Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s a bite to the wind, and Ahsoka listens to it roar through the treetops as she idly steps outside. Fall is coming. It’s in the very air. Brittle leaves and brisk winds and a sense of things long forgotten. It’s a time of death, and like all times of death, also a time of remembering. Decay and memory walk hand in hand.

Braids swinging, she leans down to fasten her satchel with a muffled curse, punching down a rumbled piece of paper in her bag. The wind picks up suddenly, and its rushing gust slaps the beads in her braids straight against her face. The sting makes her eyes water, but she resolutely forges forward. Ahsoka has always been the sort to grit her teeth and keep moving.

She ignores the flash of familiarity that accompanies the pain. The memory. A sandstorm scrubbing her skin raw, from a time and place she doesn’t have words for anymore. They’ve gotten more intense as she’s gotten older. The more of them she gets, the less she wants them. They used to be exciting, in a way, being thrown back to old battlefields and grand triumphs and a reckless majesty far beyond a tired college student, until they grew barbed with loss and old poisons.

The street is half-full and strangely quiet, cradled in the lethargic energy of a college town on an autumn afternoon. The blare of orientation week has ended, and everyone is at class. The brick lined street stretches ahead of Ahsoka, curved around a corner that she knows will lead to her crappy apartment and most importantly, her bed. Letting out a sigh somewhat threaded with relief, she marches forward.

College has been hard. Or, no. College has been easy. Ahsoka’s always had a head for math, and her classes are going well enough. She’s made some friends at a godawful campus event, the sort where you have to build bridges out of toothpicks and marshmallows. Tomorrow she has an interview for a receptionist job.

College hasn’t been the hard part.

The hard part is currently crumpled up in a ball in her satchel.

When Ahsoka had told her guidance counselor which school she wanted to go to, she’d gotten a raised eyebrow. The state university was tolerable, affordable, and nothing more. It offered opportunities, but the sort that appear more than once in a lifetime; it had programs, bolstered by little to no funding; and it had the engineering program, serviceable but not distinctive. It was the farthest thing from distinguished.

“Are you sure you don’t want to aim higher?” Mrs. Kerr asked kindly. She’d taken off her glasses, wiping them with her sleeve. They’d been pristinely clean, and Ahsoka had wondered if it had been for the effect. “You’re smart.”

“And a foster kid,” Ahsoka filled in crisply. “Better chance with a sob story like that.”

The glasses had gone back on sternly, like a shield raising. “You know what I mean. It’s not about that.”

“That’s what the hoity toity places care about.”

Mrs. Kerr spread her hands in a what can you do gesture. “All right. But I think you’re better than this school.” She’d tapped the pamphlet on her desk for good measure.

The sample pamphlet that happens to be crumpled up in Ahsoka’s bag. She’s kept it, this long. If she closes her eyes, she can see its glossy colors. The sensible dark blue, the white font, the photograph of cheerful students.  

The inside, with a list of faculty.

One being an Obi-Wan Kenobi.

When she first saw the name, Ahsoka had lost her breath. Professor Obi-Wan. Literature Department. The paragraph lays out some fluff about his credentials—Ahsoka knows, she can practically quote it by heart—but the name had ricocheted into Ahsoka like a bullet. He had to remember too. He had too.

And maybe he knew where—

She always stops herself there. There’s a lifetime of emotion behind those walls. Not bursting at the seams, just quietly held back, like a deep pool of water. Only dangerous when it all comes crashing out.

The elevator at her apartment complex is broken, because of course it is. She trudges up the stairs, trying to ignore the rustle of paper that arises when her bag bounces with each step. She just doesn’t have the courage yet. At the start of the semester, she planned to march straight into his office, demand to know him if to see a familiar face. Then Ahsoka experienced something she’s never experienced before: chickening out.

It's the risk, she decides, as she swipes her badge with a plasticky sound against the stairwell lock. To have come this far only to fail.

Ahsoka is acquainted with that feeling intimately.

The lock beeps, then turns red.

“It’s broken,” says a voice wryly from the stairwell above. “I’ve tried every floor.”

Ahsoka turns slowly, peering up. Brown curls are all she can see.

“So, what? We wait here?”

“Someone has to leave eventually,” says the upper stairwell occupant with an elegant shrug. “Classes let out soon. It shouldn’t too long.”

She glances over their shoulder at Ahsoka with a smile—only to freeze.

Ahsoka wants leap forward with a cry, call the name on her lips fiercely even as her eyes sting, but embarrassingly, only a single, tremulous, quiet word stumbles out.

“Padme?”

-

It’s a teary-eyed reunion, begun by the longest hug of Ahsoka’s life (both lives).

“I never got to say goodbye,” Ahsoka says brokenly. “You were just gone.”

Padme says nothing, just keeps holding Ahsoka tightly.

“I don’t even know what really happened to you,” Ahsoka continues, desperate now and even a little angry. “I never learned.”

When Padme pulls back at last, there’s something fragile in the movement. It doesn’t surprise Ahsoka. Padme would have been closest to the nuclear blast, in one sense. Some things can never be undone.  

“I’m a grad student here,” is all she says. She eyes Ahsoka. “Freshman?”

“Still as observant as ever.”

“I would have seen you before,” Padme chides, reaching out and sweeping a leaf off Ahsoka’s shoulder.

“Padme,” Ahsoka says, demanding now. “What happened.”

It’s strange, seeing someone you knew for so long again for the first time. Padme has the same reactions Ahsoka remembers: the measured pause, the way she presses her lips together while thinking of an answer. Some things are new though. Her hair is more ruffled than Ahsoka had ever seen it—although perhaps it’s just her actual hair, instead of the endless series of wigs and headdresses. Her outfit is impeccable but more casual, a sweater draped just so over a pair of jeans. She looks tired.

She’s still watching Ahsoka, and she opens her mouth, but then the door clicks open.

The blustery senior is more than happy to let Padme in, and he barely glances at Ahsoka, who rolls her eyes as she follows Padme into the hallway. Some things never change. It does beg the question…Ahsoka darts a look at Padme’s hands. No ring. But then again, there might not be.

“He seemed interested,” she says casually, ambling after Padme. She realizes she doesn’t even know where Padme is going, but she can’t bring herself to care. She’s not sure she’s ready for what’s waiting at the end.

“Mm,” Padme hums.

“Are you single?” Hardly subtle, but. But.

Padme stops and meets Ahsoka’s gaze directly, simply. “Yes.”

Unfortunately, that raises a whole host of possibilities, and Ahsoka has had enough life experiences to find the idea of possibility unpleasant. Anything can happen was a more ominous than chipper statement to her.

Padme’s expression is level. Studied. But level.

“I see,” Ahsoka inclines her head.

“My apartment is right here. 404.”

“What a number to have.”

“An error code,” Padme says ruefully, “is a bit too on the nose for my tastes.”

Padme’s apartment is, of course, tastefully decorated. Golden edged mirrors, fluffy throw rugs, matching dishes. There’s a teapot in the cabinet that looks straight out of a British period piece.

“No roommate?”

“Yes, actually. But she’s visiting her family for the semester. Rich parents.”

“Don’t you have rich parents? And…is she anyone I know?”

“No, no. At least not like that. To both questions.” Padme pauses. Bites her lip. She’s looking at Ahsoka, and her expression has shed all placidness for a raw emotion that twists something inside Ahsoka hard. When she speaks, it’s measured.

“Do you know anyone whom I’d know?”

Ahsoka shakes her head, looking down. “Nah. Well. Obi-Wan. But I haven’t met him yet. He supposedly teaches here.”

She ignores Padme’s true question. She’s answered it, really.

“So,” Padme lowers gracefully onto the couch, staring into the distance. “What happened.”

“If…if you…”

“I had it easier than most,” Padme says softly. “Shorter, anyway.” Suddenly, she straightens and looks at Ahsoka, almost desperately. “Did you meet my children? Did you know about my children?” Her eyes are pleading. “I never…”

“No,” Ahsoka says quietly. “I was never ready, and then…” Then it was too late. She attempts a smile. “They went on to do great things, from what I saw from a distance.” Softly, as if making the words small will make them less heavy, less loaded, “Especially Luke.”

“The last time I saw them, they were with Obi-Wan,” Padme said just as quietly. “He’d know.”

They spend the next hour like on the couch. Trading information, stories, names. Padme’s delighted to hear about Bail and Mon’s rebellion. Ahsoka clasps her hands tightly and tells Padme about her funeral. She quickly sketches what she knew of the twins to Padme, which is little, but Padme hangs onto every word.

“I should have known Rex would fight to the end,” Padme is saying fondly some time later. “It feels right that he was there for Endor.”

“He was one of the lucky ones,” Ahsoka says bitterly. “The others…” The words hang in the air. There are too many examples to count.

She shifts in her spot to face Padme, resting her head back against the couch. “Have you met anyone else before? Like us?”

Padme smirks. “Dooku.”

Ahsoka’s mouth drops open. “No. Did he remember?”

“He did. It was at a scholarship gala, and he spent the entire time looking uncomfortable whenever I got near his table. He was the main donor, you know, and the whole theme was ‘Unity.’” Padme laughs. “I suppose it’s better than him picking up where he left off.” She nudges Ahsoka. “You? You said no one, right?”

“Just Obi-Wan, and I…I was afraid he wouldn’t remember. I haven’t talked to him yet.”

“I understand.”

Ahsoka sleeps on Padme’s couch that night. In the middle of the night, she wakes up and for a moment can’t remember where she is. Or misremembers where she is. For a half-second, she expects to roll over sleepily and see Coruscant traffic flashing outside the window. She’s brought back to herself by an insistent ticking from the chrono—the clock on Padme’s mantel. It’s the only sound in the silence, and Ahsoka lets it drift her off to sleep again.

Padme insists on making her breakfast, and she’s just as godawful at cooking as Ahsoka remembers. “You have no excuse anymore,” Ahsoka spears a fork at Padme accusingly. “No more handmaidens.”

“I was never the cook,” Padme says smoothly, then winces so briefly Ahsoka nearly doesn’t catch it. Both of them let it sit there. Neither of them pick it up.

At Padme’s insistence, they set out for Obi-Wan’s office that morning.

“Should we at least,” Ahsoka’s nose wrinkles, “I don’t know, call ahead?”

“The past catches up with all of us sooner or later.”

The statement is edged with a cynicism Ahsoka’s never heard from Padme before, and she wonders what fuels it. She knows she’ll never know.

Because Obi-Wan has the luck of Obi-Wan Kenobi, his office turns out to be at the end of the dimmest, dustiest hallway Ahsoka has ever seen. She walks past more than one stack of cardboard boxes, while Padme eyes them dubiously. There are no windows, and if there weren’t AC whirring in the background, Ahsoka might have thrown out the word dank.

His door is closed, but Ahsoka beats Padme to knocking, rapping on the door. There’s an expectant energy pulsing in the air. Perhaps he knows where to look. If anyone would know, it’s him.

He doesn’t.

Obi-Wan is sitting behind his desk staunchly, but he’s paled. Having two women from a past life burst through your door is not an everyday experience, Ahsoka supposes. He looks exactly the same as she remembers, unlike Padme, and it’s the oddest of experiences. If he were put into armor, she’d be taken back to late hours on a flagship, sitting on crates and howling with laughter.

“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again,” he murmurs at last.

“You certainly seem like you believe that,” Ahsoka says dryly, popping behind the desk to poke him in the arm. “You look like…”

“I’ve seen a ghost?” Obi-Wan finishes dryly.

Padme says nothing, just steps forward and extends a hand. Slowly, Obi-Wan rises and offers his own. Padme clasps it and says, “Thank you.”

There’s a moment Ahsoka doesn’t quite understand, but even without the Force, she can sense the intense emotion roiling in the air. Then she remembers Padme’s words: I left them with Obi-Wan, and she understands.

“You outdid us both, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan says jauntily as he sits back down. “Or so I would guess. Lived a long and healthy life.”

Ahsoka huffs. “I survived.”

Obi-Wan’s expression gets a careful edge. It’s haunted, yet aching at the same time.

His eyes flick to Padme. “Hopefully you two aren’t hiding your marriage this time?” The words are teasing, but there’s a hope underlining them, Ahsoka registers with her heart sinking, that Padme must comprehend too with the way her face falls.

“…Ah,” Obi-Wan nods. “I see.”

