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Chapter Text

Her dad's apartment only has one bedroom.

It doesn't matter much, though, because she knows that he's more than willing to sleep on the floor or the couch with the torn cushions if it means that he can have her here.

The floorboards by the fresher will creak if you step on them in the wrong place, and you have to turn off the shower if you want to flush the toilet or else the water will go cold.

There's a dent in the wall next to the stove from an unfortunate, yet unforgettable, incident with a pan with a broken handle and the iron grip of her dad's prosthetic hand (he'd refused over and over again to tell her how he'd lost over half of his arm, his expression going dark each time that she'd brought it up. She'd stopped asking after awhile).

The lights in the poor excuse for a living room flicker out every once in awhile, but that's alright because they're on Coruscant, for Force sake, and there's always some source of light shining through the windows. Whether it be the billboards, advertising the latest speeder model, or the speeders themselves, engines running loudly as they zoom by, all throughout the night. Eventually, the noise had just faded into a pleasant buzz that Ahsoka had soon realized she's unable to sleep without.

Her mom's apartment is up in the higher levels, farther away from all the traffic. It's difficult to sleep without it, or maybe, it's just difficult for Ahsoka to sleep there because she doesn't think very highly, nor care much for her mother. Tonight, however, it doesn't really matter which one it is; tonight she's staying with her dad, and the thought of not being here is ruining the peaceful feeling that had been growing stronger and stronger in her chest for the past hour that they'd been lying up here, on the roof, looking through the smoky air at their limited view of the stars.

"Hey?" Anakin asks, nudging her shoulder with his own. "You okay? I think you zoned out on me for a second there."

"Oh." She pulls her blanket more tightly around herself, shivering in the bitter air. With a heating system that rarely works, Anakin's apartment is full of blankets. "Yeah, sorry. I just got lost in thought. Did you say something?"

"Yeah," he says, turning his focus back up to the sky, instead of her, "I was just asking what you wanted to do for your birthday. Big year," he huffs out a soft laugh, "going into high school."

She can't tell if he's proud of her or upset. His tone is bittersweet.

So she just nods along to his words.

"Yeah."

He runs a hand through his dark blond hair, puffing his cheeks and then letting out a long exhale.

"So—any ideas?" He sits up, tucking one of his knees up to his chest and letting the other stretch out in front of himself, tilting his foot from side to side, letting the soles of his boot tap against the metal roof.

She sits up too, crisscrossing her legs and scooting close enough to him that their sides are touching.

"Um... I haven't really thought about it yet. I just want to spend the day with you, but I'm sure Mom will want to see me too," she sighs, resting her head on his shoulder. "I don't really want to see her that day. It'll ruin it."

"Snips," Anakin says softly, looking down at her and shaking his head.

"I'm sorry," she replies, sounding anything but.

"You shouldn't talk about your mother that way."

"But it's going to be my birthday," she presses on, lifting her head off of him so she can look him in the eyes. "Shouldn't I get a say in what I do?"

She sees the slight furrow of his eyebrows and solemn tilt of his head, the togrutan part of her DNA able to catch the movements in the dark, before he looks away from her, letting out a quiet, yet exasperated, sigh.

"You have to remember that it's the day that she gave birth to you, Ahsoka. Can you at least give her a little bit of credit?"

She shrugs.

"It's not like she even wanted me in the first place."

"She was fifteen when she had you," he reminds her gently. "Anyone would have been terrified—I was terrified. But you see how much she loves you now, don't you?"

"No, I don't." She shudders again and Anakin wraps an arm around her shoulders, his fist curled into the end of his blanket, tucking her beneath its warmth, along with himself. "I see how much you care about me, not her," she snaps, jabbing her index finger into his chest.

He lets go of the blanket with his other hand, allowing it to slip from his shoulder as he wraps calloused and blistered fingers around her own, rubbing his thumb back and forth over her knuckles.

"I know you two have a difficult relationship, 'Soka," he says after a few moments of near-silence, save for the ever-present hum of speeder engines as they fly by. "And I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be," she responds numbly. She hates fighting with him. "Can we go back inside?" she asks, wiping her nose, runny from the cold, on the blanket.

Anakin lets go of her hand so they can each tuck themselves into their respective blankets as they stand up. Anakin's knees pop when he does and he groans in annoyance. He's twenty-nine, for Force sake, his joints shouldn't be failing him already. Luckily, Ahsoka doesn't hear it and he's grateful for that—he doesn't need to endure the teasing of his daughter calling him 'old' when he literally had her at fifteen. 

They unlock the door on the roof with the keys that Anakin had borrowed from the front desk—and he really had borrowed them this time, not stolen, like he'd used to.

Anakin's hall isn't quiet at this time of night, like it should be. Ahsoka just assumes that there's a party going on or something else with a bunch of drunk people that her dad hadn't wanted her to have to deal with. Maybe that's why he'd brought her to go look at the stars.

She runs her hand along the familiar walls of chipped, beige paint, until they arrive in front of her dad's apartment. She waits behind him while he stands on the green welcome mat, pushing his whole body against the door to get it to open. It gets stuck like this sometimes.

The door squeaks loudly on its hinges when it finally opens, and Ahsoka smiles as she pads across the cracked tile, making her way to Anakin's bedroom while he re-locks the door.

"Are we good?" he asks her later, while he tucks her under his covers, his large pillow puffing up around her montrals. "You and me?"

She nods her head.

"I'm not mad at you," she repeats, hoping that he'll believe her since it's the second time that she's said it tonight. He crouches down into a squat so they're at eye level, and smiles. She's relieved.

"Good," he says, running a hand down the side of her lekku before leaning forward to kiss her forehead. Ahsoka closes her eyes. "I'll be on the couch if you need me."

"I know."

"Love you, Snips."

"Love you, Dad."

Chapter Text

Mornings are unpredictable. They always have been.

Sometimes it's because the two of them don't realize that they've already used the spare carton of milk, until the cereal has already been poured, sometimes because the remaining artificial rain from the upper levels will slide down the roofs of all the houses overhead, and plummet onto the buildings in this area, the sound of it clanking against the metal almost always enough to wake one of them up.

Sometimes, like today, it's because the across-the-hall neighbors stop by to borrow something from Anakin's fridge or pantry. The family had quickly become close with him when he moved in, nearly ten years ago, and Ahsoka had always taken to hanging out with their son during the days when she stayed with her dad. The two had been referring to one another as best friends since they'd been toddlers.

