Chapter Text
The Resolute is currently docked at one of Coruscant's mooring towers while receiving fuel and supplies. Rex is working port-side, signing off on shipments received, directing the natborns to where they need to unload supplies, and making sure they receive every gram of gristle and meat that they had demanded for the health and appetite of their littlest Commander. Getting the meat, well, that had been a surprisingly tough fight to win with the natborn Resource Management– despite the fact that Commander Tano could die if she didn't get the food specific to her diet. So as the natborns file in with their crates of various meats– mostly cheap nerf meat– he counts once, counts twice, and then counts a third time as each crate piles up.
Pulling off the tops of the crates, he slots his datapad into its holster and leans over the frozen food, the breezy chill of ice brushing his face as he counts the individually paper-wrapped meat cuts. There should be twenty per crate and so far he's only had to send one crate back to be properly filled. Rex is no fool, if he doesn't double-check every inch of the incoming supplies, the upper management will be happy to start getting skimpy and being more liberal with cutting corners. One less slab of meat is another credit saved to be used elsewhere, as they think. Because apparently feeding their troops is only 'low priority' in the grand scheme of things.
Rex scoffs, standing back and sliding the crate lid back into place, slapping the top of it. "Everything's in order, Sir," he tells the natborn standing impatiently a few feet away. He pulls out his datapad and quickly checks off the box for meat supplies. He does his best not to micromanage when supplies are loaded onto the Resolute, no matter how much he wants to. He'd run himself ragged if he double-checked everything himself. He just has to trust that the men he leaves in charge of their respective areas of expertise do their jobs thoroughly, just as he does his own share. He's not too concerned overall– he knows how anal Fizz-Pop gets over gear– but paranoia is hard to shake, especially in relation to the welfare of his troops.
"Sign here," the natborn says, offering a datapad and a stylus. Ren quickly scribbles out his serial number onto the signature line and hands the pad back. The natborn gives a harried nod and scurries off to wherever else they are needed.
"Captain!"
Rex turns and a shiny clone is hurrying his way. In his arms is a fat metal suitcase with a large Republic Cog stamped into the metal.
"This shipment was sent to you specifically, Sir," the shiny says, holding it out.
"Thank you, trooper," Rex says, taking the case from the shiny's hands. He pops open the clasps and peers inside. He closes the case and shuts the clasps securely. "Pad?" Rex asks. The shiny holds out a datapad and hands over a stylus so Rex can quickly sign off on the delivery. Signature given, the shiny seems to give a little happy jolt in place before rushing off to wherever they came from, special mission complete.
Rex motions to some nearby troopers, beckoning them over. He jerks a thumb to the pile of crates. "Get these down to the kitchen pronto– we don't need the meat thawing out up here." Several short salutes are given and the men are moving off. Rex is quick to move off himself, lugging the suitcase in one hand and heading over to the opposite side of the hangar.
He finds Fizz-Pop rifling through several open crates where armor has been stuffed between straw, pad in one hand as his mouth moves with silent counting. Several other troopers are loading more crates up next to the already large pile. There's always a need for new plastoid pieces on the ship. This pile is even bigger than their own crew needs themselves, as this pile includes, not only the Resolute's resupply, but also the resupply for other ships that are too big to dock at the mooring towers.
Rex waits until Fizz-Pop has stopped his counting and made a note on his pad before interrupting the other man's work.
"Fizz-Pop, have you gotten our special order yet?" Rex asks.
Fizz-Pop nods, glancing up briefly before straightening and pointing over at a crate that has a green X spray-painted across its side. "The armor set's in that one." Fizz-Pop looks around. "Crisper, over here." A trooper, with blue paint sprayed across his chest in a deliberate speckled pattern, sets down the crate he's hefting and comes over.
"Lieutenant?" Crisper asks, massaging his tired wrists and flexing his fingers.
"Take the crate– the one with the green X on it– and put it wherever Captain Rex wants."
"Yes, Sir." Crisper turns to Rex, straightening to attention.
"Take it up to my bunk room," Rex says. He pauses, then adds, "And take this case with you." He holds out the briefcase and Crisper takes it with both hands like its delicate cargo.
"Will do, Sir," Crisper nods.
"Get going then," Rex dismissed with a wave of the hand. The trooper loads the case on top of the crate and shuffles off with full arms.
"Tell me how the new armor ends up fitting," Fizz-Pop says. "If there's any adjustment needed I'll add them to the Commander's measurement profile so it can be fixed later."