“I think we three are it,” Padme says, and then her forehead wrinkles. “Well, Dooku is somewhere. But he’s harmless now.”

“Hmm,” grunts Obi-Wan.

He takes them out to a café afterwards, because, as Ahsoka points out, he’s currently the only one getting a livable wage. They slide into a booth and order hot comfort beverages like hot chocolate and a latte and a cup of tea, sitting there in silence for a bit.

“What now?” Ahsoka asks.

“Strange, how we’re not fully ourselves without other people,” Obi-Wan muses. Ahsoka can see why. Obi-Wan is here, but Commander Cody isn’t hovering somewhere in the background, and Quinlan isn’t popping in with a yowl, and—and. Padme is here, but none of her handmaidens are, and Bail and Mon are distinctively not beside her, and—and. Same threads, different tapestry.

“Well, I’m going to get my degree,” Padme says firmly, sensibly buttering a roll. “You’re going to keep working at the university. And Ahsoka is going to keep studying engineering.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flash with pain at that, but Padme and Ahsoka deliberately don’t see it.

“We still have our lives,” Padme points out, buttering away. “We just have had—another life. The two aren’t mutually exclusive. We can explore new horizons. Respect the past but leave it behind.”

“There’s no butter on your knife,” Obi-Wan says gently.

Padme sets it down with a sharp exhale. “I’m trying.”

“I think there will be more,” Ahsoka pipes up. “More people like us.”

“It’s likely,” Obi-Wan nods. “But we’ll never be able to go back to the worlds…we remember.”

“What was remembering like for you two?” Padme asks, in thought. “I didn’t remember anything, then one day I woke up, and it all hit me at once. It caused…” she hesitated delicately, “issues.”

“I always knew,” Obi-Wan says simply.

“Bit by bit,” Ahsoka pops a shoulder. “Like a sun rising.”

“Well, look at us,” Padme tries to smile brightly. “We’ve found our way.” She purposefully opens a package of butter. “We just have to keep finding our way.”

Padme turns out to be right. She usually is. There’s some private joke about that between her and Obi-Wan that Ahsoka doesn’t get, although joke isn’t quite the right word. More like laugh so you don’t cry.

Slowly, they find their way. Ahsoka basically lives at Padme’s apartment while her roommate is gone, and the shaggy rug in the living room is soon peppered with her boots and jackets. Padme tells Ahsoka all the best study spots and which campus jobs will let you read on the clock, all while burning dinner. Obi-Wan turns out to be a very popular professor who, despite working in a corner of the campus that feels about as tucked away as Narnia, is flocked to by students. There’s a wry twist to his mouth when Padme laughs at him about how all the students love him, and then Padme’s laugh ends more bitter than amused. Nobody says what they’re thinking. Every student but one.

Nobody else shows up. Obi-Wan tells them he suspects he saw Rex one time across campus, but now he thinks it was wishful thinking.

“If we wanted to look for…other people,” Ahsoka asks one night, swan diving into shark-infested waters, “do you guys have any idea where to start?”

Padme looks up blankly from where she’s poring over some political tome on the couch. Her hair is ruffled again, but her lip gloss has remained immaculate for hours. She’s wearing a basic white tee, but she makes it look elegant because she’s Padme. It fascinates Ahsoka, seeing what parts of her friend might have been Amidala’s mask. Obi-Wan, in the meantime, hasn’t changed expression. He is calmly pouring himself a drink as if Ahsoka hasn’t spoken at all.

“I don’t think we have any control over that, Ahsoka,” he says kindly. “So far we’ve more…stumbled across each other.”

“I found you.”

“By accident, if you recall.”

“I don’t think,” and both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka glance up sharply at Padme’s voice, which is high-pitched and wound tight, “I don’t think we’ll have any luck.” She’s keeping her eyes on the political text, but her knuckles are white.

There’s a beat of silence, then she adds, “I tried finding Sabe once. Nothing panned out.”

“When I’ve…tried,” Obi-Wan says too lightly to be natural, loudly not naming anyone, “I’ve had no luck either.”

Well, it appears Ahsoka is late to the party. Makes sense. She’s younger.

“Ugh,” she flops down on the couch next to Padme. “I hate how hard this is.” For more than one reason. Nothing was ever simple when it came to this. “I wish I could just forget.”

Suddenly, Padme giggles. “It’s funny to think about what everyone else might be up to.”

“Rex could be a personal trainer,” Ahsoka says immediately. “Or in the military. Again.”

“Dooku is a wealthy…something. Spot on for the former Count. Except for the philanthropy part. Although it does smack of ‘I know what is best for the world.’”

“I bet Yoda is a spiritual guru somewhere,” Obi-Wan says, half-laughingly. “Quinlan too, but with significantly more substances involved.”

“Commander Cody is an accountant,” Ahsoka grunts, face down on the couch. “Barriss would be a nurse.”

“Palpatine,” Padme says, name frosty, “would still be a politician.”

“Mm,” Obi-Wan winces. “Yes.”

“I think Mace would be a leader still,” Ahsoka considers. “I don’t know where, but he’d always be sternly setting some organization to order. COO Mace.”

“Bail would also be a politician,” Padme says fondly. “But on a local council.”

“Aayla…huh, Aayla’s harder. I could see her being a dancer.”

“Wherever she is, you’ll find Kit,” Obi-Wan adds matter-of-factly, only to realize his mistake when Padme stiffens. He mutters, “Tea for you,” shuffling off to the kitchen.

It helps, though, saying all the names. Remembering on an individual level, instead of the totality of loss that can threaten to consume Ahsoka. Lighting a candle instead of an inferno.

It’s not enough. Obi-Wan still gets that gripped, haunted look in his eyes. Padme will go fragile. Brittle as thin glass. Ahsoka has it better, but that was true even before. Their losses are not her losses—entirely.

It’s not enough, but it’s a beginning. And beginning is a form of hope.

Chapter Text

It’s a few months before Ahsoka learns more about what happened with Padme, both before and now. The story comes out in bits and pieces, some jagged, some polished, all broken. It’s always late at night when the world is still and quiet.

“When I remembered…” Padme stares off. “It didn’t go well.”

Ahsoka says nothing.

“My parents didn’t understand what had happened. Where I’d gone. Or the person they knew.”

“You changed?”

“No. And yes. I…stopped. I just…stopped. Their daughter had been sailing through high school, perfect and together, and then…” Padme shakes her head. “Not.” She smiles at Ahsoka ruefully. “I’d been aiming for an Ivy, you know.”

“Unsurprising,” Ahsoka says with a snort. She slants a glance at Padme. “Why didn’t you go?”

“I didn’t get in.” Padme twists the blanket between her fingers. “Things got bad.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Ahsoka ponders, then grimaces. She doesn’t want to be rude. “How I remember you.”

“Some things break you,” Padme says, so softly Ahsoka barely can hear it. She continues more steadily. “That’s why I’m here.”

The conversation lulls. Outside, leaves rustle in a chilly midnight breeze. Ahsoka listens to the papery stream of sound, pulling the blanket closer around her. It’s incredibly soft and well-made, and its cushy warmth brings something to mind.

“Your taste hasn’t changed,” she elbows Padme. “Still extravagant.”

“When I can afford to be,” Padme mutters. Her gaze settles on Ahsoka, and heart freezing, Ahsoka knows she’s about to get a question she doesn’t want to answer. So instead, she leaps up, muttering about getting cocoa.

As classes get busier, Ahsoka sees Padme less, and somehow, Obi-Wan more. Mostly because she deliberately added his English class to her schedule. Obi-Wan can be slippery—Ahsoka has a thousand memories as evidence—and her strategic instincts are still sharp.

And although she won’t admit to herself, as a long ago enemy stated, where you find Kenobi…

She suspects Padme has the same reasoning. She suspects Obi-Wan has the same reasoning, because he definitely reaches out to Padme more than to her. She knows they have a weekly tea and/or some sort of get together to which she is not invited. But then again, she and Padme have their talks without Obi-Wan, and she and Obi-Wan have class without Padme. It’s a little ridiculous, how all of them are like planets orbiting around a missing sun.

The thought angers Ahsoka. They’re more than this. So she deliberately throws herself into her studies, deciding to start with where her feet are instead of where they used to be. She starts running in the early morning, letting the crisp air strain her lungs as her feet pound damp sidewalks. The days are gray but full. Study groups take over her afternoons, and damn it, so does Obi-Wan’s class, because of course it’s difficult. That only brings to mind a long lost smirk about how she’d never make it as his padawan, and it motivates her further out of pure spite. The café employees begin to know her by name; she’s there every other night, pouring over old classics until the place closes. She’d thought Fundamentals of Physics would be hard, not Basics in Rhetoric, but Obi-Wan has a trick of making things harder than they need to be. She accuses that of him once, and he just offers a half-smile she hasn’t seen since a lifetime ago.

Whenever she gets back to Padme’s apartment in the morning, a steaming mug of cinnamon apple cider waits for her. In the evenings, Padme stirs up some godawful ramen—made godawful by the fact that she insists on adding vegetables to make nutritious but picks the worst choices imaginable—and listens to Ahsoka rant about Obi-Wan’s ridiculous 5000 word essay tests and how a pimple faced freshman boy likes to show off in her physics class. Gingerly, like handling a live bomb, Ahsoka teases Padme about dating. Padme has started, in the past month, and now she has tales of endless terrible first dates.

It's like a wilted flower blooming. It’s nice, but it droops a little. It annoys Ahsoka to no end, until she’s sitting in Obi-Wan’s musty lecture hall as he reads some stuffy old author, and his voice catches.

She glances up, taken aback. She hadn’t been listening.

He clears his throat. “My apologies. As we were reading from Donne: No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main…”

It’s an old dusty poem Ahsoka has heard a thousand times without ever caring. But now, she finds herself caught by it too.

“No man is an island,” she murmurs to herself as she wanders back to the apartment. Maybe that’s it. It’s not about being more than someone else. It’s about being more than yourself.

It’s about home.

The trees have grown bare and spindly. Their branches stretch up to the sky like dried out witch claws, and they rattle instead of rustle. October’s luster has faded into November’s gray. Which is why when Ahsoka sees a school event for apple picking, she raises an eyebrow.

“Won’t all the apples be…gone?” she asks the counselor dubiously.

“Almost, but only almost,” the man responds sagely, as if there’s some deeper meaning behind the words. For good measure, he adds solemnly, “Never, ever give up.”

Ahsoka wants to roll her eyes. Threadbare orchards don’t sound like a pleasant place, but since she needs a volunteer hour and somehow this counts, she scrawls her name on the signup sheet.

The bus upstate is bumpy, and every time it turns a corner, the entire cabin rattles. Ahsoka slides into an empty row and puts in her—well, Padme’s—headphones. Padme has gone full Momidala lately, which she tends to do when stressed. It makes Ahsoka wonder how Padme dealt with an actual war, and whether her handmaidens had ever had to talk her down from adopting any stray dog she saw, like Ahsoka had to do yesterday for the third time that month.

The closer they get to the orchard, the more Ahsoka wants to groan. They’re further north, and fall came earlier here. Misty fields glide by, hemmed in by brush and trees, clearly damp and dormant.

Sure enough, when they get to the orchard, actually finding apples to pick is harder than picking the apples. Trees neatly line up, almost all bare. The sky is overcast, and Ahsoka wishes she’d brought an umbrella. She strongly suspects this is going to end in miserable drizzling and a long, chilly ride home. This dim, cold day should be spent inside with a blanket and a movie, not in this empty place.

She really should have guessed it was going to happen. She’s utterly unprepared for it, and because of that, it bowls her over.

Near the far west side of the orchard, at its entrance, is a little cabin, full of the buckets you need for the orchard. It has an ancient carpet inside, smells woodsy and musty at the same time, and a single restroom that has seen better days. Ahsoka trudges towards it halfway through the outing, already tired of the cold. Her boots are wet from the dewy grass, and she wants to be somewhere other than here for a moment.

Since she’s coming from the orchard instead the entrance, she approaches from the back, where some worker is taking his lunch. Her eyes skim past him, only to experience a mental record scratch. Wait…

She looks at him more closely, and all of a sudden, all that walled up emotion, the deep pool of water that’s held itself still is churning. It’s shaking her, and she almost needs to catch her breath.