"And the new bill is going to make a lot more higher-paying jobs available to us down here," Satine rambles between spoonfuls of oatmeal, while Anakin and Obi-Wan, her husband (ex-husband? Anakin can't remember if they've divorced again or not), nod along, pretending to listen to whatever's going on in politics lately that's got her so riled up.

From what Anakin had been told, her dream had always been to become a Senator, but her family had not had enough money to send her to university, so she'd moved in with her boyfriend at the time instead. Once they'd had their son, Korkie, they had decided to become an official family and get married.

"Morning, beautiful," Anakin says as Ahsoka stumbles into the kitchen—stumbles into his arms—with her eyes squinted in response to the bright, morning light, shining through the windows. He presses a gentle kiss to her head as she leans into his half-hug, the best he can give her while he's sitting down.

"Good morning, Ahsoka," Obi-Wan greets, reaching across Anakin to pat her on the head.

"Morning, Uncle Obi-Wan, Aunt Satine," she yawns. Formalities of calling the pair Mr. and Mrs. had simply never existed, as she'd known them for her entire life. They'd always been family.

"Good morning," Satine says with a smile. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes, while it will be helpful to some of us, those of us who—"

"Obi-Wan said that Korkie is working the morning shift at the diner," Anakin tells her quietly. "You wanna go get yourself some free breakfast?"

She nods.

"Want a free caf?"

"Korkie doesn't like me. He only gives you free stuff," Anakin reminds her with a teasing smile. Korkie doesn't actually not like him, but the boy had used to have a huge crush on Ahsoka when they'd been little, and though those feelings had since worn off, to this day, Anakin still playfully pretends to be overly protective of his daughter, each and every time that the two of them interact.

"I know," she whispers back, rolling her eyes with a sleepy grin. "I'll just tell him that it's for me."

"Go for it, then," Anakin replies, smiling back, "and tell him that I'll be coming for him if he doesn't make it perfectly for you."

"Will do."

She gets one last kiss from him and then she's off, leaving him behind to listen to Satine complain about taxes. Now, that they can agree on.

—

"Hey," Ahsoka greets, resting her chin on her hand, fingers pushed into the markings on her cheek, elbow pressed to the counter.

"Hey," Korkie returns, mimicking her position, blond hair spilling over the edges of his visor. Ahsoka ruffles it.

"You need a haircut."

"You're one to talk, hairless," he says with a smile, standing up straight and holding a hand out, fingers curled in, in the shape of a fist.

Ahsoka bumps it and so begins the long series of intricate high fives and finger linking—the handshake they'd made up when they were nine years old.

"What do you want today?" Korkie asks with a sigh, just as they finish the last part. Ahsoka shrugs her shoulders with a smile.

"The usual. Oh, and a caf," she calls as he turns around to begin preparing her breakfast.

"Your dad doesn't let you drink caf," he replies, looking over his shoulder and narrowing his eyes at her, knowingly.

"Yeah, well, he doesn't have to know," she sings back, waggling her eyebrow markings. He rolls his eyes at her.

"The last thing I need is for him to find out that I'm disobeying his rules for you. Then he might actually kill me," he laughs.

"Oh, please, you know he would never."

He raises his eyebrows at her and tilts his head, his expression doubtful. Ahsoka supposes that, after all the threats that her dad has made to her best friend, he's got good reason to be scared, even if he knows that Anakin would never actually hurt him.

She's not entirely sure about that, on second thought. Her dad is fiercely protective—especially of her—but Korkie's never done anything to warrant any sort of revenge from him. Well, unless she counts the prank war, last year.

"Here you go, Ms. Tano-Skywalker," Korkie says, somehow making his Coruscanti accent sound even more posh than usual.

"Thank you very much," Ahsoka says in reply, taking her hot cakes and her dad's caf off of the counter. "How much will that be?" she asks, continuing the act.

"A big fat one, right here," Korkie teases, leaning forward and pointing at his lips, hardly able to get the words out before Ahsoka is shoving his face away from hers, sending them both into a fit of giggles. "Don't let your dad see you drinking that!" he calls as she makes her way across the tile floor of the diner, toward the exit.

"I won't!" she promises, the jingle-jangle of the bells on the door following her words.

She takes a sip of the caf, out of Anakin's sight, just like she'd promised, wrinkles her nose and spits it right back out, onto the sidewalk. She's glad it's for her dad; she doesn't want it anyways.

Chapter Text

When he first sees it, he can feel his heartbeat quicken.

It's shaped like a diamond, like the markings on her forehead. The light in the little shop reflects off of the iridescent, golden charm, the chain the exact same color. It's a choker, he thinks. He hasn't had much experience with jewelery, so he's not entirely sure. All that matters to him is that it's a locket, and it's in his very limited price range, way on the high end, but affordable nevertheless.

He already knows what picture he's going to put in it. Well, he has two options, actually. The first one is just the two of them, when she was a baby. They're at his mom's apartment, and she's learning how to walk. He's sixteen in it, standing behind her with a finger in each of her chubby fists as she tilts her head back to babble up at him while balancing on shaky legs, looking like the happiest little togruta in the galaxy. The look on his face is nothing less than absolute adoration. He's smiling down at her like she's the most precious gift he's ever been given.

And she is.

The second photo is one that he isn't as fond of, but he wants to give her the option to include her mother in the locket, depsite her complaints about the woman the night before. Ahsoka is about two or three in it, he guesses (it's difficult to tell her age in the pictures where her montrals haven't begun to develop into anything more than tiny bumps at the top of her head yet), and sitting on her mother, Dunayra's, lap, him behind the both of them with a hand on each of their shoulders. The crimson togruta has her lips pulled in a tight smile while he and Ahsoka are both fully showing their teeth, or, lack of, in Ahsoka's case. It's a formal photo—one that Ayra had insisted on having taken. They'd gone to get it printed just a few months before splitting up.

The two had never been married. In fact, they had broken up when Ayra was two months into her pregnancy, not that either of them had known that yet. After discovering that she was expecting a child—Anakin's child—she had told him immediately. Spending so much time together at healer's appointments, and living together after Ayra's parents had kicked her out and Shmi, his mother, had taken her in, their relationship had grown stronger. Two weeks before Ahsoka had been born, they'd begun dating again, only to break up for good, three years later.

"Can I help you?" a nautolan man asks from behind the counter, a pearl necklace around his neck.

