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Ahsoka was afraid.

She hadn’t been afraid when facing Darth Vader in the Sith temple of Malachor. There had been no fear in her at any point of their battle, even after he’d promised her death—a promise that, undoubtedly, would have been fulfilled, had she not been saved by a miraculous outer force. Many emotions had swirled inside her back then, from desperation and hope and to grief and resolve, but no terror among them.

But now, as Ahsoka was making her way towards the small room at the end of the hall, she felt absolutely terrified. Primal, paralyzing fear was flooding her senses as she realized that she was about to face Darth Vader once again—a supposedly redeemed Vader, no longer wishing death upon innocent souls, pledging to do everything in his power to help restore the Republic from the ruins of the Empire.

Was this not what she had hoped for all that time? For Anakin to come back from the dark madness that he for whatever reason had plunged himself into? 

Why was she so afraid then?

My master could never be as vile as you.

Ever since she had learned of Vader’s true identity, her tormented mind had been desperately trying to connect both men, to understand how they could have possibly been one and the same. Even after hearing Anakin’s voice, his real voice and not the dreadful mechanical rumble, and catching a glimpse of his disfigured yet still recognizable face… it had taken the Togruta quite some time to come to terms with that new reality, revealed so brutally in front of her very eyes.

However, once the connection had been finally established and firmly accepted in her aching soul, Ahsoka had spent many sleepless nights attempting to understand how and why the valiant Jedi Knight had become the ruthless Sith Lord, and the exact relation between the two.

Anakin Skywalker was weak. I destroyed him.

It would have been oh so easy to dismiss everything and treat them as entirely different individuals, where one had somehow taken the place of the other. And that’s what Ahsoka had done, at first—thinking Darth Vader an occupier, a captor, a tumor taking over the goodness that had been Anakin Skywalker and submitting it to his deranged desires. After all, Vader himself hadn’t given her any reason to believe otherwise. But the more sleep she’d lost, the more memories she’d recalled, the easier it’d eventually become to see the erroneous nature of those thoughts. And now, closing the distance between herself and the doors, she was fairly certain in the truth she’d ultimately arrived at.

Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader were not two separate people living in the same head. Nor was Vader some sort of a sinister, twisted reflection of Anakin, holding him prisoner inside his own mind. No—Darth Vader was an extension of Anakin Skywalker, all of his worst faults magnified thousandfold and given full reign.

As dark as that realization was, its implications were darker still. Did that mean Anakin had been destined to become Vader at some point or the other, provided the chance? Would it have happened regardless of what she might have tried to do to prevent it?

And if so...

You should have let him die, a reproachful voice whispered in the back of her mind. Had you failed to save his life just once, the galaxy would have been free of pain.

Ahsoka clenched her jaw.

No.

She’d already spent far too much time entertaining that particular thought, considering it didn’t deserve any to begin with. Trying to dive back into it would be akin to stepping into an abyss.

Torn from her morbid musings, Ahsoka’s pace came to an abrupt stop as she realized that the doors were now right in front of her. It was time.

Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader might have been one and the same—all of their virtues and sins, combined in the soul of one singular being—but for Ahsoka, it ultimately did not matter. All that mattered was that she knew there was still good left in her former master, and now she was about to discover whether that good extended to her.

And that was exactly what she was afraid of.

Ahsoka pressed the button, making the doors slide open with a soft hissing sound, and entered the room.

It was a small, fairly standard looking room, resembling an office or a study. The interior appeared to be entirely minimalistic, offering no furniture except for a chair and a desk with some datapads occupying the left side, and a large holodisk cabinet standing next to the right wall. In the middle of the wall there was a wide transparisteel window, allowing Ahsoka to appreciate the awe-inspiring skyline of Coruscant at sunset. Or rather, it would have allowed, had the view not been blocked by a tall dark form. Cutting a pitch-black silhouette against the golden light, it cast a long shadow on the floor that almost stretched down to her feet.

Vader stood there, facing her, silent and still, as if frozen in carbonite—an ugly blotch on the room’s white and grey surroundings. With his arms hanging at his sides lifelessly, he looked to be nothing more than an ominous statue created by some deeply disturbed artist. And only the sound of rhythmic mechanical breathing evidenced against it, reminding that he was in fact alive.

