Rex wakes up on a floor. There's a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth and he's not sure if that's from the electric whips or blood. The floor is metal, and cold, and he doesn't want to move because he doesn't know where he is except he knows that this is not good not good not good .
Ahsoka. Anakin. General Kenobi. The arena. The memories are loud and painful and it doesn't help that his head feels like it's splitting. He moves a little, finds his hands are cuffed behind his back and there's something around his neck. It's cold and heavy and he finds himself suddenly certain that it's a collar .
He dares to open his eyes and he doesn't see anything but a floor, and it's quiet, so he dares to struggle into a sitting position.
Ahsoka is seated cross-legged, although her hands are bound behind her too. She's meditating, he knows, so he's quiet. The governor lays close to them, unconscious, Rex thinks. Anakin is nowhere to be found and that worries him - but he hopes it just means Anakin escaped.
Ahsoka has a collar too and kriff he wants to rip the karking thing off her neck - especially since now he can see it, he knows it's a shock collar. If the electric burns on her shoulders and back weren't bad enough, now her wrist and neck look terrible and he knows that's bad, knows they'll still be burning like the whips are still there.
This may be his only time to take stock of his own wounds so he does as best he can, twisting around to peer at his arm. It's not going to be good if he can't keep it clean, and when he glances at his leg (which is worse) he sees that will cause him still more trouble.
"You're awake." Rex can tell Ahsoka is trying her best to sound steady. He looks up and meets her eyes and forces a smile, although just now he's horribly, horribly afraid.
"Yeah. Are you doing alright, sir?" It's a stupid question, of course she isn't kriffing alright, but he really just means do you need anything .
"Yes, I'm… I'm fine, Rex." She looks down, and Rex sighs, closing his eyes as a particularly hot wave of pain pulses where the whips burned him.
"'Soka," he says, and it feels like they don't have time, and he doesn't know where they are but it can't be anywhere good and he wants to say a hundred things. "Please can we just be honest with each other." And it's asking a lot even of himself, but they've gone in enough circles and little gods he is scared.
She nods, and he pushes himself clumsily to his feet and walks over to her before sitting down again (equally clumsily). She's shaking, and he leans against her a little, just enough to take some comfort from her closeness.
"Where are we?" he asks softly, hoping she's heard something he hasn't.
"I don't know. It's a ship, I know that."
That's not good. They could be going anywhere. He swears quietly, hopes against hope that this will all still be alright.
He knows one thing though, with deadly certainty: he will not sit back this time, won't waste time wondering how to act if he can protect his Jedi. He can't afford to.
...
Ahsoka leans into Rex, closes her eyes for a moment, taking comfort from his presence. "I'm scared, Rex," she whispers faintly. "What if we can't get free? I don't-I can't be a slave."
"So am I," Rex admits, surprising her. "But we will get free, Soka. I promise."
"But if they separate us-"
The governor wakes, then, confusion evident on his face. "Where-"
"A ship," Ahsoka says. And turns back to Rex. "What do you think they did to Master Obi-Wan? And Anakin?"
She knows they can handle themselves, but she can't help but worry. It's a rhetorical question though, because what good does asking do? "I don't know," Rex tells her, subdued, and she thinks he's taking just as much comfort from her as she is from him.
She swallows, nods. And then sighs. "My neck-I know it's burned, I can feel it, but-how badly?"
She's almost afraid to know.
...
Rex looks past the collar as best he can. The burn is pale, skin bubbling and scraped raw where the collar rubs against the wound. "It's not good, 'Soka. But I think you'll be okay if you're careful."
The ship shakes suddenly, and the engine sounds grow louder. He thinks they must be landing, and part of him is glad because he wants answers, wants to know where they are. But he also knows that things are not likely to improve from here and these few quiet moments are disappearing fast.
He looks at the governor, trying to project a sense of calm. He hopes he looks confident, certain. "Governor, we'll help your people. I promise."
The governor nods, and although he doesn't look convinced, he does look hopeful. Rex makes himself stand, straight-backed and determined. The ship jolts and settles, and he sways with it. They've made planetfall somewhere.
Ahsoka stands too, and it's harder for her - he wishes he was more able to help. He looks at her and her eyes are so wide and frightened, although she looks like she's trying to hide it.
He doesn't mean to, but he finds himself saying, "Please take care of yourself, Ahsoka."
She nods, "I will," and it's not enough. She doesn't understand.
"'Soka," and he turns, faces her directly, "Please. We'll figure out the mission and save your people, but I don't… Take care of the colonists and yourself first. I'll watch out for myself."
He knows she won't agree, can tell by the look on her face, but she looks down and nods. Maybe that means she'll at least try.
Before he can say anything else though, a door hisses open in the wall of their cell, or whatever it is, and half a dozen Zygerrians march in, brandishing blasters. "Move it, skugs," they snarl, and Rex puts his head down and obeys. He can tell Ahsoka and the governor are following. For now, it's their best option.
They're marched through the belly of the ship (a freighter, he thinks, massive and ancient) to it's loading bay, and the bay door is lowered. Sunlight streaks blinding (and beautiful) through the opening and Rex squints against the light until one of the guards shoves their blaster into his back.
The governor gasps as they step outside and Rex quickly realizes why: some two dozen Togrutan colonists stand bound in rows in front of a massive stone building. They're on what seems to be a massive platform over a sentient-made pit - so this is a mining planet, then. "My people," the governor whispers, and Rex glances at Ahsoka. These are her people too. She's staring at them, lips trembling.
...
Ahsoka can't seem to stop staring.
Those are her people.
Then a large Zygerrian in a chair appears off to the side, catching her attention. "Padawan Tano," he says with a coldly cruel grin that makes her shiver, "you are the first Jedi I've had the opportunity to entertain here."
She ignores him, until he presses a button and an entire row of colonists fall through holes in the floor.
"No," she breathes, eyes going wide with horror-he can't, he can't! (He just killed them because of her. She's not saving her people, she's killingthem.)
The Zygerrian looks pleased by her reaction. "Now that I have your attention, Jedi, know that it is not only you who will suffer for your defiance."
And then he disappears.
Beside her, Rex looks sick; the governor looks horrified and sidles away from her. She doesn't blame him.
She's only just arrived, and look how many are already dead?
"How am I going to do this?" she whispers, pale and cold and so, so small.
It can't get worse, she thinks-except that it does. "No talking!" one of the guards snarls, and suddenly there's electricity pouring through the collar, over the burn on her neck and sparking through her. It's so unexpected she actually yelps and falls to her knees, barely able to breathe as the burning hot pain spreads through her entire body. There are tears in the corner of her eyes and her heart feels like it's trying to leap out of her chest-
"Get up, skug," another guard says, slamming their blaster into her, and, somehow, swaying a little, she does.
