taking a couple of challenging steps towards you. "There's something else."

A long pause. You studied his elegant features, that soft, worried furrow in his brow; the way his eyes implored yours for an honest answer. He was anxious for you. Obviously, you couldn't tell him about your visions. They were simply too much to explain, and too much to be guilty over. But you could tell him about something else.

"Do you remember Dathomir?" you murmured.

His eyes flashed. "What?"

You knew he was lying. Of course he remembered Dathomir. How could he forget?

"Do you remember," you began in a vacant whisper, "the gas?"

His face a soulless mask of stone, he gave no answer but a grim nod.

"I remember it. I remember their hollowed out eyes. How it ate at their skin like a living creature," you said shakily. "You want to know what I hate?"