"Anakin's not going to like it," I murmur to Rex as we traverse the dimly lit corridor back towards the infirmary. The metallic hum of the cruiser is a steady backdrop to our pressing thoughts. Rex walks beside me, his face cast in the soft shadows that dance along the walls, betraying a mixture of resolve and concern.

"I know, sir, but he'll just have to accept it," he replies with a sigh, his voice tinged with the weight of responsibility we each carry.

I chuckle softly, the sound echoing slightly in the empty hallway. We've just received word from Admiral Tulare that R2 is missing. True, there are no signs that the little droid is deceased, but the absence alone is enough to unsettle us.

R2-D2, with his myriad of talents and unflinching loyalty, is more than just a droid; he is a constant in our tumultuous lives, a figure of reliability in the chaos of war. The notion of him being lost in the vast expanses of the galaxy, unprotected and alone, sends a shiver through me.

Rex's gait doesn't falter, though I can sense his unease, a tension in the air that clings to us like the scent of ozone after a storm. Our bond, much like those in Erin Hunter's tales of feline clans, is steeped in the mutual respects of warriors, a trust built on countless shared trials.

As we approach the infirmary door, a gravitational pull of both duty and dread tugs at me. Anakin awaits beyond, a force of nature unto himself, and how he will take this news is a storm I dare not predict.

As we reach the door, I wave my hand, and the Force obligingly responds, causing the entrance to slide open with a smooth hiss. Inside, Anakin and Ahsoka are engaged in a quiet conversation. The serene ambiance of their exchange is palpable, and the moment our presence is acknowledged, their eyes lift towards us. This small interaction sends a familiar flutter through my wings, my heart looping with a pattern I've come to recognize.

This sensation, a blend of admiration and deep affection, arises each time I'm around my friends. Though it can be distracting, I've learned to embrace it. The bond we share, anchored in love and loyalty, is a treasure I won't relinquish.

Before I can utter a greeting, the medical droid glides into the room, its movements precise and unyielding. Placing a hand on my chest, it halts me in my tracks. "You can't touch him again, ma'am. He needs to heal from the last time," the droid's mechanical voice is firm, yet respectful.

It then turns its attention to Ahsoka, waving her away gently. "Whatever you want to tell the General, it will have to wait," the droid says, proceeding to examine Anakin with meticulous care.

Frustrated but understanding, I nod slightly. The medical droid's intervention is necessary, though it adds another layer to the tangled web of emotions pulling at my spirit. As I step back, I catch Ahsoka's supportive glance and Rex's steady presence by my side. The room hums with unspoken words, but our unity, our shared purpose, holds us together. Anakin's recovery is paramount, a guiding star in these turbulent times.

In the quiet of the infirmary, amid the hum of medical equipment and the soft rustle of robes, I feel the threads of connection tighten. Here, within these walls and against the backdrop of a war-weary galaxy, we find our strength in each other.

"You can tell me anyway," Anakin chuckles, the sound a gentle respite in the solemnity of the medbay. Our eyes meet—his blue, vibrant with unyielding spirit, clashing with my violet, deep and troubled. His encouragement emboldens me, and I dip my head in acknowledgment, settling down on my talons, curling my tail around myself. The silver streaks on my wings catch the light in a soft glimmer, reflecting the weight of the moment.

"It's sad news, though, Anakin. I'm really, really sorry, but R2..." My voice wavers, the words catching in my throat. I swallow hard, fighting the emotion that threatens to overwhelm me. I don't know the droid as well as I would like, but his absence leaves an ache. "He's missing."

A hush falls over us. I can see the shift in Anakin's expression, the concern knitting his brows as he absorbs the gravity of the news. R2-D2, with his beeps and boops, was more than just a droid; he was a stalwart companion, a small hero in his own right. The thought of him being gone, lost somewhere in the vastness of space, is a wound made all the sharper for its uncertainty.

Anakin's eyes, though threaded with worry, remain focused and resolute. It's moments like these that remind me why we fight, why we endure the hardships—because in the face of overwhelming odds, we find strength in each other. And even in the grip of sadness, that strength can guide us forward.

"It's... okay as long as you're safe," Anakin says softly, his words meant to comfort but not quite reaching my frayed nerves.

I shake my head, the motion jerky with pent-up frustration. "No, it's not okay. I should've been there to save you both. When I found you floating in that ruined fighter, I didn't see him." My voice trails off, the weight of regret thickening the air. I cut myself off, the sorrow too much for my heart to bear.

I hunch my shoulders, wings drooping, and tail uncurling in defeat. The pain is palpable, a heavy burden that pulls me towards the ground. The sound of shuffling and the soft pad of feet on the floor reaches my ears, a subtle reminder that I am not alone.

Soon, I feel warm arms cradle my head. I shut my eyes, allowing myself to sink into the gentle embrace, seeking solace in the physical connection. Tears sting at the corners of my eyes, reluctant droplets that signify the surrender to my emotions. I let them fall, mingling with the tender words of comfort murmured by Ahsoka or Rex—I'm not sure.

In that embrace, the world narrows to the simplicity of shared sorrow and support. The heartache over R2's absence, the relief of Anakin's safety, and the unspoken promise that we would face the battles ahead together. It all melds into a single, fragile moment of connection amid the chaos of the galaxy.

"Let it out, Midnight. Let it out," someone whispers, their voice a gentle balm to my fractured spirit. And I know it's Anakin. There's a quiet strength and familiarity in those words that only he could impart.

With his permission, the fragile dam holding back my emotions finally breaks. Warm tears cascade down my cheeks, each drop a release of the tension, fear, and sorrow that had built up inside me. It's as if the weight of the galaxy is being lifted from my shoulders, one teardrop at a time.

My shoulders shake with the depth of my sobs, and I lean into the supportive embrace around me. The comforting presence of Ahsoka, Rex, and Anakin wraps around me like a security blanket, each of them a steadfast beacon amidst the tumultuous storm of my emotions.

The sound of my own crying mingles with the soft murmurs of reassurance from my friends. "We're here, Midnight. You're not alone," someone says, their voice blending into the symphony of support. I clutch onto those words, grounding myself in the reality of their unwavering presence.

In this sacred space, amidst the sterile hum of the medbay, I allow myself the vulnerability of grief. I let the tears wash away the sorrow, leaving behind the raw but necessary catharsis that follows an emotional release. It's in this vulnerability that I find strength—a strength borne of love, connection, and the enduring bond we share.

The tears eventually slow, and I lift my head, finding Anakin's eyes with my own. His look is one of understanding, his blue eyes a wellspring of quiet support. I know the journey ahead will be fraught with challenges, but in this moment, surrounded by my friends, I am reminded that we will face it together, one step at a time.