Chapter Text
Whatever reaction Dogma had been expecting when he’d taken off his helmet, this hadn’t been it.
Jesse grumbled softly as Dogma shifted in his grip.
“Jesse,” he whispered softly, voice rough from lack of use, trying to pull back to face the Lieutenant properly. Unfortunately, the vod refused to let up, and even more unfortunately, Jesse was a lot stronger than Dogma, as much as he loathed to admit it.
Not that he’d be able to get very far, even if he managed to crawl out of Jesse’s death grip. The entire room was still crawling with GAR troopers.
When he first entered the chaos that was the medbay, he’d expected the GAR troopers to slowly trickle out as more and more Guards were brought in, treated, and then sent to the barracks. After all, they were only there to ensure the Guard’s compliance.
Or so he thought, but even a few days later, the GAR vod’e still waited patiently at the Coruscant Guard’s bedsides.
And the 501st had not let Dogma out of their sights the entire time.
“No.” Jesse huffed, tucking his chin into Dogma’s shoulder, “it’s my turn.”
“Your turn to babysit, you mean?” he tapped out against the Lieutenant’s pauldron.
Jesse didn’t bother with a response.
“When is Thire getting back?”
This time, he rolled his eyes—bucketless, all of the Grand Army were bucketless—and shifted to face him properly. “That’s the third time you’ve asked that question, vod’ika.”
Dogma frowned, tugging on the troopers arm insistently.
“Soon,” Jesse groaned, “they’ll be back soon.”
“Why couldn’t I join them?”
“It’s a meeting between just Commander Thire and Captain Rex, you know this Dogma. Besides, you need to stay here.”
“So you can watch me?” Dogma frown deepened. It wasn’t as if he was injured, after all.
He didn’t—understand. He had prepared himself for rejection, cries of outrage, disgust at his survival. After all, he had betrayed them. He had tried to kill Fives, nearly gotten Captain Rex killed, and then shot a Jedi General. Even before all that, he wasn’t exactly well liked amongst the 501st. The only person he got along with was Tup. He had thought they’d be happy to finally get rid of his presence, that’s why he shot Krel in the first place.
Because someone had to take that shot, and they couldn’t afford to lose any of the other 501st troopers. They couldn’t lose Rex.
Dogma had to take that shot. He had to.
He remembered being tackled to the ground by his brothers, staring blankly at the cell was as he reconciled with the devastating fact that he’d been used, that he’d been taken advantage off and that nothing was okay, and he remembered the look of Fives face when he whirled around to find his blaster missing and held in Dogma’s hands, still smoking after shooting Krell.
He had to take the shot.
But instead of disgust or anger, the 501st had just stood there frozen, expressions displaying devastation on their face. Then Rex—
Then Rex was gone, and Thire was gone with him, and Fives lurched forward, clutching Dogma desperately to his chest, whispering apologies and Dogma didn’t understand.
Fives didn’t let go for a long time. Even when Kix tugged him away from the ARC and properly checked him over, he kept a hand around Dogma. Since then, nobody let him go, as if he would vanish into thin air the second they turned away.
Dogma was healthy—or perhaps not healthy but not injured. There was no reason for him to be kept in the med ‘bay longer than a night, especially with so many more injured vod’e and how busy it already was.
And yet, he wasn’t allowed to leave. It had been days since he’d moved from this kriffing cot and he was beginning to go stir crazy. Staying by Thire’s bedside had been one of the only things that kept him from attempting to leave, even for just a walk, as well as the manic glint in Kix’s eye that told Dogma that if he so much as tried to leave, Kix would tie him to the bed.
He knew Kix would do it too.
Fives was off somewhere, now. Same with the other 501st troopers. They never told Dogma where they were going, only that they’d be back, and they were always back. He was never unattended.
He wondered if this was his punishment. It had to be. Nothing drove a vod madder than being confined to a med ‘bay.
Still, it was a pretty crude punishment. He’d expected a lot more yelling or pain, or at the very least to be separated from Commander Thire.
