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During the evenings of those infinitely long, yet few last days; in the vestiges of the Clone War, and the remnants of what once represented the Republic; in between the bodies and the dirt and the metal and the blood…
Ahsoka does not find reprieve.
Not at first.
There is no solace in the quiet night, the stars reflecting a grieving universe. There is no reassurance in the dirt and the makeshift pillow she had formed for herself when it’s time to rest after a day of retrieving her men, and what little supplies remained in the Venator.
There is nothing left in her to give besides what Rex asks for - and requests from him are very few and far in between.
Except on the 3rd night, when it’s been a particularly hard day - they had finally found Jesse, or what was left of him - when Rex had crumbled under the decaying light of the sun that barely beat down on this moon (because of course this place was cold and harsh like that ). Ahsoka had said, so softly,
We don’t have to do this, Rex.
And Rex, in the wake of his tears, his throat tight and his fists balled, simply responded with the firmest voice he could muster,
They deserved better. They all did. We have to do this. It’s all we have left.
And Ahsoka nodded, leaving him to cry in peace, because Rex wouldn’t if she stayed.
But now, staring up at what was left of the universe, Ahsoka wants to beg the Force for anything else, desperate to see whatever was left up the sleeve of the galactic hand that had dealt out these cosmic cards. She feels it, desperation, disbelief, despair - it coils up and tightens, but she’s terrified to release it; she doesn’t know how, isn’t even sure if she’s allowed to.
There is already so much ache within the Force, so bruised and beaten…
Rex sees her, because he always has, even when his eyes blur and sting and even when he wants to shut them too because he can’t handle what he’s seeing. Rex sees her despite all of this, staring up at the galaxy, which was supposed to hold endless possibilities, and yet they ended up here instead. He sees her, her dark mouth trembling, her eyes glistening on the verge of something greater, so he scoots over and only grunts a bit from the aches in his body. When she feels his presence draw nearer, her breath falters as she purses her lips a little tighter, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. Instead, he rolls onto his side, and simply mumbles,
“C’mere…”
And Ahsoka rolls over just as he opens his arms, meeting his firm, warm chest, inviting and alive, and she breaks for the first time since - since - Force, who knows how long. Since her first day as Anakin’s padawan? Since the day she made it back safely after being captured and forced to play survivor on some stranded jungle island with nothing but the Force and her legs?
Since the day she left the Order, and Anakin with it?
So, she breaks. And it’s an onslaught of everything she’s tried her best to keep inside since what feels like the moment that she was born.
And Rex, well, he doesn’t really know what to say or do, especially with the way her montrals poke into his jaw and how her fists tighten so harshly on his blacks that he’s sure he feels her nails bite into his skin.
But he deals with it, because she needs it, because he’s never heard her cry like this, guttural and full and wailing with it, breathless and grieving - and he has to make sure she knows that it’s okay, that she’s allowed to scream and cry, same as him.
Same as him.
So when he begins to feel his throat tighten too, when he too starts to shudder a little less evenly, he brings his arms around her as well and clings . He clings because he’s afraid that if he lets go, they both might break even more than they already have, so he holds them together, even if they’re both crumbling anyways. It’s worth the trying, at least for Ahsoka.
And the two grieve, truly grieve, in each other’s arms under that less than forgiving night, under the blanket of a cold and dry universe that’s been endlessly spiraling in the Force since the order was given, all dark and heavy with it. They grieve on this lost moon as two souls that should have drifted apart but somehow found one other just for this moment, just to be able to save each other.
And when Ahsoka is too exhausted to cry, when she feels empty and both weightless and heavy at the same time, she drifts in the temporary and oh-so-fragile peace of Rex’s arms, which have not loosened since the moment she started weeping. It’s quiet then, and there is not a desire to fill the silence with meaningless platitudes and words neither of them believe in, but they can’t bring themselves to not speak either, even though simply saying nothing would still just as easily suffice.
“Thank you…” Ahsoka says eventually, quietly, her voice shot and barely heard in the muffle of Rex’s chest. Rex just chokes out a wet chuckle, swallowing between his breaths as he rubs her back. “Sure thing, Commander.” He says easily, without thinking, so Ahsoka shakes her head. “No… don’t.” She barely whimpers and doesn’t need to say anything more. Rex nods in understanding, squeezing her for a brief moment in apology.
Another moment of silence passes and continues to pass, and Rex slowly begins to drift despite the heat of her body against his - it’s just new and not exactly uncomfortable, just… foreign. Different, and unused to. But nice.
He doesn’t recall ever actually doing that before this - holding someone. He thinks drowsily to himself, while Ahsoka catches her breath, that he’s never going to go another day without hugging someone he loves. Never again.
“Rex…” Ahsoka says quietly and he hums, taking in a deep breath as he pulls himself from sleep to give her his attention. She doesn't say anything, though it’s likely she doesn’t exactly know what to say, but Rex doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind anything.
“Nevermind,” She says, and buries her face in his chest, pressing closer to him. Rex flutters his eyes open and does his best to look down at her, but she’s well hidden in the spot where his heart beats.
And for the first time since he raced her to the surface of Mandalore, for the first time since he’s looked at her and seen who she has truly grown up to be - this fierce, commanding woman, confident and clear-headed, yet still the remnants of the kid he once knew (though that’s definitely changed after all this if it hadn’t already the moment she left the order) - he smiles , and it feels real.
What’s more, is that he doesn’t feel bad about it either.
So it's strangely natural to lean down and press a comforting kiss to the top of her montrals.
Eventually, he pulls away and he feels her sigh in his arms, feels her finally let go. Maybe not of everything, but it’s enough to make him know for sure that this small moment was worth it. For the both of them.
“Thank you,” She says again, but he doesn’t chuckle this time. He just squeezes her even closer, and says, “Sure thing, Ahsoka.”
Things aren’t good, and things won’t be better for a long time. They will still wake up the next morning and continue to bury their dead, because that’s what’s right, and they will still move in slow motion. They will still cry and feel that profound grief that doesn’t seem to end the longer they stay on this moon, and definitely won't end the moment they leave.
It will follow them everywhere, unrelenting and ruthless, just like the galaxy itself as it begins to reform and take this new, shadowy shape - uncharted and unpredictable with the loss of the Jedi a lingering scar in its construction.
But this time, they’ll hold each other and wipe each other’s tears too. This time, they will give and take, and no, they won't part, no matter how much this unforgiving universe wants them to.
This time, Ahsoka and Rex will stay together. Not because they have to, certainly not. But because the Force wills it.