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“Skywalker out.”
The blue light of the holo blinks out, leaving him to hunch over the central terminal in the fully dark comms center in strained silence. The last hints of daylight have left this side of Geonosis and somewhere in the background he hears officers scrambling to turn on a few lights. Here’s hoping they enjoyed the spectacle. His throat hurts.
He could’ve better explained himself to the council, sure, but he would prefer to throw out some of the bureaucracy for a little expediency's sake. His report? The report he had time to write when exactly? Before or after he was rescuing his padawan from the tons of factory debris that was suffocating her? If she hadn’t been inside that tank...
Best not to think about it.
At any rate, it worked, hadn’t it? Once he’d put it like that, loudly, the council had sanctioned her leave even if Obi-Wan had left him with a look that promised a conversation.
Well they can converse all they like, he’s getting her off this dust ball for some R&R even if he has to haul her up there himself. She’s earned beyond that. If it were really up to him he’d take her back to the temple for a month or they’d go on a retreat, try and forget about this fuckin place. But it isn’t, so he didn’t try, just settled for what they would give her. Lest he be considered attached. Bad habit that he’s not intending on quitting. Even if it has gotten more noticeable.
Speaking of, here comes another critic now. “Master Luminara.” Belatedly, he stands up straight, brushing his front free of dirt for the umpteenth time today. He’d been so in his own head that he had noticed her late. Though he had still managed to acknowledge her before she had him.
Stepping into comms fully, she squints at him briefly in the dim light before her expression smooths. “Skywalker, good evening.”
He clears his throat to shave the rough edges off. “You might be pleased to know, I managed to secure a little downtime for our padawans. If you’d like, Barriss can head up with Ahsoka to the Resolute in the morning for a few rotations off.”
Luminara blinks at him for several ticks. Something about her is a hair off. No matter how serene she appears, her signature feels crooked, like a bad ball joint. “Oh, I see. You spoke to the council without me?”
He frowns, guilty. "You seemed...busy. But count yourself lucky, it wasn’t exactly a pleasant chat." He should’ve sent someone to retrieve her but if his senses had been correct, Luminara had been in the middle of deep meditation. The cord tethering her to the physical had been stretched remarkably thin when he’d plucked on it, the presence of her nearly gone. It’s a type of meditation that apparently takes a great deal of intentional focus, where you’re intended to be pulled and pushed by the waves of the Force until you come back smooth like a river rock. Not that he would know, better things to do. Still it hadn’t felt right to disturb her and he’d had a bone to pick anyway.
Her eyes shut solemnly and that joint seems to slide further out of alignment. “In the future, no matter my status, I would like at least to be given the option to attend Council meetings. Especially ones concerning the fate of my apprentice.”
It is said inoffensively enough, as Luminara tends to, but the admonishments always come with the tang of authority, to remind him he’s below her. “Yes, Master.”
“But thank you.” And there is a surprising press of gratitude from her. “I’m sure both our students could use the time away.”
“I agree. Today has been-” Wretched, horrifying, so nightmarish that he wants to scrub it from his mind and forget it ever happened. “-long.”
Luminara’s gaze, which commonly has no trouble meeting his, drops to the floor. “We are of the same mind.” She utters, barely above a whisper.
There is a second where he almost presents her with the shards of his wasted grief, throws off his shields and gives a broken gift to match hers, before he remembers himself. There isn’t anything to be shared. Worse, she might lecture him for lingering on these feelings. He’s had plenty of that for a lifetime. She’d been perfectly clear in her earlier surrender of their padawans, let go and move on. She betrayed her own student. She had given up, he hadn’t. They are not alike. No, he has no regret to offer her, just disdain. He decides that neither reaction would likely be acceptable. So he pins both feelings down further in his heart and bids the master goodnight.
“Skywalker.”
Stang, caught him midstride, what now? “Yes, Master?”
“Should you also require a moment of reprieve, I would be happy to guide you through meditation.” And after too long a pause on his end, she adds, “If you felt so inclined.”