"I'll make sure to ask Sir if she has any complaints," Rex says. His business finished and not wanting to interrupt Fizz-Pop further, he heads back across the hangar. He still has yet to check in with the explosive shipment today, and he needs to check in on the hygiene and mechanics shipments as well. Based on the complaints of his troopers, they're running dangerously low on toothpaste and razor blades.
As he walks, he turns up the volume on his wrist comlink so he can hear it above the hustle and bustle of the hanger. He needs to make sure he can unlock the door to his personal quarters remotely when Crisper gets there.
Two days pass, the crate and suitcase gathering dust against a wall of Rex's bunkroom-slash-office. Sick of knocking his shins on the edge of the crate when stumbling away from his desk into his bunk at odd hours of the night, he finally sets out to get rid of them.
Tapping into the radio on his wrist and clicking into the high-command channel, he brings the comlink to his mouth.
"Captain Rex calling Commander Tano, over."
He releases the transmit button and waits for a response and there is only a minor delay.
"Go ahead Captain Rex, over," comes the static-voiced reply from Commander Tano. Rex smiles a bit at the response. They've been practicing with her on how to properly speak over radio and he knows the Commander enjoys it– even when Echo drills her on proper jargon and responses. She told them it was similar to a game they'd play in the creche except they spoke with their thoughts to each other instead of over radios.
Though Rex does have a mild gripe about the circumstances. Wrist-coms are only really practical while off-duty when someone might not be wearing their helmet. It's not ideal for battle. The audio of wrist-coms could so easily be covered by the noise of bombs and blaster fire, and for several vital seconds you lose a hand that you could be using to defend yourself. But Rex forces himself to settle for wrist-coms as the next best thing anyways, since Commander Tano can't wear a helmet. Wrist-coms are better than no coms. (Heck, they've already had to jump the hurdle of 'no coms' already, since no vambraces fit their Commander. He had to have one of the tech boys jury-rig them something temporary for their Commander so she isn't left without a line of communication.) Rex determines that he'll just have to help the Commander practice her jedi-fighting while talking over radio so she isn't handicapped on the field.
"What's your 20? Over," Rex asks.
There's a pause as Commander Tano likely tries to remember what the query means.
"My 20 is in training salle number 4, over," she finally replies after a couple seconds' wait.
"Copy that, Captain Rex en route, over," Rex replies.
"Understood. Commander Tano, out," Commander Tano finishes the radio call. There's a staticy click as the transmission ends. A vine of pride takes root in Rex's bones. Just a couple of days ago, Commander Tano's voice sounded muddy and half her words would be lost over transmission. Now, as she ends this com call, her voice is clear and enunciated– easily understood by any listener.
She's a fast learner, Rex thinks. A pang of nostalgia hits him. Stars, if only General Skywalker had been so quick to catch on. He still fills the radio with chatter.
It's a relief to think that Commander Tano is integrating so well. He'd worried about growing pains, and while there had certainly been some minor ones, overall her arrival had been easily accepted by the troops and she herself had been doing amazingly well in adapting to the ways of military life and all that entails. She's still unprofessionally blasé about some things that she really ought to handle with more tact– like her carefree way of addressing natborns superiors, much to the troops' amusement– but Rex knows maturity comes with age and instead tries to enjoy her shininess that he knows will become scuffed and muted with the passage of time. It happens with all the new troops. Seasoned soldiers know this period is something to be appreciate while it's still there, rather than to scorn as naive and childish. Shinies are allowed to laugh while they still can, as clones say. Rex tries to take the maxim to heart, especially now that he, and many other clones, have taken their shiny Commander under wing.
Rex arrives in the training wing, walking until he arrives at the fourth salle, a little red light over the door telling him it's in use. He knocks before entering.
It's not just Commander Tano there, but the other Generals as well. The three of them sit in a wide triangle while facing each other, kneeling on the matted floor with their eyes closed and hands on their lap. Commander Tano and General Kenobi look serene, faces relaxed in a way only a jedi can get while meditating, and General Skywalker looks impatient as ever, his index finger tapping a rhythm on his thigh while his brows slightly furrow. Rex has known General Skywalker long enough to know the man prefers katas and moving meditation to sitting around. So when Rex enters the salle and the General peaks one eye open, he isn't surprised at the pleading look he finds there.