...
Rex burns and it's all he can do not to charge forward and fight, do something , even though he's still bound and he knows it wouldn't help. I'm sorry, Ahsoka , he thinks, but doesn't dare say.
The guards get them moving with a few well-placed kicks and creative curses, and Rex falls into step beside Ahsoka, the most help he feels able to give. She glances at him once and it scares him how she already looks lost . His heart raps a dangerous drumbeat in his chest and he realizes he's not sure he can make himself do this, even for a mission, even to save the colonists.
They're marched to a lift car of sorts and taken down into the pit that the colonists were dropped into just moments before. They go down deep below the planet's surface - Rex sees abandoned mining equipment cling to the pit walls as they go, and the air steadily grows hot and heavy.
It seems likely they will be put to hard labor, and that's something of a relief because Rex can do that, he can work and push through it if he must. The guards unlock their restraints, and Rex cautiously traces his fingers over his burnt wrist, evaluating. He can make do. Kix will murder him, if he gets out of this, but it will be fine.
When they arrive at the bottom of the pit, the lift grinding heavily to a stop on the stone floor, the Zygerrians jab a blaster into his back and start unceremoniously stripping him of his armor. He fights his instincts and doesn't resist - now's not the time.
Ahsoka evidently doesn't agree, because suddenly she's right by him, and she shoves her hands out in front of her and the Zygerrians around Rex are thrown away from him like they're nothing. " Don't kriffing touch him ," she snarls, and he's so grateful except… except there's suddenly prickling heat arcing against his neck and he automatically grabs at the collar, gasping, because he has to get it off . The second he touches it there's more pain and he yanks his hand away just as the electricity fizzles out. He stumbles against the side of the lift, catches himself with his good hand. It's a warning more than anything. He doesn't want to look at Ahsoka and see the horrified expression he knows will be on her face.
The guards come back and grab him again, and he stays still, trying not to flinch. One of them slams a fist into his stomach, garbles out an insult, and Rex heaves for breath, wishing he had his blasters.
He wants the armor back, however bad it was. With just the boots, trousers, and shirt he'd been wearing with the armor, he feels vulnerable, exposed. The guards shove him out of the lift and he dares to glance at Ahsoka. He manages to catch her eye right away and gives her the barest of smiles. I'm alright , he wants to say, even though he's not. Kriff, he doesn't want her blaming herself. Her beautiful eyes are so pained and he has to look away again because if he doesn't, he doesn't think he'll be able to keep moving.
He's a soldier, and he does what he must.
...
This is all wrong.
Ahsoka wants nothing more than to curl up in a ball, but she can't even stop moving without getting shoved or having blasters jammed into the painfully burned skin on her back. The guards grab Rex and she doesn't even think, just acts, flings herself in front of him and Force-pushes the guards away, snarls out, "Don't kriffing touch him."
And for a moment that's good, for a moment she's done something right, but then Rex gasps and grabs at his neck and she realizes they'reshocking him. Because of her.
She just wanted to help and now they're hurting him and she can't-she can't do anything.
When they are finally done with him, he catches her eye, smiles faintly, and she can hear his thought plain as day: I'm alright. (Her shields are low and he doesn't know much about shielding and she can't help but listen to him.)
But he's not, and neither is she.
They're both given pickaxes and sent to opposite sides of the cavern to work; Ahsoka can't keep herself from looking back at him, worried-he shouldn't be doing this with his hand like that. But every time she stops swinging the pickaxe, the guards stomp up, yell at her to keep working, and shock one of the Togrutans nearby. If she tries to make a move to stop it, they shock her and more of her people.
It's awful.
She's never felt so helpless in her life.
(For the first time, being a Jedi is making everything worse.)
...
The pickaxe is light at first, although every strike into stone jolts his burnt arm and neck. Rex is used to pain and hard work, so he pushes through it, and it's almost a relief to have something to do .
Except for the fact that everyone else around him is struggling. The Togrutan colonists are peaceful artists, not laborers, and every time one of them stumbles or fails to complete a task, the Zygerrians whip them and shock them until they force themselves to get up and go back to work.
Early in his work, Rex had seen someone shocked until they just couldn't move and then they were dragged off somewhere. He'd found himself lowering his pickaxe, stepping towards the guards with no clear plan, and another guard had slammed an electrostaff into his stomach. He'd fallen to his knees, grabbing the haft of the staff automatically, glaring up at the Zygerrian guard. He'd almost smiled.
It seems the guards hadn't expected him to be defiant .
It's mind-numbing work, and meant to tire them, as Rex's aching shoulders can attest after what he thinks is an hour or so of breaking rock. It leaves him too much space to think, although he can at least drown out some of what's happening around him if he focuses on his task. He won't play along with this for long, he tells himself, he just needs the right opportunity to do something and he will.
Isn't that what you told yourself last time? He can't quite ignore a mocking, anxious voice that circles through his thoughts, and the longer he works, the louder it seems to get. Keep waiting, keep planning, and never do anything. How many colonists is too many? Because the sounds of groaning and crying and the occasional screams are constant, burrowing into his ear like a mind worm, and it's too much to stop.
He can't just put up with this, can't just tell himself it's the mission and it will all be fine. Their plans are all in tatters and he can't contact General Skywalker and these people need their help.
Somewhere to his right, someone screams and he tries to keep his eyes on his work.
How many colonists is enough?
He straightens, turns, sees a guard brandishing his whip over the head of a slender Togrutan woman next to an overturned cart of stone. "Worthless skug," the guard snarls, and Rex grips his pickaxe and pushes himself to a run.
The guard wasn't expecting resistance, much less resistance in the form of a pickaxe driven into the back of his leg, and he howls , buckling like a clanker under a saber. Rex yanks the tool free and slams the haft of it into the guard's head as hard as he can, then spins, knowing he's attracted far too much attention. Part of him welcomes it, craves the challenge of a fight. The Togrutan slave has the presence of mind to scramble to her feet and start working to right the cart - everyone scatters and Rex locks eyes with the first guard who comes running up, smiling fiercely. And he braces himself because he knows what's coming - his collar flares to life with a loud hissing of energy and for a moment it's blinding hot and he roars, automatically launching himself in the direction of the guard. He's staggering and his jaw locks closed and he can't think, but it doesn't matter, because as long as they're trying to deal with him, they aren't hurting anybody else.
He's surprised when he swings the pickaxe and manages to connect with something; the collar shuts off abruptly and it's such a relief he laughs, locking eyes with the Zygerrian who'd dared to engage him first and punching him in his snarling mouth.