"Yes," Anakin replies, letting his thoughts fade away as he focuses his eyes on the man, rather than the necklace. "I'd like to buy this locket," he says, pointing at the choker, careful to not let his finger touch the transparisteel and smudge the display.

The nautolan nods and flips the case open from the other side, taking the delicate object off of its display.

He doesn't know what it is about the necklace, but Anakin can just feel that this is as close to the perfect gift for her that he's going to get. The perfect gift would be tickets to the topside speeder bike races next week that she hadn't stopped talking about for the past month and a half. He'd looked into it and found that it would probably take him a whole year to make enough money for two tickets.

He still hasn't told her that it's not happening. He knows that she'll understand, but he wishes, more than anything, that he could give her what she really wants.

But he's put a lot of thought into the locket and he knows that, to her, that's all that will matter.

"Here you go," the man says, handing the boxed necklace to him.

"Thank you," Anakin replies, smiling down at the maroon, velvet case in his hands. "Thank you so much."

He makes his way over to the line in front of the cash register, standing behind a twi'lek lady while she pays for a set of lekku ringlets. A human woman steps behind him in line.

He reaches into his pocket to retrieve his spending credits, counting the sticks as he slides them across his fist with his thumb. It's enough for what was on the sign in front of the locket—barely.

He can only hope now that there aren't any additional charges or taxes.

"Next," the young, togrutan man at the counter says, waving him forward.

Anakin places the box on the surface with a grin.

"Just this?" the man asks.

"That's it," he says back, placing his credits beside it.

He watches the man scan it for the price, and tuck it into a thin bag with the store's logo on it, written in gold letters.

He's already imagining the expression on Ahsoka's face when she opens it. Her eyebrow markings furrowing, head tilting to the side, lips widening into a smile that grows and grows and grows and—

"Alright, your total is eighty-seven credits."

He feels his heart plummet.

That's nearly ten credits more than what the sign says—nearly ten credits more than he has.

"No," he begins, his chest suddenly feeling tight. "There has to be a mistake. The sign by the necklace said eighty."

"Ah, but with tax and the box, it's eighty-seven."

He tries to swallow but his throat hurts too much.

"Then take it out of the box, I just want the locket. Please, it's a gift for my daughter."

"I'm afraid that I can't do that, Sir. The two come together so that we aren't responsible for any charges if the jewelry is damaged."

"But that's... that's," stupid, he wants to say, but he knows that it will get him nowhere, "that's too much. I'm sorry, I can't afford that."

He lets out a shaky sigh, trying to fight the tears burning at the brim of his eyes as he hastily shoves the credits back into his pocket, watching the man place the bag on the back counter.

He feels his lip tremble involuntarily, and he hates himself for it. He's better than this. His money struggles are nothing new. He should be used to this by now—the humiliation, the shame.

"Thanks," he mutters before turning on his heel and exhaling shakily, eyes focused on his feet as he walks toward the door, embarrassed and guilty because he can't afford a stupid locket for his daughter for her birthday.

It's horrible—he's horrible.

He feels a tear slip down his cheek as soon as he steps outside, and his throat is aching when he pulls the door to his speeder open.

How can Ahsoka even love him still? He can hardly afford to raise her and she still finds a reason to hug him as soon as she wakes up, every morning. She deserves better, so much better than him.

"Hey!" someone is calling from behind him before he's able to sit fully into the driver's seat of the vehicle. "Wait, I have something for you!"

He looks up and catches sight of the human woman, the one who had been behind him in line, jogging toward him, a small bag clutched in her hand.

He furrows his eyebrows at her, meeting her dark, brown eyes.

"Do I know you?" he asks slowly, swallowing hard to keep the tears down.

"No, I just," she begins, breathing heavily, "I was behind you in line and I thought that you could use a hand. For your daughter's gift, you know." She hands the bag to him, a tentative smile on her face.

His lips part slightly in disbelief when he pulls the velvet box out, eyes wide.

"I..."

"I hope that she likes it," the woman says. "It's beautiful."

"She's beautiful," he huffs softly, looking down at the little box in admiration before squeezing his eyes shut and pursing his lips. No crying yet, he tells himself. "How can I repay you?" he asks, shaking his head and opening his eyes once again.

"Oh, you don't have to do that, it's—"

"No," he says firmly. "You just..." he lets out a wet laugh, hoping that she passes his sniffling off as a response to the cold air, "you just made my whole year. I want to pay you back, once I have the money."

"Here's my name and number," she replies with another bright smile, pulling a pen out from somewhere in her bun of intricately twisted, thick hair, somehow messy and neat at the same time, and scribbling her information down on the tiny slip of paper that he hands her, eyes still wide, in wonder.

"Thank you," he says softly, taking the paper back. He looks down at it, letters blurry from the tears in his eyes. "Thank you, Padmé."

Chapter Text

It isn't a terribly long ride, from her dad's place to her mom's. Long enough that she can't switch apartments for any shorter increments of time than a week, but short enough that she can afford to take a shuttle from one to the other if she really wants to.

Anakin is a good driver. He hasn't always been, from what she's been told by her mother. Apparently he'd been famous for getting the two of them pulled over almost every time that he'd driven her to school, but all of that had stopped after she'd been born.

Even though he's not like that anymore, it isn't difficult for her to imagine her dad like that—reckless. He'd had her at fifteen. Her entire life exists due to his recklessness.

This is Anakin's least favorite part of the week, every time.

Ahsoka's told him before that the sounds of the speeders passing by is comforting to her. She's said that it reminds her of the time that she spends with him because the traffic isn't as noisy on the higher levels, where she stays with her mom.

Anakin is the opposite. He hates the sound of all the different engines humming around him. To him, these noises are associated with this—driving her up to Ayra's apartment.

Driving her away.

There's a part of him, deep down where all the dark things like to hide, that finds joy in the fact that Ahsoka prefers spending time with him over Ayra, and he feels horrible about that. Perhaps this is the reason that they could never quite have a stable relationship. Because no matter how much they'd loved each other once, there had always been something else, lurking beneath the surface.

Jealousy—is what is. Once Ahsoka had been born, the both of them could focus their love only on her. She'd both brought them together, and torn them apart.

But that hadn't mattered to him, because as soon as he'd stared down into those bright blue eyes of hers, he'd known that he would choose her over anything and everything else—even Ayra.

