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Obi-wan pressed a hand to his forehead, where the tension had grown into a perpetual throb behind his eyes. It had been a long day, now bleeding into a restless night. The smell of smoke still lingering in his hair and robes made him long for a sonic shower. He hadn’t slept in two rotations, and running on fumes had never been his forte. But this war had forced him to make it his forte.
Obi-wan cast a side-long glance at Ahsoka, who stood on the opposite end of the holotable between Yularen and Cody. She swayed wearily as she stared up at the glitching blue holograms of Anakin and Rex. Poor girl could barely keep upright.
Originally, Obi-wan was to orchestrate the air campaign, with Anakin and the 501st leading the ground forces on the planet’s surface. It was curious that Anakin had ordered his padawan back to the Resolute so early in the mission. There had been no opportunity to find out why.
Obi-wan caught the concerned look Anakin threw the young Jedi, before reverting his focus back to the conference call.
“We’ve breached the outer city walls and taken the outpost. We’re in a good position, for now—at least until daylight.” Anakin’s voice changed with a playful cadence. “But we’ll need reinforcements sooner rather than later, if you’ve got any to spare.” “
“And you shall have them.” Obi-wan crossed his arms, detecting the sarcasm. “Because unlike you , Anakin, I am never late.”
“Ah, dragging Geonosis into this, are we, Master?”
“Yes, well—your ‘rescue’ was rather untimely, to say the least.”
“‘Untimely’?”
“And clumsy.”
“Ohh, untimely and clumsy?” Anakin said, playing along. “Master, without me and Padm—Senator Amidala — there to save the day, you’d be Acklay fodder.”
Obi-wan gave a light chuckle. Even on his most exhausting days, he humored Anakin’s stupid antics. And if he admitted it to himself, the banter helped keep them both sane in this endless conflict.
Suddenly remembering the handful of other leaders gathered in the war room, Obi-wan steered the conversation out of the rabbit hole they had plunged it into. He turned to Rex, whom he trusted to have the cold, hard facts.
“What are your losses?”
The captain’s hologram shifted uncomfortably as he took a small step forward.
“Honestly, sir? Borderline disastrous. Looks like we underestimated the Seppies with this one. We didn’t account for their counterattack on the northeastern flank—”
“But we took care of it,” Anakin interrupted, tone clipped.
A twinge of concern emanated through the Force bond Obi-wan shared with his old padawan. It quickly grew into a shockwave tugging for his attention.
What is it? he questioned Anakin through the privacy of their Force connection.
Ahsoka.
Obi-wan eyed the Togruta, noting her unusual silence. Typically she was the first to chime in and offer some quippy remark or piece of ingenuity. But not today.
What about her?
He would have preferred elaboration, but the connection was lost as the sound of Commander Cody’s voice dragged him back into reality.
“I’ve got a company of men ready to reinforce General Skywalker’s battalion, sir, at your request. The boys are itching to get their boots back on solid ground anyway.”
Obi-wan nodded, peeling his attention away from the strong waves of nausea and discomfort that began to radiate off of Ahsoka.
“Very well, Commander. Take a unit of troopers to the surface as soon as can be arranged. Meanwhile, the admiral and I—and Padawan Tano—will iron out the details of the air strike.” He turned back to Anakin’s hologram. “You’ll need someone to cover your heads.”
“Alright,” Anakin agreed. “It’s settled, then.”
The conference was interrupted by the almost indiscernible scuffle of Ahsoka’s feet as she all but ran out of the war room. The blast doors slid closed behind her, leaving the others to exchange mutually confused looks.
Obi-wan sensed Anakin’s apprehension immediately spike.
Don’t worry, he silently reassured the other Jedi. I’ll find her.
The call came to an abrupt and somewhat awkward end. As soon as the holograms fizzled out, Obi-wan started out of the room, leaving Cody and Yularen to strategize their next move.
The halls teemed with troops, who went about in a restless state of limbo as they awaited orders. Some directed their steps toward the mess hall; others, toward the hangar bay, where the gunships were now revving to life.
Ahsoka was nowhere in sight.
Obi-wan closed his eyes, trying to hone in on the young padawan’s location. It turned out to be a fairly easy task. Her distress was a poignant highlight in the Force, and he followed it without difficulty.
Obi-wan rounded the corner toward the residence halls, where the barracks lay. It was deserted, apart from the occasional clone trooper who strode the hallway on security detail. It didn’t take long before he spotted the small form of a certain Togruta leaning up against a durasteel wall, face downcast.
Ahsoka slid down to the floor. She drew her knees up to clasp her arms around her shins.
“Ahsoka,” Obi-wan greeted with a nod. He hesitated a moment before sinking into a criss-crossed position in front of her.
“Master Kenobi.” The flat tone of her words indicated that her mind was somewhere else entirely.
