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“Oh, Anakin,” Ahsoka murmured under her breath, stopping in the doorway of the ward.
Quietly, she waited until the doors would close behind her, taking a few steps forward and sitting at the foot of the patient bed; her eyes fixed on the man lying in there. Even though the Togruta had prepared herself for this as best as she could, what she saw was still heartbreaking—in more ways than one.
Arriving on Coruscant a few hours ago, Ahsoka had headed straight for the medical center where Anakin had been held. According to Luke, their recent trip to Mustafar hadn’t gone exactly as planned, which had led to Anakin overexerting himself through excessive use of the Force and temporarily losing consciousness. The young Jedi had assured her that there’d been nothing to worry about, saying that his father simply required some rest to regain physical and mental strength, and that he should come to eventually. And this moment, she knew, would arrive soon enough—not only from what the doctors had told her, but also because of their bond. Ahsoka felt the dormant presence at the other end growing more and more active with each minute, and wanted to make sure Anakin wouldn't be alone when he would finally wake up.
There was, however, another reason for her being here.
Other than keeping him company, Ahsoka wished to finally see Anakin without his mask and suit, feeling that she deserved it as much as anyone else. She’d never pushed the topic with Anakin himself, waiting for him to offer this chance to her instead; but in those few months since their reunion, he hadn’t brought up the idea once, leaving Ahsoka slightly desperate. Although they had gotten somewhat closer over time, she still sensed an emotional barrier between them which she couldn't quite get rid of, despite her constant gentle attempts. It felt like chipping away at a wall of ferrostone, inch by inch, and finally breaking it down only to discover there was another right behind it. Ahsoka hoped that seeing Anakin as he was would prompt him to be more open with her, even though he had given her no permission to be there. She suspected this topic must have been sensitive for him and wasn’t sure how he would react, yet in her mind, the possible positives outweighed her concerns. But now that Ahsoka was actually looking at him, she began to wonder whether it had been such a good idea after all.
Perhaps, she thought, he had simply wanted to spare her the sight.
Back on Malachor, Ahsoka had barely recognized Anakin’s features through his damaged faceplate, yet still was able to see some semblance of his old self. But now, even without the helmet, it was practically impossible—and not just because the lower half of his face was hidden behind an oxygen mask. During the recent years he must have suffered even more trauma and injury, turning his face into a skull-like façade that appeared only vaguely human. It was dry, pale and somewhat swollen, with deep shadows around his eyes and a large, crescent-shaped scar that ran across his hairless scalp. No matter how hard she tried, the Togruta couldn’t find anything that reminded her of her master’s visage, and even Anakin’s signature eye scar seemed to have been lost among all the other marks and lines.
Ahsoka’s gaze then moved lower, towards Anakin’s exposed torso and arms. His body skin, too, was chalk-like in both color and texture, except for the red inflamed spots where the tissue connected with implants and prosthetics. She could see some kind of small panel embedded into his chest, as well as a tube lodged in his throat where his windpipe was supposed to be; parts of the more elaborate inner cybernetic system. Anakin’s lower body was covered by a blanket, with only the feet sticking from under it—and just like his hands, they looked to be forged from plain durasteel, resembling animal claws rather than human toes.
It was bad enough to think about how much pain Anakin had to endure to simply exist—but worse was the realization that he must have gotten used to it a long time ago. If it even was possible to truly get used to something like this.
Finally pulling her eyes away from Anakin, Ahsoka cast a look around the ward itself to try and take her mind off of things. The only item of interest here, apart from various medical equipment, was a metal table near one of the walls. On it were pieces of Anakin’s suit, his black mask staring at her with its empty eye sockets and making the Togruta feel slightly uneasy. Suddenly, she noticed there was something else resting on the table—a small, narrow object, about as long as her palm. Unable to get a good look at it from where she was sitting, Ahsoka guessed it to be some sort of a miniature container. Something about the little box piqued her curiosity, but just when she was about to get up and take a closer look, she heard a muffled, rough voice call out to her.
“Ahsoka…”
Startled, the Togruta glanced at Anakin’s face—and was met with a pair of clear, blue eyes.
The scleras were bloodshot and watery, the color of the irises faded—but they were still blue. Blue eyes. His eyes.
A wave of relief washed over her, and despite Anakin’s heart-wrenching appearance, she couldn’t help but smile at him. Anakin responded by silently studying her, his expression and signature barely readable. Suddenly, he began to stir, attempting to raise himself on his elbows before being stopped by Ahsoka’s hand on his shoulder.
“Shh,” the Togruta whispered as she cautiously but firmly pressed him back into the pillows. “It’s okay.”
“How long have I?..” he began, only to get interrupted by a small coughing fit.