He just manages to turn, instinctively dodging to one side, as another guard tries to stab him with one of their electrostaffs; the weapon connects with Rex's first opponent instead and Rex jabs the haft of his pickaxe into the newcomer's chin.
He fully expects another attack, so he immediately straightens, appraising the area, and it takes him a moment to register that one of the guards is just… standing. Holding a shock whip, standing where he is, sneering at Rex. He wears more elaborate armor than the rest of the guards, which means he's probably an overseer. Rex stops in his tracks - he knows better than to rush into a fight with an opponent who's clearly confident. "If I could have your attention, slave," the Zygerrian snarls, and Rex settles into a ready stance, holding his bloody pickaxe slightly up. His stomach drops as two more guards storm over, dragging colonists: the woman from before and an older man. They shove the slaves down to their knees in front of the overseer and Rex suddenly can't breathe . Without so much as looking at the Togrutans, the overseer draws back his whip and brings it down (it's so casual, how easily he does it, that Rex almost doesn't understand) across the backs of the two slaves and they gasp, curling in on themselves. Rex, without thinking, raises his pickaxe and takes two steps towards them and the overseer brings the whip down again, harder, so it crackles. The Togrutans shriek, voices hoarse, and Rex stops, shaking his head dumbly. Please not this . He drops the pickaxe like it's burning him, raises his hands, steps back. "I'm sorry," he forces out, and kriff it's disgusting but he does anyway.
The guard whips them again and Rex swears . "Do we understand each other, slave?" the overseer snarls, baring pointed teeth, and Rex looks down, nods, bile rising in his throat.
"Yes, sir."
He understands perfectly, and wishes he didn't.
The guards evidently decide that he's still too dangerous to leave in possession of a pickaxe, because they switch him to hauling crushed rock. Never mind that he knows he couldn't attack them again even if he had it, never mind that he's gone numb, can't look anyone in the eye.
He can't be helpless again, he can't.
But he is, and he feels the full enormity of this place bearing down on him, the impossibility of escape. For now, this is his life , and he doesn't know if he can take it, although he must.
...
At first, swinging the pickaxe is simple, easy-Ahsoka is strong, though slight, and months of war have honed her body into incredible fitness-though monotonous, but as the hours wear on her shoulders start to ache from the repetitive motion, and every time the tip of the pickaxe crashes into the stone it jars her burned back. Her wrist pulses with pain, and her leg throbs, but the worst pain is her neck.
The electric burns around her neck are raw and hot, the red and blackened skin cracked and blistering, and every time she moves her shock collar-which is fitted perfectly around her neck so that she can't even slide a finger beneath it-scrapes over the injury, ripping off flakes of loose and dead skin and popping blisters as they form. And every time the collar shocks her, the burn gets worse. It's the worst kind of agony imaginable.
Ahsoka grits her teeth against the pain and keeps working, lets the rhythmic motion draw her into a kind of moving meditation. It-helps, although not enough, but at least she feels calmer and the pain somewhat diminishes.
About two hours or so into the work shift, a commotion on the far side of the pit catches her attention, bringing her out of the serenity of meditation; she glances over her shoulder to see Rex, teeth bared in a challenging, almost predatory smile, standing proud and confident with a bloody pickaxe in his hands. She can guess what triggered him to fight-there's a slave, a young Togrutan woman, hurriedly piling crushed rock into a cart. Ahsoka smiles, because the Zygerrians can't break Rex, no matter what they think-and then she freezes, cold horror seeping into her bones, because the overseer is there now with two Togrutan slaves and he's casually whipping them and she seethes because how dare they-
"Get back to work, skug!" The harshly barked order is accompanied by the bite of a shock whip cutting deep into her already-ruined back, and she winces, biting down on her lip to stifle a small whimper, and slowly starts swinging the pickaxe again.
She desperately hopes Rex is okay, but she doesn't dare look again-the lash to her back was a warning, and the Zygerrians will start hurting the others around her if she doesn't comply. (There's another way, a faint voice whispers in the back of her mind, but she shoves that thought away, firmly. No. It's an invasion of privacy and she has no idea if he'd even agree to it and things aren't that bad yet.)
The hours trickle past, slowly, like sand in an hourglass, and the tedious work turns to torture. Her hands have calluses from her lightsaber hilts, but not from anything like this, and soon her palms are covered in tender, sore, blistering patches of skin. Her ribs are beginning to complain, the constant motion being more than they are ready for, making even breathing hurt, and her muscles ache with a dull exhaustion. Her legs and arms shake, several muscles threatening to cramp, and she's finding it harder and harder to settle into meditation.
To top it off, she's both hungry and thirsty, and she doesn't see any food or water around. There has to be something, right? They wouldn't want their slaves to die of starvation or dehydration before they could get all the physical work out of them.
Right?
Finally, just when Ahsoka thinks she's about to pass out from sheer exhaustion and pain, the overseer cracks his whip and shouts, "Shift's over, you worthless skugs!" Immediately, the Togrutans around her shamble over to one wall and lean their pickaxes against it; she follows their example, then looks around for Rex. He's over by the lift already, and as she watches he's shoved inside with a group of other slaves. The lift goes up (she follows it with her eyes until it disappears from her sight), and a few minutes pass by before it returns and is loaded with another group of slaves. This goes on for another couple rounds before Ahsoka gets her chance.
The guards around her group prod them off the lift when it reaches the top and into a squat grey building maybe fifty meters from the lift. Inside, they're each given a bowl of some kind of gruel (she doesn't question it, just gulps it down, even though it's nowhere near enough to make her feel sated) and a bottle of water, and then funneled into long, narrow rooms with rows of pallets and blankets. The room is dark, but Ahsoka can make out the shadowy forms of Togrutans already sound asleep on many of the pallets.
But Rex is nowhere to be found.
Ahsoka curls up under the thin, scratchy blanket on her chosen pallet, feeling more lost and alone than she can remember ever feeling in her life, and prepares herself for a long, lonely, sleepless night.
...
The barracks the slaves sleep in are long and low-ceilinged and claustrophobic - there's not a single window and just the one door. One hallway accesses dozens of rooms, one of which Rex is herded into with thirty or so Togrutans. It's not a big enough space for that many people, even with the thin pallets almost touching each other on one half of the room. The slaves are handed food and water as they enter - Rex is given water but no food. He suspects he's been branded "dangerous" and they want to wear him down.
They needn't go to all the effort, because he's already exhausted from the work and the realization that he can't do anything here. He avoids looking at the guards, not wanting to risk seeming hostile.
He sits down on a pallet near one of the walls, drinks small sips of his water. He scans the room for Ahsoka, but although sometimes he thinks he sees her, he's always disappointed. Any hope he'd had of checking on her, making sure she's alright, seems lost. It's clear that talking is still strongly discouraged in the barracks, although he does see some people murmuring quietly to each other without consequences.
