Archive of Our Own

Ahsoka Tano crept down the main hallway of her and Anakin Skywalker’s quarters, snickering. For all she’d been taught to keep control of her emotions, even the good ones, this was just too… perfect.

As she stepped through a doorway and into the living room, she paused, listening to see if her laughter had awoken her Master. It hadn’t, and his obnoxiously loud snoring still echoed throughout the apartment. For once, Ahsoka was thankful for it—it covered her loud swearing when she tripped over Anakin’s favorite footstool.

Getting to her feet, she crossed the rest of the room, reaching out into the Force to make sure she didn’t run into the dining table, and then finally stopping in front of the kitchenette.

Her snickering resumed as she flipped on the light. This didn’t wake Anakin, as his door was closed.

Time to get down to business.

The next morning…

Anakin Skywalker was not a morning person.

He had never liked mornings, not even when he was a kid on Tatooine. Mornings had meant getting up early to go work at Watto’s shop and he supposed the hatred of early risings had followed him to adulthood.

He and Ahsoka had been back on Coruscant for four days now and boredom was beginning to set in for them both. After the constant action of the battlefields, it was hard to adjust to the quiet tranquility of the Temple.

That didn’t mean, however, that he enjoyed getting up before noon.

He received a shock when he shuffled into the kitchen to see Ahsoka hunched over at the table, wolfing down some oatmeal. His Padawan had adapted the same sleeping patterns as him and he rarely saw her before 1000 hours during their time off.

“You’re up early,” he commented as he made his way toward the kettle.

Ahsoka bit down on her lip as Anakin moved closer to the counter, trying not to laugh. Once she trusted herself not to choke on her food or fall right onto the floor, cackling like Asajj Ventress during one of the few, few times the assassin had gotten a slight upper hand during a battle and made the deluded assumption she was going to win, she took a sip of juice.

“Oh,” she said, forcing herself to meet Anakin’s eyes despite the fact she was sure there was a malicious glint in her own. “I just went to bed early last night, that’s all.”

Anakin studied her for a moment. There was something about her expression that he was sure he should be worried about, but he was too tired to draw any conclusions.

Coffee first, he decided, grabbing his mug from the cupboard and the milk from the small fridge as the water began to boil. He grabbed the sugar pot and coffee next, feeling a jolt of laughter run through their Master/Padawan bond.

It should be illegal to be happy this early in the morning, he thought grumpily, dumping several spoonfuls of coffee grinds into his mug. Next he poured in the water, then stirred in the milk and sugar, Ahsoka’s amusement clear through the bond as he did so. He turned to look at her, but she was the picture of innocence, wide eyes and a small, tired smile. Glaring at her, he added an extra spoonful of sugar to his coffee and carried it over to the table.

Ahsoka was still watching him as he raised the mug to his lips; he narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion and took a big gulp of coffee…

Only to promptly spray it all over himself, coughing his lungs up because Force, the taste was awful! It was very, very bitter and salty and he was pretty sure his tastebuds were screaming at him in protest. In the midst of his coughing fit, he forgot he was still holding his mug; it slipped from his fingers and scalding coffee splashed down his front.

Anakin knocked over his chair in his haste to get up. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, dripping coffee and looking like a fool, he did the only thing he could think of. He opened his mouth.

“Snips!”

Ahsoka gaped in horror at her Master. She knew this would be funny, but Force, her imagination had never presented her with this image.

Anakin was standing in their kitchen in a puddle of salty coffee, the faded flannel pajamas he slept in almost every night—which she had a sneaking suspicion were a Life Day gift from Senator Amidala—stained and his brown hair sticking up at odd angles, red in the face as he glared at her with sheer fury.

“Yes, Skyguy?” she said, in a final, desperate attempt at self control. It didn’t work. After that, she lost it, bursting into giggles she’d been trying not to release for hours.

Stumbling out of her chair and half tripping, half swaying into the living area, she collapsed face down on the sofa, burying her face in one of the ugly crochet throw pillows Master Kenobi had made for his crafting club and then given to Anakin as a birthday present.

Finally, there was a break in her mirth, and she sat up. Only to see Anakin still glaring at her, in the exact same position. The only difference seemed to be that he was just a bit redder.

She slammed her face back into the—rather lumpy—pillow and began cackling again, harder than ever.

Anakin continued to glare at his apprentice until he realized two things. One, his face was starting to hurt from frowning and two, he was still dripping coffee. He whirled around and stormed into the bathroom to take a shower. Maybe he would use up all the hot water, just out of spite.

Later that day…

After Anakin had showered and made himself a new cup of coffee, (carefully tasting the sugar beforehand, just in case) he called Ahsoka into the kitchen. Once they were both sitting down, Anakin just looked at her for a long time.

“As far as pranks go,” he began, “that was… extremely childish. And unoriginal. Because of that, I’m going to let you off easy. Three extra meditation sessions before the end of our time off, and you’ll be washing my pajamas.”

Ahsoka wrinkled her nose. She could handle the extra meditation. For once, it wouldn’t be a punishment—she would need to clear her mind about a thousand times before she stopped laughing, as just looking at Anakin for too long was enough to make her start again. That would, she suspected, only make him madder and madder which would only make her laugh harder and harder, right till she was summoned before the Council.

“I know that was perfect—,” she caught herself, “—harsh, but ew. I am not doing your laundry.” It wasn’t that she didn’t want to own up to her actions, but really? Once, she and Anakin had done the laundry together. His clothes were a good deal bigger than hers and already difficult for her to fold, but in his current mood, he’d definitely complain about it.

“If you didn’t want to, you should have thought about that before you switched the sugar and the salt,” Anakin replied cheerfully. He finished off his coffee, grinned at his Padawan and left the kitchen in a slightly better mood.

Once in his bedroom, Anakin was about to go sit down at his desk, where a little droid sat waiting to be repaired, when something caught his eye.

Stacked in the corner of his room, were half a dozen paint cans.

Anakin glanced out into the hallway. He could see Ahsoka’s door out of the corner of his eye. Smiling to himself, he began looking for the bright red paint.

I’m not above revenge, Snips. You’d better watch your back.

Despite her earlier protests, Ahsoka ended up doing the laundry. And since both Master and Padawan had been purposely ignoring the growing piles of clothes on the floors of each of their bedrooms, Anakin had decided that meant all of it.

For the Chosen One, he was truly infuriating.

She set the two laundry baskets precariously balanced in her hands down on the floor. Anakin’s was on top, so she gave his dark clothes a glare (they alone had taken almost two hours to fold) and decided they suited her Master before knocking on his door.

“I’m done with the laundry,” she announced, moving Anakin’s basket off hers and and then picking up her own. She continued the rest of the way down the short hall, using the Force to press the button that would open her door and then stepping into her room.

Out of nowhere, she was doused in… paint? She coughed as the fumes reached her nose and dropped her laundry basket full of now stained clothes, staggering backwards in shock. For a moment, she just stood there, horrified as the bitter taste of chemicals settled against her tongue.

And then she caught her reflection in the window at the end of the hall. She was absolutely covered in cold, soupy paint from montral to toe—paint that that was the most garish, eye burning shade of red she’d ever seen in her life.

And as often as she crossed blades with Ventress and deflected blaster bolts, that was saying something.

“Skyguy!”