In that moment, Ahsoka sensed how her fear vanished, replaced by a strangely serene feeling of resignation. She walked up closer to Vader, legs moving as if on their own, and proceeded to look him over from the bottom up. Finally fixing her gaze on the expressionless mask, Ahsoka wondered what she would see behind those opaque black lenses if he were to remove his helmet now. Would it be the familiar sky blue of her master’s eyes? Or the sulfurous yellow glow that had haunted her nightmares in the weeks following their encounter, whenever she’d actually managed to fall asleep?

She wasn’t entirely sure if he was able to actually take his mask off, either. Her mind echoed with the sound of laborious, rattling respiration that Vader had produced after sustaining damage, a clear indication that the suit wasn’t there merely for the intimidation factor. However, this was another line of thinking Ahsoka couldn’t afford right now, as she reminded herself once again to focus on the present.

After studying his appearance, the Togruta went on to examine his Force presence. She felt a bit of relief at discovering that there was almost nothing left of the scorching cold that she’d sensed from Vader on Malachor, her skin no longer crawling from a myriad of icy needles. But it also didn’t quite resemble Anakin’s hot and fiery signature as Ahsoka remembered it, apart from an occasional familiar glimpse making her heart flutter. Instead, it felt like an inexplicable amalgamation of the two presences—something new that was both and neither of them at the same time.

Ahsoka reached out closer to the signature to probe Vader’s emotions, only to be stopped by something that felt like a blank wall—mental shields, she realized, strong and impenetrable. It was to be expected, yet the Togruta still frowned. She’d entertained some hope that he would at least consider letting her in, but Vader was clearly set on hiding his feelings, as well as protecting himself from whatever emotions she could project at him. Or perhaps… protecting her from his own? She was perplexed as to where the idea had come from, but it was not the time to dwell on that either.

It was then when Ahsoka realized, much to her chagrin, that she still kept thinking of him as Vader. She knew he was Anakin; she’d come to terms with the fact long ago—but it was her feelings that were still telling her otherwise. Despite recognizing him as her former master in both his appearance and signature, one crucial piece that would help her bridge the gap between what she knew and what she felt was still missing, and she knew exactly what that piece was. Their Force bond.

Every master and padawan would naturally develop a Force bond between them, a special connection helping the two become more attuned to each other, and their particular case had been no exception. Or rather, it’d been exceptional in how strong their bond had used to be. Even when they had been thousands of light years apart, separated by entire star systems, Ahsoka remembered feeling Anakin’s presence at the other end, loud and clear as if he had stood right there by her side. She also remembered the exact moment their bond had snapped out of existence—and the numbing emptiness left in its wake. Back then, she’d believed it to be evidence of Anakin’s death, until discovering that he had met with a fate far worse. Since it required both Force users to sustain their bond and keep it open, this could only mean that the connection had been intentionally closed off and severed by him, adding to the seemingly endless list of painful realizations. And now, despite knowing that Vader himself had embraced his true name, Ahsoka wondered ruefully if her own mind would ever be able to see him as anyone else.

A minute must have passed since Ahsoka had entered the room, and it was becoming painfully obvious that Vader would not be the one to strike up a conversation between them. That made matters equally better and worse at the same time. Better, because it gave her more control over how their dialogue would go. Worse, because… well, because of the exact same reason. She didn’t completely trust herself to do this the best way—or even the right way—and understood full well that she might be walking headlong into failure.

But that had never stopped her before, and it would not stop her now.

“Anakin.”

At last, there was a shift in the black figure’s posture, albeit barely noticeable.

“You came.”

She tried to determine what emotion, if any, those words conveyed. Surprise? Disappointment? Relief? With his shields firmly in place, Vader’s vocoder made it impossible for Ahsoka to perceive any semblance of feeling in his tone, no matter how hard she tried.

“What made you think I wouldn’t?” the Togruta asked, raising her chin slightly, a mix of defiance and curiosity.

“Our last meeting,” Vader replied, a little more quickly that she would’ve anticipated. So it was surprise after all.

Ahsoka frowned. “A lot has changed since then.”

“Not enough,” came an immediate retort.

For a split second Ahsoka was vividly reminded of all the countless times she’d been locked in a stubborn argument with her master.

“Let me be the judge of that,” she said decisively, her eyebrows furrowed. Realizing that their conversation, despite having barely started, was already going off the rails, the Togruta sighed and made an effort to soften her expression and voice. “Anakin, we’re not here as enemies anymore. I don’t… I don’t hold what happened back there against you.”

“Why?”

“I saw your hesitation. I could sense the conflict in you, your struggle against the Dark Side.”