Not that it matters, as no one here seems to care about his presence, or if they do, they avoid him. He finishes his water and sets the bottle aside, scooting down to lay curled up on the pallet. At least he's slept in worse conditions - having a blanket at all is a luxury right now, really.
He doesn't think he'll be able to sleep, not here,but he closes his eyes and determines to try.
Tomorrow will be more of the same.
...
Ahsoka slips in and out of a fitful doze all night long, never truly falling asleep. There's no one here to watch her back, even though she's taken the pallet in one of the corners, where she can put her back to a wall, and so when the guards come in to wake them up (it must be morning, though she has no way of knowing), she doesn't feel even the slightest bit rested. There's something about starting awake at every little sound that doesn't exactly lend itself to getting a good night's sleep, after all.
They're shown to a 'fresher, given a water bottle that she suspects is all they'll get for the entire day, and led in groups to the lift again. She catalogues her injuries as best as she can on the trip down: her burns are bad, she thinks, probably getting infected, and her muscles are sore and complaining every slight movement-but at least she can walk.
Swinging the pickaxe is probably going to be a whole different story, but she'll deal with that when it comes.
She doesn't see Rex in her group, and even though she knows he's probably doing as well as he can in this environment, she's still worried-what if they killed him during the night? What if he's been injured and he can't walk and-
Sharp, burning pain sparking across her skin, originating from her neck, snaps her back to reality, and she quickly grabs the handle of a pickaxe and follows a few slaves over to a section of rock. The pickaxe seems heavier today, and just lifting it sends stabs of pain through her hands. When she swings it into the stone, her teeth clack together and her whole body jolts, waves of hot, pulsing pain cresting over her back and shoulders and legs.
But she keeps swinging it anyway.
Not long after the shift starts, the slave next to Ahsoka falls, knees giving out, and she immediately stops working and offers him a hand-he's Togrutan, barely more than a boy, his montrals shorter and less pointed than hers are, even. He takes her hand, grateful for the aid-until his collar turns on and he convulses with the current, dropping back to the ground. Ahsoka lets go of him, sickened-knowing it's her fault he's in pain, because she just wanted to help, and she's not supposed to-and waits for the collar to let up.
But it doesn't.
"Stop!" she shouts, turning wide eyes to the guard in utter horror. "You'll kill him!"
The guard doesn't even react, and in moments the boy is dead. His body isn't even dragged away, just left in a crumpled heap on the ground; the other slaves step around it or over it like they're used to this, and maybe they are.
"Now it's your turn, little Jedi," the guard grows, brandishing a shock whip, and Ahsoka shivers at the cruel smile on his face. "I hear the headtails on you skugs are extra-sensitive. Shall we put that to the test?"
She barely even has time to realize what he means before the shock whip coils around her right headtail, and she screams.
White-hot agony burns through her, so intense her vision greys out and she can't even breathe; she falls to her knees, hands scrabbling in vain for some kind of purchase on the rocky ground beneath her, and arcs her spine and screams until her voice gives out.
When awareness finally returns, she's panting in short, shallow gasps, curled forward over her knees, her hands clenched into fists (and she can feel her fingernails have torn open gashes in the skin of her palms). Her vision swims, the world tilting, and sweat drips into her eyes-it stings, but that's the least of her worries at the moment.
Her entire body is trembling, her heart pounding an erratic galloping rhythm in her chest, and her throat feels like she's just swallows half a ton of gravel. Even the Force feels remote, almost-it takes her far too long to realize the guard is still standing in front of her. "That was interesting," he says, catching her attention, and she glares hatefully up at him (all the resistance she can muster, at the moment). "Let's try it again."
"No, please," she begs, the words spilling out of her mouth before she can think about it, "please don't-"
"Please don't, Master," the guard corrects, and he's smiling and she's going to be sick.
"I'll never call you master," Ahsoka spits out, furious- how dare he try and take that title? "You don't deserve that honor."
"I was hoping you'd say that." And then the guard brandishes his whip again, and she knows what's coming and instinctively shrinks back. She barely has time to brace herself before that awful pain is back, for even longer this time, and she's writhing on the floor choking out silent screams and rough, raw whimpers by the time he's done. "Now, what do you say?"
She won't, she won't, she won't-but the whip threatens and she's shaking and it hurts and she's not sure she can survive a third time and-and-
Ahsoka's crying, sick with pain and horror and fear, but she whispers, "Please don't, Master."
"Louder," the Zygerrian commands.
Her throat is raw, hurts like it's been scraped by a hundred knives; she's humiliated, angry, in utter agony, and most of all, afraid. She raises her voice. "Please don't, Master."
There's a very long silence, and then the shock whip flickers off. "Good," he says. "Now get back to work."
She can barely stand, but somehow she does, grabbing the pickaxe and swinging it into the rock-the jolt sends pain screaming through her abused headtails, and she moans softly, sucks in a sharp, shuddering breath. Part of her seems… detached, almost numb, shock probably, and it won't last forever, but it enables her to ignore the way her palms are leaving bloody streaks on the pickaxe's handle, the constant agonizing pain all over her body that threatens to bring her to her knees once again.
Slowly, ever-so-slowly, her blurred thoughts resolve into a single sentence: she can't do this alone.
So she reaches out, into the Force, finds Rex's distinctive mind with its rudimentary shields, and latches on hard, though she's as gentle as she can when she breaks through the shields like they aren't even there. It's such an invasion of privacy, and he'll probably hate her, but she can't, she can't do this, and it hurts, and-
I'm sorry I can't it hurts and I don't know what to do Rex, she sends, all in a rush of words and intense emotion, pain and anguish and terror and guilt and grief. Please…
...
They have Rex hauling carts again today, and he's fairly sure one of the guards has been assigned to watch him, because a Zygerrian in bronze armor always, always notices the minute Rex gets distracted and reminds him to focus with a quick lash of the whip across someone else's shoulders. Rex does his best to compartmentalize it, not to react or do anything else to bring punishment on himself or anyone else, but it's so hard because it's starting to feel like it's all his fault, whether he makes a mistake or not. He can't act or they get punished, but if he doesn't, it's just as bad.
The one positive is that he can see Ahsoka more today; his job takes him all around the pit and that means sometimes he can check on her. Not that it does either of them any good because he can't really help even if something does happen.
He's busy dumping armfuls of broken stone into his cart, his shoulders protesting, when he hears a shout; he forces himself to ignore it. It's far away and he can't help, can't stop working. However much it burns , feels like cowardice and failure and selfishness.