"Sorry to interrupt, Sirs, but I'd like to borrow Commander Tano," Rex says, studiously ignoring the wordless begging.
Ahsoka blinks her eyes open, turning to peer over her shoulder at Rex, before turning back to the two masters.
"Can I go?" she asks, squirming a bit where she sits, looking at her teacher expectantly.
General Skywalker sighs, sending Rex a mulish look but nodding in Ahsoka's direction. "Yes, as long as you promise to do extra meditation before bed." He grimaces like the idea pains him. "It's a habit you need to get into anyways."
Commander Tano smirks, "Well, unlike you, Skyguy, I actually like meditation, and it's really no problem for me." She springs to her feet with an easy bounce in her step that Rex envies. His joints aren't as youthful as they were at the start of the war.
General Skywalker rolls his eyes. "I'll have you know that moving meditation is the superior form of meditation. I get a workout and I clear my mind."
"Yeah, yeah, there's always an excuse," Commander Tano snarks, trotting over to the door.
General Skywalker sighs. General Kenobi, with his eyes still closed, smirks.
"C'mon, Rex, let's ditch these losers," she laughs, skipping past him into the halls.
Rex gives a final nod of acknowledgment to the two generals as they take their exit. Rex makes a note to himself about reminding Commander Tano to not be so free-worded with her superiors (especially if she's hanging around natborns or other generals). He puts a pin in the thought for later. He'll bring it up when he convenes with Echo to give the Commander her daily lessons. For now, there are more fun and interesting matters afoot.
"So, why'd you call me out of meditation– is Echo prepared already?" Commander Tano asks, walking by his side and dramatically swinging her arms in time with his military walk.
Rex shakes his head. "No, Sir, he'll be ready for lessons later. But we've finally got your personal shipment in. All your armor has arrived and we need to make sure it fits you before we leave Coruscant."
Commander Tano immediately perks up. "Wait, really? I thought I'd have to wait ages until it came!"
The side of Rex's mouth crooks up at the blatant excitement. "I guess you lucked out, Sir. I was also expecting it to take longer." Rex shrugs and leads them down the hall to the barracks. "We should be thankful, you'll have a week or so to get used to it before our next engagement."
Commander Tano pumps both her fists eagerly, jumps interrupting her stride. "Yes– I'll get to paint my armor like yours too, right?" she asks, hands clapping together in a pleading motion, turning her big blue eyes on Rex like he's going to say no.
"Of course, Sir, I already have some paints pulled out just for that."
If possible, Commander Tano's excitement mounts. By the time Rex is punching in the code to his quarters, she's vibrating and twitching fast enough to reach lightspeed.
The moment the door slides open the Commander is darting inwards, honing in on the crate and briefcase that sit out of place in the room.
"This is it, right?" she asks. The tips of her fingers drum eagerly at the edges of the crate, like she wants to pry it open, but is using all her strength to restrain herself. She bounces on the balls of her feet, looking over her shoulder as the door shuts behind Rex.
"Yes, Sir," Rex says. He reaches out and lifts the case off. "The case is for you too, but open up the crate first."
"Yes, yes, yes," Commander Tano hisses to herself. She rubs her hands together with a toothy grin before pulling up the crate lid with an umph at the power needs. She sets it to the side and starts digging, cheering each time a shiny new piece of armor is laid out on Rex's bunk room floor.
Rex sinks down onto the edge of his bed to watch, case set at the foot of his bunk and eyeing the pieces of hay that go flying across the room. He's going to have to sweep it up later before he goes to bed or risk forgetting about it.
Commander Tano looks up at him with excited eyes. "This is really all mine?" she asks leaning forward, hands atop her knees.
"All yours, Commander," Rex assures with a nod.
"Can I put it on?" she asks, lifting up the cuirass, turning it over in her hands. It's still so new that Rex can smell the scent of plastoid from where he's sitting. It'll take a couple weeks and a few battles for the smell of shiny to wear off completely. It always takes a while for dirt and grime to smother the fresh-off-the-production-line smell.
"It's a good idea, Sir. Fizz-Pop wants to know if it fits you well anyways. If not, he can make adjustments or send in for a replacement piece," Rex says, leaning sideways onto his helmet that sits by his hip.
Commander Tano nods and says. "I'll make sure it all fits me," she says, fiddling with one of the buckles, tongue stuck out in concentration. It pops open with a click and her face lights up. "Ah-ha!" She looks at Rex. "Can you teach me how to put it all on right?"