He glances to the side, catching sight of Ahsoka changing the radio again, leaning forward in her seat to squint at the glitchy screen that shows which song is playing. It's hard to make out much of a tune to anything with the static of the device and the pouring rain outside of her window.

That's something that the two of them can agree on when it comes to sound—they both love the rain. They don't get much of it when they're at his apartment, only the dirty runoff from above.

But this is glorious. It's storming, thunder rumbling and lightning cracking up in the sky over them.

"Why don't we just listen to the rain?" Anakin laughs, catching her head just a moment before it can crash into the radio as the speeder jolts.

"But our song was on!" she protests when he switches it off.

"How could you hear that?" he says, giving her a look that screams I don't believe you.

"Montrals," she replies, rolling her eyes and pointing at the peaks on top of her head. "I am half human, idiot."

"Don't call your dad an idiot," he says back with a smile.

She grins back but doesn't say anything.

They've only got about five minutes left of the drive, so he supposes that now is as good a time as ever to tell her that they aren't going to be seeing a bike race on her birthday.

"Hey, Snips," he begins when they pull to a stop at the next light, and he can see in the way that her eyes widen slightly that she knows their next topic of conversation is more serious than the one prior.

"What is it?"

"You know those tickets that you wanted me to get for your birthday?"

He sees her expression waver for a moment in response to the mixture of his words and tone, and he feels the ache in his stomach grow because he knows that she's going to give him way more grace than he deserves, be too forgiving because she's just too good.

"If you weren't able to get them, that's totally okay, I know that they're expensive and it's really more important to me that I'm with you than it is what we're doing, so—"

"Ahsoka," he says softly, sighing. "I am so sorry."

"It's fine, really, I—"

"I know, I know." He turns the corner that leads to Ayra's building. "I am going to get us there at some point, I promise. I just don't have the money for it right now."

She doesn't say anything until the speeder is very still, on the landing pad.

"You're the best dad I could ever ask for, you know?"

"And you're the best dau—"

"No," she interrupts, placing a hand on his shoulder when he turns to face her, mouth open in slight shock. "I need you to remember that, okay? I don't think that you always do. But, truly, I wouldn't want anybody else."

When he hugs her, it's tight, and she melts right into it, holding onto him with just as much strength, inhaling his familiar scent. He smells like his workshop, like gasoline and engine grease, and like the citrusy shampoo that he lets her lather into his hair when she asks to wash it. He smells like the coziness of his apartment, not quite freshly cleaned, but warm and welcoming, loving and comforting. He smells like home.

"I'll call you every night," she promises, like she always does when she stays at her mom's.

"I know, 'Soka."

She pulls back and watches him reach behind himself to pull something off of one of the back seats—a book.

"This is my yearbook from when I was in high school. I thought that you would enjoy looking through it, since you'll be starting soon. Lots of embarrassing pictures of me and Uncle Rex for you to tease us about," he explains with a playful smile.

Her eyes light up as she takes the book from his hands, looking down at it excitedly. She flips open the front cover.

"Skywalker—take good care of my little 'un for me. See you this summer, Rex," she reads, giggling. "Oh, I'm going to have fun with this."

"I'm sure you will. You want my jacket to put over your head while you walk in? It's still raining," he offers, shrugging the garment off.

Before she has a chance to answer, hurried footseps are rushing across the platform, carrying one Ayra Tano, a large umbrella in hand.

"Ahsoka!" she calls, waving with a bright smile.

Ahsoka waves back, trying to mimic her cheerful expression, hoping that she can get away with an I'm tired if her mom asks her why she isn't quite herself, like she always isn't when she stays here.

"I think I'm covered, but thank you."

"Alright," he replies, leaning in for one last hug goodbye, the yearbook poking uncomfortably into his side when she attempts to wrap her arms around him. There's a kiss on each of their cheeks and then Ahsoka is climbing out of the speeder, calling,

"Love you!" over her shoulder.

He smiles at his ex-girlfriend as she arrives at his window, Ahsoka scurrying over to her side to avoid the rain.

"Thank you for driving her," Ayra says as he rolls the window down. "You know, if you ever need a break—"

"You can take her for longer, I know," he recites, having heard this same sentiment far too many times. Ahsoka smirks at him from beside her mother. She knows he'll never take her up on that.

"Alright, see you in a week, Anakin." They hug loosely and then Ayra's back is to him as her and Ahsoka squish together beneath the umbrella, making their way into the apartment.

"Love you too, Snips," he replies softly.

He puts his jacket back on.

Chapter Text

Her room is painted white. She likes it like that because it feels like she's free to put up as many posters and pictures as she wants to. It's a clean color—a little too clean, like everything else in her mom's apartment.

Ayra doesn't have a lot of blankets, like Anakin does. Ayra has heaters that send warm air blowing through the vents in each room, so an abundance of blankets isn't entirely necessary.

The first thing that she does after setting her bag down on the bed is take a shower. Her mom has all the good lekku scrubs and creams—the fancy ones that don't make her montrals dry and her head tails crack.

She changes into an old t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts, feeling clean once she tucks herself beneath the covers of her too-large bed. Anakin's is a twin. Her bed at Ayra's is a queen.

"Did you eat before you left?" Ayra asks, peeking into the room with a little wave of her fingers in greeting. "Doria made hotcakes for breakfast this morning and I know you always say that your friend, Korkie's, are better than hers but there's lots left over if you want them."

Ahsoka smiles and leans forward to grab the yearbook off of the top of her suitcase as she says,

"I ate already, but I'll have them in the morning."

Ayra pouts playfully—one of the many things she does that annoy Ahsoka to no end for reasons that she cannot explain.

"I wanted to take you out to breakfast tomorrow," she tuts, voice an octave too high. Sometimes, Ahsoka thinks that her mom is so caught up in trying to be her favorite parent over Anakin that she forgets to focus on Ahsoka herself—that she forgets that her daughter is nearly fourteen, not four.

"We can go for lunch," Ahsoka replies, holding back a sigh as she drums her fingers on the spine of the book's hard cover, soft pads of the tips barely making a sound against it (her nails have been chewed raw for years, much to Ayra's frustration each time that she wants to get them done together).

"That sounds perfect," her mom practically sings, stepping all the way into her room.

This time, Ahsoka doesn't hide her sigh of annoyance, knowing that whether she wants her mom in here with her or not, it won't matter.

"What have you got there?" the togruta woman asks, gesturing toward the yearbook. Before Ahsoka can speak, she lets out a sharp gasp, throwing her hands over her mouth. "Is that my yearbook?" she cries.