He hefts an extra large piece of rock, balances it against his shoulder, and drops it into the cart where it crushes dully against the other stone. It's only half a load.
Somebody screams , and he can't ignore this: it's too horrible and he spins around, searching for the source of it even though he knows that's a mistake. It's not stopping and his eyes dart all over the dark landscape, looking for- oh kriff . Oh stars. He grabs the side of his cart, fights the urge to vomit.
The person screaming is Ahsoka . There's no way he'll get to her, she's too far away and she's on her hands and knees but he tries anyway, breaks into a desperate run.
Something stabs into the back of his leg, electric-hot, and his leg seizes and he falls, catching himself on his arms and going to push himself back up. But there's a familiar hissing crackle and a lash bites into his back, and little gods he tries so hard to keep moving, to get to her, but his arms just can't move and he falls. The pain says don't move , but he's long past listening. He starts to push himself upright again and this time it's a staff pressed into his back, shoving him to the ground where he can't move except to twist like a worm on a hook as waves of agony wrack his shoulders and spine. He's dimly aware he's babbling something and he makes himself shut his mouth. (Please don't, please stop, you can't.)
The electrostaff pulls away and he just breathes for a second before getting up onto his hands and knees, trying not to flinch.
And still she's screaming, and crying. The back of Rex's throat burns with tears and bile, because she's on the ground , curled into a tiny ball, and they won't leave her alone, won't stop- he shouldn't, but he tries to run forward again. This time his collar activates and the Zygerrians grab his arms, yanking him back and holding him still. He could fight free from them in an instant if he wasn't choking .
He stares at her on the floor until she stops screaming, but he can see she's still crying, shaking, and the Zygerrian guard looms over her, smiling .
The guards turn his collar off, and he gets just time to take a full breath before it flares back on, keeping him from trying to yank free.
Don't touch her again, please.
Ahsoka's staring at the guard and Rex feels tears prickling at his eyes. Then Ahsoka bows her head, shaking it slowly, saying something. Don't fight them please, just don't .
The whip hisses off, and the guard turns away, strolls off without a backward glance. Rex's collar shuts off too, and he sags, heaving for breath. The guards holding him shove him back and he doesn't resist. His muscles are weak, spasming, and he knows he's pushed himself too far but he had to. And it was useless. "Get back to work," his guard snarls, and Rex can't take his eyes off Ahsoka, who's standing shakily and picking up her pickaxe.
This is too much, but he forces himself to turn away and bend to pick up more stones; his back nearly gives out and he has to grit his teeth against the pain and breathe past it.
Then suddenly there's… something else. He knows enough from his training days on Kamino to recognize it as someone else's mind pressing against his and he panics, slams up shields while struggling to keep working so the guards don't punish him again. But his shields, which he knows are at least adequate , suddenly break , and he flinches although it doesn't hurt.
With that comes a flood of emotion, pain and terror so sharp he hisses, a hand going to his head. But there's something warm and familiar about the feelings, something he almost recognizes. I'm sorry I can't it hurts and I don't know what to do Rex. Please.
Ahsoka? He stops trying to hide from the flood of emotion and focuses on it instead, although it aches , meanwhile fumbling for more rocks to pick up, because he knows he isn't safe to stop working. He sees flashes of memory, and for a moment it's bewildering because he can't make sense of it, but hears her begging, calling someone Master . The memory feels sick with shame and Rex's stomach clenches.
I can't, Rex, and her voice in his head is such a relief , always familiar but with more emotion than he suspects she'd allow herself to show normally.
Ahsoka, he thinks, wishes he could hide how horrified and exhausted he feels. He dumps his load of rocks into the cart. You're okay , he thinks, and it's just a nonsense phrase, something meant to soothe her. It's okay, I'm here . And he isn't really, but it's the best he can do.
...
Ahsoka can't stop shaking. Her hands hurt, more than she'd realized, and she takes a moment to glance down at her palms when she has a chance. The deep gouges are still oozing blood, and dirt is caked on them. If she can't get them clean, she knows they'll get infected, and…
She closes her eyes for half a second, just soaking in Rex's presence. It's not the same as having him next to her, but it's close-possibly as close as she's going to get for a while. Rex, he- and she stops, not knowing how to explain it. So she flashes that little snippet of memory again, this time controlled, showing him the way she'd given in, called him Master, and all he'd had to do was threaten. She tries to edit out the pain, but she's so tired and she can't really focus, so she's pretty sure she's unsuccessful. She doesn't wait for a response (knows he can feel her shame, because she can't focus enough to only project exactly what she wants to), just continues on by saying, Headtails are-sensitive, and… She can't really stutter, not mentally, but there's an impression of stuttering, accompanied by more fear. I can't.
She knows she's repeating herself, but it's all she can do to keep swinging the pickaxe at all. Everything hurts and she's so scared and she can't breathe and Rex-
Ahsoka knows she's crying, but she's too exhausted to do a thing about it.
...
Rex doesn't know what he's doing, really, but he tries to send a feeling of understanding her way, of calm, although he's struggling too. There's anger there that he doesn't know how to hide, although he does his best.
He falls into a monotonous, steady rhythm with his work and tries to pretend this is normal at all. 'Soka, can you breathe with me? Can we try that?It's not an ideal time for this, but it's what works best when his brothers panic.
He thinks he feels agreement so he makes himself aware of his own breathing, hopes she senses it. It helps him, too, because his breaths have been coming fast and shallow; now he works to slow down, breathe deeper, find some semblance of relaxation.
Something in him is burning hot and furious because there was so much pain and her memory is hovering at the back of his mind, the shame and the hatred in it.
It's all he can do to keep working because he wants more than anything to destroy every last one of these slavers, take the colonists and every other slave on this planet and run . Kriff diplomacy and the plan, he wants to burn it all down .
He stops those thoughts, pushes them aside for later examination. He's trying to help Ahsoka calm down, and he suspects his more violent fantasies aren't helping.
I'm sorry, 'Soka. About all of this . It's not enough. He's so exhausted and everything hurts and he doesn't know when this is going to end. If it ever will.
...
Breathing is-hard.
Ahsoka tries to focus, though, because Rex asked, and slowly she feels her scattered thoughts come together. It's not your fault, she promises him, and she means it.
But she's so tired.
She knows her emotions are projecting clearly, because she doesn't have the calm concentration or the energy to maintain multiple layers of shields right now. That's it, Soka, Rex tells her, encouragingly, and she realizes the tears have mostly stopped and her breathing is steadier, slower.
Rex is angry. She instinctively soothes his rage, like she would with Anakin at his worst, projecting warmth and calm instead. He's hurting too-she curiously prods for the source of the pain, jerking back a little when she sees the memory. He'd tried to protect her? Rex, you shouldn't have, she sends absently, and she wonders faintly if she can do what she's thinking about doing. If she can take on some of his pain, help him feel better.