“There was no struggle. You were meant to die by my hand,” he ground out with an impassiveness that sent a chill down Ahsoka’s spine as his words rang of truth.

And it hurt.

Knowing this was one thing, but hearing it said aloud by him pained Ahsoka in a way she did not expect. It would seem that despite all of the rationalization and acceptance she’d gone through, some part of her still had hoped that somehow, there had been more to this.

“But was it truly all you wanted?” she heard herself ask.

The silence felt more deafening with each passing second, until finally, Ahsoka’s patience was rewarded as Vader spoke, loosening the tight knot in her stomach.

“At first, I wished for you to join me so that I could train you in the ways of the Sith. Together, we would’ve been powerful enough to achieve anything, or so I believed at the moment.” Black gloved fingers curled slowly, almost balling into fists, and then relaxed again. “But the Emperor would not have allowed it.”

“I thought you said he would show me mercy?”

“Yes. His idea of mercy entailed granting a swift death.”

“Well, the Emperor is gone. He isn’t there anymore to control you.”

“The decisions I made were my own, Ahsoka. Sidious and the Dark Side might have guided me, but the responsibility for my actions is mine alone to bear.”

“I know that, Anakin,” Ahsoka said, her tone a bit strained. Well, she hadn't really known until now—but she’d already guessed just as much, so his words only served as additional confirmation. “And that still doesn’t change anything for me.”

“Then you do not yet comprehend the extent of my crimes—“

“Yes, Anakin, I do!“ Stepping forward, she couldn’t help raising her voice as her chest constricted painfully. “I haven’t been living under a rock all this time. I had to keep tabs on you, and not only because of Fulcrum, but because I felt like I needed to. I know that you killed Jedi, my friends, our friends, and you would’ve killed me too—“ she pressed her hand against her chest and took a deep breath before continuing. “And I know that I should hate you for everything you’ve done, that hating you would probably be the right thing to do…” Ahsoka’s voice trailed off, and she squared her shoulders. “But I don’t. I can’t, even if I wanted to. I hate all those horrible things you did, but not you.” The Togruta sighed, her anger and hurt flickering out as another thought entered her mind. “And this shouldn’t come off as a surprise to you. Luke has probably told you something similar, hasn’t he?”

Even if Vader had originally intended to reply to her revelations with something else, the name instantly became the focus of his reaction. “You spoke to Luke?”

“Only for a short moment,” she admitted. “I contacted him as soon as I could. That was our first ever interaction, believe it or not.” The black helmet shot up a few inches, which she decided to interpret as mild surprise. “He told me how you destroyed the Emperor and saved him by risking your own life. And he said he’d always known there was still good in his father.”

Not much time had passed since Ahsoka had first learned of Luke’s existence and his relation to Vader, and it still felt somewhat strange to think of them as father and son. At the same time, there was a certain rightness to the idea, an understanding that it couldn’t have been any other way, and her initial shock at the discovery had quickly changed to acceptance and joy. Ahsoka had already grown fond of Luke and was looking forward to getting to know him better, grateful with all her heart for him not giving up on his father and bringing him back to the Light. And yet, somewhere in the very back of her mind, there was an upsetting feeling nagging at her—a realization that Luke had succeeded where she had utterly and completely failed. Was it disappointment with herself, simple envy or something else? For now Ahsoka refused to acknowledge the feeling enough to analyze its source, knowing she’d have to address it sooner or later.

“He may be right,” Vader said, turning his mask away from her, “but that doesn’t mean I am in any way more deserving of the… treatment you are willing to give to me.”

Was he really that afraid of saying the word ‘kindness’ out loud? Ahsoka let out a sigh and pressed further. “Luke seems to think differently, and I agree with him.”

“You should know better than my son, Ahsoka. He is still just a young, foolish boy.”

“Not unlike someone else I used to know,” she huffed, unwilling to let the opportunity slide. “Though I have to admit, he definitely takes more after Padmé than you.”

Another reaction-invoking name. “He told you?”

Ahsoka shook her head. “No, but it was simple enough to figure out. I mean, I always sort of knew what was going on between you two. It was hard not to notice, actually.”

And that probably was why the idea of him having children had been so surprisingly easy to accept. It’d felt like the last piece of the puzzle finally sliding into place, a logical conclusion to the story that had always existed somewhere on the edge of Ahsoka’s knowledge. She was happy to know that some part of Padmé’s soul still lived on through her children, yet her heart was heavy with realization that they would never get to know their mother—their strong, kind, brilliant mother. Ahsoka still mourned Padmé just as she mourned all of her other lost friends, some of whom had met their end at Vader’s hands. Could he have played a part in Padmé’s fate as well? Something in her protested against such an egregious thought, still remembering the tender glances her master would cast towards the young senator. And yet, Ahsoka couldn’t fully commit herself to denying the idea—not after everything she had learned about Vader in all these years.