Rex nods amicably. "Sure thing, Sir." He gestures for the Commander to stand and she does so. "I'll teach you the order as well."
"There's a certain order?" she asks, still holding the cuirass.
"Yes. We work from bottom to top. We start with sabatons–"
"What's that?"
"It's foot armor, Sir."
"Okay, and then you work your way up the body?" Commander Tano sets the cuirass on the ground, shuffling the pieces about until she has the single-plate sabatons in hand.
"Yes, Sir. Then you put on the greaves (the shin and knee armor)," he points to her leg, "Then the cuisses (thigh armor), your codpiece and skid plate– your groin and shebs – followed by your stomach armor (plackart), cuirass (the chest piece), then move onto the arms."
As he lists each piece his finger moves to each area where the armor will cover her.
"You start with your upper arm (rerebrace) and work down to your forearms– which is your vambrace. To your hand– which is your gauntlet. Then, you end with putting on the shoulder bell– your shoulder armor."
Rex takes the sabatons from Commander Tano's hands and kneels in front of her, showing her how and where they snap into place over her boots. "Then you put on your kamas– if you have them, which you don't– and then your belt. Once everything else is done, you put on your helmet last. Something else you don't have."
Commander Tano bends forward at the waist, watching attentively as Rex works on attaching all the pieces of armor to her right leg. "There's so many pieces of armor to wear."
"There's a lot that needs to be protected," Rex says in an agreeing tone, leaning back into a slouched crouch. "Now why don't you try to put the armor on your other leg, Sir."
Commander Tano nods, taking the second greave with the attached knee-plate in hand. She presses it against her skin, twisting around so she can see where the buckles connect, trying to fasten them without letting the armor piece slip. It takes a bit longer for her to do it than Rex, but she gets it done in a reasonably short length of time. Commander Tano continues the process with the rest of her leg.
"Good, Sir," Rex congratulates when she finishes. "Soon you'll be putting on your tack as fast as the other shinies."
Commander Tano straightens with pride. "You know it," she declares, taking up the next piece of plastoid. Within ten minutes she's fully geared up, minus a helmet. Rex is more than happy to input all the relevant com-codes and frequencies into her new comlink. He'll be glad to toss the old hodge-podge com-watch into the incinerator.
"So, how do I look?" Commander Tano asks with a cheeky grin, spinning in a circle on a heel, arms out-spread. Rex almost wishes he had requested kamas for her, just so she could have something to twirl. He's sure she would have adored that.
"Looking very fierce, Commander. You'll make those seppie bastards tremble in their metal boots. How does it feel? Does it fit well– no chafing or pinching?"
"Heck yeah I will– and I feel great!" the Commander exclaims, raising her arms to show off her child-sized muscles in a display of great strength. "And I look like you– they won't even anticipate my lightsaber," she declares with pride. "They'll be expecting a blaster but all they'll get is a 'saber."
"I'm sure it'll fool those B-1 droids, Sir. Their computers will think you're a glitch in their systems."
"It'll be like a scene from a holo-drama!" Commander Tano exclaims, hitting a fist against her plastoid-covered chest in a way he recognizes as a distinctly Hardcase-esque mannerism that the Commander had clearly started to copy. "I'll come in and they'll cry– halt, trooper!– but I'll pull out my lightsaber and they'll yell – wait, it's a jedi!"
Rex can't help but laugh at the dramatic play-by-play of the Commander's dreamy future stunts, including her mimicry of weedy droid voices. It reminds him of back when he too was still a shiny fresh off Kamino, dreaming of all the heroics he'd complete once he got his chance to draw blood. Of course, no heroics happened, but the allure of those fanciful daydreams seems to be something even little jedi like the Commander are prone to.
"I'm sure you'll be kicking droid shebs, Sir," Rex says. "Just don't go throwing yourself into enemy fire."
Commander Tano smirks, hands on her hips. "I'll be fine," she says blithely, with a wave of her hand.
Before Rex can go and impress upon her that she still needs to be cautious– armor or no armor– she turns and plops down on the bed where Rex had just sat, wiggling to get comfortable in the armor.
"So what's in this– I think I'm wearing all the armor you can possibly put on me," she says, picking up the briefcase and presenting it to him. Her eyes shoot up. "Did you manage to find a helmet for me?"
Rex huffs, taking the silver case in hand and sitting down next to her. "Sir, even if I did find a helmet for you, it wouldn't fit in a flat briefcase."