“About three days,” she provided after waiting for his cough to subside.
Anakin blinked, taking in the information. He then proceeded to peer around the room, searching for something—someone—until his eyes rested on Ahsoka again. Confirming they were the only people present in the ward, she felt how Anakin anxiously reached out into the Force, no doubt looking for two additional bright presences.
“It’s the middle of the night, Anakin,” Ahsoka sighed, a certain fondness in her voice. “They’re sleeping.”
Her response seemed to calm Anakin down, allowing him to relax again. The Togruta was about to ask him how he was feeling, but thought better of it, doubting the answer would be anything she wished to hear. She didn’t want Anakin to know that seeing him like this had gotten to her, especially since he didn’t seem to mind her being here after all. And if she knew one thing about her former master, it’s that he hated when people took pity on him.
Tilting her head, Ahsoka folded her arms on her chest, a mildly reproachful look in her eyes.
“Next time you decide to pull a stunt like that, just warn everyone in advance. I’d like to get in on the action too, you know,” she said, her tone good-natured. Allowing Anakin to process the words, she went on, her voice slightly concerned. “We were worried about you. Especially your friend.”
Anakin stared at her in confusion. “My… friend?”
“I think his name is Vaneé.” She gave him a smile. “He'll be happy to hear the good news.”
Still somewhat absent-minded, Anakin nodded and focused on breathing in the oxygen from his half-mask.
“What were you doing there, anyway?” Ahsoka asked, curious. “I didn’t really get many details from Luke.”
“Taking care of things,” said Anakin vaguely.
With that, he glanced at the small box on the table that Ahsoka had noticed earlier; but when she was about to ask him to elaborate, he once again started coughing. It would seem that even minimal activity took a lot out of him, and she decided to give him a small break while she continued to silently study him.
Looking more closely, the Togruta noticed how the artificial elements of Anakin’s life support system looked like they hadn't been changed in years, if not decades. It almost felt as though instead of supporting his body, those things were actively sabotaging it. His prosthetics, too, appeared to be obsolete technology; not at all nice and advanced like Luke’s. Had the Emperor forbidden Anakin to upgrade, in order to tighten his hold on him? Or did Anakin care so little about himself, that he saw no point in modernizing his body as long as it still functioned? Ahsoka didn’t know which of the two thoughts she liked less.
Still, now that the first shock had passed, she couldn’t help but think of how much more… approachable Anakin looked without his suit. His pale, scarred form was admittedly unsettling—but significantly less so than the tall, dark, faceless specter most knew him as. Some people even kept believing he was a mechanical construct of some sort, despite his open relation to Luke and Leia. Ahsoka wished they all knew what she had known—that the former Imperial enforcer was just as alive as them.
“Have you ever considered… doing away with the suit?” Ahsoka asked, cautiously.
“I have.” He paused. “I will not.“
As she suspected, a change of clothing was something Anakin could technically do, but simply had no desire to—a revelation she found somewhat upsetting. It was unlikely that Anakin cared about how others might perceive his appearance, considering he’d be earning fretful looks all the same, with or without the suit. But after living behind a mask for so long, he must have grown dependent on the protection it provided—not just physical, but emotional as well. Ahsoka could even relate to the feeling to some extent, since she herself had been forced to don a disguise in her time as Fulcrum, although for different reasons. The Togruta decided against pressing the topic further, instead switching to the next thing on her mind.
“How about improving the life support system?” she suggested. “Surely there must be a way to upgrade it, so that you can… well… breathe more freely, for example.”
“Not possible,” Anakin said, shaking his head. “Most of the elements are now in maintenance only mode. Replacing or significantly altering them could result in the entire system shutting down.”
“Why not try something less drastic, then?” Ahsoka pressed again. “There are many high quality prosthetics available nowadays. I’m sure the Republic will provide you with some better models if you ask them.” Glancing away for a second, she couldn’t help but let concern slip into her tone. “I just think you could use more… comfort.”
“Newer prosthetics are not compatible with my systems,” Anakin explained, growing slightly irritated. “And even if I could upgrade them, I would not,” he added.
Ahsoka frowned. “Why?”
“Because the more comfort I have,” Anakin said, slowly, “the more difficult it will be to give it up.”
The frown on her face became even deeper, and she once again looked away, knowing full well what he was implying. His eventual trial, and the following punishment. The capital kind.
No matter how hard Ahsoka tried to ignore it, the knowledge always hung somewhere in the back of her mind, like a dark cloud on the horizon. From a certain point of view, she understood why things had to happen this way. She understood why the trial would only be a formality, its outcome already decided; why the countless victims of Darth Vader’s atrocities wouldn’t accept any other resolution, inciting riots otherwise; and why faking his death was not an option, forcing Luke to choose between his father and everyone else. Even Luke himself seemed to have already come to terms with it. And now, knowing what Anakin had had to go through every day for the last twenty years, Ahsoka wasn’t sure what to think anymore. Especially if there really was no other way to relieve him of his constant physical pain.