Anakin is there, leaning back against the cabin wall with his feet up on the picnic table as he eats an apple Ahsoka is certain he did not pay for. She watches, mesmerized, as he casually throws away the core and then—it shouldn’t be surprising, but somehow Ahsoka is scandalized—lights a cigarette. She, horribly, wants to guffaw. Of course he smokes. He’s clearly not afraid of lung damage. If they’d existed back then, he’d probably have always carried a pack with him.

Standing at the edge of the orchard, she waits for him to notice her, but he doesn’t look up. Ahsoka waits for herself to say something, but she doesn’t.

She takes in everything about him. He’s scrawnier than she remembers, but then again, he’s not leading a military force. His clothes are faded and pilled, and his coat thin. Cautiously, she examines his face, looking for any trace of—something. His expression is flat, and his eyes aren’t cold, but they’re also not gleaming with energy like she remembers. Ahsoka thinks of how Padme is, of how there are parts of her Ahsoka hadn’t even know were purely a mask, and wonders if General Skywalker was the same. Really, she shouldn’t have to wonder.

He still has his scar, Ahsoka realizes belatedly, and again she wants to laugh. He’d always refused to explain its backstory, and now Ahsoka knows it’s something innocuous. Slipping in the shower or whatever.

She should say something. But the words don’t come. Anakin looks tired, and she’s seen that before, but seeing him looked tired without his brashness is…unsettling. Like watching a movie with the crescendoeing background music stripped away, one step closer to plain reality. For the first time, Ahsoka can see him as he must have been, all those years ago. Barely out of his teens, posturing as a general, somewhat depressed. Unaware of the horrors the years ahead held.   

Then, of all things, a donkey’s heee-hawww screeches, and Anakin mutters an absolutely filthy curse and springs to his feet, striding off. He works here, Ahsoka knows, but keeping donkeys? Or is he just a general handyman? Why here? Should she even be surprised?

Her soul shrinks inside her as she realizes she’s going to have to tell Obi-Wan, and more than that, she’s going to have to tell Padme. It should be good news, and yet. It's always like that with Anakin. The and yet. 

She doesn’t see him again, although she looks around for him before they leave. Probably in some employees only section, or else straight up avoiding the customers. For the best. She can’t imagine him in a customer service role. The thought makes her grin despite herself. 

The ride home is long, and the darkening hills stretch by until daylight disappears entirely, and only Ahsoka’s reflection stares back. The entire bus smells of apples, and her boots are covered in wet stringy grass, but Ahsoka is trying to figure out the words for he’s here. That would be enough. Both Padme and Obi-Wan would know immediately what she meant. It’s not the first step that’s scary; it’s the second. Ahsoka isn’t sure there’s a second step at all. Just a free fall into space.

When she does tell them, it’s midafternoon and pale sunlight is pouring in through the window. Padme is sitting at the table with a cup of tea, while Obi-Wan is grading papers on the couch. It’s not overcast, for once, which means the sky is a brilliant cold blue, the kind you only see in November.

Padme is gazing into her cup of tea, as if it holds answers for her. Obi-Wan has kept on marking, but Ahsoka can see that his handwriting has grown unsteady.

“It was two weeks ago. The apple trip.” Ahsoka shrugs. “He’s probably still there.”

“Thank you, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan says gently after a moment. He trimly turns a page. “That’s good to know.”

“He smokes now,” Ahsoka found herself saying, for some reason. Well. To get a reaction. Other than placid-faced-Kenobi and dead-still-Padme. She knows there’s no second step, yes, but she at least expected a first one. “Maybe he did back then.”

That actually does the trick. Obi-Wan and Padme both get the slightest of disapproving expressions. It’s so familiar and feels so much like home that Ahsoka’s heart starts to ache so badly she can’t breathe. It’s too much, actually, and she pushes herself up. She guesses nobody is ready to talk to him yet. Fair enough. Ahsoka wasn’t.

So she tells herself, until it’s late evening and she’s alone in Padme’s apartment and her only company is the mechanical ticking from the clock. She’s staring at an assignment for Obi-Wan’s class because she’s barely scraping a C, damn him, and words from the page leap out at her.

No man is an island.

Slowly, she slides the paper closer.

No man is an island,

Entire of itself;

Every man is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less,

As well as if a promontory were:

As well as if a manor of thy friend's

Or of thine own were.

Any man's death diminishes me,

Because I am involved in mankind.

And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;

It tolls for thee.

Ahsoka does have a car—it’s a shitty old Volkswagon Beetle that’s a ghastly shade of purple and in desperate need of an oil change, but it runs. She’s in the driver’s seat inserting her key before she stops to think. She wasn’t ready before, but she’s ready now. More than ready. For several conversations. Why did you? Why didn’t you? Where were you? What happened?

For a moment, the engine sputters, and she grits her teeth, but then it roars to life, and she’s backing out of the parking space before she’s so much as turned her headlights on. It’s a two hour drive upstate, which means she’ll be there by nine or so. Anakin will be up. Unless his night owl habits have changed. In which case Ahsoka will wake him up.

It’s only once she’s nearly there that she registers that he might not live at his workplace. In fact, he probably doesn’t. She’ll have to sleep in her car overnight. Should have brought a blanket, but oh well. Ahsoka isn’t going to leave now.

She’s pulling onto the side of the road by the main gate when she sees two other headlights already there.

Leaping out of her car, she slams the door shut and points accusingly. Padme doesn’t look ashamed. She looks delighted Ahsoka is there. Obi-Wan raises his eyes upward.  

“You two were going without me?” Ahsoka yells, then she registers there are two cars. “Wait…you didn’t ask each other?”

“I showed up first,” Padme laughs. It’s damp but genuine. “Then Obi-Wan suddenly appeared.” She sighs. “It’s a little embarrassing, how early I showed up.”

Ahsoka wouldn’t put it past Padme to have left as soon as Ahsoka told her where Anakin is. But then again, Obi-Wan was hardly better.

“Well, none of us thought this through. I don’t think he sleeps in the orchard.” Ahsoka cast a critical glance at the gate. “Trespassing won’t get us anywhere.”

“I looked at the website,” Padme says, acting a little too graceful for it to be casual. “And I didn’t see him in the employee photos.”

“I called and asked if an Anakin worked here,” Obi-Wan admitted. “Believe it or not, two do.”

Both Padme and Ahsoka blink at that, and Ahsoka’s mouth speaks before her mind catches up. “You don’t think he’s had a kid and named it after himself, do you?”

Padme gets an expression that says if that’s true, Anakin has good reason to be very concerned for his health. Obi-Wan…chuckles.

“Not quite, but close.”

“Close?” Padme and Ahsoka ask in confused unison.

-

Ahsoka hasn’t laughed this hard in years. Maybe ever, in her life.

“Karma is real,” she hoots, swiping at her eyes. “The fact that the donkey was here first. Oh, pardon me—Anakin. The ass one. Well. That doesn’t help.”

“I must admit, I had to ask the lady to repeat herself.” Obi-Wan’s eyes are twinkling. “I have to ask: do you really think he’d name his child after himself?”  

“I know he wouldn’t,” Padme interjects softly. It quiets them. Padme would have reason to know.

It’s funny, Ahsoka ponders, how they all have different vantage points on the layers of complexity that tangle into Anakin. Obi-Wan from above, Padme from beside, Ahsoka from below (literally, to her great annoyance). She wonders who has the most accurate perspective, if any of them do. If it’s possible to understand him fully.

“Anyway, we’ve been standing out here for fifteen minutes with no plan, and it’s freezing. Can we at least get a hotel somewhere? On Obi-Wan’s dime?”

“My very dear Ahsoka, I will have you know I am not paid that well—”

“You’re paid more than Padme and me combined!”

Padme clears her throat. Her cheeks are red, and Ahsoka thinks it’s because of the cold, but then Padme opens her mouth.

“I…looked at satellite images of the orchard and cross referenced them with the website. It has a bunkhouse on the other side.”

“This really is embarrassing for you,” Ahsoka informs her. “But helpful for us.”

“May I remind you, we all drove here on a moment’s notice.”

They should hesitate more to leap a gate, but Obi-Wan (Obi-Wan!) says there are no cameras and no one will know.

The orchard is a wild place at night. The trim rows of tidy trees have disappeared; whatever is here now seems lawless. The wind shakes the trees, moaning eerily, and shadows hang ominously, as if velvet night draped from the branches. Nothing is holding still in the dark. Instead, rustling and swaying and creaking movements give the impression of the world slinking around them. The crunch of the others’ footsteps is comforting, and Ahsoka clings to it. She couldn’t have done this alone.

“If he’s not here, we’re going to be dealing with a very annoyed farmhand,” Padme warns as Obi-Wan knocks on the door. "Hopefully they aren't armed." 

On second thought, Ahsoka thinks two minutes later, perhaps they should have thought this through a little more.

Anakin is gazing at them, wild eyed like a cornered animal. He’d answered the door—why he’d answers the door at ten at night when he lives alone in a remote area begs questions, but then again, he’d always been ready for a fight—and gone wide eyed immediately. He’d stepped back after a moment, which everyone knew was his version of inviting them in, and has stood across the room since then, stiff and tense.

No one has spoken. Ahsoka thinks perhaps Obi-Wan or Padme will go first, but instead, it’s Anakin who finally says something.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“We wanted to,” Padme says softly. It’s nearly a cry, and entirely too personal for either Obi-Wan or Ahsoka to feel comfortable. Obi-Wan has kept his expression neutral, while Ahsoka is blatantly glancing back and forth between Anakin and Padme. Yes, Ahsoka thinks, we should have thought this through. Issue number one: Padme’s conversation with Anakin will be much different than ours.

Anakin flinches at her voice. He glances at Obi-Wan, and weirdly enough, looks steadied. That’s new. Whatever happened, Ahsoka suddenly realizes in semi-betrayal, Obi-Wan and Anakin had somehow already sorted it out. Maybe she’s spoken too soon about Obi-Wan’s poor luck. Kenobi and Skywalker, all right.

“Where is your kitchen?” Obi-Wan asks briskly, of all questions. 

“I don’t have anything to drink. No tea or anything.”

“You must have water and a microwave. That will do.” Obi-Wan doesn’t wait for an answer, forging forward and looking entirely too comfortable. “Anything hot. Any port in a storm.”

Anakin exhales sharply, ignoring Obi-Wan brushing past him. That leaves him, Padme, and Ahsoka, who is desperately trying to figure out a way to get the hell out of here, but then Obi-Wan turns, smiles, and says, “Ahsoka?”

She flees. She’s never been one to back down from a fight, much like Anakin, but this isn’t a fight. Hoo boy, this isn't a fight. Fight doesn't come close to covering it. A fight would probably be easier. She doesn’t envy Anakin. She doesn’t envy Padme.

As soon as they’re out of earshot (thank god), Ahsoka turns to Obi-Wan accusingly. “You were fine already.”

His brow wrinkles. “I’m afraid you’ll have to clarify.”

“You and Anakin. You made up before. Or however you want to call it.”

He nods calmly, taking out two mugs from the cabinet. Ahsoka knows without checking it’s spotlessly clean. One of Anakin’s quirks. He couldn’t stand a job half done. “Yes.”

“Then why…”

“Because. I missed him.” Obi-Wan’s voice ever so slightly teeters.

Ahsoka knows the feeling.

The other room is quiet, so at least no one is screaming. Obi-Wan mutters at the microwave, which appears to be at least twenty years old. Ahsoka glances over her shoulder.

“What do you think they’re talking about?”

“Their children,” Obi-Wan answers, making Ahsoka, despite being a second life in, immediately feel like a naïve eighteen-year-old.

Ahsoka tilts her head in thought. “Not boundaries?”

Obi-Wan actually huffs. Ahsoka realizes how stupid the idea is as soon as she says it.  

“We’re not going to be stuck in here while they make out, are we?” she groans. Talk about a throwback to old times.

“No,” Obi-Wan shakes his head now, weary. “I think we’re long, long past that.” The microwave beeps, resounding like an alarm for a nuclear strike, and he hands Ahsoka her mug. “It’s not like before. Mostly because both of us were wrong before. I didn’t know…well, I was unaware of many things. But they were much more serious about each other than I could have imagined.”

“Married in secret,” Ahsoka snorts. “Yeah. A little bit.”

They fall into a peaceable quiet after that, sipping barely hot tap water together. It’s nice, somehow.

“How did you?” Ahsoka asks. “Make up with him.”

