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“Now you're just trying to get us killed,” Rex says in annoyance, and chucks the PADD at Cody's head.

“Don’t throw things at your superiors,” Cody says, catching it before it can hit him. He’s smirking, the bastard. “What, don’t you want to escort the ship’s best intelligence officer down to his mission? Help him get settled?”

Rex puts his hands over his ears. “No,” he says, very deliberately. “You don’t get to make normal words sound like innuendos, stop that.”

Cody snickers at him, because he really is a bastard. “Lieutenant Commander Antilles is waiting for you,” he tells Rex. “Stop making that face. He’ll think you hate him. Again.”

Because that’s a legitimate worry, Rex hastily rearranges his expression, though he gives Cody one last glare before the door chimes. Cody just raises an unimpressed brow and calls, “Enter.”

Jon slips in, steps almost silent, already dressed in the clothes of a native for the planet below. He nods to Cody, then glances sideways, and Rex instantly feels better about his own reaction when Jon takes one look at him and stops dead.

“You're trying to ruin this mission?” he asks Cody, aggrieved, and then grimaces. “Lieutenant, I don’t mean—”

“That’s all right, sir,” Rex says dryly. “I asked if he was trying to get us killed.”

Humor flickers over Jon's face, just a moment’s worth before it slides back into something wary. “Sir,” he says carefully. “I appreciate your faith in us, but—”

“But after our last seven missions together, I think you're crazy for it,” Rex says bluntly. He and Cody are friends; he can argue when Cody has a blatantly bad idea. Like this one. “Our missions always go south.”

Cody raises an unimpressed eyebrow, sinking back in his chair. “And yet you always manage to turn them around,” he says, amused. “You have your orders, gentlemen. The captain is looking forward to your report on the native population.”

Rex should have gone into Engineering, the way Wolffe warned him. He should be in Engineering right now with his head in a Jeffrey’s tube, not here as Cody's favorite security officer to torture with terrible away missions. Still, he knows that look Cody's wearing, and it means that any attempt to argue will end with rank being pulled, and that’s never a fun time. He groans, but salutes, and Cody magnanimously waves them away.

“We’ll contact you at one-day intervals, so make sure you're prepared,” he says. “Good luck.”

They're going to need it, Rex thinks grimly, but he only makes one face at Cody's back before he turns and follows Jon out of the ready room. Jon comes to a stop in the hall, and Rex stops with him, both of them silent for a long, long moment.

“Seven disasters in seven away missions” Rex finally says, resigned. “I don’t know what the hell Cody thinks he’s doing here.”

Jon snorts quietly, one corner of his mouth tipping up. “We’re too good at our jobs,” he says quietly, and Rex shoots him a tired look but can't help a quick smile of his own.

“We could just…let them think we actually died this time,” he offers.

Instantly, Jon grimaces. “It’s not worth the paperwork,” he says, with the authority of someone who’s been declared dead enough times that Fleet Admiral Mace Windu himself comms the ship whenever a death certificate is submitted to make absolutely doubly sure that Jon is actually dead.

Thankfully for the state of Rex's heart, he hasn’t been so far.

“Well,” Rex says, more or less giving up. “At least it’s a tropical planet this time.”

Jon's mouth curves, and when he glances at Rex, it’s warm, amused, good-natured. “I hope you don’t mind skinny-dipping,” he says. “The natives swim every night as a community event. We’ll have to participate.”

Rex swallows. Swimming. Naked. With Jon. This will be—well. Hopefully one of the not-disastrous parts of their mission. Not that Rex is expecting much there. He knows better by now.

“Anything to keep our cover,” he says, and his voice is very close to cracking on the words.

Jon's glance is rueful, but he tips his head to Rex and then starts down the hallway towards the transporter room, and Rex hurries a few paces to fall into step with him. Jon's hand brushes his, just lightly, and—

Well. It’s going to be a disaster. It always is, when the two of them have a mission together. But that doesn’t mean it’s all bad.