"Oh." Commander Tano's face pinches with embarrassment. "Well, it could've been deconstructed!"
Rex doesn't bother to answer that statement, popping the clasps with a snap and twisting the case around in his lap to face his superior. "I decided to put in a special order for you, Sir."
Commander Tano's jaw drops and her hands fly to cover her mouth.
"I thought dual blasters would suit you. We've already been practicing with them and they complement your dual saber style." Rex watches as Commander Tano carefully lifts one of the shiny new blasters out from where it lays snuggled between the black travel foam of the case. "Dual blasters are also meant to act as a secondary weapon– though they've become my primary– so they'll work well if you lose one of your 'sabers."
Without getting a response, Rex carries on. "Though, if you find dual blasters don't work for you, or that another vod's style of fighting fits you better, we can adjust and get you new equipment. I'm sure whichever brother you ask would be happy to teach you."
Oh stars, Rex thinks to himself abruptly, just please don't follow in Hardcase's footsteps. The idea of a jedi explosives expert… with a machine gun… The image of Commander Tano jedi-leaping into the sky with the machine gun on full auto conceptualizes in his head, leaving him repressing a shudder.
But the Commander's shaking her head so hard he puts a hand between her montrals to prevent any potential whiplash.
"No– no! I want DC-17s like you!" Commander Tano exclaims, leaning forward. She holds the blaster to her chest like it's a doll. She looks down on it, a smile splitting her face. She looks back up at him. "Thank you so much, Rex!" She lunges, throwing her arms around his shoulders in a hug that leaves him nearly choking in the tightness. He has to push the case to the side before it's knocked to the ground. Rex chuckles, returning the strong gesture with gentleness, wrapping his arms around her and patting her back. She releases him after a few moments of strangulation to go back to fawning over her new weapons, running her fingers up and down its side, rubbing her thumb over the textured grip.
"I'm glad you like them," Rex says, his own smile warming his face. It feels good to smile like this.
The Commander looks back up at him brightly. "This is the best gift ever– can we go practice with them now? And stock up on ammo?"
And it feels good to see Commander Tano smile too.
Rex tilts an eyebrow. "Right now? I thought you wanted to paint the armor."
Commander Tano is immediately face-palming. "Oh, right– duh. Yeah, we can practice later. I want to paint the armor first!"
"Alright, but you need to be careful, Sir," Rex says, standing to drag out a stack of paint cans he'd stashed under his desk. "This paint stains worse than engine grease– if you get it on clothes," he glances at his bed, "or bedsheets, it won't come out." There's five cans in total and he lines them up in the middle of the floor.
"I won't make a mess," Commander Tano promises huffily, turning to carefully pack the DC-17s away in their case. Though her longing gaze says she wishes she could paint armor and shoot her new blasters at the same time.
"I'll trust you on that, Sir," Rex says, digging into one of his desk drawers and pulling out several paint brushes and a flat-head screwdriver. The brushes aren't in the best of shape, one looking extra ragged compared to the others, but they've worked for him and visiting shinies well enough and he knows they'll continue to do their job well enough now.
"Is there more than one color?" Commander Tano asks, slipping off the edge of the bed and across from Rex as he starts to crack open the lips to the cans with the flat-head. "I thought the color of the 501st was blue?"
Rex sets the first can lid aside, revealing the blue paint the Commander speaks of. "Well, yes, it's our color," Rex says. "But troopers like to add accents. Or sometimes, if we have a trooper that's been transferred from another battalion, sometimes they like to add some of the color their previous battalion wore. Paying homage." He sets the third can lid aside. "Or some men, like Fives, just enjoy adding more colors. He has a little bit of red and areas of gray on his armor." It's not long until all the lids have been popped off their respective cans. "You're going to want to take off your armor to paint it, Sir."
"Are there rules on how I can paint my armor?" Commander Tano asks, working quickly to strip out of her plastoid, nearly squirming with eager nerves to begin her painting already.
"Just nothing crude, Sir. And generally, it's polite to wear the color of your battalion." He shrugs. "There's no strict regulations. We just can't have you painting dicks all over your armor– it'll get the natborns looking our way, and we don't exactly want to lose our paint privileges."
Commander Tano's nose wrinkles and her lips peel back with disdain. "Did someone really do that?"
"Shinies will be shinies."
"But you call me a shiny."
"Please prove me wrong, Sir."