The half-smile that is quintessentially Obi-Wan appears. “The same way I planned to defeat him. His son.”

“Strange how all of our futures depended on a man we couldn’t have imagined existing,” Ahsoka reflects. 

Padme walks into the kitchen before Obi-Wan can respond, something Ahsoka's a little grateful for. Padme's eyes are red, and her smile is watery, but there is a smile. “You two don’t have to hide back here anymore.”

“Talked it out?” Ahsoka asks chipperly.

Padme scoffs. “We’ve begun to talk. I think talking it out will take more than tonight.” She nudges Ahsoka. “You should go.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t barrel him with emotional machine gun fire,” Ahsoka says dubiously—but pauses. Both Obi-Wan and Padme are looking at her with the same warm, knowing expression. “What?”

Padme reaches out and squeezes her shoulder. “Just try.”

Ahsoka doesn’t know what to say to that.

She doesn’t know what to say at all. She finishes her mug of janky tasting water, listening to Obi-Wan and Padme talk about staying the night here, then eventually drifts down the hall. Anakin is sitting on the couch, head leaned back. He looks drained. Wrung out. Ahsoka steps into the room, thinking this is a really, really bad idea, but then Anakin glances towards her—and his eyes light up.

Ahsoka stops. Flexes a finger at him. “You should feel horrible. Not happy to see me.”

Anakin nods patiently. What the hell. Where was this thirty minutes ago? He was like a quivering chihuahua in front of Padme.  

“First, what you did on Malachor was a dick move.”

“Agreed.”

“Also…” Ahsoka runs out of words. “Everything else!”

“Yes.” Anakin meets her gaze steadily.

“You deserve every ass you get!” And then, before he can comment, Ahsoka adds ferociously, “Ass as in donkey.”

But he doesn’t so much as smirk. Like two weeks ago, there’s no brashness. No, why, what do you mean, my little padawan. He remains collected and open. 

Marching forward, she collapses on the couch next to him. The room is arranged in a way that feels like there should be a TV in front of them, but there’s nothing but a blank wall. That needs to change, if Ahsoka is going to be here again.

“Anything else?”

Ahsoka shoots Anakin a foul glare. “You know there is.” She groans. “I’m not used to you being so mature.”

“Ouch.”

“You’re like, a middle-aged dad.”

“I technically was.”

“I technically was a middle-aged wizard. That part didn’t come with me.”

“I think more than you realize did.”

“Yeah, well, waiting for it to catch up with me,” Ahsoka mutters. She wants to be angry, and maybe she still is, but now she understands what Padme had meant. She balances Anakin, and even now, he balances her. Somehow, despite all there is between them, there’s less between them than either Obi-Wan or Padme. It’s a gulf that’s at least crossable. 

“Why don’t you have a TV? Are you one of those weird off grid people now?”

“Got other ways to spend my time.”

“I know. Like smoking.”

“I need at least one bad habit.”

“It’s sucked without you,” Ahsoka mumbles. “Annoyingly.”

“I think you’re doing just fine. You were always going to rise to the top, with or without me.”

“It’s not about that. It’s—” Ahsoka knows this isn’t going to work, but hey, this conversation is about her, not Anakin. “No man is an island, you know?”

Sure enough, for the first time, he looks unimpressed. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I know for a fact that you took the Temple poetry class.”

“Take is not the same thing as pass.”

“Don’t I know it. I’m taking Obi-Wan’s class. Talk about a mistake.”

That gets him to smirk. It's more of a suggestion of a smirk than an actual smirk, but Ahsoka will take it. She hasn't realized how much she'd missed little things like that until they were in front of her again. 

“I thought you’d find me,” Ahsoka tells the ceiling. “When I was little, I’d wait for you before I even remembered your name. I even went to the college where I thought you’d be. Well, not just you, but still.”

Anakin snorts. “As if I’d ever go to college.”

“Yeah, instead you spend your time with a donkey who shares your name.”

“There’s no shame in it.”

“I think there’s a little shame in it. The name part, anyway.”

Anakin sighs. “I didn’t remember until two weeks ago.”

Oh.

“Not a great time. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d known earlier." He meets her gaze. "If I'd known you needed me, I would have come. That I can promise." 

A mug clinks loudly, and they glance behind them to see Obi-Wan and Padme entering. Ahsoka should be mad that they aren’t giving her more time, but there’s little else to say. Or maybe so much to say there aren’t enough lifetimes for it.

Not much else is said for the rest of the evening; Anakin and Obi-Wan start bickering almost immediately again about the lack of a TV, and even the cadence of it is soothing, like listening to an old lullaby. Padme doesn’t say anything to Anakin, but Ahsoka notes how she claims the spot next to him on the couch.

At some point, she falls asleep. When she wakes up, it’s to silence. A beam of sunlight is poking through the shades. Anakin is asleep on the couch, and Padme too, her head on his shoulder. Obi-Wan is conked out in the armchair on the side. 

She smiles and settles back in to go back to sleep. 

Chapter Text

It was an old tradition, the annual girls’ trip, and everyone had prepared for it with smooth practice. Rabe had marked the map with careful red X’s, Eirtae had brought cartons of the greasiest snacks she could find, Sabe had charted out logistics of hotels and gas stations. Meanwhile, Padme had ruled over the spreadsheets—of which there were many—that consolidated information from different articles with clickbait titles like Top Ten Places for Foliage Road Trips.

An autumn road trip had been a group dream since middle school, and Sabe had sensibly suggested this year as their best shot, shooting Padme a not-so-subtle look and making an even less subtle comment about how their next fall would likely be alternatively engaged—stress on the word engaged.

It had been as fun as road trips usually are.

“Who was on playlist duty?” Sabe swung around from the front seat to glare into the backseat.

“Spotify called it perfect autumn vibes!” Eirtae said defensively. “You try finding something that four different people like!”

“Who ate all the Twizzlers?” Rabe bemoaned. “Those are the only good snacks.”

“There’s literally like, three pounds of chocolate back there.”

“I don’t like chocolate.”

“Who—” “Who—” “Who?...”

“Who doesn’t like chocolate? Me. You all know this. Remember freshman year?”

In the back where her car sickness wasn’t as bad, Padme slid her sunglasses on. “We can buy more Twizzlers at the next gas station.” She returned her gaze to the foliage outside. “Should we stop and…”

“No,” chorused from all sides.

“No more photos,” groaned Sabe for good measure. “Or gas station stops. I’m addressing that one to you, Padme. Next time, we’re doing a day trip.” She swiveled to Padme threateningly. “When Clovis proposes, he’d better do it before allergy season.”

“We really didn’t think that part through,” Padme agreed regretfully. Tissue boxes had been another last-minute gas station addition.  

“Are we almost at the cottage?” Eirtae piped up bravely. “Because I have to—”

“You just peed!”

“I don’t have a man bladder like you! You haven’t gone for hours! That’s just unnatural!”

“I’ve trained my bladder, actually, which I read—” Rabe interjected to general group groaning. “Hey! It’s science.”

“Have you seen the photos of the cottage?” Padme interrupts diplomatically, ignoring the rolled eyes from all directions and shared glances. Padme, the diplomat, said Sabe’s glance to Eirtae. Padme, the put-together queen, said Rabe’s glance to Sabe. Fond exasperation settled in the air as Padme carefully scrolled through each feature: the hot tub, the hiking path in the woods in the back, the fully stocked kitchen.

“I’ll check for cameras,” Sabe informed the group.

“That’s a little paranoid.”

“It can’t hurt,” Padme chimed in cheerfully. “What does everyone want for dinner? I’ll cook.” She raised her nose at the skeptical expressions. “I’m not that bad.”

“It’s your one flaw,” Rabe told her with a soft grin. Sabe smirked.

Eirtae ended up babysitting Padme in the kitchen while Sabe patrolled the house, checking under beds and in closets for “people hiding.” Rabe told the group she was going for a wander in the woods, which everyone knew meant calling her boyfriend.

“Can we have one trip without boys?” Sabe rolled her eyes, but without any true rancor.

“Soon we’ll have to deal with a permanent boy,” Eirtae waggled her eyebrows at Padme, who flushed.

Sabe declared a movie night, and everyone curled up on the couch, letting the screen flicker in the dark and only paying half-attention. Eirtae curled up on the floor next to the couch in a sugar coma, face mask peeling off as she drifted off. The others had piled up on the couch in various leggings and old t-shirts, eye-masks and heatless curlers, comfortably bedraggled. Sabe had knotted her hair in a messy bun that Rabe told her looked like a rodent, and Sabe immediately hit her on the arm with a guttural snort.

They’d put on an old TV series about a detective in the seventies, amused by the dated references and ridiculous plotlines. The episodes bled into an endless stream of stories and characters that seemed surreal at the late hour, dreamlike.

Sabe snorted. “That guy looks like Obi-Wan.” She took out her phone and snapped a picture.

“I didn’t know you had Obi-Wan’s number.” Padme's eyebrows rumpled. 

“I don’t. Why would I talk to him? I’m sending it to Ahsoka.”

Eirtae perked up from below. “How is Ahsoka doing?”

“Yeah,” Rabe’s eyes brightened. “How is she?”

“You know, Obi-Wan and Anakin are also my friends,” Padme chided.  

“No one cares about them,” Sabe scoffed. “Ahsoka’s much cooler than them.”

“She’s cooler than all of us,” Rabe giggled.

Eirtae nodded solemnly. “That girl’s got guns. I saw her working out once and told her she could probably kill a man with her bare hands.”

Padme sighed. “She’s doing well. I’ve been helping her with her college essays.”

“You have to have her be part of your wedding,” Eirtae gasps dramatically, throwing a hand onto Padme’s knee. “She can be the best woman.”

“That’s not how any of that works,” Padme begun patiently, but Rabe and Sabe leapt on the idea of reversed wedding roles with glee. They were halfway through selecting the wedding party when Rabe noticed Padme’s expression and gently bumped her shoulder.

“It’s a lot, but you’re ready for it. You’ve always been the one of us who’d get married first.”

Sabe swooped in instantly. “And no matter who’s the wedding party, we’ll be here.”

It seemed to be the right thing to say, because Padme’s smile went from brittle to relieved. “That’s true.”

“We always have been,” Rabe smiled at her. “Remember prom night?”

Padme shuddered, half-exaggerated. “I’ve been afraid to eat fish since.”

“I would have tackled the homecoming king before you pooped your pants on stage,” Sabe said comfortingly, causing Eirtae to cackle.

“There is nothing like the experience of having to smile in front of a crowd while dealing with that,” Padme reflected.

“I hope we can keep doing these trips even after you get married,” Eirtae added wistfully. “But things change.”

“Well, we don’t know. None of us have been married before,” Rabe pointed out sensibly, but Sabe flung an arm around Padme at that.

“Yeah, and of course Miss Prom Queen, Valedictorian, Distinguished Scholar, met-her-future-husband-first-day-of-class, would lead the way for the rest of us. Rabe anyway.”

“I’ll manage it,” Padme laughed. “I promise.” She grinned at them. “I always do, don’t I?”

“Hmm,” was all Sabe said ominously.

-

The next morning, Eirtae cooked eggs and bacon for everyone except Padme, who had gluten free toast and a spinach smoothie.

“Is Clovis going to eat vegan?” Eirtae asked curiously, hovering over a stove hissing with grease-spitting pans. “You’ve been vegan since, what, fifteen?”

“It’s his choice,” Padme said levelly.

“You could decorate your kitchen like this,” Sabe mumbled, mouth full. She waved a hand around. “All yellow.”

“I think our tastes lie in different directions.” Padme swept her gaze around and grimaced. “It is really yellow here.”

“I think a pale yellow isn’t so bad,” Rabe agreed, pursing her lips. “But this is…like being inside of a highlighter.”

“The photos looked so much better,” Padme frowned.

“There’s a metaphor in that,” Eirtae said gravely, flipping some bacon. “All that glitters is not gold.”

“Thank you for that, Eirtae,” Padme said wryly.

After a lengthy breakfast, the trundle back to the car was rather weary.

“Nobody tells you once you’ve seen one foliage landscape, you’ve seen them all,” grunted Sabe, shoving a box into the back of the car past the six bags of gas station supplies Padme had gotten, insisted they needed them. “There. Now all the Twizzlers are on top for you, Rabe.”

“Marry me.”

“I think your boyfriend might have a problem with that.”

“He’d understand.”