Dogma thought back to when he first removed his helmet, when Rex first realized…
“Dogma?”
Dogma winced, resisting the urge to swiftly pull back on his helmet, or hide his face in his hands, or something.
Kix, Fives, and Rex all hadn’t moved from where they stood. Dogma felt guilty for their expressions—nothing short of devastated.
This was it. This is what Dogma had been dreading ever since the GAR first marched into the Guard’s Headquarters, and the barracks were put on lockdown.
“No,” Rex stuttered, which was insane, because Rex did not stutter. Rex was steadfast, unwavering, and unshakeable. He did not stutter. “it can’t be.”
“Surprise,” Thire said weakly. Dogma clenched his fists.
“You were decommissioned.” Rex shook his head, “We saw them take you away, I saw the report myself. I read it over, again and again, I checked it multiple times.”
Dogma couldn’t look at his former Captain’s face any longer, turning his head away in shame. Kix and Fives still hadn’t moved from where they stood frozen, Fives’ eyes permanently wide and Kix’s mouth gaping open.
“I was supposed to be,” he signed with shaky fingers.
Dogma watched Rex first process his words, then stared at the Coruscant armour. He swallowed as the Captain made the obvious connection.
“No,” Rex shook his head, more desperate this time. “No. Fox would have told me—if you were transferred. He would have told me.”
“Rex…” Thire said softly.
“No.” The Captain interrupted, “No. Fox wouldn’t have lied to me, not about this—”
Despite himself, Dogma couldn’t help but wonder what Rex was talking about. He turned to Thire, a questioning expression on his face.
Thire just shook his head at him, a sad look in his eyes.
It hadn’t been long after that Rex had stormed off, Thire following hot on his heels with quiet pleadings and hurried steps.
Dogma had known then, that he’d ruined everything.
He gave everything away, he made the whole operation crash and burn and now Thire and the others were going to be in trouble—
He sucked in a deep breath, just like Fox had taught him to when the panic attacks first started. In for 8, hold for 4, out for 5. Breath.
Breath.
Jesse brought a hand up to Dogma’s head, carding his fingers through his hair with an impossibly light touch that Dogma didn’t even know the Lieutenant was capable of.
He’d certainly never experienced anything of the kind in his time with the 501st originally.
First it had been Fives who accompanied him. Then it had been Kix, who had checked him over with a relentless fervour, roughly grabbed his jaw, and made him promise to never, ever do anything like that again. Finally, it had been Jesse, who had come rushing in just after Kix finished thoroughly checking him over.
And then it was Rex briefly—staring at Dogma with a lost expression that he couldn’t even begin to interpret, and then it was Jesse again, and yet somehow, it still hadn’t been Tup yet.
He didn’t feel brave enough yet to ask. He didn’t think he’d be able to bear Tup’s rejection to his survival.
He didn’t want to know.
To his dismay, his helmet had been confiscated too. Pretty much as soon as Rex and Thire stormed out of the medbay, Fives had swiped the bucket, cursing under his breath with vigour, and passed it off to Kix. The medic had taken it with an equal amount of annoyance and put it somewhere out of reach, because clearly Dogma wasn’t allowed to have osik.
If there was one thing he regretted, it was how distinct his tattoos were. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, a declaration of his loyalty and individuality all at once. Now, it served as a big give away, especially to the 501st.
In the Coruscant Guard, you never took your armour off outside of the barracks or the Commander’s officers. Everywhere else was watched, always watched. Anonymity was safety. In the Guard, you were just another painted face.
But the moment you took your helmet off, you were a brother, you had a name, and you were a person. Fox had instilled that lesson very distinctly into all the GAR recruits.
When your armour was on, you were a number, you were a meat droid, you were an insignificant face that stuck to shadows unless called upon. You were nobody.
But the second your helmet came off, you were someone, and that was something they could never let the natborns take away. The Guard may be indistinguishable to outsiders, but to each other, they were perhaps the most individual of all the GAR.
Their shells may bear no differentiation, but behind the helmet every single Guard was distinct. Dyed and styled hair, distinct tattoos, kark, even their own dressing styles on the rare occasions civies were used.