The two sat in silence, Ahsoka’s gaze hard-set on the cold floor. Tears pooled in her suddenly darkened blue eyes, avoiding the quizzical look that she knew her grandmaster must be giving her. Obi-wan studied her signature as it radiated in conflicted waves through the Force.
They had established only a basic, rudimentary bond through the Force up until now—one of mutual respect and shared circumstances, as one might expect between a padawan and a Master Jedi. Hardly comparable to the bond he shared with Anakin or, in turn, the one rapidly growing between Anakin and Ahsoka.
He had yet to become accustomed to her young, distinctly vibrant presence that reminded him so much of his old padawan. They had only known each other a few short weeks after all, and Obi-wan barely had the time between campaigns to acquaint himself with Ahsoka beyond a passing hello .
But Obi-wan didn’t need to rely on a bond to easily sense the young Jedi’s intense, storming emotions which she was fighting so hard to hide.
Confusion. Desperation. Grief.
Not so unlike the emotions he had felt pouring from new troops after their first battle.
“What’s wrong, Ahsoka?” he asked with a gentle, steady undertone that he hoped would soothe the girl’s frayed nerves. But the question felt stupidly obvious even to his own ears.
What’s wrong? That the Republic deployed hundreds of thousands of men to die in a war they never chose? That she was a child soldier—one among many—who risked her young life every day? That Ahaoka’s Jedi training had hardly prepared her for the grit and grime of reality on the battlefield?
“What happened?” Obi-wan carefully reworded.
“I didn’t tell Master Skywalker this,” she mulled to herself. “We didn’t have the time.”
Ahsoka stiffened, brow furrowed as she struggled to organize her thoughts.
“I saw a man die today,” she said, blinking as she finally met the older Jedi’s pitying gaze. “I’ve seen it before, plenty of times. But today, I mean…I watched. I really watched a man die.” Her pained eyes flicked back and forth as if reliving the scene, remembering each vivid detail.
“I didn’t know him. He—” her voice hitched, overwhelmed by the onslaught of pain the memory had resurfaced, “—he was in my company, but I didn’t even know his name.”
Ahsoka’s gaze dropped to the floor once again.
“We were almost at the rendezvous point. We were so close. It was me, and Ridge, and Lunge, and…I don’t know who else. Rex was somewhere behind me. I strayed too far ahead. I know I shouldn’t have. There was another volley, but by the time I sensed it…” Her broken words tumbled in a frantic cascade, strained with guilt. She shook her head. “It was too late.”
Obi-wan subconsciously transmitted a wave of peace to her through the Force. But it was only met with the chill of regret and anger—the impenetrable walls she had built up, that blocked out his attempts to help.
Just like Anakin, he thought.
“The trooper shielded me from the explosion, pulled me out of the way. But he was hit by shrapnel.” Ahsoka drew a shuddering breath, her striped headtails turning an unnaturally dark shade of navy. “He was bleeding, bad. I called for Kix, or Coric, anyone who could hear. But he was already dying. I could feel his life force just… withering .”
Obi-wan resisted the fatherly instinct within him to pull her into a hug; it’s what he would have done for Anakin, had the situation been reversed. But he didn’t know Ahsoka that well, and the last thing he wanted to do was drive her further into the self-isolating prison she had unwittingly created.
What he could do, however, was listen.
“I tried to help him, but I didn’t know what to do. He said, ‘it’s ok, Commander.’ ” Ahsoka bit back a sob as she wiped a gloved hand across her tear-streaked face. Her small frame quaked slightly and she closed her eyes, as if to shut out the memory. “But it isn’t ok. It isn’t fair. He died for me— because of me. And I couldn’t heal him, couldn’t do anything but sit there while he suffered.”
Her words seared a hole straight to Obi-wan’s core.
I couldn’t heal him, couldn’t do anything but sit there while he suffered.
Obi-wan knew now was not the time to revisit that day on Naboo. The crimson flash of double blades. The blinding grief that had torn a scream from his throat, countered only by a new surge of ire. The absolute helplessness that had drenched him as he cradled his dead master.
No, young one, it isn’t fair. Obi-wan said internally. I’m sorry. More than you know.
Ahsoka’s head jerked up, eyes wide and questioning as they met his. It was as if she had heard his thoughts, though he knew that couldn’t be. The only plausible explanation was that he had spoken aloud on accident.
Obi-wan drew a deep breath, centering himself to the best of his ability in the here and now rather than in the past that he could do nothing to change.
“I suppose you never met Master Qui-Gon.”
It was more of an observation than a question. Ahsoka would likely have been too young to remember Obi-wan’s old master.
“No,” Ahsoka considered. “I think he died the same year Master Plo first brought me to the Temple, when I was four.”