Eirtae had already clambered into the backseat and was gazing out the window, a thousand miles away.

“What do you think she’s thinking about?” Rabe whispered to Padme.

“With Eirtae, who knows,” Padme whispered back.

“You two aren’t that quiet,” Eirtae sniffed. She smiled dreamily to herself. “I was thinking about how this place is part of us now.”

“Hopefully not literally,” Sabe shook her head. “Airbnbs don’t have bedbug indexes. Always a risk.”

“I think the sentiment is lovely,” Rabe said loyally, scooting into the front. “Padme, you’re on directions. You can guide from the back.”

“Our fearless leader,” Sabe grinned. “Never steers us wrong.”

“Oh, my.”  

For all the group’s complaints, the views were breathtaking. Hills stretched out in blazing autumn fires, a world full of bright colors and cool breezes. A very necessary, as Eirtae called it, coffee/hot chocolate/cider stop was made, and once everyone had a warm cup of something in their hands, they settled in quite contentedly for the next few hours. Padme demanded they stop at an overlook for yet another picture, and the Sabe selectively pulled into one that looked over a valley that nearly glowed under the morning sunlight.

“Gorgeous,” Padme whispered, breath clouding the air. A small smile played over her face. “I’m so happy I’m here with everyone.”

Rabe rested her head on Padme’s shoulder. “We’ll always be here.”

“Friends forever,” Sabe said mockingly, although completely meaning it.

Eirtae didn’t say anything; she just dropped quietly next to Padme on the bench and took Padme’s hand in her own. A quiet fell, soft and safe. For a moment, all the looming changes in the future, weddings and babies and moves, felt manageable. They’d always been before. When Sabe had broken her leg senior year and needed help moving twice; when Padme had needed to break up with Palo and needed that push; when Rabe had gotten mono as a freshman and thought her life was over; when Eirtae’s grandmother had died unexpectedly; their friendship was a stronghold, holding steady no matter how stormy the waters, warm and light.

Padme spoke.

“I…”

The words trailed off.

Rabe was already pushing herself, looking around distractedly. “Is there a trash can anywhere? Someone littered.”

“It’s literally right there,” Eirtae clucked, rising. They were heading to the battered and rusted metal can when Sabe spoke, her voice underlined with something that caught their attention immediately.  

“What were you saying, Padme?” Sabe was watching Padme cannily.

A glance at Padme showed her still sitting on the bench, hunched over with her arms crossed. She was biting her lip, staring out to the golden hills unseeing, and overall, looked thoroughly miserable.

“Padme…” Rabe said softly, sliding back in next to her. “What’s going on?”

“You can tell us,” Eirtae said, joining them.

“I…” Padme began sniffling. “Oh, dear.”

“Is this about Clovis?” Rabe asked worriedly. “You don’t have to get married next year if you don’t want to.”

“You can wait,” Sabe said firmly. “You don’t have to dive into things headfirst all the time.”

“You can overcommit yourself,” Eirtae nodded. “Remember when you tried being both the president and vice president of the clean earth committee in middle school?”

“Just let it out,” Sabe assured her. “We won’t judge.”

Words that may have been spoken too soon, because Padme flung her shoulders back, met Sabe’s gaze, and said, “I’m cheating on Clovis with Anakin and I have been for years and I feel horrible.”

-

After a car crash, a moment sometimes occurs where you blink and wonder what happened, because surely it couldn’t be a car crash. Sabe, Rabe, and Eirtae all experienced that in full measure for about thirty seconds, and then, when Padme kept looking at them desperately and even somewhat defiantly (!!), reality’s sirens set in.

“Padme. Padme. Padme.” Sabe began to pace back and forth. “Padme.”

“Years,” Rabe said disbelievingly. “Years?”

Eirtae still looked shell-shocked.

“Padme,” Sabe muttered again, gesturing at her. “Padme.”

Eirtae finally found her voice. “Why? Just…why?”

“Why not break up with Clovis?” Rabe shook her head in bewilderment.

“Why cheat with Anakin?” Sabe asked in disbelief. “We do know the same Anakin, right?”

 “I’m in love with him,” Padme wailed.

“The question stands.”

“When did it start?” Rabe asked with the determined air of someone straining to be the sensible one.

“Two years ago. Remember when Obi-Wan got stranded in the desert?”

“Wait, Obi-Wan was there??”

“He didn’t know. Well. He probably guessed,” Padme wipes her nose. “There were a few very close calls.”

“On the same trip? That was a day trip.”

“Like I said,” Padme, displaying an audacity she usually kept contained, smiled happily. “We’re in love.”

“Why weren’t you just honest?” Sabe shook her head. “You could have just been honest.”

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s really not. It’s two steps. Break up with Clovis. Date Anakin.”

“Things weren’t that simple!” Padme insisted. “There was a lot riding on it for both of us—”

“Yes, there was. I’m sure your life would have changed a lot. And you still needed to pick one or the other, Padme,” Rabe said sternly, mostly because Sabe had looked away, jaw working.

“I should have known,” Eirtae said ominously, tapping her index finger on the bench. “Your astrological sign…”

“It really does feel like we were destined,” Padme said, glancing shyly at Rabe since Sabe still wouldn’t look at her. “I know it’s not an excuse…”

“It’s really not,” Rabe informed her.

“Is this why you listened to Illicit Affairs for two weeks straight?”

“God,” Sabe snapped at last, savage, “there was a month of Taylor Swift.”

“You really are in love with him. Like, love love.” Rabe eyed Padme, who’d gone dreamy eyed at the mention of Anakin. “Like, I’ve never seen you this in love ever.”

“Didn’t you hit your head about two years ago?” Sabe was musing out loud. “That time rock climbing.”

“I didn’t hit my head,” Padme said sharply. “You just…can’t expect me to be perfect all the time.”

“Nobody does! You expect that of yourself. And this is a little beyond a regular mistake.”

Padme winced. She looked down and said, barely audible, “I know.”

Another quiet fell, but this one wasn’t easy and comfortable. It slammed shut like a door.

“We need to get moving,” Rabe said after a minute. “We have a lot of driving ahead of us.”

Silently, everyone filed into the car. A stilted few hours followed, where the only words exchanged were Sabe tersely asking Rabe for directions. By unspoken agreement, Padme sat in the back with Eirtae, who offered a chocolate understandingly.

When they got to the hotel that night, Padme hung back.

“I’m going to stay in the car for a bit. I want to make a call.”

Sabe’s eyes flashed at that, because Padme’s guilty expression made very clear just who she would be calling, but Rabe tugged at Sabe’s elbow while nodding at Padme.

“Okay. We’ll be in the room. Don’t stay out here too late.”

In the room, conversation broke like a wave crashing across shore.

“Can you believe this.” Sabe flung her suitcase onto the floor. “This is going to be a mess.”

“Padme really goes all out,” Eirtae chirped. “She doesn’t do things halfway. Neither does Anakin, from what I know of him. That’s probably what brought them together.”

“You’ve been spared his company,” Sabe warned. “Until now.”

“I like him,” Rabe said scoldingly. “I don’t like this situation, but I like him.”

“At least Padme had the decency to warn us before she unleashes this shitstorm.” Sabe angrily yanked a shirt out of her luggage. Then, unbelievably somewhat mollified out of nowhere, “And we don’t have to go to a wedding next year.”

“I cannot believe that’s what helps you calm down.” Rabe crooked an eyebrow.

Eirtae piped up again. “I get the feeling that’s speaking too soon, to be honest.”

Sabe froze, realization setting in, and then threw up her hands. “I know Padme can be Padme, but this is like Padme on jet fuel.”  

“This is going to be like a plane crash,” Rabe shook her head. “What are we supposed to with Clovis now? The awkward head nod?”

“I never liked him anyway. The one upside to all of this.” Sabe looked halfway mollified again. Then her brow furrowed. “Although now I have to deal with Anakin.”

Eirtae suddenly sat up from the bed, breathless. “And we’ll get to see Ahsoka more often!”

Rabe brightened. “That’s true.”

“I already see Ahsoka because I have taste.”

A click sounded from the door, and everyone went quiet. Padme walked in, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“I take it the call has been made,” Sabe levelled a look at her.

“More than one. I also called Clovis and said we need to talk.” Padme’s shoulders slumped, and she plopped onto one of the beds. “He wasn’t happy to hear it, and said to just tell him now. So I did.”

“Yikes,” Eirtae said somberly.

“I guess I’m single now.” Padme collapsed onto her back, gazing at the ceiling. “Or in a situationship. However, you want to call it.”

“Maybe you should take some time for yourself,” Sabe grunted, which everyone knew was her way of a peace offering. Ish. “Instead of hopping from man to man.”

Padme sat up, mouth falling open. “I do not hop from man to man.”

“You kind of did,” Eirtae said, dubious.

“The point is,” Rabe jumped in, “something had to be off kilter somewhere for you to do this. Right? Maybe you should figure that out.”

“I know Anakin will be disappointed,” Sabe said, looking annoyed when Padme giggled, “but it’s a good idea.”

“You were the one who suggested it.”

“I know. That’s why it’s good.” Sabe looked at Padme and sighed. “There’s no possible way you’re doing that, huh.”

“I’m considering moving in with Anakin,” Padme admits. “His lease with Obi-Wan ends soon.”

“And you’ve been dating for a while, after all.”

“Sabe.”

“This is all rather…spectacular,” Eirtae pondered. “But Padme always is.”

“I thought you were my ally in this!”

“Nobody’s your ally,” all three responded.

Sabe marched over and fell down next to Padme. “We’ll be your friends. Which means we can’t be your allies.”

“I know.” Padme exhaled. “Believe me, I know.”

The tentative peace—perhaps better called a truce—now established, everyone went about their evening, although they all went to bed early, and the next morning at breakfast in the hotel lobby, conversation was bare. Rabe kept staring off into the distance as if rethinking everything that had happened over the past two years, Sabe’s jaw would clench occasionally, and Eirtae focused on her French toast.

Padme for one, looked unabashedly happy, which did not help matters.

“It’s a weight off my shoulders,” she attempted, but Sabe waved her off, and Eirtae said, off Padme’s shoulders straight onto everyone else’s toes.

The ride to the airport passed in mostly silence, except for the occasional what's your gate and your flight is leaving at three, right comments.

As they parked at the rental car drop off, Padme spoke up.

“Please. We can’t leave things like this. I,” she grabbed Sabe’s hand. “I want to do better.”

“Then do someone other than Anakin,” Sabe grumbled. But she did let Padme take her hand.

Rabe put her hand on top of theirs. “C’mon. It’s us. We’ll be okay.”

Eirtae leaned in as well. “It can’t be worse than prom.”

“I think this is a little worse than prom,” Padme winced. “I’m going to have to tell my parents, and all my family, and everyone I know.”

“Yeah, because it’s the right thing to do,” Sabe said steadily—but without judgement. Her eyes narrowed. “Anakin better be handling his side of things.”

“I don’t think he even really has to,” Padme groaned. “We weren’t really subtle.”

“Padme Amidala? Over the top? You don’t say.”

“I know I should care more about it all, and I do, but…I’m mostly excited,” Padme admitted. “Anakin is picking me up from the airport with Ahsoka—”

“Wait, you get to see Ahsoka, and we don’t?”

“Why the hell do you get to see Ahsoka?”

“…Anyway, I’m just…I’m happy. Even though I shouldn’t be.”

“You really shouldn’t be,” Sabe sighed. “But you might as well be honest about the fact that you are.”

Padme smiled. “You can hold this over my and Anakin’s heads for the rest of our lives.”

“You’re already planning the wedding? Padme.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Uh huh.”

“We better get going,” Rabe said finally. “Airport security is no joke.”

The group spilled out of the car, weighed down with luggage and pillows. If there was a general weariness, most passerby attributed it to the usual exhaustion of vacationers returning home. Sabe’s flight was leaving first, and she actually hugged Padme goodbye, but murmured what had the tones of a threat while doing so. Rabe’s flight left next, and she made her way to the gate after extracting a promise from Padme to keep her updated on everything. Eirtae just hugged Padme, waving goodbye cheerfully, telling her that Anakin’s star sign was much more compatible, and then Padme, alone at last, went to go fill up her water bottle and use the restroom before her flight, taking one of the gas station bags with her.

Then, as Sabe was exiting her plane, Rabe was onboarding hers, and Eirtae was lining up at her gate, their phones dinged.

