Chapter Text
Rex didn’t notice anything at first. He was passing through the hallway with his datapad in hand, and he took a casual glance around. The brothers he and Echo had rescued on their last mission were scattered about, settling in. He missed working with Echo, to be honest. He had personally chosen Echo from thousands of shinies and promoted him to ARC trooper alongside Fives, who was like a twin to him. Echo had known Rex—really known him. He knew his strategies, his hesitations, and who Rex was beyond the armor. They had been friends once, and in many ways, they still were. Rex had been thrilled to find Echo alive, one of the few good things to come out of the chaos. He was ready to risk everything to get his ARC back at that time. He just decided to let Cody’s attempt to reason with him be damned.
Cody.
Oh, Cody.
Rex sighed at the thought of his name. He wished Cody were here. He needed his vod’ika, his cyare. When he was adjusting his pauldron to make it more comfortable, he caught the salute of one of the rescued troopers. Rex nodded back, and he noticed that the clone was working on his armor with a paintbrush in hand. The sight made him smile. Painting armor had been something he and Cody used to do together, a private ritual of sorts. Just them. A quiet moment of peace amidst the war. They enjoyed the precious peace and the companionship that came from simply being in the same space.
Rex noted the color.
“You were in the 104th?” he asked.
The trooper looked up, confused. “Sir? No, sir. I was in the 212th, under Commander Cody.”
Rex frowned slightly. “Then why not use orange paint?”
The trooper hesitated. “Uh… sir, this is orange.”
Rex glanced at the paint bucket again. It still looked gray to him. He stared longer this time, trying to make sense of it. Then it hit him: the shade was indeed different. Not quite Wolfpack’s gray, but something muted. Awkwardly, Rex straightened.
“Ah, you’re right. Guess I’ve been working too much. My eyes must’ve given up on me, eh? Anyway, it’s good to have you here, trooper.”
“Thank you, sir, for the rescue.”
Rex nodded and walked away, masking his confusion. How could he have gotten the color wrong? It wasn’t just any orange. It was Cody’s orange, a color as familiar to him as the blue of his own battalion.
He sat on the chair in his quarters and opened his datapad, navigating to an encrypted folder. Inside was an old photo, one he hadn’t looked at for a long while.
He remembered the moment vividly. It had been right after a briefing with Echo and Fives, and Fives had insisted on showing off their new Phase-II armor with a picture. Rex laughed at his enthusiasm and agreed. Just as he was setting the camera, he spotted Cody passing by. Rex grabbed him by the arm, smirking at his riduur. Cody had rolled his eyes but joined them anyway, his smile warm and gentle.
It was a good time. At war, yes, but at least that was when Rex still had most of the things. His Jedi, his brothers, the GAR, and Cody. Rex smiled at the memory and tapped on the small icon. His smile froze when he set his gaze on the picture. The blue of the 501st was as vibrant as ever, but Cody’s armor was all wrong. The orange paint he’d known so well—the bright, warm shade that was like Cody’s presence—was gone, replaced by a dull, lifeless gray.
It wasn’t the photo. It was Rex. He couldn’t see orange anymore.
The realization settled over him like a weight. He hadn’t hit his head. There was no injury he could recall, and it couldn’t be the removal of his inhibitor chip. That had been so long ago. It made no sense for side effects to appear now. He took stock of his body. No major injuries, just superficial wounds that bacta could handle. Yet something had changed.
Rex sighed, closing the photo and setting the datapad aside.
It was just a color, he told himself. Not his sight, not his ability to fight. Just a single shade of color, gone.
And he wouldn’t feel sad about it. No, he wouldn’t.