At the shriek of his nickname, Anakin leaped off his chair and dashed out into the hallway, where he was greeted with the sight of his livid apprentice covered in red paint, the bucket he had rigged over her door swinging from a rope, still dripping paint.

“Don’t worry.” Anakin smirked. “The paint’s washable.”

Before he could lose control completely, he ducked back into his room, collapsing against the wall with laughter. He knew he’d have to rewash the basket of clothes, but it was definitely worth it.

Ahsoka stared at Anakin’s door for a good ten minutes, blue eyes cold and hard, silently demanding that Anakin would leave the relative safety of his room and face her like a man.

Lucky for him, when he didn’t come out, she decided she didn’t really feel like breaking down any doors that day.

Muttering under breath as she slammed up her mental walls so she didn’t have to hear Anakin practically braying with laughter over the bond at his own ‘genius’, she stomped into the living room and made a beeline for the bathroom.

She really didn’t care that she was tracking paint across the light carpet like it was a piece of paper being turned into a youngling’s finger painting.

After all, she thought as she turned on the shower. It’s washable.

The next day…

Anakin strolled into the kitchen, checking every surface suspiciously for any sign that he was going to be pranked. He was just sitting down at the table with his salt free coffee and his datapad when he heard footsteps in the hallway. He hid a grin—Ahsoka had been forced to spend most of the previous day in her pajamas, as all of her clothes had been drenched in paint. Determined to make his life difficult, she had tracked paint all through their shared quarters and Anakin had spent most of his day cleaning, but he felt it had been worth it. After all, they were even now.

“Ahsoka,” he called down the hallway, a teasing note to his voice, “are your clothes dry yet?”

Ahsoka gave Anakin the type of glare she’d seen him give particularly dreadful Separatist leaders and, on one occasion, Mace Windu.

“Some parts of the carpet are still pink, Master,” she noted tartly as she crossed over to the kitchenette and reached up into a cabinet, pulling down a jar filled with tea bags. She normally didn’t have tea at breakfast, but Anakin hated the stuff and she was still in a foul mood about his prank. The more she could annoy him, the better.

She quickly brewed a cup (checking that he hadn’t decided to copy her sugar and salt switch) and then joined Anakin at the table, sitting directly across from him. She didn’t frown, simply watching her Master.

The previous night, right before bed, he’d told her that he honestly thought she was overreacting. She narrowed her eyes. He wouldn’t think that if he had paint in places paint should never be. He had also told her they were even.

Even?

Numbers that were divisible by two were even. Ahsoka and Anakin were most certainly not.

Anakin frowned slightly at the pinkish tinge in the carpet. He hadn’t been able to get all the paint out, but he hadn’t been able to find any good cleaning supplies in their quarters.

“I’ll be running some errands today,” he said, standing. “Can I trust you to keep this place standing until I return?”

He had been going overboard on the sarcasm lately, he knew that, but he found that he couldn’t help it. He kept expecting to taste salt, not sugar, when he drank his coffee.

“As long as you aren’t planning on stocking up on red paint,” Ahsoka retorted, taking a slow sip of tea. She knew Anakin hated when people did that, as those people were normally Obi-Wan inviting him over under the ruse of having tea, though it was really just to tell him off about something.

“You might want to take Artoo with you,” she added in the most relaxed voice she could muster. Her tone when talking to Anakin had been stiff and kept veering to below zero temperatures ever since his prank. “I programmed him with a list of stuff we need.” She felt a tiny smile pull at her mouth. “We’re mostly just running low on salt.”

Anakin just gave her the evil eye and left their quarters, calling for Artoo over the commlink. The little droid rolled into view as he walked down the halls of the Temple and Anakin almost sighed with relief, happy to be away from their quarters. Now he didn’t have to worry about anything unexpected happening.

For a while he just walked down the halls, enjoying the quiet. He was mentally running over the list of things he needed to get when an earsplitting sound rang through the corridor.

“SEVEN AM WAKIN’ UP IN THE MORNING…”

Anakin looked wildly around for the source of the awful sounds ringing through his ears. He was having trouble thinking however, the screeching was invading his head and turning his brain to mush.

“KICKIN’ IN THE FRONT SEAT, SITTIN’ IN THE BACK SEAT…”

And then Anakin looked down at Artoo, whose dome had opened to reveal an antenna. He gaped in horror at the astromech just as the song (could that be called music?) hit the chorus.

“IT’S FRIDAY, FRIDAY, GOTTA GET DOWN ON FRIDAY, EVERYBODY’S LOOKIN’ FORWARD TO THE WEEKEND, WEEKEND…”

“Artoo!” Anakin yelled over the racket. “Turn it off!”

Artoo simply beeped and trilled and the song kept playing at high volume. Not wanting to be around to hear the entire song, Anakin took off down the hall, away from Artoo. Instead of the song growing fainter, it seemed to increase in volume. Anakin glanced over his shoulder to see Artoo speeding after him, whistling.

Anakin was so busy staring at the droid that he forgot to look where he was going. He struck something at full speed and rebounded to the floor. Looking up, his heart sank.

Mace Windu was towering over him, not looking very impressed.

“Skywalker,” he said slowly, “what… is this?”

“It wasn’t me,” Anakin said stupidly, not looking at Artoo.

“FUN FUN FUN FUN,” the song chimed annoyingly.

Mace Windu just looked at him. “You are causing a disruption in the Temple and might I remind you that running is forbidden in the corridors?”

Anakin got to his feet. “My… apologies, Master Windu,” he said through gritted teeth. “Someone obviously thought it would be funny to reprogram my astromech. I’ll fix it as soon as I can.”

Windu nodded. “See that you do,” he said, then left Anakin alone with Artoo and the whiny, nasal tones of Rebecca Black.

 The walk back to his quarters was humiliating, to say the least. Anakin had hoped that once the song was over, he would be free of the torment, but that someone had programmed the song to play on a loop, over and over again.

If Anakin ever became Chancellor, he would ban that song entirely. Or maybe he could just get Chancellor Palpatine to do it for him.

It was that nice thought that kept him sane as the other Jedi he passed gave him strange looks and lyrics about partying filled the air. At last, he reached their quarters.

Anakin took a deep breath, stormed inside to where his Padawan was lounging on the couch and hissed, “What the Chaos is this?”

Ahsoka didn’t look up from her holobook, holding up a finger as she finished the page she was on. Finally, she set the device aside, and boredly glanced up at Anakin from her perch on the sofa. She didn’t laugh, unlike last time.

Finally, a grin spread across her face. “Rebecca Black, Master. Honestly, one wouldn’t think you’re just twenty-two. You’ve spent too much time around Obi-Wan.”

The fact that the song was still blaring behind him did little to help Anakin’s temper. He tried to tune out the lyrics and calm himself down.

“Master Windu was not amused,” Anakin said tightly, “and neither am I.” He gestured wildly towards Artoo. “Wh-where did you even learn how to do that?”

“I DON’T WANT THIS WEEKEND TO EEEENNNDDD…”

Ahsoka’s grin grew wider. “From you,” she informed him. “And a few holobooks I found in the archives.” She stopped talking, breaking off into a snort as the final few notes of the song screeched through the air.

Before Rebecca Black could fully drive her Master over the edge, she hopped off the sofa and padded over to Artoo, bending over to inspect the droid. She pulled a panel off, removed and repositioned some wires and then pulled a small chip out of a port in his side.