Padme: [image]

Padme: How does everyone feel about being aunts?  

Chapter Text

It was strange, being in an era of rebirth instead of destruction. Ahsoka had cut her teeth on war, violence, and oppression. With the defeat of Empire at Endor, a new era was rising from the ashes, although Ahsoka had avoided extensive contact with the New Republic. She’d offered her help to its leaders, but her true connection was through Leia.

Ahsoka had a soft spot for Leia; had ever since a bossy fifteen-year-old had walked off a ship, much like a snippy fourteen-year-old years before, and started directing Alliance forces with the ease of a seasoned general. Seeing her hair buns bob in the distance had always been a welcome sight during the war. They’d only met a few times when Leia was a young teen, but both had taken an instant liking to each other. Ahsoka would sometimes watch her with a smile, thinking of how proud Bail must be of his daughter.

Now that the New Republic was stumbling onto its feet, Leia had become Ahsoka’s quasi-contact. She visited Leia’s office a few times, noting the new presence of a smuggler who must have appeared during Ahsoka’s absence, of the looks he and Leia shared that brought to mind another time and another pair too painful to think of.

“I’m glad you’re back on planet,” Leia said warmly from behind her desk. “I’ve missed you. Common sense can be in a short supply around her.” This, with her voice raised, clearly aimed at a pair of boots hanging over the arm of the couch. A lazy snort responded.

“It’s good to see you again,” Ahsoka said with a faint smile. “I hear you’ve been doing great things.” Then again, Leia Organa could hardly be doing anything else.

Leia snapped her fingers and pointed at Ahsoka. “Actually, that reminds me. My brother Luke is in town, and I’d love for you to meet him.”

Ahsoka’s montrals tilted slightly. “I didn’t know you had a brother.” Although, hadn’t Alderaan been matrilineal? Breha had been queen and ruler, not Bail. She’d never heard the name Luke Organa, but then again, the past ten years of her life had involved far flung edges of the galaxy and places with no name. Not the sort where you kept up with the nitty gritty of galactic affairs.

“He’s my twin, if you can believe it.” Every word radiated with warm pride. “You’ll love him.”

Ahsoka inclined her head. “All right.”

-

Leia had proceeded to invite Ahsoka to her apartment, which Ahsoka recognized as the tacit honor it was. Whoever she was to Leia, she was more than a work friend. The allowance of vulnerability said, I trust you.

They’d planned to meet for lunch there for lunch, but the food delivery hadn’t worked out, and so Leia had gone down to sort out it personally, as she’d said ominously. Ahsoka had heard that inflection before on other confident leaders whom she couldn’t bear naming, and she knew some delivery droid was in for a time. She’d spent the time studying Leia’s living room and choice in decor. Tasteful and simple, with comfortable green couches, accented wall art, and a few shelves around a holoprojector. The clean air and green surroundings brought to mind a walk in a forest. Ahsoka was fairly certain the art on the wall came from Alderaan, and a few of the tiny figurines on the shelves as well. A series of holos scattered across one of the levels, and she smiled as she studied them. That was Han’s face—there was Bail—Mon made an appearance—a woman who must have been an Alderaanian companion.

She frowned as her eyes landed on the holopic on the far right. Han, Leia, and someone Ahsoka didn’t recognize but who looked familiar. Extremely familiar.

Before she knew it, Ahsoka had stood and crossed the room in two steps, only to chide herself with a hint of disgust. Of course it wouldn’t be him. For one, he’d been old enough to be Leia’s father. And she’d known exactly where he was during the Empire. The knowledge strung around her heart like a barbed wire.

Still, she couldn’t blame herself so much as all that. The man in the holopic did look similar, enough to where a distant glance could cause a mix-up, but a closer glance revealed the difference. Instead of a sharp-eyed focus and cocky grin, he had a steady gaze with a faint smile suggesting a sense of wry humor.  

“Ah, sorry about that,” Leia’s voice sounded from behind her. “They got the apartment numbers mixed up. It worked out. I took Luke up since he forgot his key. Again.” The sentence ended in a disapproving note.

Ahsoka turned and nearly startled because there, standing next to Leia, was the man from the photo. She should have guessed—she supposed she could see a family resemblance, now that she thought about it. It disoriented her, though, to have glanced away from image to meet reality so suddenly.

“That’s why she loves me,” Luke smiled mischievously. “You like taking care of things.” He stepped forward and extended a hand. “I take it my sister has already told you about me?”

“Only that you’re Luke,” Ahsoka responded politely. She couldn’t help but study him. He was so oddly familiar.

“Ahsoka has helped the New Republic with some matters related to the Jedi,” Leia informed him. “I thought you’d like to meet her.”

His eyes brightened, and Ahsoka’s chest squeezed with the impossible familiarity of it. This didn’t make sense. “ ‘M, really? I’d love to pick your brain.” He grinned and flung himself down on the couch. “Easier to talk to someone than to study dusty old textbooks. If I can even find them.”

She registered the words, and the way Leia rolled her eyes. “You have an interest in the Jedi?”

Luke paused. Glanced at Leia.

“Ahsoka has been…out of commission,” Leia said levelly. “Long story.” She turned to Ahsoka. “My brother is a Jedi. That’s why he’s interested.”

There was a solid beat of silence before Ahsoka shook her head. “How?” There had to be a misunderstanding. Most likely, Luke had a sprinkling of training and didn’t know the rigor required to earn the title Jedi. Perhaps he wasn’t even Force sensitive at all and didn’t realize that was a prerequisite.

Luke and Leia exchanged another glance, but one Ahsoka couldn’t read.

“You weren’t the only Jedi who survived,” Luke explained gently. “I learned from survivors.”

“Not a Jedi,” Ahsoka said immediately. Perfunctorily. Perhaps sharply. Luke’s eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing to her relief. “And who?”

Luke didn’t respond. He was studying her. His expression was contained, but she could see his eyes flicker as he looked at her, observations and judgements shifting around. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Ahsoka shook her head immediately. “That’s impossible.”

“He died on the Death Star at Vader’s hands,” Leia said softly. “I saw it myself.”

Ahsoka had to sit down. More than sit down; she nearly collapsed onto the couch behind her. Leia had no way of knowing how serrated that news actually was, spikes and jagged edges hidden neatly behind the name Vader. Vader killed Kenobi. Simple, smooth, even obvious, and much, much easier than Anakin killed—

“I’m sorry,” Luke said quietly. “We didn’t mean to blindside you with this.” Leia came and sat next to Ahsoka, worriedly putting her hand on Ahsoka’s.

“We should have guessed. We can talk about something else.”

Ahsoka nodded, schooling her features even though she felt like she’d been hit in the stomach.

She knew what happened to Vader, of course. If it had been one of the first things she checked after getting back, no one knew that but her and a dusty back corner terminal at a core world library. Now she knew what happened to Obi-Wan too. This was good, in a way. Closure.

Luke had launched into an earnest tale about Coruscant’s traffic ways and the lengths he’d gone to avoid a ticket, “since my dear sister won’t use her connections to bail me out.”

“Corruption, Luke,” Leia sniffed. “And maybe don’t fly like a maniac.”

Ahsoka laughed, forcing herself to come back to the present moment. “You enjoy flying?”

“I love it,” Luke said simply. “I was a pilot during the war.”

“A Jedi pilot,” Ahsoka smiled, but as her own words registered, her smile suddenly felt pasted on. This was beginning to be ludicrous. Like a taunt from the universe.

Luke chuckled. “Yup. Although these days more Jedi than pilot.”

“You can be both,” Ahsoka said wryly. “I knew—knew many during the Clone Wars.”

Luke’s eyes got a glint of excitement, but he just bobbed his head with a grin. “Good to hear. I’d hate to leave part of myself behind.”

Ahsoka knew the feeling.

Leia rose elegantly and clapped her hands. “Well! Dinner is here and on the table, and it’s not getting any warmer. Let’s eat.”

The meal was lovely, even cozy, and it warmed something over in Ahsoka. Luke and Leia spent the entire time teasing each other; or rather, Leia spent the entire time teasing Luke, who apparently had the patience of Master Yoda. He certainly had the troll tendencies, given how he’d ordered some rare side dish of deep sea worms seemingly just to make Leia groan.  

“I think they’re yummy,” he said defiantly, mock glaring at Ahsoka and Leia when they’d exclaimed at the smell.

“You’re one of the few people I’ve ever met who thinks that,” Ahsoka shook her head amusedly.

Leia’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “You’ve met other people who enjoy worms?”

Ahsoka stilled. “Yes. A long time ago.”

Luke, too busy focusing on his container of food with an intent frown to look up and see Ahsoka’s expression, grunted. “Do tell.”

“There’s…there’s not much to tell. He always claimed to like them, but he only ate them when Obi-Wan was around to be irritating.”

“My love for them is pure,” Luke said earnestly, putting his hand on his heart. “I would never.”

“So, how far along were you in training?” Ahsoka asked, idly twirling noodles onto her fork. A random turn, but she still can’t wrap her head around it.

“I’ve been told I’m a full-fledged Jedi,” Luke shrugged. Strangely, his eyes grew weary. “Passed all the tests.”

“Hm,” Leia hummed, something disapproving in it.

“Leia doesn’t think it was fair to me,” Luke informed Ahsoka.

“I think it was an impossible thing to ask anyone,” Leia correctly sharply. “But I suppose we’ll never know now.”

“To ask?” Ahsoka looked at Luke. “What did Obi-Wan ask you to do?”

“Oh,” Luke let out a cynical huff, “Obi-Wan never directly asked me to do it. Yoda was the one who took care of that.”

Ahsoka set down her fork. “All right. Before we continue this conversation, for the sake of my heart, exactly how many Jedi that I thought were dead did you know?”

-

Just the two, it turned out. Obi-Wan had begun training Luke before the Death Star, and then Yoda had finished the job on Dagobah.

“I can’t believe they were alive that entire time,” Ahsoka murmured. “Hidden.” She cast a critical eye on Luke, who straightened under her gaze. “And they put all their faith in you.”

“I’m not sure Yoda was so happy about it,” Luke reflected. “But he came around.”

“Why wouldn’t he be happy?” Ahsoka glanced at Leia. “I would have thought he’d be invested in the future of the Order.”

“Oh, he was,” Luke muttered. “Especially in the future Order's ability to do a handstand.”

“Balance exercise,” Ahsoka, for the first time in years, smirked.

“Uh huh.”

“I think,” Leia said in a voice Ahsoka recognized from diplomatic negotiations, “I think Yoda’s objections had much more to do with our father.”

“Yes,” Luke sighed. He suddenly looked somber. “Yoda thought I was too much like him. He considered it dangerous.”

Ahsoka had not known Luke long, but she found the comparison to Bail odd. Luke had a measured quality that brought Bail to mind, but the similarities she could see ended there. Then again, everyone had hidden depths. Sometimes complete with trench monsters, if you considered certain people from Ahsoka’s past.

“Obi-Wan had to convince him by bringing up his own training,” Luke added cheerfully. “It worked. Obi-Wan, a troublemaker. Who woulda thunk it.”

“Trust me, anyone who knew him during the Clone Wars would have,” Ahsoka said dryly. “He was just quieter about it than…other people.”

Luke perked up. Even Leia leaned forward with interest. “You knew Obi-Wan well?”

Ahsoka wasn’t ready to tear off this bandage, but something in the eagerness outlining every angle of the siblings in front of her made it easier. Perhaps this was how masters had felt with their padawans—the patience you didn’t know you had until you needed it.

“Very well, actually. I spent a lot of the war next to him.”

Luke’s eyes shot to Leia. They had a question in them. Leia’s expression, in turn, went cool. Luke’s expression settled. He looked at Ahsoka and smiled. “You’ll have to share any stories you have, if you’re willing.”

Ahsoka was still scrutinizing what had happened. Some sort of subject had been backed away from.

Leia must have recognized the unspoken query in Ahsoka’s eyes. “We would love to hear stories. About Obi-Wan.”

Ahsoka’s forehead wrinkled. “Instead of…”

“Anakin.” Leia was collected. Even professional. “I’m sure you can understand why he’s a difficult subject.”

Luke looked down at that.

“No, I don’t,” Ahsoka replied bluntly. They couldn’t know what had happened to Anakin. “Why would he be a difficult subject?”

