Chapter Text
“I think you look dashing,” Padmé called from her dressing room, and the frown he gave himself in the mirror softened a little.
He extended his arms outward, watching the fabric shimmer faintly with the movement. “It’s a bit overkill,” he replied doubtfully. There was even lace on the cuffs, and it tickled his skin.
“You’re just saying that because Obi-Wan picked them out.” She appeared in the doorway, her hands busy with affixing her earrings. “I would’ve suggested much the same if I had any input.”
“Mace says they’re ostentatious,” he told her, looking up to watch her get ready. She’d finished her make-up, and the gown she was wearing for the ball was breathtaking in its simplicity; a royal red dress with a scooped neckline and a black-laced shawl that fell around her biceps. He realised they were matching, and wondered if she’d done it on purpose.
He closed the distance between them, unable to help himself, and snaked an arm around her waist to pull her close. She smiled up at him, her hands falling away from her ears to settle on his chest. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, and she rewarded him with a kiss.
“Thank you.” She ran a hand through his hair, stalling his thoughts for a moment. “You look wonderful, too. But your hair is out of control.”
“I brushed it,” he protested. “And I think you should leave yours down.”
Padmé raised a brow. “Is that so?”
“Or maybe leave it up,” he mused, tilting his head to look at her. “You might be too distracting otherwise.”
She smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling. “Can’t have that.”
Their conversation was interrupted with another kiss, this time from him, and far less brief. He’d have to be careful not to leave any of her lipstick on his skin, but that was a problem for him to deal with ten minutes from now.
Padmé eventually broke off with a gasp, her eyes squeezing closed for a moment. “Better….” She swallowed, blowing out a breath. “Better stop.”
“For now,” he rasped, pressing his forehead against hers.
She nodded back, sighing. Then one hand lifted from his chest to brush across her lips. “You smudged my make-up,” she said breathlessly, but she was smiling. “And you’ve got it on you, now.”
He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a red smear across his skin that made her roll her eyes. “Now stop distracting me,” she told him, pulling away and retreating back to her dressing room. He followed after her, but kept his hands to himself. “We’ll be late.”
“I should leave now, actually,” he said, glancing at the chrono on the wall. “I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.” Obi-Wan wanted them all in the hall early to help with the finishing touches. He didn’t have a problem with lending a hand, exactly, but it was cutting into his time with Padmé, which was short and sporadic enough already. They’d be in the same room together all evening tonight, a thought that made his head spin, but they’d have to be careful not to stick too close together.
“Don’t be grumpy,” she chided him, watching him from her mirror. She grabbed a pad from her dresser and began to wipe at her mouth. “This is important, even if you don’t like these sorts of things.”
He sighed, leaning against the doorway. “I know.”
“Go,” she said, waving a hand. “I’ll find you when I arrive. But wash your face first. And comb your hair,” she added with a quirk of her mouth. “You look a bit dishevelled. There’s hairspray in the cabinet.”
“It’s part of my charm,” he assured her, but did as she said, taking a short stop to the bathroom to clean himself up. The only thing left was the glove for his right hand, and then he slipped quietly out of Padmé’s quarters, checking the corridors to make sure no one saw him.
Despite his best efforts, he was the last one to arrive in the hall. Even Ahsoka got there before him, helping one of the catering aides set up the audio equipment. Rex, Cody and Fives were carrying tables in and setting up the banquet lines between the massive support pillars.
Taking a surreptitious glance around and confirming Obi-Wan was nowhere to be seen, he headed over to Ahsoka. She grinned when she saw him.
“You clean up nice,” she said, giving him an amused once-over before turning back to the aide. She had several electrical cables suspended in the air, and the caterer was plucking them out one by one and plugging them into a panel on the wall.
“So do you,” he replied. “Nice headgear.”
“Nice hair,” she shot back. Her usual decorative beads had been replaced by a silver headpiece that framed her face in exquisite metal filigree. He wondered if she’d picked that out herself, then scoffed at the thought. Of course she hadn’t.
“What needs to be done still?” he asked, looking around. He was undeniably impressed; Anakin could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen the Grand Hall in the Senate Building look so beautiful. Lavish furniture was placed all around the room, leaving plenty of seating and dining space for everyone in attendance; sweeping curtains fell away elegantly from the centre crystal chandelier in Republic colours, making the vaulted ceiling above disappear into folds of velvet; and delicacies from dozens of Republic systems were laid out on banquet tables as far as the eye could see. He wondered what all of this could possibly cost, and decided not to dwell on it.