She made a pause to see if Vader had anything to say on the topic, but he seemed fully determined to keep his thoughts to himself. While understanding his choice, Ahsoka still couldn’t help but feel the sting of disappointment. She decided to go on. “And yet, when I looked at Luke at a certain angle, I really saw you in him. His eyes, his smile… it reminded me of you.” And again she was waiting for Vader to say something, anything, but he remained a silent dark shadow, leaving her no choice but to carry the conversation further. “You know, it was almost like watching an old holo of you again, though—”

She was not able to finish as the shadow suddenly came alive. “You… have holos of me,” Vader thundered. If she had to guess, it sounded like disbelief.

“I do,” she admitted, suddenly feeling slightly awkward. “Why?”

“For what possible purpose would you need to keep them?” he asked, his vocoder making it appear a demand.

Ahsoka’s eyes widened at the unexpected question. “Why must there be a purpose?” she asked back. “I kept them because… because I liked being able to see my friend again. Because I missed hi… you, and wanted to make sure I wouldn’t forget what you looked or sounded like. Oh, Anakin, do you really not understand?” Afraid of hearing him answer, she continued hastily as she started pacing near the window. “It’s just some footage of you going through the training routine, explaining the moves. Whenever I felt like I had no more will to keep going… watching it would always make me feel better. It was almost as if you were still there, inspiring, helping me pull through… just like you always did.”

With these words, Ahsoka stopped and felt herself slouching, her inner strength suddenly leaving her. The Togruta’s gaze fell, and she found herself staring at the floor in some sort of an exhausted daze. She stood like that for what seemed like an eternity before getting brought back to reality by the sound of Vader’s dark voice.

“You would be wise to cease clinging to that idealized image of me you conjured up,” Vader uttered, “for it shall only bring you disappointment.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I cannot change myself to give you what you desire.”

Ahsoka straightened her posture, strength rushing back to her, and turned to face him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m not asking you to change,” she insisted, planting her hands on her hips, “nor am I expecting you to.”

“Yet you wish I would.”

Ahsoka shook her head. “I do, yes,” she said in a tired voice. “I am just a person, Anakin. I am allowed to… feel things. I might have accepted the reality of who you are, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss how you used to be. I always will.”

“You seem to have a misguided idea of how I used to be, then.”

Confused, the Togruta cocked her head to one side. “How so?” she asked.

No answer followed.

Her body tensed up, possibilities running through her mind. Could it be that he genuinely did not remember much about himself before… before Vader? Had his denial of his past self actually pushed those memories out of him somehow? Well, in that case, she was more than ready to remind him.

“Anakin...” Ahsoka gave him a small but genuine smile as she tried to find his gaze behind the mask. “I remember you as someone kind, and caring, and loyal. Someone compassionate and understanding, someone who would go out of his way to save people and...”

She found herself unable to continue when an otherworldly feeling of cold crept over her entire body; a sensation she had not experienced in many years. Her gaze locked on Vader, who now stood with his head hung low.

“No,” he growled suddenly as he clenched his fists, leather creaking, “No!”

Ahsoka gasped, overwhelmed by the now seething coldness as she stumbled backwards. She heard the objects in the room rattle, some of them already floating above the surfaces they had been previously placed upon. The next second everything ended just as abruptly as it had started, and with a loud noise all the things suspended in the air fell crashing down. Only the cold was still present, almost making Ahsoka shiver.

The brief shock had passed, allowing her to find her voice again. There was no fear or anger in it; only concern. “Anakin, what’s wrong?”

“If this is your memory of how I used to be,” Vader hissed, “then you are either mistaken, or deceiving yourself.”

“What do you—”

“You are perfectly aware of what I mean, Ahsoka.” In a matter of seconds he made a few long strides and was now towering over the Togruta, blocking the light out, wrapping her around in his suffocating presence. “Are you not?”

No, she wished fiercely to say, to scream out, but the word got stuck inside her throat as she realized she couldn’t make herself utter a lie. Ahsoka understood with a sudden clarity that Vader must have arrived at the same conclusions about his nature as she had, and now wanted them confirmed by her.