It is a generous offer, he reminds himself with a stinging lungful of desert air. Luminara is a talented Master, he could probably achieve her earlier level of meditation, if he tried; he’s been led there before. There is a larger uglier part of him that wants to know if meditation would have pulled their students from the wreckage today. He swallows that and says something else. “Thank you, Master. I will take that into consideration, should I have a moment.”
There is a swirl of discontentment and Luminara for once allows it to show on her face. “If you are disinclined to accept my request, you need but say so.”
That was almost cutting. So much for politeness. With another breath he summons whatever decorum the council hasn’t managed to burn out of him and tries again. “Alright, I don’t currently feel like meditating.” With you, he manages to not spit.
“I think it would be beneficial for you. You may not get another opportunity in the near future.”
Why wait for Obi-Wan’s lecture when he can get a special preview now? Except Obi-Wan would back away and try again later, knowing him well enough to know when he’s at his limit. Let’s see if he can get this out without biting through his own tongue. “I’ll take my chances.”
At his turned back there is a long impatient sigh. “Your feelings are turbulent, and your fear, your anger, is a palpable, heavy thing. We are in a warzone, you must find a way to release these emotions before they throw you further off kilter. Meditation can do this.”
“We are in a warzone.” He has to snap his mouth shut violently, stifling the severity, because he hadn’t said that he had snarled it. He rounds on her. "And these men, my padawan, need me here, now. Present and focused. Not sitting in my quarters, whiling away the hours in the name of my own internal peace.”
Up until then she had met his gaze intently but here she flinches, and, chest burning, he’s still not done. “This isn’t a retreat. I slack off and good people die. I don’t have time to waste on the luxury of meditation. You’re going to have a tough time persuading me otherwise. So unless you have something else you’d like to say I must once again bid you goodnight, Master.”
As if the formal address somehow cushions his insolence but he will not be ground into the dirt again for deigning to care.
The correction never comes and he is allowed to turn on his heel and walk out.
-
He’s on his second lap of the camp perimeter before his anger cools. He’s definitely given a couple of patrols the scare of their lives once or twice but he had kept on. Too much energy to burn even as battle weary muscles had groaned and begged for rest. Eventually he listens, leaning back against a wall of durasteel, taking a moment, or several, to breathe out the fire in his lungs.
He wishes Coruscant wasn’t so far away or that it wasn’t four in the morning there. He would do anything to talk to his wife, lay his grievances at her feet. Just so he can hear someone say it isn’t wrong. He’s justified, he’s allowed to be angry, allowed to worry. A part of him knows that, knows he’s in the right, but surrounded on all sides by those who trained him, he can’t help the doubt. Emotions are a failing, they say, attachment will be your downfall. But they’ve kept him alive, he’s tempted more and more to scream back. Every day it gets harder and harder to be both an effective soldier and the noble peacekeeper. Every day he slips a bit further away from the knight they want him to be. Maybe a good man, but not a good Jedi.
He toes the sand underfoot, red and dry and far too alike to another place. Maybe he’s neither.
When another patrol passes by, he decides he’s had enough of standing around, stewing. He’s not interested in mulling over his failings, he has shit to do. He can’t talk to Padme, but there’s someone else he can, and definitely should, be talking to. He makes his way towards their--no, the men’s quarters. A day like today, he’s certain she hasn’t gone to bed yet.
Approaching the main barracks, there is a second of warning before he’s hit with a shower of grit. Coming from the top of the buildings right in his face. Is someone pelting him with dirt? Geonosian? Hand by belt, he peers up, which is practically meaningless. They're in low light conditions, because they’re not in the business of being bombed, the tops of the buildings are even more in shroud. Still he untenses, judging by the distinct open amusement in the force, he’s got a pretty good guess who’s up there.
“Ey, ceasefire.”
A laugh and a shadow moves closer to the edge, just enough for her pupils to refract what dim lamp light there is. “You done yelling at the council now?”