Dogma had been one of the few who already had this understanding when he joined the Guard. Who had the understanding that a vod would only ever be a number, a droid, cannon fodder, to the Republic and natborns they served. That is why, even then, he did not regret his tattoos.
He regretted his very distinct tattoos now.
“We would have recognized you anyway,” Jesse hummed dismissively, “we recognized you the moment you took off your helmet.”
Privately, Dogma thinks they recognized him long before that, even if they themselves didn’t realize it. The way Fives and Jesse had stared at him so intently in that alleyway made Dogma feel like he didn’t even have his helmet on at all.
Except that was ludicrous, because why would they have cared enough to notice?
“But maybe if—“
“You’re that desperate to hide?” Jesse interrupted, a visible frown on his face. “You didn’t want us to find out you were a Guard that badly?”
“No,” Dogma tried to correct himself, “but—”
But you were supposed to be angry. You were supposed to hate me for what I did to you, not pass me around like a ragdoll and refuse to let me out of your sight.
You weren’t supposed to find out about the others, either.
“But nothing.” Jesse wrapped a hand over Dogma's, effectively cutting him off, the shabuir, “you did hide. You hit Fives over the head with a pipe and then you tried to run from us. Your battalion. Your vod’e.”
But you aren’t my battalion, Dogma didn’t say. But I wasn't your vod’ika, he didn’t say. But you hate me, or you should, he didn’t say.
He sighed.
“You made your choice, now deal with the consequences,” the 501st trooper huffed, curling his arm tighter around Dogma.
It felt different from the few vod’e piles Dogma had indulged in before the Guard. Sure, the 501st were always a tactile group, even for clones, but never this tactile.
Not so—aggressive, anyway.
Still, there was no anger. Even when Dogma constantly bugged them about Thire, about Fox who was still missing, and the other Corries. The other former GAR troopers. There was only annoyance.
If he didn’t know better, he would say they were jealous or something.
His attention was brought away from the clingy soldier when a different, familiar vod with stark blonde hair entered the room.
Without Commander Thire.
Jesse raised an eyebrow at his Captain, question clear on his face as to where the missing Corrie was.
“Captain Rex,” Dogma frowned, pulling away from Jesse. This time, he let him. He signed insistently, “where is Commander Thire?”
Captain Rex swallowed tightly.
Rex would be the first one to admit he was slightly mad at Thire when they finally branched off to talk.
Originally, Rex had planned to have Thire quickly checked over and then to pull him aside. That was until the Corrie removed their helmet—Dogma removed his helmet, and Thire had a stab wound, and nothing was right anymore.
Their talk had admittedly been delayed after that… realization, and Rex hadn’t been able to pull aside the Commander until now.
He knew it wasn’t Thire's fault, but that didn’t change the fact that Thire tried to slip away with Rex’s vod’ika—his vod’ika who he thought was dead—and tried to keep him from Rex.
“Captain,” Thire said, turning back to Rex after sharing a somber look with Dogma—Dogma—voice much more empathetic towards Rex than the entire time he’d been in the med ‘bay, “he wanted to tell you, he did, but he couldn’t risk it.”
“He was there,” Rex pressed, still shaking his head, “he was with me as soon as we landed on Coruscant, he was with me as I read the report—“ His voice broke off.
Fox had held him as he cried in the brittle aftermath.
Fox…lied to him.
Fox lied to him. And told him his vod’ika had been decommissioned.
The report said Dogma had been decommissioned.
Dogma was not decommissioned.
Rex stilled, another realization creeping up into his mind.
“Rex,” Thire said, a soft warning in his voice.
Dogma had been a part of a very specific group of troopers Thire was sneaking out. At first, Rex had assumed they must have been all Thire could reach and get out, but if Dogma was decommissioned and was still alive—
And Thire had been trying to sneak him and the other troopers out before the GAR found them—
Rex growled, a low, frustrated noise creeping out of his mouth, and turned away from the group, bringing up his comm.