“Yes...” she whispered as her resolve crumbled.

“Then tell me,” he commanded. “Tell me of the other things you remember. The things you would rather forget.”

With a curt nod Ahsoka closed her eyes, and Vader promptly backed off, no longer a looming shadow trying to consume her.

“Very well.” The Togruta sighed and looked to the side, as if trying to avoid the heavy stare she could not see but feel. Then, she started recollecting—her voice, slow and deliberate at first, getting faster and faster with each word. “I remember you… being harsh, a lot. Needlessly harsh. There were times when I even thought you were... cruel, but I could never make myself bring that up with you, because it scared me, because you scared me,” she took a moment to catch her breath, “and even though I was certain you would never hurt me, I… I was still afraid of what you could do at times. I also thought that sometimes you were… dismissive and controlling, too. I know you were in command, and maybe it sort of made sense in that context, but I thought you gave into it way too much. As if you actually enjoyed it.”

Ahsoka paused to glance back at Vader, half-expecting another outburst, but he remained silent and unmoving. She decided to take that as a good sign and went on. “And all those things… I remember them getting worse and worse over time. Maybe it was the influence of the Dark Side, or the growing stress, maybe I could’ve done something about it if I hadn’t left. But there’s no way of knowing that now.” 

And with that, the pent-up guilt she’d been trying to keep at bay finally seeped into her words and spilled out in the open. Inwardly, she braced herself for the inevitable accusation—but to her utter confusion, it never came.

Ahsoka didn’t know whether to find it relieving or troubling. 

Realizing she’d been holding her breath all that time, Ahsoka exhaled and once again focused her mind at the conversation at hand.

“Well, there you have it,” she said, placing her hands over her upper arms. “I’m not entirely sure why you would want to hear that… but I hope it was helpful.”

“Yes.” A few cycles of automated respiration. “It was.”

As if confirming his words, the cold had finally dissipated. Ahsoka frowned at the bitter and unpleasant taste left in her mouth by the forced confession, arms still wrapped around her body protectively.

“You should know that I didn’t come here to tell you what a horrible person you are,” she reassured him grimly but truthfully. “I hope you understand that.”

“I do not understand. But I believe you.”

The Togruta’s heart sank at the words. She didn’t need to sense Vader in the Force or see his face to understand what he was feeling—to know that he was still suffering. Freed from the clutches of the Dark Side, he was still trapped by so much more than that—from the irremovable barrier between him and the world that was his suit, to the crippling regret brought about by accepting the truths he had denied for so long. Having put an end to the era of evil, he still believed himself to be part of it, unworthy of a place in a better galaxy. And in that single moment, it didn’t matter whether he was Anakin or Vader, for Ahsoka saw him for what he truly was at his core: a broken man who didn’t know if he could, or should, attempt to put the remaining pieces of himself back together.

But he deserves it, whispered the reproachful voice in her mind—the rational voice. He deserves to suffer like all those who have suffered because of him. It is only fair.

Yes. It was fair. And he did deserve it. Ahsoka could acknowledge as much.

But she would not be the one to add to his suffering.

“Anakin,” Ahsoka began in pleading determination, “none of that means you weren’t a good person once, and I know you can still be one. Please, let me help you. I want to be there for you, as you were there for me.”

Finally, the words were out; a desperate plea that she had carried in her soul throughout all these years, yearning for it to be heard. Leaning forward in anticipation, the Togruta waited for Vader to reply, heart pounding so loud in her ears that it almost drowned out the sound of his breathing.

The silence lingered, each second more unbearable than the last, and she was about to try to call out to him again when he finally spoke up.

“I wonder.”

Ahsoka felt her heart skip a beat. “What?”

“It has been more than twenty years since we last spoke on amicable terms. Before that, we had only known each other for three. A rather meager amount, all things considered.” Allowing himself a brief pause, Vader went on calmly, his tone even more apathetic than before. “There is no point in attempting to mend a short-lived, insignificant relationship that was naturally lost to time. You are merely being driven by your own guilt, latching onto the presented chance to finally clear your conscience.”

As he finished, Ahsoka stared numbly at the dark form in front of her, words still echoing in her head as she tried to make sense of them.

No. That couldn’t be true.

Could it?

Was it all just a selfish attempt to redeem herself in her own eyes?

Did she make it all about herself again?

She must have. Why else would he be saying this? He’d seen through her selfishness, just like the last time, and...