"Don't lump me in with people who draw peni– dicks on themselves," Commander Tano says, stumbling over the foul language she's clearly copying from Rex. He hopes, belatedly, that he doesn't get in trouble for accidentally teaching the Commander how to swear. He hadn't thought about it before, but he doesn't know if jedi have any rules about swearing. General Skywalker never seemed bothered by it, but he also never really picked up on any of the slang the clones used either.
"So just don't use too much of any color that isn't blue?" Commander Tano says, laying out her last piece of armor around her in a crooked circle.
Rex wags a hand in the air. "It's polite, Sir, but you're a Commander. You aren't beholden to our rules, though the troopers might…" he trails off as he looks for the right words. "... might feel like you're rejecting them if you decide not to wear blue."
Commander Tano nods, eyebrows furrowed with seriousness as she picks out one of the less wilted looking brushes to use. "I'll just use blue then. I might put a bit of gold on my armor for Master Obi-Wan, but that should be good enough."
"That sounds like a good plan, Sir," Rex says. He scooches himself back across the floor until he's leaning up against his desk. He relaxes, trying to get comfortable as he sets in for a wait of unknown time.
Commander Tano lets the conversation dry up as she turns all her attention to the task at hand, dragging a shoulder bell forward and dipping the brush carefully into the blue paint. She leans forward, nearly bent in half in her effort to narrow her focus and steady her hand. It looks incredibly uncomfortable.
A companionable silence falls between them.
The Commander's lines are shaky like all shinies' first paint jobs are. She'll get a more confident hand with practice. She paints thick stripes up the middle of each armor piece, minus the cuirass, plackard, and one cuisses that she leaves blank. It's not a surprising choice. It's a design that Rex and many clones use. It's when she turns her attention to the chest piece that she deviates from the familiar.
Across one side of the chest she painstakingly paints out a series of sharp lines. There's wobble to them, like the rest of her art, but not enough to obscure her intentions.
Painted directly over where her heart will sit beneath the armor, are the aurebesh numerals of their battalion.
501
Rex doesn't ask, but he wonders if Commander Tano chose to put the number over her heart specifically, or if it's just a coincidence that she picked that side.
But the Commander isn't finished yet. She turns her attention to the blank cuisses and slowly marks down three tallies on one of them. She doesn't bother with a brush for this, setting the tool aside and simply dipping a finger into the bucket and taking it to the plastoid. Each tally is only about an inch in length and messy around the edges– giving it a special charm that makes it stick out on her armor.
Done with the blue, she picks up a second brush and drags forth the shoulder bells once more. She fills in the rest of the white space with 212th gold, leaving blue fingerprints on the wooden brush handle. It's only then that Commander Tano sits back, massaging her neck with her clean hand, and looking down at her hour's worth of work with a subdued look of pleasure and pride. Her eyes drift up to Rex in quiet askance.
Rex nods. "Well done, Commander."
Commander Tano grins, shy, for once sheepish in the face of her accomplishment, ducking her head to stare giddily at her work.
"All finished?" Rex asks while straightening up, rolling his shoulders and making his spine crack.
"Yup," Commander Tano says. "What now?"
"Now, we leave this to dry for the night and we clean up the brushes and put away the paint." Putting his hands on his legs he heaves himself to his feet, grimacing at the sound of his cracking knees. Surely he's too young for cracking joints– he's ten, not twenty!
"And after that, can we go get some ammo and go to the shooting range?" Commander Tano asks, bouncing from one foot to the other, already standing at the door with the used brushes and a blue-covered hand.
"Of course, Sir. We'll stop by Fizz-Pop's domain too and get you some holsters for those blasters," Rex says, drumming the lids back onto the paint cans.
"Aw, yeah! Awesome!" Commander Tano exclaims. She slaps the control panel and darts into the hallways. "C'mon, Rex! Let's go already!"
Rex sighs, loading the cans into his arms. He's going to have to spend a good ten minutes scrubbing his room's control panel when he gets back tonight to try and get all the blue paint out of the crevices. The tech boys'll chew his head off if the controls end up jammed.
"I'd be going faster, Sir, if you'd take one of these cans out of my hands."
Commander Tano jumps in place, frustrated at the slow pace Rex has taken up. "Fine, fine– gimme one." She holds out one hand and he transfers the emptiest can to her.
"Thank you, Sir."
The Commander shrugs and chirps, "No problem."