"Dad's," Ahsoka mutters as Ayra takes a seat beside her, gently tugging the book out of her hands.

"I'm sure that you're in here somewhere, sweetie," her mom says absently as she flips through page after page of colorful pictures of students of all different species. "Aha." She points a white, manicured nail at an image in the top left corner of a page titled Memories.

Ahsoka leans forward to get a better look at it, recognizing a familiar tan face with a thin layer of bright blond hair atop it, holding a bundle of blankets close to his chest, two tiny, blue bumps peeking out of it. His mouth is open, in mid-laugh from the looks of it, and another hand is hovering just inches away from her. She assumes that it's her dad's because the man holding her in the picture is her Uncle Rex—Anakin's best friend.

"How often did you guys bring me to school?" she asks, taking the book back and placing it in her own lap, legs crossed.

Ayra smiles, tapping a finger against her chin.

"You stayed with your grandmother for a lot of the time—Anakin's mom. I know you don't remember much about her since she, of course, passed when you were very little," she says softly.

From all the stories that Ahsoka had been told about the insanity that had been her parents' lives after she'd been born, she had learned that her mother's parents had been very disapproving of Ayra's pregnancy, and had kicked her out almost immediately. Shmi had taken her in and cared for her until Ahsoka had been born.

Her dad always speaks so highly of his mother, and sometimes Ahsoka wonders what it would be like to have a relationship like that with her own.

"There were some days, though, that we brought you in," Ayra continues. "Dad liked to have you close to himself at all times. He only trusted Uncle Rex and me to hold you," she laughs.

"Sounds like him," Ahsoka teases. "Always protective."

"Very," Ayra sighs back, rising from her spot on the bed. "He used to threaten anyone who gave me odd looks while I was pregnant."

Ahsoka nods along to her mother's words, very much ready for the woman to leave her alone for the night. Talking with her always makes her tired.

There's a somewhat uncomfortable kiss on her orange forehead (Ahsoka doesn't like physical touch much. There are very few people who she'll allow herself to indulge in it from), and an artificial laugh from the redder of the two, and then the lights dim and the door clicks shut. Ahsoka lets out a breath of relief. She likes to be alone when she's staying with her mom.

The blankets are cool and crisp—new. The bed had been freshly made for her before she'd arrived, likely by Ayra's maid, Doria. It's cold, Ahsoka notices, because these blankets haven't been used by anyone else. They don't hold the same sense of comfort as Anakin's do when she takes his bed for the night, with or without him. It doesn't smell like him—it doesn't smell like home.

It doesn't feel like home.

But she has the yearbook and she can flip to page 86, where it says that the students with last names starting with S can be found, and she can see the love in her father's blue eyes as he stares back at her through nothing but ink and paper.

And she can pretend that he's really here, kissing her goodnight in a way that feels warm and real and doesn't make her cringe.

And she'll call him tomorrow night. She'll hear his voice, and he'll hear hers, and everything will be alright.

Chapter Text

"We can't keep asking my mom for money."

"Well, who do you expect me to go to, huh? My parents?"

"No," Anakin sighs, shaking his head. "Though it would be really helpful if you could get them to talk to you again. I don't know how we're going to pay this off."

"Don't blame me for my parents not helping with Ahsoka. You got me pregnant."

"It's sort of a two person job so don't blame me either."

"Okay, well what do you want me to do about this other than call your mom?"

"I don't know—maybe get a job instead of draining money from the person who helped you through the most difficult phase of your life?"

"Oh, and you can't do that?"

"I have a job."

"No, you have a toolkit and spare parts you've collected since you were a kid that you refuse to give up."

"Yeah, and I make money with all that while you stay here all day."

"Excuse me? While I stay here all day and raise our daughter without you, that's all," Ayra scoffs.

"Ayra, you know that's not what I meant," Anakin replies lowly, shaking his head. "You know that my mom would be happy to take care of Ahsoka during the day while we make money. Just because you never had to worry about finances or getting a job before your parents kicked you out doesn't mean that you aren't able to learn now."

"Oh please, Anakin, don't act like I've had it easy my whole life just because my family had money. You weren't the one who had to go to high school, visibly pregnant at fifteen. And not just there—grocery stores, restaurants, everywhere."

"You're right. I'll never understand that," Anakin begins, rolling his eyes. "It's not like I had to bring her to school with me—"

"Oh, please."

"And stop her from crying in the middle of class—"

"I can't believe you." She begins walking to the other side of the room.

"Because she would never stop crying for you so it had to be me—"

"You're horrible," she says, shaking her head. "At least you had a caring mother who helped you out when your life went to shit. You should appreciate that instead of complaining about everything and trying to throw me under the bus for still needing the help that your mom is happily giving us."

"Would you stop acting like Ahsoka ruined my life? Because that is the furthest thing from true and you know it," Anakin snaps, pointing a finger at her.

"Well, maybe stop acting like she did!"

"How the hell am I—"

"I don't know, Anakin, why don't you tell me why all of a sudden getting jobs that will take us away from her is the most important thing to you?"

"Because I want to be able to provide for her! She's sick right now, Ayra! She's three years old and things like this are not going to stop happening; she's around kids all the time, spreading germs, touching things, and accidents happen. She could break a bone or something and we need to be prepared for that!"

"We need to build a relationship with her," Ayra argues. "While we do that, we can rely on your mother for a little while longer."

"We can do both at the same time!"

Ayra holds up a finger, montrals picking up on something that his ears are not.

Quiet sniffling is coming from Ahsoka's bedroom. Ayra and Anakin stare at one another for a moment, the sound of Ahsoka calling for Anakin breaking the silence.

Anakin exits the room, leaving the tension behind while Ayra just shakes her head at him, lips pursed in a tight line.

"What's the matter, baby?" Anakin asks, kneeling down beside his daughter's bed, resting his chin on top of the guard rail that keeps her from rolling onto the floor in her sleep. It's black and covered in colorful starfighters—it had been his as a kid, like most of Ahsoka's things. Shmi had been able to find lots of necessities in her attic to save him and Ayra money.

"My throat," she says, tapping her neck with one hand.

"Yeah?" He rises on his knees to lift her up, over the rail, adjusting the sleeves of her fuzzy, purple pajamas once she's in his lap so that they don't hang over her hands.

"And my montrals," she continues, tapping the little bumps on top of her head with both of her hands. The fever makes them sore, Ayra had told him.