She put the panel back on and patted the astromech on the head. “Good job, buddy.”

Anakin let out a sigh of relief as quiet fell over the living area. He looked back and forth from Ahsoka to Artoo, feeling a headache coming on. He straightened up and headed for his room. He stopped in the doorway.

“Alright,” he said firmly, “if that’s how you want to play it, then fine. But you’re not getting away with this.”

He disappeared into his bedroom before Ahsoka could reply and turned on his datapad, determined to drive that song from his head using Linkin Park and Green Day.

As the first notes of What I’ve Done rang through the room, Anakin gave a satisfied smile and sat down to plot his next prank.

That Evening…

Ahsoka sat at the dining table, carefully watching Anakin prepare dinner at the kitchenette. He’d been suspiciously polite to her after coming out of his room, done blasting Alternative and Dubstep—along with whatever other depressing fare he insisted on calling music—for two hours.

But he had a glint in his eye ever since. A glint she knew well—she’d seen it on herself in the mirror just before going to bed the night before the salt prank, after all.

What is he up to?

Soon after vacating his room, Anakin had gone to the store with Artoo. (Not before running a diagnostic scan on the droid, looking for any unwanted programs, of course. He’d actually left the apartment muttering something about Gangnam Style.) Reappearing not half an hour later with groceries—and that glint still in his eye—he had informed her they were having seafood for dinner.

While she didn’t trust it, not one bit, she decided not to confront him since the things he’d bought back did not include red paint, itching powder, trick birthday candles or any combination of all three.

Well aware of his apprentice’s suspicious glare, Anakin began to make dinner, grinning to himself as he set the shrimp in a pan on the stove. The sushi was sitting in the fridge and he’d decided that instead of any type of juice or milk, he was just going to put out a pitcher of water, just to… go with the theme.

While the shrimp cooked, Anakin began to set the table. He found himself humming cheerfully under his breath, although he nearly dropped the plates when he realized the tune he had been humming was none other than Friday. His mood slightly dampened, but he kept himself entertained with gleeful thoughts of revenge while he prepared the meal.

When they sat down to eat, Anakin took great pleasure in watching Ahsoka carefully examine every forkful of food before putting it in her mouth.

“You’re looking a little paranoid, my young Padawan,” he commented, taking a large gulp of water.

Ahsoka scowled at him. “Judging from the fact you’ve been grinning like an idiot all evening, that paranoia seems to be well placed.” She paused, examining another bite of food before even thinking of putting it in her mouth. “What are you planning, Master?”

Watching her warily eye the food, Anakin decided to put her out of her misery, just a little. “It’s not the food you have to worry about,” he offered, and then was silent for the rest of the evening.

When it was far past midnight, Anakin raised his head from his datapad, reaching out with the Force so he could sense whether or not Ahsoka really was asleep. When he was satisfied that she was dead to the world, he tiptoed into her room and surveyed the mattress she slept on. It was thin, yes, but it looked waterproof and he was fairly sure it could float. That was all that really mattered.

With the Force, Anakin levitated the mattress a good three feet off the ground, then floated it, with his Padawan still fast asleep on top of it, out of their quarters and into the halls.

No one in the temple (except for Anakin) ever seemed to leave their quarters after midnight, so the Knight knew that he was safe from discovery. He guided the mattress into the lift tube and rode it down three floors to the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

The sound of rushing water hit his ears as he entered the room, but Ahsoka didn’t even stir. Thanking the Force that she was such a heavy sleeper, Anakin proceeded down a wide path to the lake.

The lake wasn’t really a lake, just a large, deep pool with a waterfall flowing into it, but it would serve Anakin’s purposes well. He allowed himself a grin as he stood on the banks of the lake, then used a light Force push to send the mattress floating through the air towards the middle of the lake. He released his Force hold on it and it dropped to the surface of the pool with a light splash, but it didn’t sink, merely drifted along with the small waves created by the waterfall.

Anakin mentally patted himself on the back for his genius, then went to hide in a tree, absentmindedly humming Friday.

The Next Morning…

Ahsoka turned over, snuggling deeper into the blankets. This was the best sleep she’d gotten in years. Since before becoming Anakin’s padawan, in fact, as he either snored like an old man with respiratory problems or was up all night, his blowtorch hissing for hours on end as he tinkered with droids.

And it wasn’t as if earplugs would do her any good.

After a few more minutes, somehow her arm ended up falling over the edge of her mattress. Her hand trailed in the cool, clear water of the lake—

Wait, water? What the actual Chaos?

Ahsoka lurched up with a start, already on the warpath. Anakin must have turned up the air too low while she was sleeping, just to annoy her. That’s why her arm was so cold. But as her eyes adjusted, she realized reality was far, far worse.

She was floating in the middle of the main lake in the Room of a Thousand Fountains—which most Jedi her age regarded as more of a pool anyway—early morning sunlight filtering in through the huge skylight above causing the calm, tiny waves of water surrounding her on all sides to glisten.

Shocked, she stumbled to her bare feet. The mattress was thrown off balance—it could float with her laying down, but not standing up. Snickers reached her montrals just as she toppled back and headfirst into the deep waters.

She resurfaced within seconds, sputtering. “Anakin!”

Upon seeing his sleepy apprentice tumble into the lake, Anakin couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer. The tree he was in shook slightly as he doubled over, cackling. He could hear her yelling at him from the pool and only laughed harder, bringing his hands to cover his face.

He only realized that he had actually let go of the tree when he tipped sideways and saw the ground rushing up to meet him at a rather alarming speed. His laughter cut off abruptly as he slammed into the ground, crushing one of Master Yoda’s favorite plants.

Anakin lay on the ground, staring up at the artificial sky, grinning as he listened to Ahsoka splashing to shore, still grumbling.

It didn’t matter that he had fallen out of the tree. Revenge was sweet.

Ahsoka stomped through the shallows and out of the water onto the wet sand, which sucked at her feet with every step. But at this particular moment in time, it was drier than she was.

At nearing the trees and seeing the stupid grin on Anakin’s face, she ripped off the soggy sleeping mask she’d pushed up onto her forehead and whipped it at his head.

“Friday,” she hissed through her teeth, “wasn’t that bad.”

Anakin shook his head, sitting up. “I think we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one, Snips,” he said lightly, still grinning. “I did warn you this was going to happen. I didn’t just randomly decide to make seafood for dinner.”

He glanced past her to see her mattress still bobbing in the water and started snickering again.

Ahsoka’s glare would have left anyone else a pile of ashes if it was directed at them. But it was directed at Anakin—annoying, infuriating, vengeful Anakin.

“Are. You. Suggesting. I’m. Seafood?” She said each word like it was its own sentence, turning ninety degrees on her heel and beginning to pace along the beach. This went on for a few more minutes before she stopped and completely faced the lake, slowly lifting her hand to point at her pitifully floating mattress. “I’m going to assume you intend to retrieve that, Master Skywalker.”

Anakin got to his feet, sighing. “You are taking this way too seriously. But fine, I’ll get your mattress.”

Truthfully, he had never seen Ahsoka that mad at him before and it was starting to unnerve him. He decided to get her mattress and leave her alone for a while, before she ended up throwing him in the pool. He stumbled out of the plants and directed the Force at the mattress, bringing it slowly back to shore.