He’s prepared to argue over the definition of yelling until he opens his mouth. The last thing he wants right now is another battle, he’s had his fill. “I am. Room for one more up there?” He’d rather not leave Ahsoka alone if he can help it but he’s also not going to take away hard to come by privacy.
The barracks make a hollow tapping sound and she creeps back. “C’mon up.”
He’s got enough sense of where everything is up there to leap it but he goes for the ledge to avoid startling anyone inside. She grabs his elbow when he's halfway and pulls and, tired as he is, he lets her. She's little but stronger than she should be; Togruta must pack a lot of compact muscle.
“Ugh, there we go." He groans as he settles down. "Much better company now.”
There is a rush of satisfaction at his offhand comment. Even as she responds with an arch look. “I get the feeling the Jedi Council is saying the same thing right about now.”
He takes some of the loose grit he gained from his climb and tosses it towards her. "Can't sleep?"
"Not really. I thought you had a ship to fix?" It’s less of a barb and more an actual question but that does remind him he has a shuttle to patch up.
He shrugs and stares off at the horizon, face impassive, and lets the soft reach of his signature answer her. It’s a greeting, a Jedi hail, along with what can best be described as a spiritual once over. It’s more than just “hello”, it’s an offered hand, asking are you well and conveying you’ve been missed, all without a sound, not a muscle moved. It’s not proper, overfamiliar, and he’s past caring. He's tried not to hover, hated it when it happened to him, but now he's swapped places and the worry comes easy. Today, today had only cemented it.
She brushes back easily, returning the gesture. Polite acknowledgement, I’m fine, she says without saying. She can’t know how reassuring it is. Even if it is just the appropriate temple response, etiquette he and Obi-Wan had given up on long ago. Better than nothing, better than silence. She’ll figure it out someday, he huffs, and of course the moment he thinks it is the moment she surprises him. The platitude fades to a flash of sincerity and it’s there that he picks up on the bead of loneliness to her, reserved for him. His fault, he’s been rushing around all evening while only keeping her in his eyeline. Distance was his old reward, not hers, he has to remind himself of that. Which makes the isolation he found her in more concerning.
"Keep me company?" she asks, as if he hadn’t already heard her.
He let's go of a single laugh before sliding to sit next to her, leaning back on his palms. “Sure.”
There is a sliver of pride at being sought after and a handful of months ago that would have stunned him. They’ve hit their stride but for a time after Crystopsis there was still an underlying pressure he’d had to overcome. She’s his student, his, he’s a teacher now. It’s not a relationship he’s ever navigated before. He’s always been...unconventional is the polite way they put it. Not mentor material, he figured. Her assignment to him had felt like a test designed for him to fail, and to everyone’s disbelief, he hasn’t yet. He may not be a great teacher but she seems to understand him. The luster of new has faded now and that pressure went with it. Becoming part of his day to day had forced them into familiarity, helped throw off the rigidness that came with new people. Had she been more like one of those flawless shiny temple rugrats they probably wouldn’t have made it. Her casualness hadn’t allowed them to be strangers. Helped by the fact that she’s so genuine in everything she does, it’s no wonder he ended up taking a shine to her. All he’s asked of her is to keep up and she’s never failed. They were a good match, fought it as he had, their rough edges somehow interlocking. There are not many he can say he feels truly comfortable around, and creeping up on a loth cat's feet, she’s become one of them.
Unconsciously, he feels a touch of discomfort that isn’t his. Right, Togruta aren’t made for the desert. He doesn’t really think, just lifts a free arm and looks over, expectantly. Years of curling up next to Obi-Wan on nights like this lulling him into an unconscious pattern. It’s only when her eyes go wide that he realizes he’s towing a (another) potentially sacreligious line. Jedi don’t touch, not really. They’ve bumped shoulders and flicked noses but obvious outward affection, that may be too far. Before he can wave it off, say something to clear the air, she grins. Her confused shock morphs into a press of appreciation as she fits herself to his side, chin to knee. As he resettles and her heat leeches into him, he feels a final knot in his chest come undone.