Leia, for the first time in Ahsoka’s memory, seemed as if she wasn’t quite sure what to say. “We thought you knew.”

They couldn’t know what had happened to Anakin, Ahsoka repeated to herself in bewilderment—but she was too savvy to avoid the obvious conclusion. They did. Somehow, they did. She forced herself to say the words that felt like an inferno in her chest.

“That Anakin became Vader?” Something clicked in her brain. “You,” she turned to Luke. “Yoda and Obi-Wan wanted you to defeat him. That’s how you found out.”

“It wasn’t a great day,” Luke tried to smile. “For many reasons.”

Leia’s eyes had back to Luke. This time hers had the question in them. Luke offered a nearly imperceptible shrug. I’m fine, it seemed to say. Ahsoka watched Leia’s eyes narrow, and she smoothly turned to face her.

“Really, we wanted to know if you could tell us more about Anakin.” Leia pressed her lips together as if searching for words, and then gracefully continued. “It sounds as if you might have encountered him, if you knew Obi-Wan well. Based on what we know, that is.”

“It doesn’t have to be tonight, if you do,” Luke jumped in. He was looking at Leia worriedly. “Whenever everyone is ready.”

“If Ahsoka is willing to share, I see no issue,” Leia shrugged elegantly.

“Oh, yeah. I’m not disagreeing. I’m just saying it doesn’t have to be tonight.”

“I’m fine if it is.”

“I’m fine if it isn’t.”

“All right,” Ahsoka butted in tiredly. “What in sith hells is going on?”

Luke, and even Leia, looked sheepish. Leia glanced at Luke, almost beggingly.

“We both met Anakin,” Luke said carefully. “Several times. We’d—I’d like to learn more. Leia, not so much.”

“I would like to know why,” Leia said passionately—then cleared her throat. “I think it’s important.”

“By Anakin, you mean Vader,” Ahsoka said slowly, trying to sort out her confusion.

“No.” “Yes.” “It depends.” “He doesn’t.” “She does.”

The rapid fire twin dialogue left Ahsoka blinking. Meanwhile, both Luke and Leia had sat back satisfied in tandem, as if they’d offered the last word in clarity.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Ahsoka said, temper rising. “You want to know more about Anakin because you fought him? He’s dead,” her voice caught on the word. “Dead, and lost.” Luke tried to speak, but Ahsoka raised a hand. “You know what? Fine. Let me tell you about Anakin. All about Anakin. He was my Master. He trained me. I spent nearly every day with him for years. He was a talented warrior, yes, but he was kind. It would have surprised people how kind he was. He was like an older brother to me, and I would have died for him. I know he would have died for me then. I know. And then I left, and everything changed, and I don’t know why. I’ll never know why.”

She shut her eyes for a moment, then looked back at Luke and Leia. “I can see why the new Jedi Order would be interested in what went wrong, but I don’t know. I wish I did. I can’t tell you how much. Everything I know would be useless to you. The most scandalous piece of information I have is about Anakin’s not so secret affair, unless you also care to hear about his inability to be on time, or the nicknames he’d come up with for people he hated. I believe General Grevious was ‘clunk-ass-bitch.’”

She expected them to nod quietly, perhaps say they understood, even thank her, but Luke’s expression was of realization, not disappointment, and Leia looked as if she were a navdroid processing an overload of new coordinates.

“You don’t know,” Luke said quietly. “Who we are.”

Ahsoka was about to say no the hell she didn’t, when she looked at the two people in front of her, a young blonde bright-grinned Jedi and an elegant brunette politician, and—

And—

Chapter Text

Luke squinted at the address, then let out a sound of frustration and tossed it onto the passenger seat. He sat alone in the car, jaw firm, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. Outside in the pale morning, misty fields wet with dew hung beside woods of thin, spidery black trees. A wooden fence opposite the forest trailed alongside the road, until it reached a ramshackle gate tied shut.

Luke took a breath, then slipped out of the car into the chill. His breath clouded in front of him as he just stood for a moment, letting the cold fill his lungs. The slam of the car door reverberated in the silence of an autumn morning. Putting his hands in his jacket pockets, Luke made his way towards the gate. One step closer.

His therapist had told him this could help him process childhood wounds, or some sort of equally clinical statement, right before warning him not to hope for much. To be honest, Luke had already learned it the hard way. Hunting for his biological father, based on the bare information his uncle and aunt remembered, had already proved a series of pitfalls and disappointments. He had had a name. A place last sighted. A few other names of people who had known him. The bread crumb trail had run out again and again, and some of his friends had questioned his determination.

“He’s a part of me,” Luke had said desperately, trying to make them understand. “And he just disappeared before I was born. I want to know what happened to him.”

In the end, pure luck had won the way. Eerily random luck. One late afternoon, Luke had gone down sleepily to his apartment’s mailbox to find a single letter waiting for him. It had contained an address written in black ink and the words, Anakin Skywalker. That was all.

A quick search had shown a ranch of some sort, deep in the country. Luke had sat in his couch for a solid hour, computer glare reflecting off his glasses, as he scrolled through satellite imagery for any other information. A big building—a barn of some sort, actually. A house. Bunkhouses. Green fields. Not much else.

He’d left the next day, despite his better judgement. Worth a shot, he’d figured. At worst, he’d have made the drive for nothing.

Now that he’d arrived, he found himself glancing around curiously. The gate had led to a white gravel road running for about a half mile before the house, which had a roomy front porch and immaculately clean garden beds in front. To the back right stood some cabins. Some sort of pole just barely peeped up from behind the house, which Luke found odd looking. From what he could see of it, it looked too thick for a flagpole.

Glancing at the time, he winced when he saw how early it was, and his steps slowed. Maybe he should go back to his car and wait until the sun was fully up. Its embers glowed on the horizon, promising the end of the dim mists. He shifted on his feet, hearing the gravel crunch as he tried to decide.

“You came,” called out in the morning air. Luke snapped his head towards the house to see an old man smiling at him as he slowly picked his way down the steps. His steps were deliberate and practiced, like each one was a separate decision. “I can’t tell you how glad Anakin will be.”

“You know Anakin?” Luke said eagerly, stepping forward despite himself.

The man chuckled, eyes twinkling. “Only for the past thirty years.” He scanned Luke with a kind expression. “I’m sure you have many questions.”

“Y-yeah.” Luke rocked on his feet. “Yeah.” He glanced around. “So he’s here?”

“He’s been here a long time.” The old man gazed off, eyes distant. “Over twenty years. It’s hard to believe.” He came back to himself and smiled at Luke gently. “We couldn’t have lasted without him.”

“He works on the farm?” Luke guessed. He’d begun to hear the sound of voices in the distance.

“Yes, indeed, sometimes. Come inside. It’s cold out here.” The old man began his shuffle back up the steps. “Everyone will be up soon.”

Luke jogged up the steps after him, glancing to the right to see people coming out of the bunkhouses. “Other workers?”

“I think of us more like a family. People come here and stay. We even have a graveyard on the property.”

“So you’re the owner?”

“The head of all of this, yes.”

“I’m sorry,” Luke shook his head. “I never asked your name.”

“Ah, of course,” the man smiled. “Allow me to introduce myself.” He extended a hand warmly.

“Sheev Palpatine.”

-

Palpatine had insisted on making Luke something to drink, seating him on the couch by the window.

“You don’t have too,” Luke said lamely, trying not to look at Palpatine’s limp.

“Nonsense, my boy. You’re more than worth my time. So, tell me about yourself.” Palpatine slid a coffee in front of Luke, settling down across from himself. “You’re clearly curious about your father.”

Luke shrugged, mouth etching into a frown. “I was raised by my aunt and uncle. I always wanted to know more about him.” His eyes drifted out the window, which overlooked the bunkhouses. Men and women had begun to spill out of the buildings, most not bothering to change out of their pajamas. “I can’t believe he’s been here the entire time.” Guiltily, he glanced at Palpatine. “Uh, no offense.”

“None taken,” Palpatine smiled. “I’ll have to give you a full tour later. Perhaps that will help you understand.” His eyes went to Luke’s untouched cup knowingly. “You like cream in your coffee?”

Luke shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, yes, but it’s not a big deal—”

“Your father’s the same way,” Palpatine chuckled, and Luke brought his gaze back, expression hopeful and wistful in equal measure. Hearing it was surreal. Your father.

After a knowing smile, Palpatine pottered back to the kitchen to find some cream, and Luke idly let his gaze drift back out to the workers. He noted with a faint smile one of them had sprawled on the ground. Early mornings couldn’t be fun. Another one, who must have been a friend, joined the one on the ground. Heh.

Luke cocked his head. Wait a minute.

As he watched, more and more of the people outside lay on the ground, settling into a prostrate position that faced the house. What had been a group idling around became a neat line of people, all of whom face down on the ground, arms stretched forward towards the house. Since they’d come closer, Luke could see: they weren’t wearing pajamas. They were all wearing ceremonial robes.

Ah, fuck.

A clatter sounded from the doorway, and Palpatine entered with a tray. “Here we go. Cream for our special guest.”

Luke nearly bolted out then and there, but then Palpatine added absently: “And Anakin should be here in a minute.”

As he said it, footsteps fell on the porch. Heavy footsteps.

“You said he’d been here for twenty years?” Luke realized, desperately wondering what the hell he’d walked into.

The door creaked open.

“Yes. He keeps things running smoothly for us,” Palpatine said tolerantly. He looked to the doorway. “And here he is! Come in, come in.”

Bracing himself, Luke turned to see the largest man he’d ever seen standing in the doorway. He didn’t seem to fit in the house; it was almost like having a draft horse in the room. Given the general sense of lethal radiating from him, more like one of the four horses of the apocalypse. Scars networked across his head, and his gaze rested on Papatine. Fervently.

Luke’s expression went grim. He’d never seen this man before in his life, but even with the scars and weathered skin, the family resemblance was there. Also present was a terrifying remoteness—an absence. If each gaze contained a universe, Anakin’s had been reduced to two dim pinprick stars focused entirely on Palpatine.

“Anakin, my old friend,” Palpatine stood and shuffled over to him. “I have a great surprise for you.”

Anakin’s expression remained empty.

“We have a guest,” Palpatine gestured at Luke, “whose name you might recognize.”

Anakin brought his gaze to Luke, but with as much emotion as a prison searchlight. Luke could almost feel him cataloguing Luke, ticking off threats and weaknesses. He could only imagine what Anakin saw. A short, slight man with glasses and fine blonde hair, sitting uncertainly on the couch with his hands laced in front of him.

“This is Luke Skywalker,” Palpatine told Anakin with a horrifying understanding smile at Luke.  It almost said watch this.

Like a distant light in a tunnel, a faint gleam shot through Anakin’s eyes. A slight movement rippled over him, as he’d been about to step closer then thought better of it. A shadowed expression followed. He glanced back at Palpatine and without meeting Palpatine’s eyes, spoke in a low tone.

“He’s here for the harvest?”

“We’re about to have our annual harvest celebration,” Palpatine explained to Luke with a canny smile. “It appears you just got an invitation.” His eyes flicked from Luke to Anakin, with a flash of there-and-gone cold amusement. “Would you like to attend?”

Luke Skywalker was not an idiot. Anyone with half a brain cell could see that one, this was definitely a cult; two, Luke’s dad was definitely part of this cult if the word part meant entrenched deeply for twenty years. He should say no and get the hell out of here. Say no.

But Luke had also seen that cold amusement snaking through Palpatine’s eyes, and while Luke Skywalker was not an idiot, he did have a hair trigger temper and an impetuousness that his aunt had thought would be the death of him. And Luke knew, with cool certainty, that Palpatine, god in a universe of his own making, had woven a little acid web to punish his father. Brought his son before him to display him as he was, specifically for him to be rejected. No one with an ounce of common sense would stay.

“Sure,” Luke said easily, flashing a sharp grin. “But only if he gives me a tour first.”

Palpatine’s eyes rested on Luke. He nodded once, slowly. “So be it.”

-

Anakin hadn’t said a word as he’d led Luke around the house, each of his steps landing with a thud like a mechanical lever.

“You probably have group activities here, I’m guessing,” Luke said chipperly. They’d left Palpatine back at the house, Luke insisting that the man not overstrain himself on Luke’s account. “Painting classes, robe sewing. Group meditation.”

“We farm.” Anakin’s voice sounded like a hollow wind. “I lead.”