"You aren't due for another dose of medicine for about a half hour," he explains, gathering her up against his chest as he leans into the wall. "Is there anything I can do to make it better?" he asks.

She sniffles again and he offers the sleeve of his shirt to her as a tissue. She blows.

Before she can answer his question, the apartment door slams shut. Anakin winces, feeling Ahsoka flinch at the sound.

"Where's Mommy going?"

"I don't know," he sighs, looking over to the line of light that shines through the crack in the ajar door. "Do you want some more soup?"

She removes herself from him, yawning and stretching her tiny arms up high over her head before pillowing it on his chest once again. He smiles.

"Can I have another popsicle?"

The nineteen year old hoists himself up off of the ground, a hand around his daughter to support her weight.

"Sure, what kind?"

"A red one," she says as they exit her room.

"Silly Soka, you already ate all of those ones." He pulls open the freezer, sifting through the individually wrapped treats. "How about blue?"

"Silly Daddy," she mimics, pulling on one of his curls. He swats her hand away. "You already ate all of those."

"So snippy," he chides, shaking his head with a grin. He pulls a blue popsicle out of the freezer. "And so not true."

He tears the package open with his teeth and closes the freezer with his foot before crossing the floor and handing the popsicle off to Ahsoka. While she eats, he leans over the paper that had been sent to their apartment by the healer's office, containing a bill for their recent trip to confirm Ahsoka's sickness.

It's not cheap, but he knows they can afford it if he can just get some more customers. The one thing that he's certain of is that he isn't letting his mom pay this off for them. He and Ayra have to start providing for Ahsoka at some point and this has gone on for long enough.

Ayra doesn't see it that way, he knows, but he's sure that she'll come to her senses eventually.

Something catches his eye beside the envelope—another note. It's short and scribbled down on a plain piece of paper, in black ink. He feels his heart drop to his stomach the moment he reads it.

Going to your mom's for the night. I think we should separate.

He blinks down at it before reading the two sentences over again.

Separate? For the night or for good? She can't be leaving him to raise Ahsoka on his own, can she? Or maybe she just wants them to raise her separately? Unless he's overthinking this and she's just staying with his mom for a night or two.

He's pulled from his thoughts as Ahsoka smacks a sticky kiss on his cheek the moment that she notices his distress.

He shakes his head and turns away from the counter, making his way back over to Ahsoka's room, said toddler handing the rest of her half-eaten, half-melted popsicle off to him. He absently drops it in the garbage can.

He feels sick.

How can money be the thing that divides them? It's stupid, it's insane, it's... honestly, something he should have seen coming. Something he should have been prepared for.

He lays in bed with Ahsoka until it's time for her to take her medicine again, and then leaves her, with a kiss on the forehead,  to sleep on her own.

He tells himself that his only reason for not sleeping a single second through the whole night is because he wants to make sure that Ahsoka doesn't wake up again, but every moment is spent panicking about Ayra's note. He doesn't want to do that to Ahsoka—doesn't want to leave her with one less parent like him, growing up without his dad.

Before he knows it, the sky is light again, and Ahsoka is invading his space as she climbs into his bed, demanding breakfast.

And so he focuses on her while he waits for Ayra to come home and explain to him what the hell is going on, and why money is the thing that has to pull them apart.

Chapter Text

“You’re going to wear that?” Ayra asks, stark white markings above her eyes shooting up.

Ahsoka almost glares at her but is able to restrain herself as she pulls the sweatshirt more tightly around herself, cuffs hanging over her hands. Anakin had used to roll them up for her when she’d worn his clothes to school, but now she likes them like this.

“Yes,” she says blankly, squatting down to tie her shoe. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“No,” Ayra replies with a forced laugh, “I just… thought you might wear something a bit more formal. It’s a more expensive place and, though I know you like to wear your dad’s clothes, they’re just…”

Ahsoka narrows her eyes.

“Just what?”

“Well,” Ayra steps forward to brush her hands over the girl’s shoulders, picking off pill balls in the process. She holds them in front of her daughter’s face. “Cheap.”

Ahsoka’s blood boils.

“Who cares if you’re richer than him?”

“That’s not what I—“

“Mom, that’s the definition of cheap. Don’t talk about him like he’s… inferior to you.”

“Ahsoka—“

“I’ll be in the speeder,” she mutters, storming out of the apartment and slamming the door behind herself.

Ayra sighs and deposits the pill balls into the garbage can in the closet at the end of the hall.

There’s tension throughout the entirety of the lunch date. Ahsoka can feel it. She knows that her mother can too because she hasn’t stopped trying to impress her since they’d sat down. It’s her way of trying to win her over when she knows that Ahsoka absolutely prefers Anakin to her right now. And most of the time.

Ayra clears her throat, preparing to make herself louder than the squeak of Ahsoka’s fork against her plate.

“I have a surprise for you,” she says.

Ahsoka drums her fingers on the clear, glass table.

“What is it?”

Ayra clasps her hands together, resting her elbows on the table before propping her chin up on her knuckles. She leans forward, waggling her eyebrow markings excitedly.

“Your dad told me about the bike race you wanted to see for your birthday.” She reaches into her pocket. Ahsoka’s eyes follow her red hand until it’s holding three pieces of paper out in front of her. “And he said that he was planning on getting you something else, so I got you the tickets. Surprise!”

“Holy…” Ahsoka whistles gently pulling the tickets from her mother’s hand. “Three? Thank you!” she cries, standing up from her seat and running around the outside of the table to crush her mom in a hug. “Dad can come too,” she exclaims as she pulls back.

The grin that had graced Ayra’s face just moments before falters slightly.

“Well, I got an extra because I figured that you would want to bring a friend with you,” she laughs nervously.

“Oh, well, that’s okay; I’d like to bring dad instead.”

“But it’s for your birthday,” Ayra begins to argue. “You should invite someone who you want to go with you, not just your dad because he’s family. I don’t want you to feel obligated—“

“I do not feel obligated,” Ahsoka interrupts through gritted teeth. “You’re right—it’s my birthday. And the person who I want to spend my day with is Dad.”

“I understand that, honey, but can’t you see how that might be a little bit… difficult if he and I are both there with you?”

Ahsoka scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Ahsoka—“

“Okay, well did you get me tickets for my birthday, for me to use because you know how much I would enjoy seeing a race, or did you get them to show your ex-boyfriend up?”

