Work Text:
Another sleepless night.
Ahsoka tried, but rest wouldn’t come—not with her thoughts spinning out in a storm of memory and regret.
Anakin.
She wanted—more than anything—to see him again. To speak with him.
She hated how she brushed him off before the Siege of Mandalore. She hadn’t known that would be their last moment together. She hadn’t known there wouldn’t be a later.
How did it all fall apart so fast?
If only we’d paid more attention. If only I hadn’t left. Maybe things could have been different. Maybe none of this would’ve happened.
Her mind raced faster. Her emotions tangled and jumbled in a mess she couldn’t unwind.
She sat up suddenly. Her cot felt like a coffin. Crossing the room quietly, she pulled a canteen of water out of their supplies and took a drink. She took in a breath and glanced across the dim shadows of the room.
Soft snoring came from the other side. Rex. Her best friend. Her constant.
The thought of waking him tugged at her. Talking to him had always helped—back in the day, she would occasionally sneak to his barracks late at night just to wake him up and talk. He never complained. Always listened.
But he needed rest. It had been a long time since he’d had a good night’s sleep.
She spotted his poncho folded over the edge of his bag. The room was cold. She hesitated only a second before wrapping it around herself. The warmth soothed her—his presence still lingering in the fabric.
The thought of going outside crossed her mind, the night air might help her clear her head, but she knew she couldn’t. If Rex woke and found her missing, he’d panic. So she sat down, back to the wall, knees drawn in tight to her chest.
You could’ve stopped it. You should’ve seen it coming. Why were you such a di’kut?
Tears welled in her eyes. She buried her face in her palms, trying to push it all back down.
Across the room, she heard movement. A low rustle, then a familiar voice, heavy with sleep.
“Ahsoka? Why are you—” Rex paused mid-sentence, already understanding. “Never mind. What’s wrong?”
She quickly blinked away any forming tears and sat up straighter as he stood and crossed over to her.
“What is it, Ahsoka? And are you wearing my—eh. Doesn’t matter.”
He crouched down, his eyes level with hers.
She drew in a shaky breath. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, face downcast.
Rex settled beside her without hesitation.
“No, don’t apologize. Do you... want to talk about it?”
She stayed quiet.
“Hey.” His hand brushed her knee, gentle. “You can talk to me. I mean, If you want to.”
His gaze—steady, warm—held hers. It was the kind of look that made it hard to lie or deflect.
She took a breath. Pinched the bridge of her nose. “I just... I can’t stop thinking about the Order. About everything that’s happened… everyone we lost.. And… about Anakin.”
The name cracked in her throat like old glass. Saying it aloud was like invoking a ghost.
“He could be… What if he’s dead like Padmé?” she asked in an unsteady whisper. “If I hadn’t left... maybe it wouldn’t have come to this. I could’ve been there. I could’ve helped.”
Rex didn’t interrupt. He just listened. Eyes full of grief he rarely let show.
“I could’ve been there for you, too,” she continued. “With Fives. With everything. I—I could’ve helped Anakin. Maybe...”
Her voice faltered. The tears returned, stinging hot, but she turned away quickly.
“Ahsoka,” Rex said, voice thick, “you can’t blame yourself.”
She blinked fast, hoping to stop the tears, but they spilled over anyway, a sob escaping her throat.
You left. You ran away. You abandoned them when they needed you most.
She could feel it coming on before it hit—the tightness in her chest, the way her breath caught and stuttered, too shallow, too fast. It came up on her quickly, sharp and familiar. She knew what this was—she’d been through it before—but knowing didn’t make it easier to stop.
It’s your fault. All of it. You failed Anakin. You failed everyone.
But hadn’t she tried? Hadn’t she come back? Would it have mattered? She didn’t know anymore.
Rex placed a steadying hand on her shoulder in an attempt to console her, but it wasn't enough.
Her hands trembled as she curled them into fists, grounding herself as best she could, but everything was slipping.
Her heart thudded, loud and uneven in her ears.
Rex’s expression shifted, the pain she felt reflected in his eyes. He hated seeing her like this—breaking apart, weighed down by guilt that wasn’t hers to carry—but he understood it. He knew that kind of grief, the kind that sat heavy in the chest, tightening with every breath.
“Soka…”
He then reached for her tentatively, drawing her into his arms, holding her like a shelter. She let herself fall into the curve of his chest, breathing in the familiar safety of him.
But only for a second. She pulled away. His arms had steadied her just enough for her to think again—but it was too much. Too close.
She wasn’t supposed to need anyone.
“No — I’m sorry, Rex. I just—“ She sputtered, struggling to speak through short breaths. “…It’s hard.”
“I know. Don't apologize,” he said gently, his hand lingering on her forearm, “I get it.”
She ducked her head, hiding her face. She hated that he was seeing her like this.