Ahsoka shrugged, bringing him back to the conversation at hand. “Not much left to be done, really. You arrived at a perfect time.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not on purpose.”
“Uh-huh.”
“General,” Rex called from the other side of the hall, his voice carrying easily. The curtains above did a decent job of absorbing a lot of the noise, but the Grand Hall was still one of the largest rooms in the Senate Building. “A word?”
Shrugging away from Ahsoka, he crossed the room towards the clones. They were dressed in the same uniform they’d worn to dance lessons the other day, except now their medals were pinned to their breast coats. They looked just as uncomfortable and out of place as they had before.
“Everything good?”
“As much as it can be, sir,” Rex replied, setting down a table. “We were just—”
“We were just wondering about security,” Fives cut in, ignoring the look Rex gave him. “General Kenobi told us not to bring weapons.”
“I’ve got mine,” Anakin assured them, hand settling on his belt where his saber was clipped. “And so does Ahsoka. The Senate said they were handling security concerns with their civilian regiment.”
“Of course, sir,” Rex said, using the tone he always did when he was about to protest something. “But I’m still concerned. The registry says there’ll be over two hundred people in attendance.”
He nodded. “We haven’t heard anything to suggest there’ll be an attack. I trust the Council’s risk assessment of the event.”
“Right,” Rex said, still sounding doubtful. Anakin crossed his arms with a smile, garnering a puzzled look from the clones.
“You guys just want something to do with yourselves to avoid socialising.”
“Not exactly—”
“That’s right,” Cody cut in, making the other two look at him. “What? It’s true.”
“My concerns aren’t self-motivated,” Rex assured him, turning back to Anakin. “But… we aren’t used to being idle, sir. We’re a bit out of our depth.”
“I’d love nothing more than to drink with you boys down in the barracks,” Anakin told them, earning a few tentative smiles. “But we gotta get through this. It’ll only be a couple hours. Drink, have fun, flirt with the diplomats. They’ll eat it up. We can have our own celebrations after this mess is done with.”
They nodded nearly in unison, though he could still sense some unease. Glancing back at the door, he stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Keep an eye out, if you really need something to do,” he told them.
“For what?” Fives asked, his eyes flicking to the front entrance.
“Think of it as... reconnoitering, only with less sniper fire. Watch who does what. Which senators avoid each other, which ones get cozy. It might be helpful to the Council.”
Fives rolled his eyes. “Ah, psh. You’re just pulling our legs now.”
Rex didn’t even glare at the outburst. Anakin pursed his lips. “I’m being serious,” he assured them. “You know the war’s becoming unpopular. The Council needs to know who our allies are. Everyone else is going to be using this as an opportunity to get dirt. Why not us?”
They exchanged looks, and then Rex’s back straightened. “Will do, sir.” He sounded far more confident this time, and with a nod, Anakin left them to set out the last of the tables.
Before he managed to find something to keep himself busy with, the main entrance of the hall opened again, this time letting in Master Plo, Mace, and Obi-Wan. The former two were not nearly as lavishly dressed, opting for their usual formal robes worn during medal ceremonies. Anakin suddenly felt overdressed seeing the two of them.
“You’re finally here,” Obi-Wan called to him with just a touch of admonishment. “Good. I know the kitchen staff still need help moving the rest of the food in.”
“Master Plo, Master Mace,” Anakin replied, ignoring Obi-Wan and giving a shallow bow to both of them. “I didn’t know you’d be in attendance.”
“The whole Council was invited,” Plo responded. “We’ll be representing those that cannot join us. Many have prior military engagements.”
He tried not to feel too jealous of them. “Lucky break.”
“It’s an honour to spend a night with such fine food and company,” Obi-Wan interjected, raising a brow. “I’m happy that all of us could be here.” He glanced down at Anakin’s belt and frowned. “I see you’ve brought your lightsaber.”
“I see you’ve brought yours,” he countered. Plo and Mace were similarly adorned.
“For decoration,” Obi-Wan stressed. “Not for use.”
“You really think I’m gonna have a duel in the middle of a ball?”
His former Master shot a look at Ahsoka, who was still busy helping with the audio equipment. “I’ve come to realise that you two take anything that isn’t an explicit ‘no’ as encouragement to behave otherwise.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, ignoring the disapproving frown that followed. “What about Master Yoda?”