Ayra narrows her eyes, shaking her head. Just as she opens her mouth to retort, Ahsoka beats her to it.

“I didn’t ask to be in the middle of all this. Dad makes sure that I don’t feel like I am. He encourages me to spend equal amounts of time with you both, but then there’s you who just wants me all to yourself and to make him look bad to me.”

By now, Ayra’s glare has gone from frustrated to angry. She holds up a finger before Ahsoka can continue, expression hard as stone.

“You have no right to talk to me that way,” she says, absolutely livid. “I love you. I only want what’s best for you, and you know that—“

“I’m done,” Ahsoka mutters, shaking her head. She’s out of the restaurant in less than a minute.

—

“Hey.”

“Hey?”

“Are you busy?” Ahsoka asks.

“Uh, not really. I was just on my way home from the gas station. Is something wrong?”

She shrugs her shoulders, then chokes on a laugh at her own stupidity—he can’t see her.

“Not really. My mom and I are just fighting again and I thought maybe you could pick me up and bring me back to her apartment? I just need some space from her right now. Figured I could just lock myself in my room all day once she gets back.”

“You’re back on topside?”

“Yes,” she says blankly. “Did you not notice that I was gone all last week? You know I’m here every other.”

“Yes, you’re very forgettable,” her friend replies dryly. “I just didn’t know when you got here.”

“Last night. Now, can I please get a yes or no on the driving situation? She’s gonna come looking for me soon and you’re my only friend who—“

“I’m your only friend?” he teases. She can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“—can drive.”

“Well, I’ll come pick you up if you tell me where you are, idiot.”

“That… glassy… diner… place thing by the salon.”

“Sorry, that address didn’t come up on my chart.”

She rolls her eyes at the sound of his muffled laughter.

“The fancy, rich people place. You know what I mean.”

“Sure. Be there in five.”

She turns off the comm, crossing her arms over her chest as her lekku swing in the breeze. She hopes Ayra leaves her be for a little while. Sometimes she does, when she knows that she needs to cool off. Usually she doesn’t.

Soon enough, a familiar voice is calling,

“I heard someone needed a ride? Specifically one with a very good looking driver?”

“Yeah, well, let me know when he gets here,” she sighs as she hoists herself up into the speeder, her friend’s hand hovering over her arm in case she needs help.

“So… just to your mom’s place?” he asks. “Or do you want to do something else to take your mind off of what happened—which you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, of course.”

She smiles.

“I like the way you’re thinking. Got any places in mind?”

“Ice cream. My treat. What do you say?”

“Well, seeing as you still owe your parents about four-hundred credits for that crash you got into last month, I’ll pay,” she replies with a smirk.

“You know that that wasn’t my fault,” he says, rolling his eyes, one of them still black and blue from the accident. “But I think it’s probably better if you pay too.”

Ahsoka shakes her head, biting back a grin. She doesn’t know why she keeps him around.

“Alright, Nyx,” she laughs, putting her feet up on the dashboard. He pushes them off with an offended yelp. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

“Where to, Tano?” Nyx asks, tapping his fingers on the crumpled metal outside his window while his arm folds over the remaining half of the glass surface; Ahsoka can’t even remember a time when his windows still opened all the way.

“Tano-Skywalker.”

She hardly registers the words that he’s saying to her, only the fact that he’s speaking, and that he’d forgotten the better part of her last name. And for someone that talks as much as Nyx Okami, she’s trained herself to often let his words go in one montral, and right out the other.

“Ahsoka,” he repeats, nudging her with his elbow.

“Hmm?” she asks.

He’s about to restate his question when he notices the furrow of the markings over her eyes and the slight wither of her usually buoyant expression.

“Do you… want to talk about what happened with your mom?”

She purses her lips and turns away from him for a moment.

“Let’s go to that ice cream parlor. I’ll tell you about it on the way,” she decides, whipping around to face him once again as the familiar figure of her mother steps out, past the diner doors.

She doesn’t know if Nyx sees her too, but he hits the gas quickly enough for her to assume so, and then they’re off.

“She’s just… infuriating,” Ahsoka sighs, clenching her fist and pounding it down onto her armrest. Nyx reaches over, wrapping his hand around her own in an attempt to ease the tension away. 

He lets go after a moment.

“She is doing everything in her power to keep me away from my dad and it is ridiculous. With my birthday coming up, she got these tickets to the races for me and—“

“She got you race tickets?” Nyx exclaims, whipping his head to the side to stare at her with wide eyes, mouth open. He snaps it back shut quickly when he notices the frustrated tears that have begun to form in his friend’s eyes. “Sorry, sorry. Continue?”

“Yeah, uh, she got three tickets because she knew that my dad couldn’t afford them, and he really wanted to take me. And so, obviously, I said that I wanted him to come along, right?”

“Obviously,” Nyx agrees, bobbing his head.

“But, then she told me that it would be awkward if she and he both went.”

“That’s ridiculous—it isn’t even about her,” Nyx interrupts again.

“ Exactly,” she mutters, shaking her head. “If it were up to me, now I’d just bring my dad and you probably, but I guess that’s rude or something.”

She can tell that he’s trying to hide his excitement at the sound of that proposition, trying his hardest to be compassionate while the idea of going to the races with her plays through his head.

“She’ll get over it eventually, I’m sure. It’s just aggravating right now.”

“I hope she does.”

Ahsoka smirks at him.

“And not just because it would possibly mean I could go to the race with you,” he frantically adds.

Ahsoka laughs loudly, the sweet sound getting lost in the wind as they speed around a corner. 

“It’s raining again,” Nyx comments, drumming his fingers on the cool metal of the table between him and Ahsoka.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” she mutters, her eyes already wide in wonder at the sight of the weather outside, her chin propped up on the heel of her hand.

“Do you want my jacket?” he asks, ignoring her. “You know, to put over your head. Doesn’t the rain hurt your montrals?”

“A little bit, yeah, but I’ll be alright,” she replies, biting back a smile. “Wanna go outside?”

“It’s raining,” he repeats, gesturing wildly at the window as she stands up, biting the bottom piece off of her cone and letting the melted, blue ice cream drip into her mouth while she laughs.

“Exactly.” She waggles her eyebrow markings at him.

“ Ahsoka,” he calls after her, tossing the rest of his cone in the garbage after she does, before taking off after her as she sprints out the door, the little bell above it ringing merrily. “ Ahsoka!” he shouts again as he follows her out.

