Act 2. Scene 5. at twice the speed

Ahsoka was in the middle of snuggling deeper when she noticed Rex was awake.

She was barely conscious herself; it was the small hours of the morning, ice cold outside, and Rex was doing very well as her very comfortable human radiator. Burrowing deeper into the blankets and closer to him was a thoroughly enjoyable way to keep the chill off. Fuzzily, she squinted a little, focusing on his outline. The angles and curves of his face were graced with the silver-lavender planetlight pressing through the thin window curtains, the brightness catching here and there, highlighting his brows, nose, cheek and chin, leaving the half closer to her awash in shadow. He had a hand raised just above the blanket, fingers extended. His eyes, dark, were focused, and his lips were downturned.

She could feel his apprehension. Something was wrong.

"Rex?" She was sleepy and hoped it wasn't anything too serious. Perhaps he had a nightmare and couldn't sleep? They'd each had more than their share of those down the years. She cuddled closer, hoping to give him some of her warmth and calm. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

She squeezed her eyes shut. He was not fine. She didn't need to be a Jedi to tell that. His anxiety was hanging tensely around him. His voice was flat, hard, and as he spoke, his hand dropped down abruptly. He didn't want to worry her about whatever it was that was bothering him. She sighed. "No, you're not. What's wrong?"

He lay still. She frowned, lifted herself up a little so she could see him better. He looked at her, then turned his head away. "It's nothing," he said.

"It's the middle of the night, Rex. Stop being the stoic soldier and tell me what's wrong."

She waited, and, still not looking at her, he said, "I'm old."

She blinked, trying to rouse her brain enough to think. She was still a little groggy from sleep. Nightmares she had handled before; Rex deciding to have a personal crisis before sunrise was more than she was used to processing. It finally clicked. "This is about what that kid said in town yesterday. Rex, he couldn't have been more than four. Anyone over the age of twenty is a grandpa to someone that age."

His tension didn't ease. "That's not funny," he said.

"I wasn't trying to be funny," she shot back, waking up further and beginning to feel alarmed.

"I'm an old man, Ahsoka. Look at me. Look at you. It doesn't bother you?"

Bewildered now, she shook her head. "What? No. Why? You're not that old." He sighed, frustrated. She wasn't sure what to say. She tried to reassure him. "You're you. You've always been you. And older than me. Sort of. It's just a little more pronounced now." She smiled, hoping to win him over. "People get old. It happens. I'm not that young anymore either."

Somehow, it seemed to make it worse. He shifted uncomfortably, and she was pushed away in the process. "You're the age you're supposed to be," he said gruffly, and she could hear him working to control his tone, to keep it firm instead of miserable. "I was never even supposed to get old."

She almost spluttered out another, "What?" but managed to bite it back before it slipped out. She stared at him. He was glaring up at the ceiling. Suddenly, his expression softened, and he simply looked careworn.

Clones age at twice the speed of a normal human. She had watched, during the last couple years, as lines had begun to wear their way across his face, then deepen, etching themselves into grooves beside his eyes. The first stray silver hairs had appeared just over a year ago. He now had fine grey streaks that streamed back behind his ears.

She had begun to notice the first, fine lines around her own eyes as well, but she was still several years from reaching the middle age Rex had prematurely entered.

He never expected to get this old. Clones age at twice the speed of a normal human, because they needed to grow up fast enough to be placed on the battlefield.

Rex would have lived his life expecting to die by catching a blaster shot. Not a slow, declining death due to age. She suddenly wished holding him would be all it took to make it right. Unless things changed very much in the future, he would likely die before her. Someday later, she would follow. Then there would be no need for hiding.

"When we die," she said quietly, "we go out into the Force. The body is just temporary, whatever it looks like, and however it deteriorates. It's not fair that you're going more quickly than you should, Rex." She reached up, placed a hand on his face, gently turned him to look at her. "It's not. But you're still you. I can see that. You are unique in the Force. You're you, and you're still my handsome Captain who does reckless things like charging in to rescue me, even when you shouldn't." She kissed his forehead. "You always will be. No matter how old either of us are."

He looked at her, considering. She noticed he began to ease a little, shoulders relaxing back into the pillow as her words reached him. She pushed further and said, lightly, with a mischievous little smile he recognized quite well, "Besides, you look very," she leaned in closer, pressed her lips against his silvering temple, "distinguished." She grinned, tilted her head, and lifted her brows suggestively.

He blinked up at her once, expressions shifting across his face rapidly, and ultimately settled into amusement. "Distinguished?"

"Oh yes. Very," she leaned in again, kissing his temple, then his cheek, murmuring warmly, "Very distinguished."

"Now you're trying to distract me."

She beamed, wickedly. "Is it working?"

It took a moment for him to decide, and then he managed a low chuckle. "You're incorrigible."

"And you're stubborn."

"So are you."

"Well, we're well matched then," she laughed, burrowing herself down into the covers again. "You're my dear Captain, Rex. Always will be, no matter how old we get." She contentedly began to curl back up against him, satisfied the crisis was being averted. She would have to keep an eye on him for awhile, make sure it stuck. She could still feel the undercurrent of his worry there, but it was now submerged, sinking beneath the more familiar, calm waves of his appreciation, affection, and love for her. She placed a small kiss on his shoulder as she settled back down, slipping an arm across his chest. Always so comfortable, her Rex. She yawned.

He pulled her tighter against him, wrapped an arm around her waist and buried his head into her shoulder. "Thank you."

She looked down at him thoughtfully as he began to do a little more than try to feel comforted. His hands were sliding down her headtails to the hem of her shirt, then under, and she could feel him beginning to nibble on her shoulder. She said, amusedly, "Hm, maybe I distracted you too much."

A pause. Then, wryly, "Too early, Ahs'ika?"

She reached out again, sensed a certain need to prove himself, a need thoroughly mixed with an increasingly heated feeling of desire, and a fading sense of worry. She pulled his face to hers with a laugh. "You're incorrigible too."

They went back to sleep sometime later.

***

I'm not really counting the years/ages too exactly any more, but Ahsoka should be somewhere in her early thirties, and Rex should be biologically in his mid-forties at this point. And this is an inevitable problem for a clone – aging so quickly. And unexpectedly surviving so long, probably expecting to die in battle long before reaching middle age. It's too unfair….

On a side note, I just uploaded another SW fic, called Said the Joker to the Thief. It's become a new project as Pieces begins to wind down. You can find it under my profile. ^_^

~Queen