Obi-wan thoughtfully stroked his beard. It was hard to remember much of anything from that year, apart from the chaos and turmoil that had erupted from Qui-Gon’s death. When he was thrust, unprepared, into the role of master— master to the Chosen One, no less. But he seemed to remember, somewhere in the midst of it, Plo Koon had mentioned a new youngling he had taken under his wing.
“What was he like?” Ahsoka asked in a hushed voice.
Toned-down Anakin, Obi-wan thought with a smile.
“You would have liked him,” he mused. “Master Qui-Gon was a bit…unconventional. He believed you must live in the moment. Follow your instincts. He taught that one must feel, not think. The Council tended to disagree with that sentiment.”
“He sounds like Master Skywalker.”
Obi-wan huffed and gave a small nod. He looked at Ahsoka, an amused twinkle in his eyes.
“We didn’t always agree. But he was like a father to me, and I loved him as such. He was wise, selfless. And even when you would come within an inch of your life, he was there to save you.”
“Now he sounds like you.”
She looked at Kenobi, face full of admiration that he felt was undeserved. Obi-wan’s smile faded as he fought against the aching memories he struggled to keep at bay.
“Ahsoka, I couldn’t save my master. The Sith lord Darth Maul killed him in front of me. For many years, I blamed myself. I wondered, if only I had run a bit faster, if only I had but a second more—I could have saved him.”
Obi-wan observed a shift in Ahsoka’s Force signature—a new pulse of sympathy and indignation, amidst her own sorrow. Qui-Gon’s death was a scar Obi-wan preferred to keep tucked away in the past; but now his intuition told him this was exactly what the struggling padawan needed to hear.
“There are many things I would have changed, looking back. Decisions I wish I could remake. But I have come to understand that we are finite beings, Ahsoka. We are imperfect. If we were perfect, we would have no need to rely on the Force for our strength and guidance.”
Ahsoka fixed Obi-wan with a curiously stoic expression, except for the slight downturn of the corners of her mouth.
“Did you kill him—Maul?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did it help any?”
The question set him aback as he realized what she was getting at. Obi-wan considered his answer carefully.
“For a moment, perhaps.”
“You don’t regret it though, do you? Getting revenge?”
The lilt of her voice, brimming with masked darkness, made Obi-wan’s insides churn.
He remembered the swell of wild hatred that had overtaken his senses when he fought his master’s murderer. It was his first true taste of the Dark Side. It had fueled him with reckless aggression that was only quenched when he finally saw Maul suffer as he deserved.
The Dark Side was enticing, and it had left him wanting more . But by some miracle, he had been able to resist it.
He realized this experience was the equivalent for Ahsoka. She, like Obi-wan, had been faced with death and injustice. She had the choice to fight back. Whether she chose hate or self-control was yet to be seen.
“I destroyed Maul with hatred in my heart, Ahsoka. Something in me wanted to see him suffer, wanted to see the same pain in him that he had inflicted on me and my master. My motives were less than pure. That, I regret.”
Ahsoka was silent. Her expression softened as she considered the older Jedi’s words. She straightened, readjusting into a criss-cross position. Ahsoka stared at the floor, her face pinched and full of unspoken thoughts. She took a shaky breath that she let out with a sigh.
“I asked because, as I watched that trooper die today, I felt so much anger. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I know that is a path to the Dark Side, which scares me. Because I don’t want…I mean, I would never… ”
Ahsoka let her head fall back against the wall, staring pensively up at the ceiling. When she finally spoke again, her voice was weak with exasperation.
“Does that make me less of a Jedi?”
“Ahsoka, there is no shame in grieving. It is a natural part of healing. You must know that it does not make you less of a Jedi. It simply makes you mortal.”
“But Master Yoda says we should not grieve for those we’ve lost.”
“That is one teaching I too have struggled with,” Obi-wan admitted. “What I believe Master Yoda means is, although we miss those we love who have passed on, we must keep in mind that they are not gone forever. Every living being, Force sensitives and nonsensitives alike, become part of the living energy all around us. We are allowed to grieve that they are no longer with us. What we choose to do with that grief, however, is the important part.”
Obi-wan wasn’t sure how much his words were helping, if any. But he spoke from personal experience and, based on the growing change in Ahsoka’s demeanor, it must have struck home.
“I am sorry, Ahsoka. Truly, I am,” Obi-wan reiterated. He knew firsthand that being preached at did little to soothe one’s hurt. Sometimes just letting the person know they were truly heard was comfort enough.
And it must have helped, because the next thing he knew, the girl’s arms were thrown around his neck in a warm embrace.
“Thank you, Obi-wan.”
The sudden display of affection caught him off guard, and a moment lapsed before Obi-wan finally returned the hug. Ahsoka’s use of his first name left a lingering smile on the Jedi’s exhausted face.
“Of course, Ahsoka.”