She doesn't realize she's projecting that until Rex says, Don't you dare.
She tilts her head to one side, still working. Why not?
...
He can't let her do that , she's hurting much worse than he is (he can sense it, and it's so unfamiliar, feeling her pain like it's an echo of his own, separate yet similar), and he's hurting like this because he wanted to help her and he couldn't. He won't make that worse by letting her take any of that pain on herself.
At least she's calmer now - he can tell she's breathing easier, not crying so much, although she also seems unfocused now.
There's a warmth and light easing through his thoughts, and it feels distinctly her .
He's not really sure how much of his thoughts she can hear, but he doesn't find that he cares. Maybe he should, but he doesn't have the energy to try to hide anything.
He's not paying nearly enough attention to his surroundings, although he still has enough work to do that it should be fine, but he flinches when he suddenly hears a shock whip crack next to him, automatically steps back.
It's a guard whipping another slave and it's not directed at him, but still, it takes effort to look down and ignore it. The colonist is whimpering and Rex swallows. He's supposed to protect and he can't. Whatever he does, someone gets hurt and he can't stop it , and really he should stop thinking about this and just work but it's so hard.
Rex, and he cringes, tries too late to pull his thoughts into some semblance of order. He's not used to anyone being able to listen to him think and if it were anyone but Ahsoka, he thinks he'd hate it. Right now though, it's more comforting than anything else. It isn't your fault.
But it is , he thinks, knowing she understands. It is, Ahsoka, they hurt the colonists (her people) if I don't listen to them. He tries to make it simply a statement of fact because she doesn't need the burden of worrying about him, but he's sure she still feels his despair.
...
Ahsoka sighs, struggling to keep a firm grip on the pickaxe-her hands hurt and her arms are shaking already, only a couple hours into the day. I know, she sends, as reassuring as she can be, trying to block out the pain and terror and sick shame writhing in her gut. They're doing it to me, too. It's awful.
She wants to go home.
Not the Temple, although that's where she was raised; no, home is the Resolute, is in space with Anakin and the 501st. She wishes they could just get out of here, take the colonists and run, and if it weren't for the stupid shock collars she would.
But it's impossible to run when your body is being electrocuted.
(She knows Rex picks up on those thoughts, just like she's picking up on the way he's comfortable with her being in his mind like he wouldn't with anyone else. It's not entirely unexpected, although she's surprised maintaining the connection is taking almost zero effort. It should be harder than this.)
I'm scared, Rex, she admits. I don't know how we'll get out of here and I-I just want to go home.
...
Me too , he says, although he finds he still wants to burn this place first. His cart is full of rock, so he sighs and grabs the hafts of the cart, starting the trudge to the area of the pit where, as far as he can tell, they load the broken stone onto an old rail system and send it somewhere else for other projects. Learning about this place might do no good, but he's trying anyway on the off chance that he's able to come up with a plan of escape that doesn't end with the colonists dead.
Before he can get very far, however, one of the overseers steps in front of him, her face a mask of disdain and something like amusement. "Put that down, slave." Rex does, warily, and straightens. He looks at the overseer's mouth instead of her eyes; he's found that eye contact makes them angry. Maybe because he can't completely hide the anger he feels that pulses hot and dangerous with every beat of his heart.
"You're being reassigned. Get over to that station and get a pickaxe." Rex follows the overseer's pointing finger, realizing she's directing him to where Ahsoka stands swinging her own pickaxe.
He should be thrilled, and part of him is, but after his display he would think they'd want him as far from a potential weapon as possible, and as far from Ahsoka as possible. Still, he decides to accept it as a good thing and he quickly obeys, ducking his head and hurrying to get to his new station and get back to work. And close to Ahsoka.
We can do this , he thinks, and as he bends to pick up a pickaxe, he catches her smiling, just the tiniest bit.
Sure, she answers.
It's desperately optimistic but he hopes her nearness will make all this easier, even as the first strike of the tool against stone sends lancing pain up his arms and back. And they may not be allowed to talk, but her thoughts still brush familiar and safe against his. It's such a relief .
...
Ahsoka is… surprised, to say the least, when Rex is escorted over to her side, carrying a pickaxe over one shoulder, a guard following behind him. She wouldn't think the Zygerrians would want the two of them together-thoughts she can feel Rex echoing, somewhere in the back of her mind.
So there has to be some purpose, some benefit for putting them together, she just… doesn't know what it is, and that worries her.
Still, she forgets all that for a moment, because Rex is here and she finds herself relaxing, because he's here and even though she knows she's not, she still feels safer. It doesn't matter that he can't do anything (and neither can she, if he gets hurt); his very presence is soothing in a way she doesn't quite understand but welcomes nonetheless.
I missed you, she thinks, and when she glances over at him out of the corner of her eye there's a little smile on his face.
A few more hours pass, and for the most part she and Rex don't communicate much, at least not in words; the background hum of emotions and surface thoughts flickers back and forth, a quiet, constant reassurance of the other's presence. It is, Ahsoka reflects, rather like her training bond with Anakin, only… not quite the same. Deeper, somehow, more intimate, and she shies away from that line of thinking before Rex picks up on it.
Every strike of the pickaxe against the rocks sends pain washing through her, and she's panting for breath, sweat running down the sides of her face. She pauses to reach up and wipe it off (blood from her cut palm smears across her forehead and down her cheek, although she doesn't realize it), and in the process brushes against one of the burns on her headtails. A sharp stab of agony shoots through her, and she tries to muffle it as quickly as she can, hoping Rex doesn't pick up on it.
Of course he does, and she feels his worry. I'm fine, she tells him quickly, re-wrapping her hands around her pickaxe and starting again.
Ahsoka-
Just bumped something, that's all, and he doesn't totally believe her, but it's close enough to the truth that he can't really pry. And then she's distracted, anyway-a slave stumbles and falls, and it's sheer instinct for Ahsoka to reach out with one hand, use the Force to catch the Togrutan woman, giving her time to use her pickaxe to balance herself. She's quiet and careful about it, and the woman is clearly thankful, but…
The guards notice.
Of course they do.
And that's when she realizes just why Rex is here, because next thing she knows his personal guard is jamming the tip of an electrostaff into Rex's stomach, sending him to his knees-all the while, the guard holds her gaze.
And she understands.