No! It wasn’t her fault! She couldn’t have stayed in the Order, she’d made her choice! Why couldn’t he see—

Ahsoka flinched as she felt her nails digging into her skin, hands clenched into tight fists. The acute sensation was enough to bring the Togruta out of her stupor, giving her something real to hold on to against the rising panic. Summoning all of her willpower, she stopped herself from getting lost in the deluge of feelings cascading on her, and forced her mind to think.

That wasn’t what Vader actually meant. It was her own guilt and regret speaking through his voice, twisting his words into things she expected—feared—to hear.

But why else would he be saying this?

She thought back to Vader’s earlier outburst—one clearly motivated by emotion and caused by something which he had genuinely believed in. Yet these words didn’t have the same intent and motivation behind them. It was much more like…

Anakin Skywalker was weak. I destroyed him.

Could it be that he was once again trying to convince her of something that wasn’t at all true—to convince them both?

It wasn’t just about her guilt, Ahsoka suddenly realized. It also had everything to do with his own. Vader wasn’t accusing Ahsoka of being disingenuous—he simply couldn’t fathom that she would still care about him for any other reason except her own self-benefit, and was now trying to rationalize it to himself.

Everything then clicked in her mind, and she finally found the strength to look up at him again.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said quietly. “We may not be enemies anymore, but that doesn’t mean we are obliged to be friends again. And if you would prefer not to, then I… I will respect your wishes. After all, I really do not know how much I still mean to you, if anything at all.”

Ahsoka took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her voice was firm with resolve.

“And yet, there is one thing you’re wrong about. I’m not doing this for my own sake. I’m doing this because you are still important to me, Anakin. We might not have known each other for long, but it was you who helped me become the person I am today. You believed in me and stood by me when nobody else did. Everything you taught me, every experience we shared together… I wouldn’t have survived without it, and it has always been a part of me. This never changed, even after you had… left.”

Vader was yet to respond, but she didn’t need him to. She needed him to listen—and wished for him to hear.

“Whenever I felt lonely, I would turn your holo on and talk to you as if you were actually there. Of course, I knew I was just talking to myself in an empty room, but... it helped me not to lose sight of what I was fighting for. Sometimes, I’d simply tell you how my day went, and other times, I’d ask for your advice or opinion on some ideas.”

She swallowed, suddenly finding it harder to breathe.

“But most often I found myself asking you if… if you would’ve been proud of me.”

Ahsoka forced her breathing to remain slow and steady as she tried to rein in her emotions, suddenly burning inside of her with the intensity of a supernova. She hung her head and shut her eyes tight, unable to stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks, leaving what felt like red hot trails of fire in their wake. The Togruta attempted to get a hold on herself again, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth, but a feeling of enormous weight came crashing down on her instead as if the gravity itself started to collapse. To her surprise, after a few seconds Ahsoka realized that a small part of the sensation was real. The pressure was not caused by her emotions alone; a tangible feeling of weight was coming from a large gloved hand, now resting on her shoulder.

“Anakin?..” she whispered in a hoarse voice, tilting her head upwards to meet the hollow stare of Vader’s mask, who was now standing right next to her.

For a few moments the room was filled only with sounds of slow deliberate breaths, her own breathing against his ever-present mechanical respiration.

Suddenly, the leather-clad fingers squeezed Ahsoka’s shoulder, making her wince at the rough sensation and pulling her back into reality. The durasteel grip felt slightly painful, but she somehow knew it was not meant to be. After all, it had been a long time since Vader had needed to touch someone without the intent to hurt.

Finally, his rumbling voice broke the silence, and for the first time she thought she was able to hear some emotion hidden in the usual flat inflection, a barely registered softness.

“You did well, Ahsoka.”

Just like his grip, these words, too, felt rough and somewhat painful, for it had been a long time since Vader had needed to comfort someone—but it was the meaning behind the act itself that mattered to her.

She still did mean something to him after all.

Sniffling, the Togruta blinked away the tears as she raised her hand to put it over Vader’s, still on her shoulder. “Thank you,” she simply said, her mind latching onto the cool sensation of the smooth leather texture and the hard metal underneath it. Ahsoka’s soul ached for a moment, wishing to find the warmth of a living touch instead. But then another tactile memory resurfaced, of her master giving her his right hand to guide her or pull away from danger, and she remembered how similar that sensation had been to what she was feeling now.

“I hope you realize that you should not keep seeking my approval,” Vader went on, his cadence a bit slower than usual. “It does not… cannot have any worth anymore.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I just… I needed to hear that. I suppose it’s good to finally have some closure.”