And yet, some childish part of her—some selfish part—kept telling her how it wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair for her to finally be reunited with Anakin, only to lose him again. It wasn’t fair to never have a chance to properly rebuild their relationship, and to make up for leaving him like she had. The Togruta still felt somehow responsible for the whole chain of events that had led to her master’s downfall and for not helping him earlier, regret and guilt eating away at her soul; and for Anakin, she knew, those same feelings were a thousand times stronger. He deserved more time to build a better legacy for himself than just one year.
“You have already done a great deal of good for the Republic,” she attempted. “Perhaps they’ll reconsider and decide that you should live as—”
“Live?” His voice was suddenly a dark hiss, sending a chill down Ahsoka’s spine. “This is anything but living, Ahsoka. This is prolonging the inevitable, clinging foolishly to an existence that should’ve ended long ago—”
“So Luke was wrong to save you?” she shot back at him.
“He—” Anakin started heatedly only to break off, silenced by a realization. A moment later, he leaned back and let himself relax again, his eyes half-closed. “No. Of course not.” Ahsoka’s blunt words had sobered him, as they often did, and Anakin took a pause to collect his thoughts before continuing. “Luke gave me an opportunity to be better… to do better for all of you. It is not something I deserve. But you do.”
Ahsoka watched as Anakin pushed himself into an upright position, still struggling to find strength in his body. Slowly, he moved over to sit next to her, lowering his legs over the edge of the bed. As he raised his hand in front of him, the tiny long box next to his suit began to rattle before being lifted off the table’s surface and floating into the air. With some more visible effort from Anakin, the container glided lazily towards them, eventually landing in his open palm. Then, much to Ahsoka’s surprise, he held it out towards her.
Hesitating for a moment, she took the little box in hand. Upon closer inspection it turned out to be a miniature safe guarded by a digital lock, which only added to the Togruta’s puzzlement. Failing to discover any alternative ways of accessing its contents, she looked up at Anakin who nodded at the container, clearly meaning for her to unlock it.
“But I don’t know the code,” Ahsoka said, confused.
“You do.” Anakin tilted his head. “Although I recall you trying your best to convince me otherwise.”
His eyes then narrowed, making Ahsoka pause before she realized it wasn’t a display of anger, reproach or any other negative emotion. Under his half-mask, he must have been smiling.
Yes. She did know, Ahsoka suddenly understood. She still remembered Anakin’s old password she’d learned by chance, a simple combination of four digits, because she would still often use it herself.
Anxiously, she entered the code, waiting for the container to open, peering inside—and felt how her throat choked up.
In the box, there were only two things, taking up the entirety of its inner space: a short string of silka beads, and a lightsaber hilt.
Breathlessly, Ahsoka reached out for the braid and rubbed the beads gently between her fingers; a sensation she’d never expected to experience again. Leaving the braid in the box, Ahsoka then took out the metal cylinder and hefted it in her hand; its weight so pleasant and familiar against her palm. Once clean and shiny, its surface was now scratched and battered, but the kyber crystal was still there—she sensed how it resonated within her, as if responding to her silent greeting in the Force.
“I meant to dispose of these,” Anakin said as Ahsoka stared at the hilt.
“But you did not,” she whispered.
“I could not.”
The Togruta bit her lip, taking in the meaning of her master returning his gift to her—a gift of peace—and knew, in that moment, that the walls between them had finally crumbled and fallen.
Clutching the lightsaber hilt in her hand, Ahsoka turned towards Anakin, lunged forward and threw her arms around his neck. She felt how every muscle in his body stiffened in shock, yet refused to pull away, instead burying her face even deeper in his shoulder; emotions pouring out of her like water bursting through a broken dam.
“Anakin, I—I should’ve done something sooner,” Ahsoka stuttered out, stumbling over her thoughts, “I should’ve been there for your children, I didn’t—”
Stopping mid-sentence, she gasped at the chill of metal against her back as Anakin’s arms wrapped around her in a returned embrace.
Suddenly, Ahsoka felt a warm lightness within her chest; as if for the first time in decades she was able to breathe freely, unburdened by the ever-present guilt and regret. Drop by drop, they seeped out of her soul, like poison being drawn from an old wound, finally allowing it to heal and close. A part of herself restored at last, one that will now forever remain with her—come what may.
“I missed you,” Ahsoka breathed out, and felt Anakin’s hold on her tighten.
“I missed you too.”