My Clone Headcanon #1
Clones can tell apart Clones
They can tell clones apart visually even if they look identical to anyone else
They can tell apart the sounds of their voices even through muffled coms or their helmets (Think Rex in Season 7 recognizing Echo’s voice despite it being monotonous and garbled)
Yes, that means two clones that look, sound and act identically to anyone else Rex could walk up to and tell who is who. Any clone can.
Clones try to trick each other by wearing each other's armour, or inflect each other's voice, but it doesn’t work for long
They were shocked when Jedi could tell them apart
No seriously it shocked them - because all other natborns (Kaminoans included) can’t tell them apart at a glance and Jedi just can
Even better than clones are able to
Which immediately endeared Jedi to them because they felt more like people when around them and not identical products
But also frustrating because they too can’t be tricked by switching armour or trying to impersonate each other. Even that one time when one trooper dyed their hair blonde and tried to see how long it took Anakin to notice that he wasn’t Rex. (He lost a bet)
Anakin was just focused on battle strategies and wanted the trooper’s opinion and the trooper thought he had tricked Anakin until he was addressed by name, “Thanks - Scoot, is it? I appreciate your insight - now... why are you wearing Rex’s armor, and wasn’t your hair blue before?”
So dying their hair, getting tattoos or painting their armor isn’t about not appearing like one-another, but loving and owning their individual personalities and showing it off
In short Clones can tell Clones apart
Clone wars head cannons
· Rex is immaculately organized, but his organization system only makes sense to him
· Ashoka kept picking up swear words from the 501, so Rex banned any swear words. To mess with him Fives and Echo made up their own ridiculous swear words alternatives.
· Hardcase met Wreaker once and they both were very bad influences on each other
· Rex acts super professional any time they are working with a different battalion, but as soon as they leave, he goes right back to 501st shenanigans.
· Tup sleeps with a plushy bantha toy he found abandoned in a city they took from the SEPs
· Rex has zero spice tolerance
· Fives is a lightweight but pretends he's not
*Rex is recounting a story to Cody*
Rex: I'm warning you Hardcase, it's a bad idea. I don't want to be forced to go to drastic measures.
Hardcase (who's about to do something that's very cool and very dumb and possibly very dangerous at the same time): Drastic measures? Now I'm curious...
Rex: Drastic measures means I get Kix.
Hardcase: *visibly flinches*
Rex: Yep, that's pretty much the extent of my authority over those who won't listen... I have authority over one scary medic and it puts them all into place.
Cody: *takes notes* Will this work on Jedi?
Rex: Become a captain they said
Kix: Who the kriff puts out a fire by fanning it?
Hardcase: I panicked okay
Fives: Someone get that foam can thing, quick!
Echo: A fire extinguisher, it’s called a fire extinguisher!
Tup: Someone, put that out!
[glass shatters, collective screaming]
Fives: How did it get bigger!?
Rex:...it’d be fun they said
There is orange paint on Rex’s face.
He passes the brush off to the next brother in the line, watches as he dunks it in the tray of color and swipes a hasty brushstroke over the white space on the bucket. Galen has already outlined the commander’s markings, and he leaves them white as untouched snow, carefully drawing the deep orange around them like a blanket.
On the other side of the room, Dacker flaps his hands through the air, trying to dry the paint. Vaughn passes around more brushes.
And all Rex can hear is commander.
“She’s coming back,” someone says.
“You would have liked her, she was gone before you were assigned here….”
“Helped me paint my armor.”
“Talked to me after my first battle….”
“....figured out I had a nightmare and wouldn’t go away….”
“....held my hand when I was injured….”
“....made sure we ate and slept….”
“....checked in after Kiko died.”
The commander’s coming back.
There is paint on Rex’s face, and he could not care less, because the commander is coming back. Even if only for a day, a few hours, a minute - a confirmation, a symbol, a memory. A thousand moments they shared, a thousand times she breathed only so they could learn how, only so they could keep trying.
They were devastated when you left, Rex imagines saying, and the commander would smile sadly, and look back, and know she made the right decision despite the hurt of tearing herself away. I was devastated when you left. And she would reach for his hand, and squeeze it, and that would be enough.
I am who I am because of you, Rex says. He is. All of them are.
He holds the helmet in front of him, and the echo of her face meets his gaze. He runs his thumb over the back of the plastoid, where he hadn’t painted, and wishes the bright colors would dry sooner.
“She’s really coming back?”
Jesse sighs and stretches his legs out, settling next to Rex on the floor. Jesse, in his ARC armor - Rex still isn’t used to it, the flared pauldrons and the kama and the extra equipment. It fits him well; he wears it well. The armor, the new responsibility, the age-old wisdom in his eyes.
“Remember when she….”
“Yeah.” Of course he does. No one ever forgets the commander.
So they wait, together, and they watch the company and the paint and the helmets, hundred and forty-four tributes that say more than words ever could. Thank you, farewell, we miss you, we are with you. Rex runs his thumb over his own helmet, again, memorizing the feel of the fresh plastoid.
He imagines her walking down the off-ramp, of some unfamiliar, Mandalorian ship, back onto the Resolute. She is older, of course - even away from the war, lines cross her face like hyperspace lanes as if the story of the galaxy is told within her. Her lekku have lengthened. Something about her has changed, something deeper and connected in her voice and her stride and her resonance. But she will be, as ever, the commander.
They’ll wear their helmets, a memory, a welcome, a reminder.
Is this past or present? We love you. We loved you. The d blends, unsure.
Finneas sets his tray of paint aside. Ukase takes his brush. Railer hangs up the helmet to dry, alongside a line of more. A hundred and forty-four stories to tell; a hundred and forty-four messages to this girl, who cared enough to listen.
There is orange paint on Rex’s face. Jesse sighs, and his eyes are far away.
“The commander’s coming back.”
Ahsoka’s coming back.
One of my favorite scenes, from the moment I first saw it, was the scene where the 501st is all lined up when Ahsoka comes back. They painted their helmets for her.
I could write that scene until the day I die and a hundred times more.