“Likewise.” He tilted his helmet slightly as he extricated his hand from under Ahsoka’s and let it fall back to his side. “I am grateful that our paths were allowed to cross once again under more pleasant circumstances. It’s a fulfilling experience.”

That was probably as close as she would get to hearing I missed you too, at least for now, Ahsoka thought with a small frown. An awkward silence then fell between them, and the Togruta felt that it was as good a moment as any to ask a question she had been carrying in the back of her mind all that time.

“Where did you learn to talk like that, anyway?”

“What?” 

The abrupt, quick word sounded very unVader-like in its startled isolation, and Ahsoka felt the corners of her mouth go up ever so slightly.

“Well, you know, you speak like… like you’re from the Core Worlds or something. Not that it’s bad, I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“It unsettles you.” Another emotionally cryptic remark she was unable to decipher due to Vader’s vocoder. Did it carry understanding? Irritation? Regret?

“No, it doesn’t. I mean, maybe a little.” Ahsoka sighed and folded her arms across her chest. Just like his suit and voice, his stilted manner of speech was another shell meant to conceal that he was still a human—a person. “I will get used to it, eventually. I will need to get used to a lot of things.”

“I see.” Vader fell silent for a moment. “What prompted your inquiry?”

“The Intelligence Service asked me if I would be interested in coming back as Fulcrum, and I decided to take them up on the offer. But with the Empire officially gone, they’ll no longer need to operate in such strict secrecy. I’m going to become more of a public figure—talking politics, delivering speeches, and all that.” The Togruta cocked her eyebrow. “And I was thinking that perhaps you could give me a few lessons in eloquence.”

A long pause followed. “That could be arranged,” Vader finally said as he tucked his thumbs under his belt.

“If you won’t be too busy, that is,” she added. “Wouldn’t want to distract you from more pressing matters.”

“A distraction of that sort would be more than welcome.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Senate is currently undergoing an intense rebuilding process, thus I have been temporarily left to my own devices. Which, admittedly, do not include much since I am not yet allowed to leave the premises without direct supervision.”

The Togruta could’ve sworn there was a hint of dry sarcasm in Vader’s mechanized bass, if only because she knew too well what her master would’ve said in that situation. The unexpected echo of familiarity made Ahsoka let her guard down, and she couldn’t help but allow a small quip to escape her tongue. “So what you’re saying is that you’re grounded.”

Instantly, she was bestowed with the sight of Vader’s pointing finger, jabbing at her with vicious ferocity. “Now would not be the time to jest, Ahsoka,” he snarled in a low voice.

“When will it be, then?” she retorted, hardly intimidated by his antics. “This is…” She bit her lip and made a wide gesturing motion around her. “This is all too much for me to take in, I’m still not even sure if this is actually happening! I need to cope somehow, you know. So please excuse me for making stupid jokes to keep myself from going insane,” Ahsoka blurted out, a bit more harshly than she would have liked, but still meaning every single word.

Another long pause hung between them as Vader straightened his posture and clasped his hands behind his back. When he spoke again, there was something new in his tone which she couldn’t make out. “One would assume that after so many years, you would have learned the importance of being less… snippy.”

“Sorry, master,” Ahsoka said, making no effort to hide her smirk, “I suppose you taught me a little too well in that regard.”

Vader turned his back to her, his cloak swirling to one side, and was now facing the window.

“I suppose I did,” he murmured quietly.

Ahsoka followed his motions with a blank stare as the reality of the situation finally caught up to her, hitting her like a speeder spun out of control.

Here she was, attempting friendly conversation and joking around with the former Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy, the genocidal tyrant, the monster, the hero, the older brother, the father who had cared for her like his own child…

She was not supposed to do that. It was wrong. Very, very wrong.

She was supposed to be repulsed by him, to condemn him for all the horrors he had unleashed upon the galaxy, to never forgive him for all the lives he had taken. It would be right. It would be.

Then why did she refuse to feel that way?

And what did that make her?

Ahsoka pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead and closed her eyes.

She was so very tired.

After a few still moments, the Togruta let her arm fall at her side and slowly walked up to Vader, joining him in front of the window. Her shoulder was resting lightly against his upper arm, but he did not seem to mind, notice or care. In solemn quietness, they watched together as Coruscant saw off the passing day.