They stare out to the horizon where there is nothing but stars and the night between them. Constellations that he’ll never know, a few planets he could name if he tried. Sitting so close, he barely has to focus to feel the gleam of her energy, trace that line between the two of them, blazing. There’s another sensation there that doesn’t belong to him, a feeling he can’t name. He can’t hear it but her head tilts at the sound of metal tendons curling into a fist. Enough waiting. He tried being patient, to let her take the lead, in case he pushed and made her dig in her heels, but she’s never this quiet so now he has to dig. "You doing okay, Snips?"
"Yeah.” She responds, her usual conviction not there.
“Yeah?” He pushes again as her shoulder curls beneath his.
Her gaze stays steady out into the dark, probably seeing more than he ever could. “Yeah. The boys have been keeping me distracted."
He’ll bet they have, she had them eating out of the palm of her hand day one. He hadn’t had to ask Rex to take over watching her, while he stepped away, helped break camp, and tried to remember what a full breath of air felt like; he’d just done it. Out of duty sure, but the men, they always gave more than that. She had melded right in with them.
"Distracted but not burying, right?" In passing he’d definitely seen various members of the 501st keeping her occupied but hopefully they didn’t crowd her. She’d only put on a brave face if they doted too much. They’ve had conversations about how she doesn’t have to do that, she doesn’t have to be flawless, she’s allowed to feel; she’s a learner. She had been afraid of looking weak, of getting left behind. He had told her that wasn’t the case but the lesson has had trouble sticking. Years of being asked to treat others more highly than yourself tends to create a hierarchy that always has them at the bottom of the list. Noble but as always she takes it a step too far.
Her brow wrinkles thoughtfully, and that bruise on it reminds him that he needs to look over Kix’s medical evaluation later. "I'm not sure. It feels like I should be feeling a lot but I don't. Tonight's just like any other night." She looks up at him, eyes squinting, voice unsure. "Is that bad?"
"No." Sad though. Infinitely so. That it hasn't hit her yet, the gravity of what she avoided today, or that the concept of death is so mundane now that she is numb to it.
He's the opposite. He feels too much. Being reminded of the events of today flares those feelings even higher. There is a kernel of anger that burns in him at everything but her. How could they try and take her? How can she grow up in a world like this? How dare Luminara give up on them? How could he send her into that factory with just another learner? Then comes fear. Fear of what could've been. When had she become so meaningful to him? When will he learn? In a handful of moments he could have lost her. A terrifyingly familiar sensation that comes coated with guilt; Jedi shouldn’t be afraid. Jedi shouldn’t become ensnared by their emotions, Jedi should let go. Then teeth gritting stubbornness. There are things he’s not ready to let go of.
"You didn’t mean it, did you?" She asks quietly.
Pulled from his spiraling thoughts, he peeks down at her. "Mean what?"
Shame. Overwhelming shame and then he feels her retreat, physically too. He nudges her, sending a wave of calm, the best he can manage, trying to coax her back.
Finally, she speaks up, still quiet. "That you'd send me back."
What? No. No no no no. What? No. That's why. The briefing. What could have been their last words to each other and he had been threatening her with sending her back to the temple. Right after she accused him of not trusting her. That's why. That's why she blew up that factory with her still inside it. Fuck. Fuck him. No.
His mind runs in panicked loops, useless, trying to find what will fix this. He broke this. That’s all he’s good for. He moves without thinking, gets distance, then grabbing her shoulders and forcing himself to gentle the action at her wide eyes. Stop, stop it, don’t make her afraid of you. “No. I would never do that, Ahsoka. Never.” Too low, too strong. He has to stop, remind himself to be gentle, tamp down his reaction. He has to get this right.
He starts again, slower, softer this time yet still firm. “I could never do that. You said that I didn’t trust you but you’re wrong. I do. I do trust you. I swear it. No, I’m not just saying that.” And he stops to let that last point impact because he knows she’s fighting it.
