Chapter Text
It's been a while since the "war has over": the enviroment feels weird, the air is diffrent, the taste of water as well is strange. Headaches are a normal health condition, spend days with an empty stomach or sleeping in the bleakest street using their bodies to get some warm has become the daily rutine for both Ahsoka and Rex after the Venator collapsed, after the whole Republic collapsed.
Ahsoka was known for many things that distinguished her like her vivid walking and speaking, lack of subtlety and those big brighty eyes full of awe, eagerness and passion learnt from her old Master. All those beautiful effects extinguished. All the hope dwelling inside gone. Some tears use to fall from them deliberately.
Rex wasn't an issue apart, suffered the same: became colder, blasé, defeated; a pair of sad and bitter eyes consumed his expression completely. Like a child who has no idea what to do next like before; always had a plan, and another if the main one failed, and another, and another if everything failed, but now has nothing left to give, nothing else to do. His turn was over.
Sometimes he watches her while his body leans against the wall, her chin posed between her knees, her arms covering her legs, away from him, ashamed, defeated. As defetead as him but somehow she felt a bit worse, could be her conexion with the Force or the abscense of it that makes her look dead inside out.
It was a painful spot, the most aching picture Rex could have of his friend. The friend who risked her own life to save him and give him the chance to fight another day, but against who? His brothers? Comes to his mind Jesse aiming to his head, takes his hand to the face trying to erase that memory, brushing away a couple of tears that wanted to escape and then sobs. Quietly.
Ahsoka doesn't move, remains static, Rex fears she might die for the conditions they're living and due the pain she's bearing everywhere they go. "She doesn't deserve this, none of us", he tells to himself. Her beautiful eyes get full of captive water, it seems she doesn't notice about it. Rex fights against his instinct to move towards her and hold her, clean her tears and tell her something, he's not sure what but surely something nice would be released from his mouth standing aside her.
Rex always knew what to say in front of Ahsoka, either to give her a lesson or teach her a new estrategy; starts to remember all those days in charge of her when Anakin was hiding from everyone to spend time with her wife, the Senator Amidala. Ahsoka used to feel bad because of it: be babysat by Rex when her Master had the chance because he might be tired of her. Which it was never true, but Rex couldn't tell anything, still, having Ahsoka with him wasn't that bad, at all. He truly enjoyed all those days "babysitting" her. Rex had the feeling that Ahsoka used to learn more from Rex than her own Master himself, at least in battle, how to be a soldier, cautious and humble.
Now, he's empty of words.
The night arrived and they must get ready to sleep, or try to. Maybe this time no one of them is going to sob quietly or stare at the ceiling with tears falling from their eyes. Ahsoka was so weak, her skin was colder than usual and she was just existing, resisting; it was Rex that made her to stay alive for some reason and this time, if she wanted to -or could- wake up it's because of him. The togruta took courage and approached to the clone who was getting ready to lay down and suffer other night:
-Hey, Rex?
-'Soka, it's everything alright?
-May I sleep close to you? I don't feel well.
Rex was concerned, he stood up as fast as posible and got closer to her. Hesitated to touch her, caressed her skin with the tip of his fingers. He took them away quickly, like her cold skin burnt his fingers by the gentle contact. With more confidence and looking for her eyes to get her "permission" to grab her further. Ahsoka fainted on his arms, weak, cold and possibly ill. Six years has passed since their incident on Naboo with that goddamn blue virus spread inside of the bunker. Even through his gloved hands could feel her skin, like holding a brick of ice, embracing her body against his as close as possible like it would keep her alive until the rescue arrive.
This time felt like that. This time had no rescue to expect. This time she might die.
Despair crushed his heart like a Destroyer against the surface. "I have lost many and I'm not gonna loose you, not now, not here!", Rex told her, caressing her face fearing to break her somehow. Wrapped her in an old blanket they found days ago and grabbed her in what's left of the strength of his arms. "Hold on, my littl'un".