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Description
-Washed Clean-

Armor, was very protective for the most part. It did it's job, just as Captain Rex did his job. It protected him when the chips were down if he wasn't dumb enough to get hit in one of the "soft spots" as the troopers called them. Armor was hot though and it made you smell terrible after several hours of fighting. Now, he was sure that he smelled surprisingly bad. In fact, Rex couldn't tell if it was the other men in the cabin or himself which smelled worse.

Looking around he saw all the men who had fought with him that day and survived. There were only a handful on their way back to the Negotiator, General Kenobi's flag ship during the fight. Rex pulled his hand from the gauntlet that he wore and poured the sweat from it. It was quite an achievement to be able to fight when you could barely hold a blaster sometimes. Luckily the body suit that the clones wore under the armor tended to take away most of the moisture. It had been engineered to be absorbent, but not to bulk up causing any buckeling between armored plates. For that he was thankful. He would hate to get shot in between plates because of an under suit that was full of his own sweat.

Rubbing his hand across his bald head, he could just feel the beginnings of hair on his scalp. That would need to be taken care of. He couldn't stand the idea of hair in his helmet. When he was a younger clone, before they had been given permission to change their appearances, he had hated the idea of putting his bucket on when he had hair. Something about it just made him itch from head to toe.

The LAATI landed easily inside the hanger of the Negotiator. Rex was jostled from his thoughts as the clones began to disembark from the ship. Picking up his bucket and making sure that the last of the clones got off, Rex hopped down to the deck. His boots crunched with sand and gravel from the battlefield. They would need a good cleaning.

The Captain made his way towards an aft set of turbolifts that would take him closer to the clones quarters. He didn't want to walk all that far. He was tired from the 12 hours of fighting. Rex just wanted a shower and some chow and in that order. As the turbolift arrived, several other clones crowded into the car with him. The whole car smelled like sweaty cooked meat. The sun during the fight had been brutal.

Finally the turbolift found it's destination and the clones all piled out, heading in various directions. Rex was off to the shower. Making his way to his quarters, he unlocked the door with his personal code and went inside. Most of the men still lived barracks style, but Rex was a Captain and they were afforded some creature comforts while they were in space. That didn't mean that these were his permanent quarters. Those were on General Skywalker's flagship, but it had been taken out of service by a well placed Seperatist bomb. The General was always finding ways to get himself into trouble and it usually meant destroying something big and with little regard to the cost.

Rex threw his helmet onto the small cot in his room. Then he began peeling his armor plates from the under suit. The smell in the room was rising. Stripping the plates faster, Rex placed them in neat piles on his cot. There were piles for thigh and shin armor, gauntlets and forearm armor, chest and back armor were in yet another pile. Finally he was down to his under suit and boots. He pulled the boots from his feet and stripped the black under suit down to his waist, letting the arms hang.

Rex's body was in peak physical condition. His arms were muscular and his chest and stomach were well toned. He rubbed a hand absently over the small scar that resided just above his belly button. It had been a misplaced laser shot. It turned out that you shouldn't hold a blaster towards your stomach when you were trying to change the battery pack. He had learned that when he was merely five years old.

Another scar dotted his right upper arm. This one was more prominent and was a long cut. It was a right of passage for all those who were going to command in the clone army. The Kaminoans had believed that you should be able to take care of yourself. Rex still remembered the day the Kamino instructor had cut his arm and then told him to sew it up himself. The stitches had been precise and even. Rex had cried the whole time. He had been seven years old. It hurt worse then anything he could possibly imagine.

Reaching into the shower, Rex turned the water to full on hot. He liked for the shower to be very hot to scrub the dirt and grime from his body. Rex shucked the rest of his body suit and finally his skin could breathe. The air felt good.

Stepping under the nozzle he let the water wash over his skin soothing his aching muscles. He poured a small amount of shampoo into his hand and lathered himself up, starting on his head and moving down towards his neck. The suds washed down over his chest and his back washing away he dirt that lingered there.

Rex cracked his neck from one side to the other, letting the water soothe him. War was hard. Harder then he had ever been prepared for and what was he really fighting for anyway? He shook his head the water spattering on the stall. Rex rubbed his hands over his wet face and scrubbed at the dirt that he was sure was there.

Turning off the water, Rex pulled the towel from the hanger just outside of the shower and wrapped it around his waist. Stepping from the shower the water fell in rivulets from his body and onto the floor causing it to get slick. He stepped to the mirror and wiped the steam from the mirror. Standing there was a face that looked at him so many times and from so many individuals who weren't him.

"Captain Rex," the intercomm in his room chirped.

He was once again back to work.