But he didn’t look away, his caring gaze still fixed on her.
“Bic narir naas gar trattok'or, burc'ya. Suvarir. ”
His words in Mando'a were a quiet and understanding reassurance.
She glanced up skeptically, having trouble processing the words as her mind was still racing, and her breath still tight and uneven.
Rex hesitated—then opened his arms again. The offer was simple. The invitation sincere.
“ Kol’ar, cyare. ”
Come here, love.
Ahsoka's eyes flicked to his open arms, then up to his face, meeting his gaze—and lingering there. In the dim light, she could just make out the look in his eyes — steady, patient, real. No pressure, just presence. He wasn't pitying her, he understood. He wanted to help. He cared.
Of course he cared. This was Rex. Her throat tightened. She hung back... then shifted toward him, slow and uncertain.
She trusted him more than anyone. So she told herself it was okay—just this once—to let him comfort her.
She closed the gap between them, slowly letting herself fold into the space he offered. He was patient, gently stroking her back and helping her settle into his embrace. She pressed her face to his shoulder, and the moment his arms closed around her, something in her let go. The sobs came quiet at first, then steadier, as if his steadiness gave her permission to break.
Her tears kept coming, but her breaths began to slow, the jagged edges of panic gradually softening under his steady presence. His hand moved in slow, calming circles over her back, anchoring her to the moment. The weight pressing on her chest started to lift, just enough for her to breathe again. He didn’t need to say anything—he was saving her from spiraling deeper, pulling her back with nothing more than quiet patience and unwavering support.
They had been through so much together, and they were all each other had. They deserved to receive the small amounts of comfort the other offered. This wasn’t wrong : the sensible part of her argued with the part still connected to the Jedi.
Rex stroked the sensitive ridge of her back lek softly, whispering soothing phrases in mando’a she didn’t fully understand. But it didn’t matter. His voice, his warmth, the steadiness of his breath — it grounded her.
After a while, her panic subsided, and she was able to think clearly again.
For a while it was quiet, only the sounds of wind blowing outside and the soft sound of Rex's hand brushing rhythmically against her back. After a moment Rex broke the silence.
“Trust me,” he murmured. Then, a pause. “I… I get it. The regret. Years of war.. really racks that up.” He stopped, wincing as if reliving bad memories. “I regret a lot too. Especially—”
He took a sharp breath in.
“I keep getting so upset at myself for…”
His voice faltered. He let the words trail into the silence, like he wasn’t sure if he should say more.
But she knew what he was thinking.
“I almost… Ahsoka, I could’ve—”
“But you didn’t ,” she said gently, voice frayed but firm. She reached out, finding his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his neck; trying her best to stabilize him as he had for her. “We’ve talked about this.”
“I know. I just…” He swallowed, his fingers fidgeting with the fabric of her sleeve. “It’s hard not to think about. Every time I close my eyes, I see the look on your face when I aimed that gun…" He flinched slightly, "...I hate myself for it.”
He held her firmly, but gently, like she was something fragile. Something precious.
Something he almost lost, but couldn’t bear to lose.
She sighed, forehead still pressed against his shoulder.
“You couldn’t help it. Rex ... you managed to delay mind control. Just long enough. You were able to warn me, to tell me how to fix it. And because of that, I’m still here… We’re still here.”
His arms tightened around her in response.
He needed to hear that, even though she knew it wouldn’t fix the guilt. She wasn’t naive—she knew this wasn’t the only wound he carried. There were layers to his pain, things she couldn’t reach or erase. But she could offer this. She could remind him, in this moment, that he hadn’t failed her.
After a moment, he leaned down and whispered a few words in mando’a that she didn’t recognize, his breath on her lek making her shiver. The words maybe expressed gratitude, or endearment, or both.
He let out a breath. When he pulled back, it was slow, hesitant. Like he was afraid the moment might fall apart.
His hands stayed on her shoulders, thumbs brushing in quiet circles as he searched for the words.
“ Vi enteyor… k’oyacyi ,” he said at last, the phrase slightly stilted, like he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the translation.
Ahsoka furrowed her brow, she wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by that.
Rex nodded, acknowledging he needed a different approach, but it was faint, more of an exhale than a gesture. His gaze dropped for a moment before returning to her eyes.
“Ahsoka… haar’chak . I mean—what I’m trying to say is—”
He sighed and shook his head slightly, like he was annoyed at himself.
“We can’t keep doing this to ourselves. If we keep picking ourselves apart—we’ll never get out of it. Mentally, I mean. We have to try to move on.”
He looked at her, quiet. “You know?”
She did.
He cared and tried his best to reassure her, even when he wasn't even sure himself, even if he didn’t have all the right words. She loved him for that.
“The focus now is just… to survive. That’s all we have, Cyare.”