He could feel his grief bloom into anger. Fox lied to him about his little brother’s death, and from the looks of it, he’d lied to all of them.
“Jesse,” he said to his Lieutenant, “Tell patrol groups 45B and 87E to keep the Corries they intercepted where they are. I will be heading down to join you in just a moment, there’s something I need to check. And—” his eyes flickered back to Dogma’s still frozen form, “there is something urgent I need to speak to you about.”
“Captain Rex, no—“ Thire lunged forward, wrapping a hand around his arm, “Don’t do this.”
Rex whirled on him, “or what, Thire? What will I find if I ask one of those men to take off their helmets? Will I find a familiar face staring back at me? Again?”
He didn't let the Coruscant Commander respond, instead staring straight past him towards Fives. “Keep Dogma here. I will be back shortly.” He said briskly, ripping his arm from the younger Commander’s grasp and intently turning away from the group.
He had something he needed to check.
The worst part was, he was right. Every single one of those Corries were former GAR troopers that had been hidden in the Guard for one reason or another. He even recognized some of them.
Thire followed him the entire time, assurances and pleas that Rex ignored falling from his lips. He knew why. Thire thought the troopers would be decommissioned, that he would be decommissioned.
They wouldn’t be. Rex—the GAR—would never, but the Guard apparently didn’t know that.
So yeah, Rex thought he was a bit justified to be mad at the younger Commander. But only a bit.
Only a bit, he reminded himself, sighing deeply as they settled in the empty office.
Thire stiffly situated himself in the chair across from Rex. The Coruscant offices admittedly hadn’t been his first choice for this conversation, but he hoped the familiar territory would put the vod’ika more at ease for what would surely be a rough discussion.
He knew better than to do this in Fox’s office, especially when, to Thire, Fox was still missing, so instead he had led Thire to the other Coruscant Commander’s communal office.
If it could even be called that, he scowled.
Rex had only been in Fox’s office a handful of times, but even as a Marshall Commander, it was practically a shoebox. But compared to the other Commander’s office? It was practically an oasis.
Because maker forbid the Guard Commanders got separate offices, no, the rest of the Commanders had to all cram into one dingy room stacked full of strewn data pads, with uncomfortable chairs and poor lighting.
Seeing the sorry excuse of a communal office made why they often all piled into Fox’s office to do their work, and why Stone had his own office in the prison, make a lot more sense.
As he settled, Thire eyed the office walls suspiciously, eyes running over every nook and cranny, which was weird because this was his office.
“Before we begin,” Rex started, “what questions do you have for me?”
“What questions?” Thire asked incredulously, eyes wide. His helmet was still confiscated, as were almost all of the higher ranking Corries’. The standard troopers had been permitted to keep theirs for their own comfort, but as much as Rex hated to say it, they couldn’t risk the higher ranking officers keeping possession of theirs. Brief inspection of their helmets had revealed custom modifications as well as other technology embedded into their programming. To let the Commanders and other officers keep their helmets would be to risk them attempting to pull off something stupid.
Rex wasn’t stupid. He knew the only reason the GAR had gotten this far was because they had caught the Corries by surprise. The moment they lost the surprise was when the Guard would retaliate, not understanding that this was for their own good.
Give a Corrie an inch, and they’d take a mile before you could blink.
“What don’t I have questions about,” the young Commander scoffed, but he paused as he took in Rex’s open expression. Hopefully, he was finally realizing Rex was being completely honest in his offer.
Thire swallowed, “why did the GAR rearrange the Coruscant Command?”
And wasn’t that the question of the hour. Why did they go about things the way they did?
Because you’re all sneaky liars? Because you're all self-sacrificing? Because the Coruscant Guard’s loyalty would be the death of you all?
“The Grand Army of the Republic Commanders decided that a rearrangement of command would be the most appropriate action in response to the new information that came to light because of the Coruscant Guard’s long history with distancing themselves from the army, as well as being notoriously evasive when it comes to inquiries into the Guard’s internal workings.”
Thire opened his mouth to interrupt, but Rex wasn’t done.