“He may stop by,” Mace replied. “The Chancellor was eager to have his ear tonight, so I’m sure you’ll see him around.”
“Best behaviour, then,” Anakin muttered, then took a step back. “Well, I’ll go help—”
“In a moment,” Obi-Wan interrupted, making him sigh. “I’d like you to make sure that Ahsoka and the clones don’t hide in a corner or sneak off somewhere. I can’t stress how important it is that—”
“I told them already,” Anakin assured him. “They’ll stick around.”
“Be sure that they do.”
Anakin raised a brow. “And what are you gonna be doing while I babysit? Drinking and dancing?”
Obi-Wan smiled. “That’s the gist of it, yes. But I’ll be keeping an eye out, just as Plo and Mace will be. If anyone needs a refresher on etiquette, we’re happy to oblige.”
“If I forget how to hold a fork I’ll let you know.”
“Anakin—”
He was already turning around, and called over his shoulder to respond. “I’m off to the kitchens to be helpful!”
Ignoring the chorus of annoyed old-man sighs behind him, he loped off to the far end of the hall.
The guests began to filter in just as the sun was setting over the city. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that arriving early had been a massive help to the catering staff; everything in the hall was set up perfectly, down to the arrangement of the tableware in the dining section. The place settings even had small cards with everyone’s names on them to ensure people were seated properly. He’d switched his out with Senator Ta’aft so that he could sit next to Padmé, but otherwise left them alone.
Anakin watched the main entrance. Mace and Obi-Wan stood by the doors to greet everyone who entered, flanked by Senate security, and Plo and Ahsoka were mingling with a few of the guests who’d already helped themselves to drinks. Rex, Cody and Fives did their best to not look like they were huddling together in a corner, but their body language was closed off and he knew most senators harboured a horrified sort of awe for the clones, so none of them were interacting.
Yet, anyway. He’d ply the three of them with a few drinks to see if that wouldn’t help loosen them up a bit.
“General Skywalker.”
He looked up to see Organa approaching him, and smiled at the man. Bail was one of the few people attending this thing that he actually liked.
“How goes it?” he asked as Organa stood beside him by one of the dining tables, crossing his arms. The senator smiled at such a casual introduction.
“It goes well,” he replied easily, appraising the hall with satisfaction. “I’m eager for a relaxing night.”
“That’s one word for it.”
Organa raised a brow, his tone dry. “Not comfortable in a room full of dignitaries and politicians?”
“I’m more worried about the others,” he said, nodding to Ahsoka and then the clones. “They aren’t used to these things.”
“You sound like your Master,” Organa mused, and smiled at Anakin’s sideways glance. “But your padawan seems to be handling herself.”
He followed the senator’s gaze to Ahsoka, who was listening intently to Orn Free Ta and doing a wonderful job of looking interested in what he was saying. He’d seen the same look on her face many times; mostly when she was being lectured by Jocasta Nu or Master Yoda about her behaviour.
“It’s still early,” he said doubtfully, and looked over at the clones again, sequestered by the banquet tables and seemingly waiting for some of the senators to start picking at the food before they helped themselves.
“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out,” Bail said with a wink. Before he could reply, Organa was hailed by Orn Free Ta to join the conversation, and he left Anakin with a parting, knowing look.
For a while all Anakin did was drift around the hall aimlessly, doing his best to greet everyone he happened upon. The start of any party, especially ones like these, always tended to drag on. He knew from experience that nothing fun would happen until after dinner, when everyone was sufficiently tipsy and had been treated to a few too many meal courses. Avoiding the watchful gaze of the other Jedi, he forced his way through small talk and tried not to watch the door too zealously. Padmé said she’d be here soon; he’d just have to be patient.
After twenty minutes of introducing himself over and over again and listening to dozens of senators and diplomats either congratulate him on the Council’s recent victories or ply him with their own accolades, he scrounged up a glass of wine for himself. He also gave Rex, Cody and Fives the go-ahead to start eating the appetisers, and tried to blend into the curtains pinned up around the support pillars while he waited.
“These guys really like talking,” Ahsoka whispered by his elbow, and he glanced down to find her poking at a small plate of smoked claw fish and cheeses in her hand.
“Learn anything from Free Ta?” he asked, stealing a slice from her plate with a crooked finger and subtle application of Force.