His voice cracked ever so slightly on the term of endearment.
She leaned into him again, letting the silence say the rest. He shifted so his back rested against the wall, bringing her with him. He tucked his chin in the valley of her montrals and pressed a small kiss to the top of her head.
Their hold on each other was natural, not awkward, as if they could have been made for each other’s arms.
But of course that was a ridiculous notion.
They stayed like that for a while — quiet, breathing in rhythm — taking in the comfort of being within each other’s caring grasp.
Ahsoka wasn’t sure when she’d drifted off, but she awoke to Rex’s voice stirring softly right beside her. His cheek was lightly against hers, and he spoke in a soft whisper as if trying not wake her too much.
“Hey. Um… maybe we shouldn’t stay here. Let’s get up, you’ll sleep better off of the floor.”
Ahsoka huffed — not quite a laugh, but close. She noticed the stiffness in her limbs as she drowsily pulled herself away from his body.
He stood, offering her his hand. “Come on, the cots aren’t great, but we should use them…” He paused for a moment,
“...You can stay with me if you want.”
She considered declining the offer, but only for a second. She took hold of his hand, grounding herself. She looked at him for a moment, eyes asking if he was sure.
He nodded, his lips pressed into a tired but sincere smile. He didn’t find this weird, he knew what she needed.
They lay down together, barely enough space between them to breathe. She curled on her side, tucking her head between his neck and shoulder.
She inhaled lightly, taking in his scent of worn leather; noted the feel of his rough shirt on her cheek, and the warmth of his arms wrapped around her. Committing the moment to memory, because it would only be this one night.
“Rex?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
They didn’t speak again that night.
But with Rex’s calming presence, and the rhythm of his breath on her shoulder — she finally was able to rest.
And for a moment, the war and its ghosts fell away, and all that mattered was this fragile peace.
But grief is patient. It waits in the quiet, creeping back in—even in the arms of someone you trust most.
——————————————————————
About an hour or so later, she woke.
Rex was asleep, arms wrapped around her as if she might slip away from him. His grip wasn’t crushing, but firm—protective. Even in sleep, he clung to her like she was the only thing that mattered.
She stayed still for a moment, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against her cheek, the quiet strength of his presence anchoring her. It would be easy to stay like this. To forget everything else.
But the thoughts returned anyway, spiraling and inescapable.
Broken people seeking out comfort from each other.
Comfort that is, after all, in vain — offering nothing but a moment of peace.
A reminder that, yeah, maybe one person still cares for you... But the entire galaxy has fallen apart.
You’ve lost everything.
Two broken people — just remnants of what had been lost.
People whose lives had been war .
A Jedi warrior.
Raised for battle. Trusted with lives before she was old enough to understand what it meant to lose them.
She believed those battles were her purpose—until everything she’d been taught, everything she’d fought for, was taken from her.
Cast out and betrayed, she was forced to question not just her place, but the trust she’d built her life on. People she trusted with her life accused her of crimes she didn’t commit.
They were so quick to cast her out.
A Clone captain.
A human being with independent thoughts and emotions, told all his life he was created to be expendable.
All his life, he and his brothers being treated as if they meant nothing. Every battle, seeing them die. Forced to cope.
A control chip in his head since infancy — designed to erase who he was with a single command.
And when that moment came, it made him turn his weapon on his best friend.
Everything he stood for, shattered .
The only peace they ever had came in stolen moments.
Laughter between missions. Teasing words in bunkers. The bond of shared survival.
It hadn’t been much, but to them, it had been everything.
It was war , it was terrible , but it was their life , and they had adapted.
But now, all of that was gone.
Demolished in a matter of minutes.
It wasn’t fair.
Why were they alive?
Why were they left to deal with the galaxy in shambles?
Sometimes she wished they had gone down with Jesse and the others. Buried in the wreckage.
Maybe that would have been easier.
Would have been fair.
The war had never been theirs to win.
It was just a game — all of it — played by Sidious.
They were pawns in his plot. Nothing more.
Everything they had lost… was for nothing.
Rex stirred beside her, murmuring something unintelligible.
Then, half-asleep, he pressed a soft kiss to her temple.
The gesture sent a warmth throughout her body.
She took it as a message.
A quiet reminder to stop the spiral.
To sleep.
She nestled closer without thinking twice.
And as she felt herself drifting again, safe in his arms, one last thought clung to her:
They fought the war.
But in the end...
The war won.
And they never even stood a chance.
She stayed close anyway. Because that moment of peace was everything. And because even if the war had won—
— Rex hadn’t let go .
Marhantothesky Wed 30 Jul 2025 09:59PM UTC
Comment Actions
GeneralMelancholy Thu 31 Jul 2025 12:39AM UTC
Last Edited Sun 10 Aug 2025 10:27PM UTC
Comment Actions