“By putting the Grand Army at a higher rank than the Coruscant Guard, we were enabled to handle the situation by placing ourselves in between the Guard and the natborns, as well as being able to control the situation as we saw fit. That way, a higher ranking officer did not need to intervene for every little situation, as any GAR officer would be a higher ranking officer. I’m sure you can understand why that was so necessary.”
“I don’t.” Thire bit out.
“Then I'll expand.” Rex huffed, "is it not clear to you why we had every Corrie brought in by the GAR first cleared by our medical officers?”
He didn’t respond, so Rex elected to continue. “Almost every single Corrie was hiding an injury to some degree. Without us having the ability to force you to the med ‘bay, little to none of you would have accepted the treatment you all sorely needed. This is just one of the numerous examples why the GAR felt it necessary to specifically outrank you and the other Commanders while this matter was dealt with.”
Thire swallowed, “and the arrests of the other Commanders? Stone? Fox?”
Rex sighed, he knew Thire would ask that. Truly, the vod’ika loved his ori’vod’e more than anything. “That is a different case. Not only did a large number of the Commanders display outright resistance—justified resistance from their perspective, but resistance nonetheless—to their new orders, but they also exhibited a large amount of concerning behaviours in regard to their own selves.”
Thire balked, “what do you mean?”
“Fox threw himself out of a window. Stone pulled a blaster on Bly, Thorn surrendered to Neyo under the impression he would die—“ and wasn’t that one delightful to find out from the Commander over a holocall. That the Corries were so convinced of the GAR’s allegiance and callousness that they thought they were going to be killed. “—I’m sure you can see the pattern being displayed here. While their desperation was completely anticipated by the GAR, the Commanders being arrested rather than just returned to base was a matter of safety precaution.”
The more Rex talked, the further the Corrie’s face paled. Rex would say he felt pity for him, but he didn’t, because Thire had also pulled stupid stunts just like the other Commanders did when he was confronted. He really shouldn’t be so shocked at Stone desperately, stupidly, pulling a blaster on Bly when he practically flying squirrel tackled Rex with a stab wound so the other Corries could “escape”.
Hypocrites, the lot of them.
“You have them under watch,” Thire frowned, taking the apparent revelation of Thorn being caught in stride.
“That is a crude way to put it, but yes, the Commanders were arrested to be put under mental watch as well as to inhibit them from interfering.”
He eyed the vod’ika, “That is no different for why you were arrested either, Thire.”
The Commander turned away, uncomfortable, his eyes once again returning to scanning the room. Rex could admit his current attitude was likely starkly different from their first… conversation, but the circumstances of that conversation were quite different too.
Rex meant what he said, he was perfectly fine making a vod uncomfortable, so long as they were safe.
Now that, with Thorn’s retrieval, all the Guard Commanders were accounted for, as well as almost every single Corrie, they could now begin to focus on the much harder part. Getting the Coruscant Guard the care they needed, and investigating the true circumstances into the Guard.
Dealing with whoever had been taking advantage of them.
“I’m not a risk to myself,” Thire spoke finally, "I'm not a risk to others, either.”
“i’m afraid that’s not your decision to make, vod’ika,” Rex said softly, it was also banthashit, and they both knew it, “Things will change once you’ve been cleared by our CMO’s and the adjustment period has finished, but for the time being, i’m afraid you will have to accompany me or a higher ranking officer at all times.”
“Do you have any more questions?”
Thire shook his head mutely, running his hands along his vambrace. Just like Fox did. Just like Cody did.
“Now then,” Rex sighed, here was the difficult part, “we’ll start on my questions.”
Just like that, the Commander stiffened right back up, and any ease Rex had managed to achieve during Thire’s questions was thrown out the window immediately.
“How long has the Guard been faking decommissionings?” Rex asked.
Thire opened his mouth, expression defiant, but Rex cut him off, already knowing what he’d say, “that is an order, Thire.”
His mouth clicked shut and he levelled Rex with a nasty glare, truly, the vod’ika took after Fox in every way.
“A few months into the war.”