Ahsoka hummed, her mouth full, and nodded in consideration for a moment before replying. “He told me about his recent policy successes,” she said. “But I kinda zoned out.”
He popped the slice into his mouth, and she frowned at him when she realised he’d snuck some food. “Be ready to do a lot of that.”
“I have plenty of practice,” she assured him. “And I know Obi-Wan said no war talk tonight, but….”
“But?”
“A few people have asked me about it already,” she said, and slapped his hand away when he tried to grab another piece. “Get your own food!”
“Indulge them if they ask,” he told her, smiling at her wary expression. “Just make sure not to give away anything classified.”
“Obviously. But this is supposed to be our party, right? Why are we humouring senators? Shouldn’t they be humouring me?” She glanced over at the clones, then to Anakin. “Humouring us,” she corrected after a moment.
“Because they fund the war,” he replied. “They’re our infrastructure. So don’t be afraid to show off, but make sure they ask for it first. And keep Obi-Wan out of earshot.”
Ahsoka made a pfft sound like he’d just stated the obvious, but before he could respond he heard Padmé’s voice. Suppressing the urge to whip around, he glanced up casually towards the main entrance and saw her smiling warmly at Obi-Wan, offering a hand in greeting. She’d worn her hair down, the sides pulled up in braids that tumbled down her back. A good choice, but a dangerous one. He’d have to be especially careful not to stare.
A tap on his arm made him look back at Ahsoka, who’d raised a brow. “Are you even listening to me?”
“No,” he said honestly, and she rolled her eyes.
“I’m already better at this than you,” she told him. “My bored face is a lot more convincing. Hey!” she called as he began to walk away. “Where are you going?”
“Socialising!” he called back, making a beeline for the front entrance. Padmé looked up at the comment, and though her face was already pulled into a smile, he saw her eyes warm as they fell to him.
“Senator Amidala,” he said in greeting, stopping beside Obi-Wan.
“General Skywalker,” she responded, the epitome of diplomatic grace. “It’s nice to see you in good health. General Kenobi was just telling me about the origin of his black eye. Nasty business with slavers,” she added, her brows furrowing as she lingered on the still-healing cuts on Obi-Wan’s face.
“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” Anakin said with a wave, earning an exasperated look from his master. “He just doesn’t like bacta tanks.”
“No sane person does,” Obi-Wan interjected. “They’re horrid things.”
“Like a bad hangover,” Padmé agreed. When Anakin offered his arm, she took it delicately, nodding to Obi-Wan. “A pleasure, General. We’ll have to talk more later.”
“We shall,” he said with a bow.
Anakin hurried them away from the door, guiding Padmé towards the dining area so she could set her clutch down in her seat. She raised a brow when she saw their name tags beside one another.
“Is that your handiwork?” she asked, reaching for his wine glass. He checked to see that no one was watching, then handed it to her.
“Maybe we’re just lucky,” he said coyly, making her grin around the glass rim.
“Mm,” she hummed, handing him back his glass after taking a sip. There was a small imprint of her lipstick along the edge, which she smudged away with a finger. “Get me one of these, will you? I have to go greet everyone.”
“Ah, you got lots of time.”
“The sooner I make the rounds, the sooner I can settle into longform conversations,” she said patiently, giving him a quick once-over. “You’re welcome to join me then. But,” she continued, eyeing his glass. “Wine and pleasantries first.”
He gave his best bow. “I got the first half of that,” he assured her. “I’ll let you deal with the other bits.”
Wine did nothing to improve the first two hours of the evening. Dinner was set ridiculously late, meaning that everyone had to stand around the front chamber in order to socialise. Which he absolutely did not want to do, and Padmé was the only reason he got through the brain-numbing conversations with countless senators and diplomats. Every once and a while he’d glance around to see what Snips and the clones were up to, feeling guilty about abandoning them until Padmé laughed or brushed up against his arm and he decided that maybe this would be a good lesson in diplomacy for all of them.
He occupied himself mostly by listening to other people talk and eating the endless amounts of hors d’oeuvres, fielding whatever questions he got about waging war. Which turned out to be a surprising amount, and once again he was struck by how completely removed most of the Senate was from the ongoing war.
“What is it like?” Orn Free Ta asked, dragging Anakin out of his thoughts. “Working with clones must come with its challenges.”