The twilight had already begun to smother the city with darkness, vivid yellows and reds succumbing to the murky blues at the top. Stretched over the horizon were clouds of steely gray, a narrow streak of the crimson sky slashing through them like an open wound. Bleeding out of it, rays of the dying sun danced on the polished surfaces of Vader’s mask and helmet, igniting the smooth curves and rigid lines, making him appear alive in a way Ahsoka’s mind couldn’t fully grasp. She stared at his profile intently, as though her gaze alone would be enough to crack open the gleaming black skull and reveal what was hidden underneath.

In her padawan days, she would sometimes daydream about their peaceful future long after the war, trying to imagine what they would all look like in their forties or fifties (the possibility that they would not all survive to live that long hadn’t crossed her mind). Anakin, she had imagined back then, would remain almost the same, except his hair would be even longer and messier, and there would be more wrinkles and lines on his face brought about by both age and smiling, and maybe a couple more scars, and for some reason she’d been absolutely certain he would have a beard. Maybe not as well-groomed as Obi-Wan’s, but a beard nonetheless, and of course she would tease him about it, and...

An acute sense of longing resonated through her entire being; longing for a past that never had been, and a future that never would be.

The longing spread, taking shape inside her head, forming words in her mind—stars, there was so much she wanted, needed, craved to say! Why did it happen and how could you do this and can you forgive me and—

—and yet she realized, perhaps as well as he did, that any words would say less than the silence they shared in that moment.

She still didn't know what had caused him to turn. Or how he had been made slave to the Emperor. Or if he was somehow responsible for Padmé’s demise. In the back of her mind, there were suspicions, theories, guesses; but right now, she refused to step into these dark, swirling waters. Right now, she didn’t want to leave the present—the present where things were finally good, where the war was won, where her master was back by her side—only to return to the anguished past, tearing open the gashing wounds for both of them. After everything she’d been through, didn’t she deserve at least that much? To let herself take comfort in this frail imitation of how everything should have turned out back then? Or was it simple cowardice on her part? She wasn’t sure, and couldn’t find it in herself to care.

“Luke asked me a lot of questions when we spoke,” Ahsoka said, her gaze shifting back to the sky outside. “He wanted me to tell him everything I knew about you. I said I couldn’t, because first I needed to know if you would be alright with that. I told him that you might not be prepared yet, and he seemed to understand.”

Vader inclined his helmet in what seemed like contemplation and then nodded. The action came off as awkward, both due to the restrictions of his mask and the fact that he was clearly not yet used to performing it.

“And, well… there are still many questions I need to ask you, too. So let me know when you are ready.” So I can be ready too, she almost added.

For a second it appeared as if Vader considered something, and then turned to take a sharp half-step towards her. “Ahsoka—”

His words were cut off by a loud beeping noise coming from Ahsoka’s comlink. The startled Togruta blinked and let out a small groan before pressing the button.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” she assured whoever was on the other side of the transmission, and then turned to Vader. “I’m sorry. It would seem I’m needed elsewhere… as usual,” Ahsoka sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“You should attend to your duties,” Vader said, seemingly unfazed by the intervention, his foot shifting back into place. “There will be plenty of chances to speak.”

Ahsoka momentarily regarded him with unspoken curiosity. Some part of her wanted to urge Vader to voice whatever he had intended to say, but overall she felt relieved at the unforeseen interruption—almost thankful for having been given an easy way to finish the conversation. There was still much to know and speak about, but right now the exhausted Togruta needed some space and rest to clear her head.

“You’re right,” she agreed, nodding. “Well… see you soon, then.”

“I will be looking forward to our next meeting, Ahsoka.”

The sentiment felt genuine, and Ahsoka managed a small smile. “Me too, Anakin.” She paused. “I will not leave you. I promise.”

At first, nothing seemingly changed as Vader’s mask kept staring at her in its usual empty indifference. But then, suddenly, Ahsoka felt her mind being brushed by a familiar—strangely gentle—sensation. It took her a moment to recognize what exactly that was, for she hadn’t experienced it in more than twenty years; and yet, there could be no mistaking the feeling for anything else.

The bond was there again.

It was weak, faint and dull, almost invisible, barely tangible—but it was there.

Clinging to it like a lifeline, she poured every ounce of her energy into it, reaching through it with her entire soul and embracing its gentle warmness. The presence at the other end did not reciprocate her efforts, but it acknowledged and accepted them, and that was all she could ask for.

Reaching out, Ahsoka placed her hand over the black chest armor—and was sure she could feel the heart beating underneath.

“I won’t leave you,” she whispered again.

“I know,” said Anakin.