A few months. A few months into the war. Rex grit his teeth.
“and why did the Guard feel the faking of decommissionings was okay or necessary?”
“The number of decommissionings the Guard was receiving were to excess, and usually because of an inconsequential issue that we had no way of preventing—“ meaning, it wasn’t the troopers fault, but no one would listen, “—we first tried to focus on rectifying these minor issues, but when the higher command realized that was a fruitless endeavour, we turned our attention towards…sweeping the issues under the carpet. The needless decommissionings of troopers was wasteful, and the vod’s survival didn’t harm anyone.”
“So you’re saying the Corries disobedience of the senate was born out of loyalty, rather than disloyalty?” Rex said, turning the words over his tongue. Thire nodded.
That was also banthashit. While the Corries were loyal to the Republic, at least to a certain degree, they weren’t faking the decommissionings because they thought that would be better for the Republic. No, the Corries had tried to turn tail on the Republic as soon as the GAR rearranged their operations—Thorn did turn tail. If Neyo hadn’t caught him when he did, the Commander likely would’ve been halfway to the Outer Rim by now. They were faking the decommissionings because the senate was ordering the senseless killings of their brothers.
Something about the situation stirred a feeling of similarity in Rex’s gut.
It always came down to the senseless killings of their brothers. Products. Lab produce. The senate threw away the Guard just as easily as they threw away their credits.
”I will not be undermined by creatures bred in some laboratory.”
“Has the Guard committed any other acts of similar treason?”
Thire bit his lip, looking away, and Rex let him. He was very capable of being patient, after all. This entire past month had been one long test of patience, ever since he stood on the Negotiator’s deck with Cody as his ori’vod received the Guard’s files from his slicer.
Finally, Rex’s silence won out.
“Yes,” Thire huffed but did not elaborate.
He sighed, nothing could ever be easy with a Corrie, “What, and why?”
Thire’s eyes squinted, and he brought a hand to clutch at his head. When he spoke, it sounded like there was molasses on his tongue, “Because—because we didn’t have any other choice.”
“Why,” he pressed.
“Because-“ the vod was interrupted by a cough, and he clutched a hand to his mouth. He shook his head, “Captain, I can’t.”
“You can,” Rex said, “I promise you, the GAR doesn’t blame you for whatever actions you were forced to take, but we need to know, Thire.”
“No,” Thire shook his head, “you don’t understand, I can’t tell you. I can’t.”
“Thire…” Rex warned.
He had thought they had made progress—established a common ground. He’d thought letting Thire accompany him to confront the other former GAR troopers would prove to Thire that they weren’t going to punish the Guard. Apparently, he was wrong.
He repeated the question, much firmer this time, authority ringing out clear in his voice, “Commander Thire, why did the Guard feel the need to turn to illegal options and operations rather than reach out to the GAR for aid?”
The Commander shut his eyes closed tight.
“I-“ Thire gagged into his hand and promptly whirled around to throw up, right on the office floor.
Rex stood up in shock, eyes wide as the Commander choked. He moved quicker than he could think, and within a moment he was right by the vod’ika’s side, a hand on Thire’s shoulder as he choked and coughed.
“It’s okay vod’ika,” Rex murmured, rubbing his back, “let it out.”
The Commander tried to speak again, but all that came out was a choked cough, and then more vomit spilled from his mouth. But it wasn’t—it didn’t look like regular expulsion from his stomach. It was a black substance. Black like tar.
He sobbed and raised a hand to his mouth, eyes still tightly clutched close, head still shaking.
“I can’t,” he gasped, "I'm sorry Rex, I can’t.”
Rex’s grip tightened around Thire, staring at the tar-like expulsion. It didn’t look like any sickness Rex had ever seen, not even after his troopers, or his Commander, or his General consumed some sort of foreign plant that left them bedridden for hours.
“It’s okay vod’ika,” he said as the younger vod shook, “we’re going to figure this out.”
It took a few more moments before Thire managed to gather himself to speak again. He stared at the mess he’d made with what Rex could only describe as hatred. Pure, unbridled hatred.
