Chapter Text
Ash fell from the sky like rain.
That was the first thing Padmé noticed, stepping off the ship. The sky was red, and the rain was ash, and they’d landed in the ruins of a city. It might have been beautiful, once; there was no way to tell, now. The air tasted more acrid than even Coruscant’s underlevels, and she had to close her eyes for a moment, had to fight off sense-memories of the last time she’d tasted the fumes of a burning city.
And the first time.
She wasn’t allowed very far from the ship, was practically confined to its shadow. If it had been Anakin she was escorting, she would have been in the officer’s tent by now. Master Fisto, however, was very strict about protocol.
One of the troopers had kindly given her a lukewarm cup of caf.
As soon as she’d sat down with it, a piece of ash landed in it.
Padmé looked around at the devastation. The city had been razed to the ground. Bodies of clone troopers and civilians lay broken and littered about. The survivors were nowhere to be found.
And Padmé already knew that any motions for Senate relief would be struck down. Too expensive, too dangerous, something to do once the war was finally over.
The number of things for "after the war" were piling up.
She saw Ahsoka stagger towards them from the city, exhaustion clear in every step.
Ahsoka seemed to sense her, and looked up. Their eyes met, and Padmé smiled at her.
Ahsoka wilted, like she was going to cry, and stormed off into the tent.
Padmé waited, looking around for Anakin or Obi-Wan. They would tell her what was going on. They would make the others see that she was trustworthy.
But Padmé waited. She waited.
And she didn’t see Anakin or Obi-Wan.
“It’s good to see you, sir, even if there’s not much left to do on this front.”
Kit ignored the slight bitterness in Captain Rex’s voice. It wasn’t aimed at him, specifically; it was the shitty hand the universe had dealt them all that had the troopers’ ire.
“I wish I had been able to come sooner,” Kit said. “Unfortunately, the Separatists are very unwelcoming hosts.”
A different trooper, this one in 212th gold, snorted. “You and General Kenobi, I swear,” he muttered.
Someone offered him caf, and he kindly waved them off—most Humans forgot that caffeine was poisonous to nearly every species besides their own. He could feel the medic behind him--the one that was doing his very best to wrap him in bacta-plasts like some sort of Corellian mummy--glare at the trooper who had offered the caf, clearly outraged that someone had forgotten not to poison their newly-acquired Jedi.
Coric, he believed, was the medic’s name.
“Sir, I really do think you should spend a few hours in the tank,” Coric pressed again.
“I will, trooper,” Kit said. “Just as soon as we can get an update from everyone in the field, and relay new orders.”
“That’s not what you told the senator ,” Coric grumbled.
“The senator does not need to know about all, or even most , of what is going on,” Kit said primly. “She is a civilian.”
Coric opened his mouth to argue some more, but at that moment, Padawan Tano burst into the tent, looking exhausted and ragged and like she could very well use a bacta nap as well.
“Call the Council,” she said, voice wobbly. “I have field updates.”
And Kit, who had been having trouble with the Force all morning, suddenly had a bad feeling.
In the meeting with the Council, Ahsoka cannot keep a straight face. Throughout the war, Obi-Wan and Anakin had always counseled her to mind her emotions, to keep them in check, especially in front of the Council.
But she cannot keep the waver out of her voice, not when she gives this report.
“Masters,” she said. “I’m afraid to report that I have no good news from this campaign.”
“I am sorry to hear that, Commander Tano,” Master Windu said gently. “But please, give us the report anyway.”
Ahsoka sniffled. Took a deep breath.
“The city has been burned to the ground,” she said. “Count Dooku has escaped, and half our forces have been lost.”
It was bad news. The Council was clearly disappointed to hear it.
“And…” Ahsoka said, choking on her words. “I’m sorry to report the deaths of Master Kenobi and Commander Cody.”
And then, she couldn’t handle it anymore.
In front of half the Council, she broke down sobbing.
“Commander, we have a problem,” Gregor said, much later, once everyone they had left had checked in and evac’ed back to the Negotiator.
“What is it, Captain?” she asked. It had been a long night. She was running on Force alone, shuffling along just long enough to make sure Master Fisto made it to the medbay before she went and collapsed in whoever's room she could get to first.
Gregor gave a side-eye towards Padmé.
Ahsoka understood, and the two of them and Kit walked a distance from everyone else.
Thankfully, Padmé took the hint and did not follow.
“General Skywalker is missing,” Gregor said quietly. “We didn’t have an opportunity to search for him during the battle, but we’ve since searched the ship top to bottom and…he’s nowhere to be found.”
Ahsoka took a moment.
“Captain,” she said evenly. “ When, exactly, did he go missing?”
Gregor did not flinch.
“He was reported missing about forty-five minutes into the battle,” he said. “The droid vent under the bed in his room was open. We combed the vents, though, and found nothing.”
Forty-five minutes.
They’d seen him in his room just before the battle had started. No doubt the shiny in charge of babysitting had spent some time searching before reporting him.
That left a very narrow timeframe.
And Ahsoka already knew where he’d gone.
She swore, sliding down the wall in despair.
“If Anakin isn’t on the ship, then where…” Kit said.
“With Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka whispered, balling her fists against her forehead. “He would have gone after Obi-Wan.”
Her breath hitched, and she could feel tears on her cheeks again.
And then Master Kit was beside her, pulling her into a hug.
And she was sobbing into his tunics.
Obi-Wan and Anakin. The Team. Inseparable. No matter what age they were.
And now they were dead.
And Ahsoka was all that was left.