Ahsoka silently watched him levitate the mattress back toward them, arms crossed over her chest and jaw working.

Once the dripping mattress was safely floating above the sand, she started to relax and calm down. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have any trouble getting a replacement for it.

But just as she realized she’d have to sleep on the sofa—which was just as lumpy as Obi-Wan’s ugly crochet pillows, and had never failed to screw her back up when she made the mistake of dozing on it—Anakin let her mattress plop to the ground. It landed on the sand with the sorriest squelch she’d ever heard.

Her glare returned, and without a moment’s hesitation, she raised her hands, called on the Force and smacked Anakin into the air. He landed in the lake with a scream that vaguely reminded her of one a small, female child might utter.

“This,” she yelled, her voice carrying over the water, “means war!”

She turned on her heel again and stalked out of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, not yet thinking of formal revenge, but mildewed, sand covered mattresses.

Anakin dragged himself out of the lake, sulking in a manner that one would expect from a two year old, not a twenty-two year old. Okay, maybe the mattress prank had been a little bit cruel, but he still felt she had totally deserved it, after Friday.

“This means war!”

Anakin was good at prank wars. He had taken part in quite a few of them as a Padawan, one of which had involved spiked crabs, a truth serum, broccoli flavoured pancakes and someone lowering the Temple temperature to -20 degrees. (They had gotten in a lot of trouble for that one and the prank war had ended soon after.) But the point was, Ahsoka clearly didn’t know who she was dealing with. So Anakin resolved to go easy on her, at least until he was sure she could hold her own.

Everyone stared as he walked through the halls, dripping wet, but Anakin kept his head high, refusing to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing he had been beaten at his own game. (Temporarily, he reminded himself.)

“I went swimming,” he hissed to a Padawan that was openly staring at him. The kid let out a terrified sound and disappeared down a side hall.

 Upon reaching their quarters, Anakin found Ahsoka on the couch, reading a book and smiling to herself. Frowning, he removed a soggy boot, then flung it in her general direction.

“That was for dumping me in the lake.”

Ahsoka looked up from her holobook and lifted a hand, flinging the water filled boot headed toward her back at Anakin.

“That was for setting me afloat in the middle of the lake,” she retorted. “If this was the actual war and not a prank war, that would be the type of stuff the Separatists would pull! That was lower than low, and there are a lot worse things than Friday. Would you prefer I set Artoo to play Baby or Gangnam Style?”

“Actually, yes.” Anakin shrugged, terrible lyrics and autotune still floating around in his head. “There are worse things than waking up in a lake, Snips,” he mimicked. “I could have thrown you in while you were sleeping, or set your mattress afloat in the sewers. But it doesn’t matter. I’m going to change.”

Looking down, he saw that he was soaking the carpet and quickly dashed into his room to avoid further damage.

Ahsoka momentarily glared at his retreating back and then stood, setting her holobook down on the caf table and walking over to the kitchenette.

She grinned as she opened the fridge, picked up a clean glass and poured herself a cup of pink Roonan lemonade.

“3…” she counted under her breath, leaning against the counter and taking a sip. “2… 1…”

In his room, Anakin held one of his tunics up in horror. It wasn’t the usual dark moody colours that he liked so much. Instead, it was bright pink, even the belt that went with it.

Pink. How was he supposed to look like The Hero With No Fear with all his clothes pink? What would Padme think?

Anakin glared at the ceiling, letting out a yell of frustration. He constantly worried about separatists and bounty hunters murdering his Padawan, but if this kept up, he might just beat them to it.

Anakin was getting used to people staring at him, but walking down the Temple corridors wearing a pink tunic was one of the most humiliating things he had ever experienced. He was fairly sure it was only his death stare that kept people from commenting on his choice of outfit.

Ahsoka likes humiliation? Let’s see how much she likes it when the roles are reversed, he thought bitterly, ducking into the Archives.

Luckily, there was hardly anyone in the archives and it was dark enough that it looked like he was wearing a red tunic. Which was as noticeable as the pink, but more manly. Sitting down at one of the computer terminals, he clicked on the Jedi Order records and searched for “Ahsoka Tano.”

Normally, the Temple didn’t let you search for information on any Jedi, but as her Master, Anakin was granted access to her files. Smirking, he brought up her photos and began scrolling through them.

Ahsoka had been an adorable child, Anakin admitted to himself as he glanced at picture after picture of her wearing a sunny smile. Though adorable wasn’t what he was looking for—awkward was.

Smirking, Anakin clicked on a picture of twelve year old Ahsoka. He had no idea what kind of stage she had been going through, but it would do perfectly for his plan.

“Artoo,” Anakin said into his comm, “I need you to hack into every datapad and computer in the Temple and display the picture I’m going to send you.”

Ahsoka had spent the last twenty minutes sitting on the couch, drinking more pink lemonade and somehow cackling at the same time.

She’d waited in the hallway for Anakin to come out his room after an enraged, horrified scream sounded and the bond began to ring with indecisiveness, as if her Master was wondering whether or not to come out of his room dressed in those pink robes.

He hated pink, unlike her, though she didn’t wear it often as she had as a youngling—well, maybe right up till the week before Anakin had taken her on was only about a year ago, but still. In any case, Anakin had stormed past her and given her the evil eye as he swept out of their shared quarters, completely red in the face.

It was almost better than her salt prank, and little could top that.

Dedoop. She glanced up to see the screen of her datapad flashing. Curious, she picked up the device and quickly entered her password—Anakinyoullneverguessthis—and opened her messages. There was only one, and it was from Anakin. Her eyes narrowed—was this some kind of virus?—and then went wide. This was a mass message, and everyone in the Temple had gotten it. There were so many other addresses listed it was ridiculous.

She opened the message and almost fell over. The only thing in it was a picture of her… from when she was… twelve.

Ahsoka gaped—she recognized this photo. It had been taken on picture day, and she remembered being enraged for no apparent reason over that. Well, now she knew it was probably just hormones, but then she’d been annoyed someone would actually have proof that she’d been going through what only could be called an awkward stage.

Twelve year old Ahsoka glared at the camera, arms crossed over a top that fifteen-year-old Ahsoka now registered was one of the many shades of pink that did not flatter her in any way. But that didn’t bother her too much, and neither did the acne (which she still, honestly, had plenty of anyway.)

Then, it dawned on her Anakin had not only procured a picture of her in her awkward stage, but her metal mouth stage. Braces—pink braces, also an unflattering shade—had kept her teeth in check and determined what she could and couldn’t eat from when she’d been ten to just before Anakin took her on. She’d been gritting her teeth in rage while taking this photo, and they were visible. Too visible for her liking.

And Anakin had sent this Force forsaken rectangle of pixels to everyone in the Temple.

Ahsoka would have thrown her datapad if she wasn’t so rigid from rage. Slowly, she raised her comlink to her mouth and switched it from idle.

“Anakin.”

Anakin was reclining on a chair in the Archives when the comm call came in. Artoo whistled shrilly and Anakin sat a bit straighter. It was time to find out how his prank had been received.

“Anakin.”

Here we go, he thought, and answered the call. “Hello, my young Padawan,” he said as brightly as he could, “what can I do for you?”

Cringing slightly, he waited for the tirade.