“It’s….” He dared not glance at Padmé. “Normal, I guess. They’re good men. I haven’t waged war alongside anyone else, so it’s hard to compare.”
“Ha! Quite right, my boy. I forget your age sometimes.” He sipped his drink. “But they’re all… you know?” The senator made a vague gesture in the air.
“Know what?”
“You know,” he repeated, leaning in a little. “All there? They’re impossible to tell apart. Must get confusing.”
His mouth pressed into a thin line. No it isn’t wasn’t appropriate. They’re clones, they obviously look alike wasn’t either. You are insufferable to talk to. Definitely not that one.
“Pretty easy if you pay attention,” he said instead, ignoring the narrow look Padmé shot him.
Familiar with uncomfortable comments, the senator only laughed. “Bring one over, then! I’d love to be acquainted. Fascinating people they must be.”
“Sure.” Anakin scanned the crowds as he stepped away, trying to find them. The clones had split up after Plo had politely reminded them to socialise, and he was sure Orn Free Ta wouldn’t be particular about which one he talked to. He wouldn’t know the difference anyway.
He spotted Cody first, and made a beeline over to him. He was standing next to Obi-Wan and Bail; combined that with the drink in his hand, and he almost looked relaxed.
Anakin suppressed his impending guilt at having to ruin Cody’s evening as he politely inserted himself into their circle. Obi-Wan was the first to acknowledge him, giving him a curious look.
“What are you boys up to?” he asked, leaning an elbow on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.
“I was just pulling out a few war stories from the General and Commander here,” Bail replied, looking amused.
“Thought we weren’t supposed to talk shop,” Anakin said, directing the comment to his former Master.
“Not without prompting,” Obi-Wan replied easily. “And I’m familiar with the kinds of stories you tell.”
Anakin nodded to Cody to grab his attention. “You tell Organa about the Screechers? That’s one of my favourites.”
“Ah,” Cody hummed, sneaking a look at his general. “I’ll let you know if we get to that one.”
“You will not, because we won’t be,” Obi-Wan cut in. He shrugged off Anakin’s elbow, giving him an impatient look. “Is there something we can help you with, Anakin?”
He feigned a hurt expression. “I can’t join in on a conversation between friends?”
“And abandon Senator Orn Free Ta?” Bail interjected. His expression was polite, but his eyes twinkled. “I can’t imagine why you’d do such a thing.”
“Ugh. That’s actually why I’m here.” He tipped his head back and finished his third glass of wine, then shot a look at Cody. “He wants to talk to a clone.”
The commander raised a brow. “About?”
“Annoying shit, mostly. He called you guys fascinating.”
“I’ve had worse compliments,” Cody murmured, then looked around—presumably for Rex and Fives. “Are the others busy?”
Anakin laughed. “Man, you guys are so ready to sell each other out.”
“So are you,” Cody countered. Anakin raised his empty glass to him.
“Can’t argue with that.”
He was about to say more when he noticed Obi-Wan. He’d gone quiet, though not because he was interested in listening to their conversation. There was a slack, far-away expression on his face, and Anakin didn’t have to look far to find out why; the Duchess had just arrived.
He saw Cody and Bail follow their gazes, noticing the staring. She was by the front entrance, flanked by two of her personal guards, whose regular armour was replaced by freshly pressed uniforms, tailored in the familiarly dramatic New Mandalorian style. Duchess Satine herself was even more dressed up than usual—her dress was an array of carefully folded greys and blues that fell away from her shoulders, though none of it seemed to drag on the ground.
Anakin glanced back at Obi-Wan, who quickly composed himself and cleared his throat. “What was that, Anakin?” he asked, turning back to their conversational circle as if nothing had happened.
“I didn’t say anything,” he replied with a grin. It was rare to see Obi-Wan flustered; even more so to have an audience for it. He was going to relish it as much as he could.
“That’s Mandalore’s leader, is it not?” Organa asked, giving Obi-Wan an out, and Anakin cursed the man’s kindness.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, doing his best to look casual about not glancing over at her by paying attention to his drink instead. “She and a number of diplomats from neutral systems should be joining us tonight as a thank you for the rescue on Kiros.”
“I’m glad. Perhaps you’ll reacquaint me, then. I’ve only had the pleasure of speaking to her once before.”
Anakin tried not to roll his eyes as Obi-Wan feigned polite interest, and the both of them excused themselves to go meet the Duchess. He looked over at Cody, jealous of all the alcohol still in his cup.