"No-" she chokes out, horrified (it's her fault and she can feel his pain and he's being punished because of her), "I'm sorry, please," but they won't stop and she can't-she can't watch. "Stop," she tries, her voice rising, a combination of fear and hysteria and rising panic sending a new surge of adrenaline-induced energy through her veins. "Stop!" And she wants nothing more than to reach for a raw wave of Force and shove them all away, but she still remembers what happened the last time she tried that, and-
I'm so sorry, Rex. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, and her mind is running in circles because she can't do anything. She takes a step forward and the guard from earlier brings his whip out again, flicking the tip threateningly at her headtails, and she shrinks back, staring wide-eyed.
She's completely helpless.
Rex's face is creased in pain, and all she can pick up from him is a running litany of make it stop, please make it stop, and she wants to screambecause she did this and she doesn't know how to fix things and she can't fight because-
But she'd rather it be her hurting than him.
So she lunges forward, kicks out at the haft of the spear with all her strength and some of the Force behind the motion, and it snaps in half. She knows a moment of grim pleasure at the action before everything is eclipsed by agony.
...
Rex's pain subsides so suddenly he almost loses his self-control and sobs , but he bites his tongue and straightens- just in time to catch Ahsoka as she stumbles against him with a whimpering groan. The guards are glaring and he makes the mistake of meeting their eyes, chin lifted. And he shouldn't, and it's a mistake, and a new part of him that cringes and panics is screaming long before they yank Ahsoka away from him and throw her on the ground.
"You may be proving to be more trouble than you're worth, clone," his guard says, and he looks down, fast. Ahsoka doesn't move, and it's probably better that way. "I'm tiring of this," and the Zygerrian who's been whipping Ahsoka presses a button on his whip and Ahsoka's back arches and she howls as her collar flashes blue.
Enough is enough .
"Don't," he growls, and he knows it sounds threatening, although really he thinks he's going to cry.
"On your knees, clone," his guard says, meeting his eyes, daring him to disobey. And Rex is so tired and he's had enough, more than enough. Still, it's not till the other guard cracks his whip dangerously close to Ahsoka's head that Rex can force himself to bend, sink to his knees on the rough floor. He drops his gaze to Ahsoka and finds that makes it a little easier.
And still her collar sparks blue and he tightens his jaw, knows what the guards are waiting for. " Please , sir," he hisses, keeping his eyes down . "I'm sorry. Just please stop ."
And it's enough, because the sound of electricity stops, and it's just Ahsoka's shivering gasps and his own heartbeat.
"I'm glad we've come to an understanding." And his guard turns and walks away to lounge against a stack of crates. Watching. He feels sick but he's just exhausted so he pushes himself upright again, picks up his pickaxe.
Forces himself to leave Ahsoka to pick herself up off the ground.
As he goes back to work, he pulls what shields he can up around his thoughts, ashamed. He's tired, and it's all too cruel, and he can't do this .
...
Ahsoka's shaking when she manages to get to her feet, and she uses her pickaxe to brace herself. Her muscles are still convulsing from the electricity, and the burn on her neck is utter agony, but she grits her teeth and tries not to moan or whimper as she struggles to swing the pickaxe.
It's hard.
I'm sorry, Rex, she says quietly, feeling him withdraw and pull shields up-she could easily get through them, if she wanted to (and she'll have to fix that, after this-if she can get through them, they're not strong enough), but she lets him distance himself. She understands. It's her fault. He doesn't respond, and she swallows, swings the pickaxe again. I never meant to hurt you.
She sniffs, rubs still-bleeding hands over her cheeks, wiping away tears before they can fall. She'd never wanted to hurt Rex, or to get him hurt-she'd only wanted to help, and look what that's done? It's not enough that she's gotten countless colonists killed or injured during her attempts to help people, but now Rex is being punished, and-
She can't fight.
Ahsoka shivers, half from the lingering static in her muscles, half from a helpless horror, and she can feel it when she starts to shatter.
...
Rex can faintly feel Ahsoka nudging at his shields, and it would be so easy to let her in, except he doesn't want her to see. Everything hurts and he's never felt so sick and ashamed. How can he just give up, just dismiss everyone else's pain like this? He told himself after Umbara he wouldn't let his inaction hurt any more of the people he loves, but here he is, swinging a pickaxe like he doesn't hear every slave in this karking place crying.
Including Ahsoka. He can't look at her because if he does he's afraid his resolve will break, afraid he'll keep trying to fight and the simple truth is that he cannot.
He hears Ahsoka's voice, like a whisper in his ear, and he grits his teeth. I never meant to hurt you .
His chest aches and he closes his eyes briefly. He can't even think straight. Keep your head down and work . Survive, make sure they can't hurt Ahsoka anymore. His hands are beginning to blister and his back is in no shape for this but it does not matter .
He's disgusted with himself.
It's not until about an hour later when the pit begins to grow darker (hopefully meaning they're almost done for the day) that he can push down the voices enough to let his shields down and reach out (clumsily) for Ahsoka.
Her mind is a warzone and his heart sinks because this at least he should have done earlier. 'Soka , he thinks, hoping she can feel how sorry he is. Ahsoka, talk to me. Please? I'm sorry, I just… He can't quite be honest so he leaves the thought unfinished, tries to hide all the lingering shame and panic.
...
Ahsoka is lost in the conflicting voices shouting in her mind, telling her everything she's doing wrong, and so she doesn't even notice when Rex drops his shields. She's practically drowning in guilt and pain and shame, but she still hears him the moment he finally, finally reaches out to her.
Talk to me, he almost begs, and she's so glad to hear his voice-well, his mental voice-she almost can't form a coherent response.
Rex, she sends, almost raggedly, Rex, I'm sorry, I can't fix it and I can't help and they're hurting you!
...
I'm fine, he soothes, and it's such a lie, but he needs it and she's almost panicking still. We're fine .
Except they aren't, because he can feel she's breaking, just like he is.
I'm so sorry, she says again. I just want it to be over, Rex, I can't keep doing this.
Me neither , Rex agrees. And it's not that he really can't, because he will. He'll work and he'll survive and comply when he must. But he doesn't know what that will make him. None of this is your fault.
He feels her bitter amusement in response, knows it's fair. The whole point of this is that everything is their fault.
The day's almost over, he thinks gently.
That's what this will be, a day at a time, an hour at a time, looking forward to those precious hours of sleep where they don't have to worry as much about the whips and collars and spears.
He tries to answer some of the thoughts swirling in her head as they work, tries to help her make sense of it all, although he doesn't know what he's doing, how anything he says helps. But she feels, if not better, more focused by the time its announced that the shift is over. The warmth of her presence is reassuring, but it also helps him remember to keep his eyes on the ground as he passes the guards. He's not risking her anymore pain for the sake of his pride.
...
Ahsoka drifts onto the lift at the end of the shift, Rex her anchor by her side, the only thing keeping her tied to the ground. She thinks, vaguely, if he weren't here she'd have completely broken by now.