“I can’t believe you,” Ahsoka snapped, turning and beginning to pace the length of the living room. “What is wrong with you? Why would… ugh, you know what, I don’t even think I want to know. But you didn’t have to send it to everyone in the Temple!”

“I’m pretty sure everyone in the Temple knows I’m wearing pink robes,” Anakin said, spitting out the last two words like they burned his tongue. “And I wonder who I have to thank for that? You wanted a war. This is how it’s fought. Unless…” Anakin grinned. “You give up?”

“Never.” Ahsoka could almost see that stupid grin of his, and it only made her even more angry. “If this is how you want to play, fine. But this isn’t over, Master.” She said the last word as if it were an insult, cutting the line before Anakin said another stupid word.

A plan was already forming in her mind as she turned and stomped out of their quarters, glaring.

He really does look horrible in those robes.

Anakin wrapped his cloak tightly around him as he headed for the cafeteria. He had ordered a bunch of new robes, but they wouldn’t be delivered until at least the next day. Unfortunately, he was stuck pink for the rest of the day.

The Force was with him in one way—not one Jedi had stopped to comment on his colourful choice of clothing.

“Anakin?”

Oh, great, Anakin thought, turning around. Just my luck.

Obi-Wan was standing behind him, wearing boring cream robes and a confused frown.

“Oh… hello, Master,” Anakin said flatly, silently begging, Don’t ask… don’t ask…

No such luck. Instead, Obi-Wan’s face shifted from I’m Very Confused to I’m Going To Lecture You Don’t Interrupt and he opened his mouth. “Anakin… how many times must I tell you that the Jedi value humble clothing? The Council is barely tolerating your dark tunics as it is… they most certainly aren’t going to allow you to wear… that.”

Anakin sighed and looked up at the ceiling. Ahsoka may have thought that his retaliation was harsh, but right now, he felt as if he had gone easy on her.

“I would love to get out of this outfit, Obi-Wan, but as Ahsoka has turned all my tunics pink, I’m afraid that the Council is just going to have to live with this.” Anakin watched in satisfaction as Obi-Wan blinked in surprise.

“You and Ahsoka are too much alike for your own good.” The other Jedi sighed. “Whatever you two are doing, please try not to damage any public property while you’re at it.”

Well. There went Anakin’s next prank idea. “You have my word, Master,” he said, then escaped before Obi-Wan could lecture him any further.

Meanwhile…

Though she had lived in the Temple her whole life, Ahsoka never really managed to try the mess hall’s veal cutlets. That, and Anakin raved about the meat—she decided early on it would do to stay away from them. Her Master’s eating habits were undeniably questionable.

The Temple’s head cook had a sharp eye, but as the padawan quietly walked into the kitchen and lifted up the tray of veal cutlets just sitting there, almost as if waiting for her, she decided it wasn’t sharp enough. And once she was back in the hall, it occurred to her that had been easier than breaking into a Seppie base—in and out.

Of course, skipping the Anakin leading everyone into a trap and getting captured step tended to speed things up.

“Ouch,” she muttered under her breath after a moment. This tray was scorching, she had to get it out of her hands before it really did some damage.

Why didn’t I steal some oven mitts too?

Adjusting her grip on the hot metal, she started down the hall. She hadn’t ever really been in the kitchens before, but she’d gone to the Archives and looked up a map of the area prior to coming down—it was pretty easy to navigate.

So, before too long, she was staring up at the hulking square of metal that was the Temple freezer. Huge was an almost painful understatement.

She eyed the temperature control panel beside its huge double doors, reaching up and turning a dial so the temperature inside was no longer below zero. “You’ll do, big guy,” she said, her breath fogging the air. “You’ll do.”

 “What do you mean there’re no veal cutlets?” Anakin snapped at the cook. He had had a horrible day and was looking forward to unwinding with a meal of veal cutlets and a few games of Temple Run on his datapad.

But, just his luck, they were out.

“You could go down to the freezer and see if we have any there,” the cook said stiffly. “Now, unless I can get you anything else, please step out of the line.”

Anakin stalked out of the cafeteria, feeling the judgemental stare of the cook follow him into the hall.

The freezer door was a towering hunk of metal that was almost five feet thick. The freezer itself was the size of the cafeteria—stacked to feed over ten thousand Jedi. Anakin figured that if they used the freezer as the Temple prison, their prisoners would never have a chance of escaping.

Anakin tapped a few buttons on the control panel and the door swung slowly open. He pressed one more button so the door wouldn’t swing back and lock him in the freezer, then stepped into the cold.

The food was stored by alphabet, so the veal was at the very back of the freezer. Anakin made his way down the isles, eyeing the dozens of tubs of ice cream.

Focus, Skywalker, he told himself and hurried down to the ‘V’s.

There was a tray of veal cutlets sitting on the shelf, but before Anakin could take it, he noticed a white piece of paper sitting on the side of the tray. Curious, he picked it up.

Enjoy your cutlets. You’re going to be here awhile.

What? Anakin thought, setting down the note. Then, all of a sudden, the pieces clicked together in his head. His favorite meal being unavailable in the cafeteria, prompting him to go to the freezer. The note. And… Ahsoka hadn’t yet gotten him back for the picture prank.

Anakin sprinted down the aisles, eyes on the door, which was now swinging closed. The sliver of light from the outside hallway was getting smaller and smaller and Anakin caught a glimpse of a smug, grinning face and flash of blue and white lekku just before the door slammed shut.

“Ahsoka!” he yelled, glaring at the door as if he could knock it down with his eyes. Her name echoed around him, mocking him. Anakin balled his hands into fists.

The universe hated him.

Ahsoka flatly denied his unsaid request over their Master-Padawan bond. I’m not letting you out. Not until you apologize—and mean it.

Checking that he could see her through the round glass windows in the center of each door, she crossed her arms and stuck her tongue out at him.

Anakin snorted. Apologize? I think you owe me an apology—first for the salt prank. Let me remind you, Snips—you started this.

He stared at her through the glass, taking in her crossed arms and stuck-out tongue. And that’s really mature.

I know. Ahsoka pulled in her tongue and beamed as if he had complimented her. And I may have started this, but don’t think for a second I won’t finish it too.

For a moment, both of them just stared at each other, Anakin glaring, Ahsoka still beaming. Finally, Anakin sighed. Fine. I apologize for finding and spreading a picture of your awkward twelve year old self all over the Temple and causing you incredible humiliation. Happy?

Ahsoka narrowed her eyes and took in a deep breath of the cold air. That picture may have been awkward, but Anakin didn’t need to act like it was his job to say so. He wasn’t sorry—he just wanted to be let out of the freezer.

Then again, who wouldn’t?

Fine, she sent him over the bond, smacking the button on the control panel that would unlock the door as hard as possible. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.

But once she was back in the cafeteria, she realized Anakin was probably already masterminding—or idiotminding, in her opinion—his next prank.

It’s still my turn, she snapped over the bond. Almost in response, a jolt of confusion and then annoyance ran over the mental connection. She started to leave it at that, but couldn’t help but add, in her creepiest voice, So watch your back.

You just finished your turn! Anakin protested. He was freezing and tired of being stared at and whatever pink dye Ahsoka had used was starting to itch. All he wanted to do was go back to their quarters and change into comfortable clothing, turn up the heat and watch some holoTV, like Mythbusters.