“Wanna go get harassed by a Senator?” he asked the commander, who let out a long sigh.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really.”
Cody shotgunned the rest of his drink before finding a nearby table to leave his glass on, then smoothed down his jacket and gestured in defeat for Anakin to lead the way. Before he could submit Cody to an hour of torment, however, Ahsoka bumped into him breathlessly, grabbing one of his arms for support. If his wine glass had still been full, they’d be cleaning up an accident right now.
He frowned down at her. “Snips?”
“Master!” She blinked and stood up straight. “Good. I’ve been trying to get to you for the last twenty minutes. People keep calling me over to talk to them.”
He shot a concerned look at Cody before turning back to her. “Have you been drinking?”
“One glass,” she informed him, brushing at his robes where her grip had wrinkled them. “I have a question—actually, a request.”
“Okay,” he said warily, and was relieved of his empty glass by a passing waiter.
“I was talking to Senator Mas Amedda about my sabers since he kept asking about them, telling him about jar’kai and duel saber fights, blah blah. Anyway, he says he hasn’t seen a lightsaber duel in ‘far too long’.” Her fingers wagged in the air with exaggerated quotation marks. “At first he wanted to test one of mine out, but I told him that was waaaaaay too dangerous, so—”
“You want to have a saber duel while drunk?” Anakin surmised. Ahsoka’s face scrunched up.
“You’ve had three glasses of wine,” she reminded him, apparently thinking that was a good defence.
His eyes widened. “You want to have a saber duel with me? In the Grand Hall?”
She gave a snort. “Who else would I have it with? Master Plo keeps hovering around me, and Mace would lock me in the brig before agreeing to something like that.”
“Maybe you should have some water first,” Cody chimed in, looking concerned.
“Good idea.” Anakin waved the waiter back over and grabbed a glass of water from their tray, handing it to Ahsoka. Her fingers gripped the cup hard. “You should sit down, too.”
“I’m fine,” she responded, her words muffled into the rim of the glass as she took a sip, then sighed. “Man that’s good. It’s hot in here.”
Anakin couldn’t disagree more. Even with the crowds and the alcohol, it was chilly in the hall. He wasn’t all that familiar with how Togrutas processed intoxicants, but Ahsoka’s age, inexperience, and slight frame definitely wouldn’t be helping.
Then a thought occurred to him, and she looked up at the sudden clench or anger she surely sensed from him. “Did someone give you a drink?”
“No,” she said with a frown. “I just grabbed a glass. Plo said it was okay,” she added, her tone growing defensive. “And I’ve fought more battles than all the people in this room combined. I can have a drink at a—”
“I’m not mad at you,” he interrupted her, and saw her bravado deflate a little. “But you have to be careful. Someone could drug you.”
“Someone here?” Ahsoka rubbernecked, and he brought her attention back to them, stepping closer. Cody closed in their circle, his shoulders now set defensively. “I thought you said there weren’t any security threats.”
“I’m talking about the people in attendance,” he said quietly, glancing at Cody. “Remember what Obi-Wan said. They aren’t used to being told no, and they like to be flattered.”
Ahsoka gave him a worried look. “I thought he meant, like, in conversation.”
“That is what he meant. But it’s good general advice.” Anakin looked around until he found Padmé, who was still speaking politely with Free Ta and several other dignitaries, although she was looking over at their small circle, watching them with growing concern. He met her eyes, seeing the worried look in them, and mentally kicked himself. He’d forgone teaching Ahsoka a lot of social etiquette, trusting the other Masters to pick up the slack and secure in the knowledge that most of it was useless nonsense anyway, but this was one area where he’d well and truly failed her.
“Master?”
He looked back down at Ahsoka, her eyes full of concern even as she wavered slightly in place. He let out a breath.
“Come on,” he whispered, giving her a reassuring smile. “Let’s go watch Cody get tortured.”
She took another sip of water, shooting a look at the commander. “So no lightsaber battle?”
“Not until you’re more steady on your feet.” He tugged her along and began to walk, but she resisted.
“So we will have a duel,” she clarified, making Cody cough into his arm to hide a laugh.
“Maybe,” Anakin told her, trying to keep a straight face. “Later. But not a word to anyone about it, understand?”
She made a zipping motion across her mouth, her face set in grim resolve.
“Good. Keep drinking. I’ll get you something to eat.”