Or maybe not, she supposes. Who knows. Only the Force.
Still, she feels almost disoriented as the lift rises, and she only just barely remembers not to reach for his hand. She can't. Not yet.
Soon.
The Zygerrians herd their group into the barracks like the night before, and there's a bowl of gruel and a bottle of water for each of them. Ahsoka's hands are shaking so badly she can barely eat, but she manages, somehow. She'd half-expected them to withhold food, but apparently they've decided they know how to handle her and Rex.
Well, they really do.
She follows Rex over to the corner of the room, joins him in dragging two pallets together to make a little more space, and then she sort of just… lets her legs give out. Rex sits down beside her, albeit much more controlled in his descent, and she can't stop staring at him.
"Rex," she breathes, and her voice is hoarse but that's okay. She slumps into him, even though it hurts, because suddenly the idea of staying away for even one second more is utterly revolting to her. "Rex."
...
Ahsoka leans into his side and Rex closes his eyes, soaks in every ounce of comfort he can from it. He half expects someone to punish them still, but the guards no longer seem to care.
He fits an arm carefully around her shoulders, sure he's aggravating some injury and automatically humming I'm sorry silently - where she can hear it, but it won't disrupt this little moment of calm.
"'Soka," he whispers to her, voice catching. He appraises what injuries he can see, the deep, angry burns on her headtails catching his attention. He lifts his free hand, without really thinking about it, and traces some of the unmarked skin, a silent apology. It seems like the right thing to do, although to his alarm she closes her eyes and a tear slips past her lashes, down her cheek. Ahsoka. He pulls her closer to him, presses a light kiss against her temple. I'm sorry. There's anger deep and cold in his stomach, but also, softer, affection and protectiveness. "I'm here," he murmurs, needing to ground the words in reality.
She turns, curls into him more, and there's a look on her face he doesn't understand and from what he can see of her thoughts, they're full of wonder . It doesn't make sense at all.
...
Ahsoka hums quietly, nestles her face into his shoulder. She doesn't quite understand everything she's feeling, or what the ramifications of this might be (the Code screams in her ear, but she shoves it away, buries it deep in her mind because she doesn't kriffing care), but she thinks she knows enough. Especially given the situation.
Rex is just… holding her, like she's something precious, like she's worth more than a thousand kyber crystals, and the almost delicate brush of his fingers across her montrals and headtails sends a shiver through her (but it's decidedly not from fear).
She's never felt anything like this. Like what she feels in herself, or like what she sees in him, his desperate desire to protect her, the way curling around her like this feels natural, the way he kisses her head and doesn't even notice. There's something soft and tender and intimate about the whole thing, and there's a shining warmth in his thoughts (she remembers it vaguely from Umbara) that surrounds her, cocoons her in strength and joy and-
Oh.
And Ahsoka understands, then, even exhausted as she is, and she reaches for the words because some things deserve to be given voice to.
One arm slips around his back, and she uses it to tug herself closer to him. And then, sleepily, but her voice full of all the light and warmth in her, she breathes out, "Love you, Rex."
...
Rex is so wrapped up in the gentle softness of her thoughts for a moment that he doesn't really register her words at first. She's so close and for this moment she's safe, his 'Soka, and he knows he will do whatever he has to so that it can stay like this as long as possible. He's tired and aching and not sure what's next but this… this is right. Her with him. He's never felt another person this way before (the ebb and flow of her thoughts against his), never felt about another person this way before.
It all feels so new (although he's loved her for longer than he even knows) that her words almost seem like just his imagination, although her voice rings gentle with certainty. He looks down at her and finds her staring up at him, and the look in her eyes leaves him in no doubt that she really said it.
"Ahsoka," he says, and he wishes he could think of more to say, because there aren't enough words (in Mando'a or Basic) to fit what he's feeling in this moment. A warm tightness in his chest, a pleasant (but anxious) tremor in his nerves, a hum in his veins like he's been drinking.
He hesitates only a moment before sliding his hand along her jaw, tilting her face towards him like he has all the time in the world. (And he does, because this time Fives most decidedly can't stop them.) Her eyes are sparkling and he can feel her anticipation, can feel she wants this too. It feels impossible but it's not.
He leans down and captures her lips with his own, soft and tender and slow. I love you too, he thinks, tries to show her. My Jedi . (And he can't help but smirk a little because kriff Fives, but this might be worth it.)
...
Ahsoka kisses him back, gentle and calm, and then she pulls back a little and leans her forehead against his, closing her eyes. Her heart is pounding in her chest and the buzz feels like the time the entire 501st had snuck her into the clones' bar-club- thing on Coruscant and everyonehad gotten really kriffing wasted. (She thinks it'd been fun, but she really can't remember much.)
Kriff the rules, she decides, and she makes sure Rex can hear, the Code and the protocols. This is right. The Force sings, though she doesn't tell him that, doesn't know how she'd explain it. But she can feel it in her very bones, a fire in her soul, telling her yes, this is the right path, and she can't- won't- ignore it. So she kisses him fiercely, proving her point to the universe- he is mine -until she's breathless and dazed and probably grinning like a fool.
She can almost feel the gazes of a few of the other slaves on her back, but she doesn't care what they think, and almost as though to prove it she leans forward and kisses him again.
But as much as she'd like to just stay here forever, she's exhausted and tomorrow their hell starts all over again, so she pulls back, curling one hand around his jawline, sweeping her thumb across his cheekbone, and murmurs, "We should sleep."
...
Rex is breathless and it feels good, feels certain, feels alive. Still, when Ahsoka tells him they should sleep, his body responds, and suddenly he's reminded how much everything hurts. He tilts his head into her hand, sends a feeling of agreement her way. He lays down first, his arm under his head, and hopes she'll stay close. Why she wouldn't he doesn't really know, but it's still a wonder when she wraps herself in the blanket at the bottom of her pallet and curls up next to him, her back to him. She fits , and he puts his arm around her and pulls her close so she's against his chest. He's going to keep her safe, kriff the slavers and anyone else who dares take her from him.
Injuries throb where they're pressed against the floor and Rex can tell she can't really get comfortable with all the burning pain in her headtails and montrals, but it's almost okay. Love you , he thinks again.
...
Love you, too, Ahsoka thinks, her thoughts thick and slow with exhaustion, and she smiles and curls tighter into him.
The pain in her headtails is almost impossible to ignore, but she finds that it doesn't matter so much when Rex has one arm around her, his fingers tracing soothing circles on her upper arm. She's not exactly comfortable, but Rex is there and she's safe and she sighs, drifting slowly off into the welcoming blackness of sleep.