Back at their quarters, Anakin received a welcome surprise—the latest issue of Tech Weekly magazine had arrived. He picked it up and examined it, the shiny front cover with the latest astromech model and the back, which advertised, “Spelling Fizzers! The brand new fireworks that can be programmed to spell whatever you’d like! (Some restrictions may apply.)”

Anakin became aware that his grin rivalled one of Ventress’s, but he didn’t care.

He had found his perfect payback prank.

 Too busy pranking her Master, Ahsoka hadn’t eaten very much all day. So, after Anakin stomped out of the mess hall—glaring at her all the while—she decided to stay there, helping herself to some veal cutlets before finding a table.

She’d just raised her fork to her mouth when the voices of some burly sounding Temple workers reached her montrals.

“I finally got back the results of the scan of the plumbing system,” one was saying. “For such an old place, it’s not too shabby.”

“Except for the levels with the two bedroom apartments,” another interjected. There was an almost visible frown in his tone. “They have personal bathrooms and kitchens, and someone’s always calling in saying something’s broken down.”

“Right,” a third said, “which is why next month all the pipes in them are going to be replaced.” He snorted. “Let’s hope no one sticks a lightsaber in a wall.”

All three men laughed, and Ahsoka herself couldn’t help but grin, an idea beginning to form in her mind. Quickly, she finished her meal and left the mess, headed for the quarters of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The Jedi Master answered his door on the first knock. “Hello, Ahsoka,” he said in his crisp Coruscanti accent, smiling. “Come in. What can I do for you?”

“Uh… I actually can’t stay very long, Master.” Ahsoka stepped inside and returned the smile, hoping it didn’t look as evil as she felt. “I just wanted to know if you happened to have a metal file I could borrow?”

Obi-Wan blinked. “What—”

“Anakin needs it.” Ahsoka rolled her eyes for emphasis, as if to say, Yeah, I find it ridiculous too. “So, do you have one?”

Obi-Wan nodded, very slowly. “Yes, I in fact do. Hold on.” Disappearing down the hall, he returned a few minutes later holding the tool. He didn’t give it to her right away, though, and Ahsoka hoped the skeptical glint in his eye was a figment of her imagination. “What exactly does Anakin need it for, now?”

“Droid repairs,” Ahsoka said, probably a little too quickly. “I think he wants it for Artoo or something.”

“Ah, I see.” Obi-Wan handed her the tool before nodding slowly again. Ahsoka was beginning to find this creepy. “Tell him to make sure to return it in a useful condition this time. He bent the last one.”

Ahsoka grinned. She didn’t doubt that. “I will. Thanks, Master Kenobi—have a good day.”

“You too, Ahsoka.” As Obi-Wan watched the padawan go, he reached up and began to stroke his beard. “You too.”

Ordering the fireworks online would have taken too long, so Anakin was forced to go out in his pink robes to get them himself. He stuck to side roads and hunched over in his speeder so no one would be able to tell that the Hero With No Fear was wearing pink and almost crashed into an apartment building when Friday came on the radio.

The Spelling Fizzers were sold at a joke shop four levels below the surface, in a cramped store filled with unique and occasionally creepy items. The second Anakin walked in the door, a realistic rancor hologram popped up and roared in his face. Anakin’s fingers twitched for his lightsaber, but he didn’t react.

“Well done!” came a nasally voice from the corner of the shop. Anakin looked up to see a male Duros hunched over the counter, a scruffy bird sitting on his shoulder. “You’re the first customer I’ve had in ages who didn’t scream at the rancor.”

“Cowards!” screeched the bird, ruffling its feathers. Anakin began to wonder if the fireworks were worth venturing further into this strange store.

“I was wondering if you have any of these in stock,” he said, pulling the cutout magazine ad of his cloak and showing it to the Duros.

The shop owner straightened up and came out from behind the counter. “Ohh, the Spelling Fizzers. Lots of folk curious about that one. They can be used for birthday parties, holidays, flares and so on. Why’re you interested in ‘em?” He eyed Anakin’s pink tunic. “You a clown, or something?”

Anakin’s lightsaber was in his hand before he even thought about what he was doing. “I am a Jedi,” he said furiously. “Do you think clowns carry these?”

He waved the lightsaber in front of the Duro’s face, but his intimidating moment was somewhat ruined by the fist that flew out of nowhere, catching him in the jaw and knocking him sideways into a stack of glow-in-the-dark water guns. Rubbing his face, he looked over and saw a comical mechanical boxing glove dangling by a spring.

Another prank, Anakin thought bitterly, glaring at the toy. The shop owner was wheezing with laughter.

“Invented that one myself!” he said proudly. “It’s got a motion sensor that detects when someone’s coming by and then wham! It snaps out and hits the person right in the face. Great, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” muttered Anakin. There was definitely going to be a bruise and he was dreading having to explain to Obi-Wan that no, he had not gotten into a fight, but merely been hit by a glove. “Can you just show me where the fireworks are, please?”

He left the shop with a box of fireworks and and a sore jaw and thought to himself, This better be worth it.

Ahsoka grinned as she took in her handiwork, stepping away from the tiled wall below the shower head above her. This was her best idea yet, and it hadn’t cost her a single credit. Granted, using floor plans to figure out exactly where the pipes for her and Anakin’s shower was located had taken a while, but still.

She just hoped her Master wouldn’t notice she’d used her lightsaber to remove some of the wall so she could partially saw at the pipes with Obi-Wan’s metal file. Then again, as far as she knew he wasn’t really the most detail oriented person.

Surveying the wall once more before turning, stepping out of the shower and then leaving the bathroom altogether, she wondered just where Anakin was.

Probably complaining to Padmè about hard life is in pink robes, Ahsoka thought, snickering to herself. She almost regretted finishing off the last of the pink lemonade earlier.

In any case, it was probably a good idea to make herself scarce before the Knight returned. He had been passive aggressively bugging her to keep up with her training despite the fact they were on leave, so he probably wouldn’t be able to find too much fault with her being in the sparring room.

Well, I at least hope so. Shaking her head, the padawan finished crossing the living room and left the shared quarters.

Anakin did not sneak. He was the Hero With no Fear and he had won countless battles by being a bold General and leading his troops directly into battle. Sneaking rarely entered his vocabulary.

And yet, he found himself cautiously tiptoeing through the Temple halls, hoping to avoid questions about the large cardboard box labeled “DANGER” that he was carrying.

Luckily for him, he had made it all the way to the fourth floor without anyone outright asking him anything, although his magenta robes were still drawing stares.

As Ahsoka’s prank was still ongoing, Anakin figured that yes, it was definitely his turn.

He had just turned into the corridor that lead to his final destination—the training room—when a door further down slid open and Ahsoka walked out of their quarters. Anakin’s stomach fell to his shoes as he stared down at the clearly suspicious box and back to his Padawan, who hadn’t noticed him yet.

Thinking quickly, Anakin drop-kicked the box of fireworks behind a nearby pillar, wincing at the loud thump it made. He pasted a friendly, not at all maniac grin on his face as Ahsoka looked up and saw him.

“Good evening, my young Padawan!” he said, hoping he sounded normal. He squinted warily at her expression, which was the exact same one he had seen every other time she was about to pull a prank. He dropped all cheerful mannerisms. “Just tell me now, is this one going to physically harm me?”