His elbows bend, gathering her closer so that she won’t doubt a word out of his mouth. As if somehow keeping her near him will be enough to convince her that he doesn’t want her anywhere but here. She bends to him willingly, eyes roving over his face again and again. Never. He can’t lose her. “Listen,” and he is begging now because he remembers. Remembers what it was like when the joking truths and the honed criticism had cut him down to the bone. Apologies and praise were a balm but sometimes those words were all he could ever hear. Now he pleads so that these will be the words that stick. “Listen to me. You are brave and selfless. You’re smarter than I know what to do with sometimes. You’re an incredible talent, Ahsoka. There is no one I would rather have at my side.”
She just stares up at him while the air hangs thick, he’s dragged her so close that their foreheads could touch with the right move. Her shoulders have gone slack under his hands, she’s never fought to move back, still hasn’t. He reaches out to their connection, a shaking hesitant sensation, trying to feel what she does right now. Not wanting to drive her away but he has to know. The bond still thurms between them, taut but open. Her earlier shame lingers, like an echo. One that is being drowned out by a surge of overwhelming relief. The reassurance, he can see it pour onto her face. There is still a whisper of disbelief, promising it’s too good to be true. He’s lying. Tangled up in it, too bright to look at, is hope. He pours out every bit of honesty that he can and runs it along their bond, desperate. Believe him. Please.
A thread snaps. Finally, a small fragile smile, she ducks her head to hide her eyes. “You really mean it.” She murmurs.
He forces a smile that she won’t see, glad that she believes him but panged that she has to ask. It’s not poised as a question but he’ll answer. “I do. You’re a remarkable padawan, Ahsoka. I’d have to be the biggest fool in the galaxy to not see it.”
Her eyes flutter shut, her next breaths are thick and damp. He squeezes the shoulders in his grip. Spent. Torn. One moment away from wrapping her up against him, a gift of comfort he had been raised with not taught. That distinction makes him wary, stops him from trying. He’s surprised again when her head tilts down to his chest. She’d reached for him first. Hunched over, arms curled tightly around herself, her signature pricks, guilty, unsure. In a place deep in his chest, that pangs him, because he knows, it tells him so much. She hasn’t been held, not in a long time.
Painfully careful, he slips his arms around her, movements obvious. She’s stiff and her skin is chilled. Then his arms pull her close and she goes slack, slumping against him. It is a stunning reminder that she is so much smaller than he is. He shuts his eyes and rests his cheek on the dip between her montrals. Her hands knot themselves into the front of his robes. Their chests push and pull between each other as comfort bleeds thickly into the Force. The relief flowing between them is shared, amplified to the point of nearly overwhelming. He tries to engrave every word he said through the bond, into her, so that if he goes they’ll remain. You are wanted. You are missed.
After some time, a voice muffled by his robes breaks the gentle silence. “Even if I’m not like Barriss?”
He laughs, near delirious. “Especially because you’re not like Barriss. I’m sure she’s a fine learner but I’m happy with who I’ve got.” He taps her shoulder. “Besides, you really see someone as straight-laced as her being my padawan? She wouldn’t last a day.”
That makes her laugh too, wet and quiet, but a laugh. They stay like that for a while. Heat leaching into each other, breath falling in and out of sync.
When she finally leans away, out of his arms but not far, rubbing her eyes, he spies creases in her cheeks. It dawns on him now why Obi-Wan used to brush his thumb along his face after moments like these. When the world had been cruel but he had people to remind him there was a reason to stay in it.
“Tired now?”
“Yeah.”
“C’mon then, let’s turn in.”
-
At first glimpse, that shape in the corner has Rex going for his piece. When the figures don't move, eventually his mind supplies the rest. Friendlies, two, the General and Commander. Curled up together, back to the wall, in the men’s barracks. It had been a hard day. Harder still alone. He covers them both up before turning in.