He turned to face Rex, “when can I see Fox?”
Whatever he’d been expecting it wasn’t that.
“What?” he asked.
Thire rolled his eyes tiredly, “Please don’t insult my intelligence, Captain. I’m not stupid. I know Fox was caught. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. Your entire batch would be tearing Coruscant apart right now trying to find him.”
“Fox is highly trained and plenty capable of taking care of himself,” Rex defended, “we wouldn’t tear apart Coruscant to find him.”
“Oh but you would,” Thire smiled viciously, “you said so yourself. None of the Coruscant Commanders can be trusted with their own care right now, and you think Fox is suicidal. You wouldn’t let him run around if you thought he was capable of something drastic, ergo, if you're here, that means he’s here. I want to see him.”
Rex thinned his lips and narrowed his eyes. “It is unnecessary for you to meet with him right now. He is resting in recovery.”
He was also was still stubbornly refusing to cooperate with their batch, according to Ponds.
Thire’s smile dropped, but the vicious look in his eyes did not. Even when he was crouched on the floor with shaky limbs next to his own vomit, looking as small as could be, he still was determined to be as defiant as possible. “Why should I believe anything you say, Captain? How can I believe that he’s okay if none of us have seen him? That he’s even alive? That Stone’s alive? How can I trust you won’t decommission all of us the moment we step out of line?”
“Prove it to me,” he glared, “let me meet with them and assure they’re okay for myself, and then i’ll cooperate with you.”
Rex didn’t have to say yes.
He held all the power in this situation. Thire held none. He was in no position to be making demands, and Rex should refuse his demands on principle to remind him of such.
Thire kept Rex’s vod’ika from him. He should keep Thire’s ori’vod, Rex’s ori’vod, from him. Let him know how it feels, to find out someone you loved was so close and that someone had decided you didn’t get to see them. That you didn’t get to know if they're okay. To know how or why or—
Rex was not mad about Dogma getting sequestered into the Guard. No, Rex was thankful. Fox and Thire had saved his vod’ika’s life.
He wasn’t mad about Dogma joining the Coruscant Guard. He wasn’t even that mad about Fox lying straight to his face and holding him as he mourned his very not-dead younger brother, that he’d had so little time with, who had been so uptight and similar to his own younger self, that he had wanted to help but the opportunity had been cruelly ripped away from him.
Betrayed? Shaken? Yes. But not mad.
Okay. Maybe a little bit mad. But he understood—he understood.
He saw the way Dogma stuck by Thire’s side. He recognized the fond tone of voice Thire took on when he referred to Dogma as “D’ika”. He remembered how Dogma would glance at Thire for permission, confirmation, advice, just as he would at Rex when the 501st tried to get him to loosen up.
No, what Rex was mad about was Thire trying to sneak away with Dogma and the other former GAR troopers when the Grand Army took control over the Guard’s operations.
If Thire had succeeded, Rex would have never found out. Kix, Fives, Jesse, Tup would have never found out. Dogma and the others, so many others, would have slipped into the cracks of Coruscant all because the kriffing Corries didn’t know what was good for them and weren’t willing to wait around for answers.
But Thire kept Dogma from Rex.
That realization was nothing short of devastating and infuriating. And that was just what the GAR were doing to the Guard with Fox and Stone.
The selfish, vindictive part of Rex wanted to say no, so badly. Wanted to keep Fox to himself, and give Thire a taste of his own medicine while he was at it.
But the larger part of him that had been both hurt and relieved to discover Dogma’s survival, that had stood by Fox’s bedside and watched his ori’vod’s slow rise and fall of his chest, that watched Thire puke up his guts on his own floor, demanded that Rex concede. Because Thire and Fox had kept Dogma from him, and he didn’t want another vod to have to go through that, no matter if it was for their own good.
“Okay,” He agreed and could not deny himself the satisfaction at seeing Thire’s eyes widen in shock, “we’ll bring you to see them.”
Thire slumped against the floor, adrenaline visibly draining from his body, and promptly passed out in Rex’s arms.