If Ahsoka had hair, she would have flipped it over her shoulder to cover up the fact she’d nearly fallen over at Anakin’s sudden appearance. Instead, she just crossed her arms and raised an eyemarking. “Where’s the fun in that?” She grinned up at her Master for a few seconds, then shrugged. “Okay, fine, it probably won’t. I think. Is whatever you’re planning going to hurt me?”

Anakin tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Depends on how you look at it.” He smirked. “I’m kidding. Probably.” He kept his head perfectly straight, refusing to even glance in the direction of his box. “Where were you headed to?”

“The sparring room,” Ahsoka informed Anakin, then realizing that had probably been a bad idea. She studied him for a moment. “Since we’re so busy interrogating each other, what’s wrong with your neck? That pink dye hasn’t seeped in, has it?”

“Actually,” Anakin said, coughing a bit, “I think the cold from the freezer damaged some nerves. It hurts a bit to move it. I was just going to go take a hot shower.” He was lying through his teeth and she probably knew it, but the shower would give him a good alibi for his next prank. Not that it would matter to Ahsoka, but he wouldn’t get into trouble with the Council.

Ahsoka rolled her eyes before she had the chance to fall out laughing. Anakin could blame her for her pranks all he wanted, but one couldn’t deny he walked into them each and every time.

Nerve damage? And I’m a gundark’s uncle.

“You do that, then,” Ahsoka said, reaching up to pat his shoulder before turning and going the other way, toward the sparring rooms. “Hope it works, I’d hate for you to have to go see the healers.”

Anakin cast her a suspicious glance as she disappeared into the training room, then waited twenty seconds, retrieved his box and crept in after her, making certain to keep out of her sight.

There were about ten other Padawans in the training room, all crowded around a sparring mat at the other end of the room. Ahsoka had joined them and they were all distracted enough that Anakin felt safe enough to unpack and set up the fireworks behind a long balance beam. He switched on the control panel, which flashed up with the words, “What will these fireworks spell? Anything inappropriate will be rejected.” The next thing that came up was a keypad prompting him to type out the word for the fireworks. Anakin quickly keyed in a word, set the fireworks to go off in five minutes, then stealthily left the training room to go shower.

Ahsoka had fully intended to see if Anakin decided to follow her into the sparring room, but soon got distracted by an invitation from one of the older padawans to spar. The human boy was tall for his age, sure, but she always excelled at beating opponents bigger than her.

“I win,” she said barely five minutes later, grinning as she pointed her lightsaber at his head. He looked a little sulky when she finally let him get to his feet. “Want to go agai—”

Out of nowhere, there was a loud, explosive hissing sound. Ahsoka, her sparring partner and all of the other apprentices jerked around, lightsabers at the ready. Multicolored light went off dangerously close to the high ceilings, then swam apart to fizzle and dance around in the air for a moment.

Finally, it came back together and arranged itself into a word.

Youngling.

“Anakin,” Ahsoka half choked out, half snapped the instant it came into view.

How dare he, how kriffing dare he.

“Wow,” someone behind her murmured under his or her breath. “That’s… elaborate. Wonder what she did to Skywalker.”

Ahsoka whirled around, ready to feed someone their lightsaber. Or hers, which she still held in hand, activated. It didn’t really matter. “Quiet—”

The lights, still twirling in the air, fell—actually fell. The snickers ringing throughout the room turned into panicked screams as various padawans, now on fire, threw themselves headfirst on the mats covering the floor and began to roll around in an effort to put themselves out. Someone pulled the fire alarm—WEOO WEOOOOOOOOOO WEOO—which only added to the chaos as the flames spread from the sparring room and into the hallway.

Ahsoka managed to stay unscathed, climbing on top of some large training equipment and motioning for the others to follow her. Still, it wasn’t long before she got covered by a layer of soot.

He just had to get cheap fireworks, she thought, coughing and rubbing at her eyes.

Meanwhile…

Anakin kept an eye out for anything suspicious as he entered their quarters, eyeing doorways for buckets of paint and making sure he wasn’t going to end up locked in anywhere again. Seeing nothing, he proceeded to the bathroom with a fresh pink tunic and turned on the shower.

That’s odd, he thought, watching as only a trickle of water streamed out of the showerhead. Stranger yet, there seemed to be water dripping down from the shower handle. Ignoring the fact that he was still fully dressed, Anakin stepped into the shower to investigate, frowning at the rumbling sound that seemed to be coming from within the wall.

The Force cried out with a warning just as the wall in front of him exploded, sending several gallons of water gushing out at him.

Anakin landed on the floor, half blind and coughing his lungs out as the water continued to burst from the wall. Frantically wiping his eyes, he squinted, trying to figure out what could have happened. Instead of the water going out through the showerhead, it appeared to be flowing through a crack in the pipe. But pipes didn’t just one day decide to burst. Especially not in the middle of a prank war.

Ahsoka.

Realising that he was practically swimming on his bathroom floor, Anakin struggled to his feet and waded over to the door. He couldn’t exactly fix this—or even turn off the water, the tap was literally gone—but he remembered hearing that there were temple workers who specialised in this kind of thing. He would find one of those as fast as he could.

And then he was going to kill his apprentice for annihilating their bathroom.

The water followed him into the living room, swirling around his ankles and if he wasn’t mistaken, it was rising quickly. He threw open their front door and raced out into the hallway to a scene of chaos that matched the one he had just left.

The fire alarm was wailing through the hallway and there were Padawans sprinting past him, faces sooty and panic in their eyes. He stepped further into the hallway to see flames licking at the floor and smoke trailing out of the training room.

Anakin swore in three different languages and sprinted down the hallway, a tidal wave following behind him. In the training room, there were a few random fireworks fizzing lazily around the room while Ahsoka and few other Padawans perched on top of some training equipment, climbing higher to avoid the fire.

“Ahsoka!” he yelled. “What is going on?”

“You set off cheap fireworks!” Ahsoka yelled back, just as loud as her Master. She broke off into yet another coughing fit. “So you tell me!”

Judging from how wet Anakin was, it seemed her prank had gone perfectly. But when she registered the water that had sloshed into the room with the Knight, she briefly wondered if over the top was a better description.

Anakin thought back to drop-kicking the fireworks and wondered if that had done some rather large damage. “That was supposed to be harmless! Destroying our bathroom is not harmless!” The smoke was making it very hard to breathe, let alone lecture his apprentice. He looked around at the fire creeping close and the water seeping into the room. It suddenly dawned on him that was was all happening because of a prank war. “This has gone way too far, Snips.”

“You’re right.” Ahsoka took a deep breath, but instantly regretted it and wound up choking on the putrid air.

Okay, yeah, way too far is an understatement, she finished over the bond, coughing. We have to fix this, before it gets even worse. After glancing around the room, her gaze fell on the water pooled around Anakin’s feet. Skyguy, look down.

Anakin did as she asked and immediately understood what she was thinking. Somehow, things felt different now, as if they had been doing it wrong by fighting each other and now that they were on the same side again, he could think better.

Use the flood to put out the fire… that’ll work. Are you feeling up to helping me do this?

…yeah. Ahsoka nodded, slowly. I think so.