“Come on!” she yells back, raising her voice over the sound of the pouring rain.

“It’s kriffing freezing, you’re gonna get sick!” he sputters, wrapping his arms around himself as he cowers beneath the awning.

“Great! My healer is closer to my dad’s place, I’ll get to go stay with him!” she teases, throwing her arms out to the sides and spinning in a circle beneath the downpour, squealing with delight.

Nyx looks up at his dry covering, and then at the girl before him, dripping with rain. He huffs out a sigh, half wanting to stay comfortable where he is (these are brand new shoes), and half wanting to go get that idiot out of the cold.

He rolls his eyes and allows himself one last pitiful moment of warmth before running at her, his hair falling over his eyes as the water sticks it to his tan skin.

“ Nyx!” Ahsoka squawks loudly when he wraps his arms around her from behind, a side of his jacket clasped in each of his hands.

“Get to the speeder, numbskull,” he says, walking her over to the vehicle. It takes him a moment to find his keys, but as soon as the door is open, he’s shoving her into her seat—where it’s warm, for kriff’s sake.

By the time he’s in, on the other side, she’s erupted into a fit of giggles, despite the fact that she’s clearly, violently shivering.

He shakes his head with a loud sigh, and she doesn’t stop shaking—from the cold, or from whatever’s so damn funny , he can’t tell.

“You’re nothing but trouble, Skywalker,” he laughs back.

He notices that she doesn’t correct him this time.

Chapter Text

“Ahsoka,” Doria sighs as she opens the door, revealing one soaked togruta beside an equally drenched human. “Nyx? So, she’s been out with you, then?”

“I called him,” Ahsoka says quickly. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Well, your mother has been worried sick. You’d better get inside,” Doria continues, ushering her in with a brief wave at Nyx before she closes the door. “She’s home!” she calls down the long hall.

The sound of brisk footsteps grows louder as Ayra all but sprints down the stairs.

“Where… the hell… have you been?” she sputters, out of breath as she pulls Nyx’s coat off of her shoulders. “And soaking wet in… who’s jacket is this, Ahsoka?”

“It…” she feels herself shrink under her mother’s hardened glare, “it’s my friend’s.”

“You went out with a friend and you didn’t tell me?”

“I just needed some space.”

“I don’t care. I need to know where you are.”

“It’s not a big deal. Dad lets me go out all the time,” Ahsoka mutters, feeling some of her usual confidence return as her mother’s controlling nature makes her muscles tense in fury. She know it’s a low blow but she doesn’t care right now.

“Well, I’m not your father.” Her lips remain pressed in a tight line while Ahsoka shoves past her, snatching Nyx’s jacket back into her own hands in the process and muttering,

“That’s for damn sure.”

Her mother’s hand is practically vibrating with rage when she points to the front door.

“Get it out. The jacket. And don’t use that language,” she snaps.

Ahsoka considers sprinting into Nyx’s speeder, knowing that he’ll take her away from here for as long as she needs to be, but forgets exactly how to think the moment she opens the door and finds herself merely a breath away from Nyx’s tan face.

“Whoa,” he mutters with a laugh, stepping back and nearly tripping over his own feet. Ahsoka bites back a grin at that.

He buries a hand in his hair and then quickly removes it to take the jacket Ahsoka is holding out to him.

“See you,” she says with a small smile, before closing the door, once again. Her lekku feel warm when she turns back around, and before she has a moment to adjust back to the ironic cold that exists inside, instead of out , her mom points upward, and practically hisses,

“Room. Now.”

“What, am I grounded or something?”

“You figured that out pretty quickly.”

“Well, I’ve still got to call Dad, but after that—“

“ No. ”

Ahsoka crosses her arms, waiting for her to elaborate. 

“You’re not calling him tonight.”

“I told him that I would, already.”

“I really don’t care. You’re grounded for the rest of the time you’re here with me. How’s that for me trying to ‘one up my ex-boyfriend,’ huh?”

“You are insufferable.”  

“And you’re an ungrateful child. Get out of my face, I don’t want to see you right now.” 

And that’s fine with Ahsoka because tears are beginning to burn at her eyes as she storms off. She wants her dad. She wants to go home.

“He probably couldn’t even pay his phone bill this month, anyway,” she hears her mother mutter under her breath as she walks away.

Doria has to hold Ahsoka back when she lunges at her.

-

“Damnit,” Anakin grumbles as his grease-stained fingers leave black smudges on his comm. He places the device back down on the counter and wipes his palms clean on his shirt. Well, slightly cleaner.

She’s missed our calls before, he reminds himself as the chrono ticks a minute past the time that Ahsoka usually calls at. She’s probably just busy having fun—it’s a good thing.

He tries again.

-

Ahsoka holds her pillow to her chest, back beginning to ache as she settles too far into her position, curled against the wall. She hopes that her dad doesn’t think she’s forgotten about him.

She thinks about his apartment, the loud music that booms through their thin walls at the end of the week, when their neighbor has his friends over. 

It is almost hauntingly quiet right now. Here.

She thinks about the Kenobi’s, how she had helped Obi-Wan make dinner the other night. 

“Make sure that doesn’t burn,” Obi-Wan says, pointing at the oven as his comlink begins to buzz in the familiar pattern that signals it’s Satine who’s calling. Ahsoka laughs softly as her uncle lets out a loud sigh and rolls his eyes before answering. “Hello, Darling,” she hears before he exits the room.

She thinks about how, despite the thousands of squabbles and disagreements she’s heard her aunt and uncle get into, they still seem to love each other at the end of the day. They compromise and put aside their differences. Maybe it’s for Korkie’s sake, or maybe their own.

Either way, she can’t help but wonder what her life would be like if her mother didn’t try and take over every single thing that happened in it, if she would just act a little more like her father—if they could meet in the middle.

Sometimes she thinks that Ayra doesn’t truly love her. She just loves feeling like she has something under control (and deep down, Ahsoka understands why—nothing in her mother’s life has ever gone quite according to plan, herself being the biggest reason for that).

And then she finds herself thinking about Nyx and the way that his eyes had widened when she had opened the door earlier. She wonders if he had been eavesdropping. She can’t seem to think of a reason for why else he would have been standing there.

She thinks about how warm his hand had been when he’d held hers, for a moment, in the speeder.

She stops herself, catching a glance of her darkened lekku in her peripheral vision.

And she thinks now that she may need to have a long talk with Korkie about this.