The beginning of the end is this: Ahsoka removes Rex’s chip and finds her masters, starts to run, and loses her life before they make it to safety.
(She is the chink in all their armors.)
The beginning of the end is this: Anakin does not Fall, is there as his children are born, and sobs himself to pieces as his wife still dies for reasons none can find.
(Darkness would not have saved her, and the Light was already shattered.)
The beginning of the end is this: Obi-Wan mends his relationship with Anakin just in time to stay behind and guard the escape of what is left of his family.
(Obi-Wan would never have forgiven himself if he hadn’t, and Anakin will never forgive his Master’s memory for sacrificing himself.)
The beginning of the end is this: Their path to safety passes through Malachor.
--
The house is small and dusty, but empty and uninfested. Anakin is used to worse. Rex is used to worse. The twins can barely see six inches beyond their faces, and do not know any better.
“Do you think they take Republic credits?” Rex asks. They still don’t know what planet they’re even on.
Anakin shrugs. There’s no life to him, even with his daughter in his arms, and his son at his side.
“I’ll pawn a blaster if I have to,” Rex decides. He wraps the bottom half of his face in a scarf, and prays that the blond hair and civilian clothing are enough that nobody will look too close for the eyes of a clone.
Anakin shrugs again. They need food for the newborns, who can’t survive on packed rations and hunted game. There’s only so much formula on the ship they took, and it won’t last the week.
(He is not the only person to lose everything in the last three days, but Rex is more practiced at compartmentalizing.)
(There’s more to it, from the Force letting Anakin feel the deaths of those he loves to the extremely personal betrayal that was Chancellor Palpatine’s reveal as a Sith, but when it comes down to the basics, he knows this: Anakin is broken now, and Rex can hold his own widening fissures together a little longer.)
“I’ll be back soon,” Rex promises, and lets the slow blink and half a nod be his general’s response.
The village isn’t very large. It’s not wealthy, but it seems largely untouched by the war. Nobody looks at him for more than a moment, and he thanks the tweaking of his genetic line for the hair that lets him hide just a little more. There aren’t any rumors catching his ear; he only parses about half of what’s being said. They’re in Mando space, and the words flying about are largely Basic and Mando’a, in a dialect he only mostly understands, and sprinkled with what he thinks is Huttese and Bocce. Still, nobody’s passing hushed gossip about the Jedi turning traitor, or the Republic becoming an Empire. Nobody mentions the Separatists or the war.
Rex feels a mix of rising anxiety and loosening fear. People won’t be looking for them yet, not here, but something is wrong for there to be so little hint of the wider conflict. He’s no scout, but he didn’t make Captain—or Commander, for that it lasted only the length of that final, ill—-ated battle on Mandalore—by being as unobservant as a fresh cadet.
He finds himself standing in a store specializing in childcare supplies, staring at a shelf of some twenty different kinds of formula.
“You need some help, stranger?”
He glances at the woman out of the corner of his eye, notes down the degree of danger–minimal, even if he’s not in his armor–and decides it’s not too much information. “My friend, his wife died in childbirth, just a day ago. The children need to eat, but…”
Her face turns into a grimace of sympathy. “You don’t know what’s best. Did the midwife not suggest anything?”
A midwife. They really are in the middle of nowhere. “The birth was… they only had a med droid. No professionals.”
He doesn’t elaborate, hopes she’ll just drop it, and she does. She turns to the shelves, eyes them for a long moment, and then picks out three different boxes.
“Here, try these and see which one the baby likes best. They’re what I’d suggest for newborns. Should be easy to make with some hot water. I’m guessing you have bottles already—”
“No,” Rex says, and then scrambles to explain in a way that doesn’t make it clear just how unprepared they all are. “Not enough. It was twins, and nobody expected it.”
“Did she not—”
“Please don’t,” Rex says, desperate already. “It’s been a long few days, and it’s not my story to tell.”
She nods, a tad too slow, but he hopes it’s just concern.
Bottles and pacifiers, diapers and towels, just enough to tide them by with the excuse of buying for the unexpected extra child instead of the truth of having gone on the run the second the twins had been born.
Rex sees the face the woman makes when he goes to pay. His heart sinks.
“I’m… we don’t usually take Republic credits here, you understand,” she says slowly. “But you’re in a bad spot, and I don’t want the babes to suffer. See about visiting the exchange office soon, though.”
He could almost cry. He doesn’t. It’s a near thing.
“Thank you,” he says instead, as emphatically as he can. “Thank you so much.”
She smiles faintly, tightly, uncomfortably. “If I could make one more suggestion?”
He nods.
“There’s… there’s a nurse that runs a clinic down the way,” she says slowly. “She can look over the children, for one thing, but she can also… well, there’s a medication we can sell, to single fathers and the like, but only with a prescription…”
He blinks at her, uncomprehending.
“It induces lactation in those who otherwise wouldn’t,” she says, and bares her teeth in something that isn’t quite a smile. “Not the most popular option, but it’s technically on the table for anyone with breast tissue, and breast milk is usually healthier overall for babies than formula, for most species. Um, it’s popular with adoptive mothers, wet nurses, same-sex couples, single fathers in a situation like your friend’s… tell me if I should stop talking.”
“No, no, I think that he’d actually appreciate that,” Rex hurries to assure her. “I can at least bring it up, and we’ll need to have regular medical attention for the twins anyway, so I need the address, don’t I?”
Her smile brightens into something a little more real, and she scribbles something down on some flimsi. “Here, just give this to your friend. Come here and ask for Teskarim if you have questions; that’s me.”
He commits the name in memory, dips his head in a nod of thanks, and makes his way for the door.
The trip back to the house is, by and large, uneventful. There are still no rumors. There are still no chip-loyal brothers. There are still no bounty posters, or—
His eyes dart back to the bounty board, just for a second. There’s a face on there that shouldn’t be. He doesn’t linger; it’s bad form, suspicious. Instead, he heads for the newsstand a few stalls down, pauses just long enough to get the date, and strikes out for the little house and their ship without changing his stride. Externally, he looks entirely normal.
His mind is in a daze.
3,594 ATC
The year is 3,594.
He hasn’t been born yet.
He does the math.
His General hasn’t been born yet.
Sith Hells, High General Kenobi hasn’t been born yet.
Rex is…
He has to talk to Anakin.