Truthfully, she didn’t feel up to anything but passing out. Still, this was her mess as much as it was Anakin’s, and she was determined to help clean it up.

What’s the plan?

We need to use the Force to direct the water towards the flames without doing too much more damage. It’ll be tricky, but I think we can do it.

Demonstrating, Anakin reached out into the Force, feeling for the current of the water, then shifting it ever so slightly so that it washed over the fire, extinguishing it with a hiss and a curl of smoke. The water was more difficult to handle than solid objects and Anakin couldn’t really control it, only direct it in the direction he wanted it to go. See? Easy.

Ahsoka watched him intently, and then nodded again. This seemed like it was actually going to be fun. Got it. Push some over here, and I’ll take care of this side.

Anakin did so and felt it in the Force when she took control of the wave he had sent her way. He sent another wave at some flames that were licking up the walls on either side of the doorway and saw Ahsoka mimic him.

This was sort of fun, he realized, sending another wave Ahsoka’s way. He found that he wasn’t even really mad at his Padawan anymore, though they did need to talk.

“Why don’t you guys go alert the Masters that there’s a… situation down here?” he told the remaining Padawans. “If they didn’t hear that earsplitting alarm, that is.” The oldest apprentice nodded respectfully and led the others out of the room, dodging the patches of floor that were still alight.

For a while, it was quiet in the training room, apart from the crackling of fire and slosh of the water. Finally, Anakin spoke up aloud. “I’m sorry again… about the photo. I shouldn’t have done that. I mean—I shouldn’t have thrown you in the lake either, and I apologise for that as well, but you didn’t deserve to have that sent to everyone in the Temple. And I will admit that the fireworks were out of line.”

Ahsoka brought her hands together, guiding water so it extinguished the last fire. She held the position for a moment, then let her arms fall to her sides and glanced up at Anakin.

“Apology accepted,” she said quietly. Though she would have hated to admit out loud, even now, that particular prank had hurt her feelings more than any of the others. “And I’m sorry too. For starting all of this. I mixed up the sugar and salt once, you know. It… didn’t taste fun.” She felt a grin start to spread across her face. “Probably not as bad as wearing pink robes, though.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow. “How long did it take you to scrub off that red paint? I think you were in the shower for almost two hours.” He flicked some water her way, casually enough that it could have appeared as an accident. “You know, not that we have a shower anymore.”

Ahsoka snorted, pretending she didn’t see the mischievous glint that had appeared in Anakin’s eye after he accidentally-on-purpose flicked water at her. “Yeah, I guess we don’t. My bad.” She returned the Knight’s favor and subtly sent water splashing toward his face. “Good thing you didn’t decide to use that stuff again—you wouldn’t believe how weird I look with pink and blue head tails.”

Anakin grinned at her and skimmed one foot across the water, sending a spray of water towards her that was very clearly deliberate. “I don’t believe in using the same prank twice, but if I had to reuse one, I would find out your least favourite song and play it around you all day long.”

“Good luck with that.” Ahsoka dodged the spray, laughing as she sent a similar one back to her Master. Before he could react, she bent over and scooped some water into her hands, then threw it up into the air so it rained down on them both. “Friday really is a cruel and unusual song, isn’t it?”

“That wasn’t smart, you’re almost just as wet as I am now,” Anakin said, directing the water in a large wave towards his apprentice. It soaked her up to the waist and he laughed at her expression. “And one day, the separatists are going to give up physical torture and just play Friday to their victims instead. It’ll be much more effective.”

“Definitely. They’ll beg for death after the first time it’s played,” Ahsoka said, grinning. After a moment of concentration, she managed to propel a wave about half as big as the one Anakin soaked her with back at him. “This is so much fun. I wonder if anyone else has ever used the Force to control water.”

Deciding to show off a bit, Anakin did a backflip onto a balance beam and crouched there, feeling smug. “I don’t know. I haven’t even seen Master Yoda try this.” He took a glance around the training room and began to snicker, using the Force to fill an empty bucket lying abandoned by the lockers and dumping it over Ahsoka’s head. “We’re going to get a lot of trouble for this.”

Ahsoka gasped when Anakin dumped the bucket on her. That water was cold. Rubbing water out of her eyes, she glared at him. “No fair! You’re lucky we aren’t at the lake.” Lifting a hand, she used to the Force to knock him in the side, just enough to make him lose his balance and fall off the beam. “You know, I have the weirdest feeling Obi-Wan made you promise we wouldn’t break anything.”

“I did.”

Lying in nearly a foot of water in the middle of a ruined training room was definitely not how Anakin wanted Obi-Wan and the rest of the Council to find him, but there they were, standing in the doorway, wearing identical frowns.

Mace Windu stepped forward and Anakin was pretty sure that the other Jedi was feeling slightly murderous towards him. He gulped slightly.

“Skywalker. Tano. What is the meaning of this?”

“It’s… a long story.” Ahsoka quickly traded a look with Anakin, then glanced up at Mace Windu, whose expression was stonier than usual. “Believe it or not, it started with salty coffee.”

The Council did not look amused.

Obi-Wan shook his head and sighed. “I’m sure it did. At least I finally know what you wanted that metal file for.” Under his breath, he added, “I think…”

Mace stared at Obi-Wan for a bit, but quickly shook his own head and directed his attention at Anakin and Ahsoka. “You two have shown blatant disregard for adhering to the behavior of a self-respecting… Jedi…” He faltered, then trailed off when he seemed to notice Anakin’s robes, but merely narrowed his eyes and continued. “There will be consequences.”

“Clean up this training room you will,” Yoda told them severely. “And extra meditation on your actions, you will do. Sacred, this Temple is. Treat it as such.”

Anakin felt mildly like a scolded five year old. “Yes, Master Yoda. We apologise. My Padawan and I were having a… competition, but it got out of hand. It won’t happen again.

Windu harrumphed and Obi-Wan gave him a disappointed stare, but they seemed to have escaped further lecturing at that moment. A team of cleaning droids entered the training room and the Council members filed out.

Anakin heaved a sigh as he looked around. He could see the rest of their leave stretching out in front of them in an endless sea of cleaning. He took a water pump that a droid handed him and switched it on.

“This was actually fun,” he said thoughtfully, “but we are never doing it again.”

“You just read my mind.” Ahsoka sighed as well, and then took the rag and cleaner another droid offered her.

While Anakin began pumping water, the padawan started wiping down the soot covered training equipment. She’d just finished cleaning the balance beam when a familiar whirring reached her montrals and Artoo rolled into view.

“Hey, buddy,” she said as she absently patted his blue and white dome, ready to move on to the next task. The astromech started to go off to say—beep hello to Anakin, but as she watched the tiny droid start toward its master, an idea suddenly came to Ahsoka.

A familiar one.

Checking Anakin wasn’t looking, the padawan quietly sloshed over to the astromech. “Wait a second, Artoo…”

Anakin was already bored and envisioning different ways to upgrade the equipment he was working with. Maybe he could make it think for itself and do all the work for him.

These next two weeks are going to be torture, he thought. The front lines will be a relief.

The first notes of a song began to play behind him and he whirled around to see Ahsoka standing up and patting Artoo on his dome. She looked extremely pleased with herself and as the singer began the first lines, he could see why.

“SEVEN AM WAKIN' UP IN THE MORNIN'…”

“SNIPS!”