“I thought Palpatine led.”

“Palpatine guides.” Anakin led Luke through the bunkhouse area. “The others have gone to the fields.”

“After they worshipped Palpatine’s house?” Luke hadn’t meant to that sharp, but the accusing note was unmistakable.

“Palpatine is the reason we are all here. He guides us. We thank him.”

“I’m not arguing with that.”

“He guides us,” Anakin repeated, a little more insistently. “As he will guide you.”

Oh, great. Luke stopped and glanced around. House, bunkhouses, pole. “Is this it? Except for the fields?” He’d known it was, but considering they were now at least thirty feet away from Palpatine, he considered his mission a success.

“And the cemetery.”

Luke snapped his fingers. “Right! Let’s go there.” A mile away sounded even better.

Obediently—Luke hated how obediently—Anakin turned towards the south. “Come.”

“So,” Luke called out, trying to catch up. His earlier thought of a draft horse was proving truer by the instant. “How’d you…meet…Palpatine?”

“I have known him since I was ten.”

Luke fell silent for a few moments.

“That’s a long time,” he said at last. “He must be very important to you.”

“He has shown me greatness by demanding greatness of me.” Anakin strode through the grass. He didn’t seem to notice anything underfoot, walking through mud patches and brush patches and one point, even an anthill. Luke, having to pick his way around, welcomed the sight of the cemetery, stubby in the distance. With a little relief, he saw none of the graves were fresh.

“People must really like it here.”

Anakin didn’t respond, stopping at the edge of the graveyard.

“Do…do you like it here?” Luke hated how uncertain he sounded. “It doesn’t seem like…I mean, it seems like it can be hard.”

“Everyone must make sacrifices.”

“Yeah, but for this?”

“Palpatine guides us. He has shown me greatness.”

It was like a programming loop, Luke realized with a sinking heart. He’d thought he might be able to help.

He didn’t ask any more questions, idling down the rows of the graveyard. He wondered if he should take photos of the names. Other families might be missing members too.

“Are you prepared for what lies ahead?” Anakin asked solemnly.

The sudden words brought Luke’s gaze up from the tombstone he’d been studying.

“Err…like in general, or…?”

“Your destiny.”

“Doesn’t clarify things,” Luke muttered, moving on to the next gravestone.

“You are my son.”

Luke looked up quickly at that, but Anakin’s face remained flat as he added, “You are here for a reason.”

“As a matter of fact, yeah,” Luke stuck his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to find you.”

The same gleam from earlier flashed, there and gone instantly. “And so you have.”

“You can leave, you know,” Luke found himself saying. He looked at Anakin almost urgently. “You don’t have to stay here.”

“Palpatine guides us.”

“What if I asked you to?” Luke stepped closer. “Come back with me.”

No gleam. Instead, Anakin’s gaze remained remote as night sky. “You cannot outrun your destiny, Luke.”

The use of Luke’s name meant the actual words took a second to register. “Wait,” Luke shook his head, mouth tightening, “You think my destiny is here?”

“You are here for the harvest.”

Right, the oh-so-important harvest. Luke deliberately glared at the closest grave, as if to ask it why the hell did you spend your life here.

Only to frown.

He didn’t recognize the name, like all of the others, but for the first time, he noticed something. Carefully, he looked at the one next to it. Then the one next to that. Then the next one, and the next one, and the next one.

Every single one listed a date of death in the autumn. Always within a few days of each other. Close to the current date, actually.

Luke brought his gaze up slowly. Anakin was watching, empty as before.

“You said everyone has to make sacrifices.”

“I have made many.”

Clearly.

Feeling nauseous, Luke wrapped his arms around himself and forced his voice to be steady as he asked, “What exactly happens at harvest?”

As soon as he said the word, he understood the answer. Harvest.

“You will experience it yourself tonight.”

Luke stilled.

“It is destiny that you are here,” Anakin said, voice fervent. “Destiny brought you here.”

“No, Palpatine did,” Luke said sharply.

“And you chose to stay.”

“For you,” Luke stepped forward desperately, but Anakin didn’t argue. Strangely, he nodded.

“Yes.”

“To free you from this—” Luke waved around, “this.”

“Yes.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I have no plans to die in a ritual sacrifice,” Luke said, voice rising. “So if you thought that was on the agenda for the evening—”

“No.”

Luke halted. Maybe he was wrong.

“You will not be the sacrifice.”

“So, who’s it gonna be?” Luke snapped, back to furious.

As he said it, a hideous possibility presented itself, one he dismissed as soon as rose.

It stayed, however; stayed evident in every line of the man in front of him. Evident in the words they had just spoken.

“You already know the truth.” Anakin spoke reverently. “You have come here to free me.”

“Not—not like that!”

“You cannot outrun your destiny.”

“Oh, I think you’ll find me proving you wrong on that.”

“Everyone must make sacrifices.”

“And if I don’t?”

Anakin inclined his head. For the first time, Luke shrank back. There was something inhuman in his face Luke did not want to be near to.

“One way or another, you will provide the sacrifice.”

Without waiting another second, Luke booked it. Grass and dips and hills crashed under his feet, and the fields flew by him. He’d try his car and if that didn’t work, he’d hide in the woods. In a few minutes, he reached the house, and without slowing he scanned for people, but everyone was still at the fields, except for a spidery old man with a bad leg in the house. Rounding the house, he saw the fence, the road, and there, still waiting, his car.

The white gravel path skimmed under his feet, and he leapt the gate and nearly crashed into his car. Fingers shaking, he grabbed the keys. The engine roaring to life felt like a resurrection. In two seconds flat, he’d zoomed onto the road and was heading the hell away.

As he drove off, he checked his rearview mirrors and winced. A figure in black stood, still and alone, in the road in front of the house, watching the car soaring into the distance. Then a hill rose, and he was gone from sight.

Luke didn’t start breathing easier until he’d reached the suburbs, trim yards and brick houses and autumnal decorations pulling by in a parade of normalcy. Stopped at a traffic light, he stared into the distance in front of him. Suddenly, he shook his head at himself, muttering.

“What the fuck was that?”

His phone flashed. A friend had texted.

Find what you were looking for?

Luke almost started hysterically laughing. No. No, not really. He shuddered. No.

Still…

He glanced thoughtfully behind him, to where he’d come from, but the honking filled the air. The light was green.

He pulled forward, but not before looking back one more time.

Chapter Text

Had any onlooker observed the scene currently taking place in the Jinn household’s dining room, they would have seen the typical family squabble. An older man sat at the head of the table, watching a younger one, who looked to be just over twenty, face him with a starched expression.

Qui-Gon’s expression was that of ultimate benevolence, patience, and understanding. Obi-Wan glared. He’d foolishly assumed after a lifetime of Qui-Gon, he’d known all the ins and outs of Qui-Gon’s mind, the loops and curves that brought to mind one of those colorful bead roller coasters in a pediatrician’s waiting room. This, however, was beyond the pale.

“My point being, you have not adopted a child. You have adopted a, a baby alligator.”

As if to accentuate the point, Obi-Wan thrust out his forearm, where a bandage pointedly sat over a bitemark.

“He’s a very active child,” Qui-Gon began to reflect, but Obi-Wan spluttered, reached out a hand with all fingers narrowed towards Qui-Gon.

“An active child is one who runs around a playground a lot. That’s an active child. The other day, I caught him on the roof. He wanted to try to come down the chimney to test his theories about Santa. Whom, by the way, he no longer believes in. I set that to right for you.”

Qui-Gon paused. “You told him Santa wasn’t real?”

“I thought it better than letting him clamber on the roof like a spider-monkey!” Obi-Wan hissed out an exhale. Seeing Qui-Gon frown, he added rather defensively, “It didn’t upset him. He said he wasn’t an idiot.”

“Are you sure he meant it?”

“He’s a terrible liar,” Obi-Wan scoffed. “Thank God for small favors.”

“Perhaps,” Qui-Gon said gently, in a tone Obi-Wan disliked. It meant, I’m about to impart a lesson on my wayward child, except Qui-Gon’s definition of wayward did not align with most of civilized society’s. “Perhaps he said it because he thought it would impress you. He looks up to you.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth thinned. He knew that, he did know that. When he’d arrived a few months ago, Anakin had latched onto Qui-Gon as much as a little tornado could. At first, he hadn’t spoken much to Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan could sometimes feel a tiny defiant gaze on him. In Obi-Wan’s opinion, he’d been nothing but polite. He’d kept his reservations on the matter beyond Anakin’s ears and sometimes asked Anakin if he’d done his homework, but somehow, Anakin still seemed to sense that Obi-Wan had not wanted him there. A strange cold war had resulted, although sometimes Obi-Wan wondered if it were all in his head. Then again, he did have a bitemark on his arm from when he’d had to pull Anakin out of a fistfight with the neighbor’s child.

“I’m trying,” he landed on. “But you have to admit, Qui-Gon, that Anakin is not a normal child.”

“I wouldn’t expect him to be, with everything that’s happened to him.”

“It’s not—” Obi-Wan pinched his forehead between two fingers. “It’s not just the behavioral issues. It’s deeper than that. I know you’ve seen that intensity he has.”

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said softly. “Just try.”

“I am,” snapped Obi-Wan. He took a breath, composing himself. “I promise I am. I’m merely concerned. I think he’s dangerous.”

“Which is why the boy needs us.”

The conversation ended there.

-

In later years, Obi-Wan would look back at that time in the dining room and wish he’d said something else. I need you. We need you. I’m sorry.

It had seemed so normal at the time, the usual butting of heads that took place in any family, not the last time he’d ever see Qui-Gon alive. Sometimes Obi-Wan thought of how Qui-Gon’s last words to him had been about Anakin. It was on his mind often, those first few days after the car crash. Even to his old age, Obi-Wan could remember with crystal clarity where he’d been when he’d gotten the call. The overcast skies; the campus buildings around him; the faint laughter from students in the distance; the leaves stirring in the wind. All of a sudden, life had broken apart into a whirl of estate management and funeral planning, and most of all, above all, what to do with Anakin.

It had not been easy.

Anakin stared somberly from across the funeral home hall. Obi-Wan had needed to meet with the people there, but he’d had to take Anakin with him since it was after school. Anakin had slid into the car silently, occasionally darting uncertain glances Obi-Wan’s way on the ride over. Obi-Wan barely noticed. Life had become a mire of grief and doubled responsibilities. He had no energy to do anything and yet had more to do than he ever had before.

The funeral home smelled of antiseptic, and the entrance hall had a long table covered in arrayed pamphlets from local therapists and non-profits. It even had a calendar, which Obi-Wan thought ironic. Enjoy the days your loved one will never see.

“I have to go into this meeting. Can you behave yourself out here?” Obi-Wan turned a stern eye towards Anakin. “It will be for about an hour.”

Anakin nodded, looking up at Obi-Wan with the odd mix of uncertainty and defiance that defined him. With a little relief, Obi-Wan made his way into the employee’s office, only to come out an hour later to an empty hall.

With a curse, Obi-Wan strode to the door and yanked it open, stepping out into the autumn day. Cars blared past on the highway that ran right past the funeral home, providing a faint, constant roar. A small parking lot lay in front of the funeral home, but with no Anakin. Just a few mud spattered cars and a single straggly tree that seemed to be the landscaper’s only pushback against a concrete jungle . There was a seafood restaurant with chalk signs to the right, sign blinking on and off, and a bridal shop that had a group of giggling young women in front of it.

Better that than nothing. As he approached, a few of the women eyed him, a couple with suspicion and one or two with interest. Obi-Wan kept his face schooled, coming to a stop before them as the group fell silent.

“Pardon me. Has anyone seen a little boy? Blonde, about eight, this high?” He held out a hand flat in front of him.

“No,” said one of the women after a moment, who looked to be the bride. She glanced at a teen girl who had her coloring; they must be sisters. “Padme, did you see a kid?”

Padme, Obi-Wan saw, did not enjoy being grouped in with children. Ah, to be fourteen again. Some morbid subconscious part of him realized he’d have to deal with Anakin’s fourteen, and he only just stopped from wincing.

“Yes, I have,” Padme said reluctantly. “I saw him heading for the alley in the back.”

“The alley?” Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you see where he went from there?”

“There’s a grove of trees back there,” one woman piped up helpfully. “Is he the explorer sort?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said in a tone that spoke to a hard-earned knowledge of the fact. “You might say that.”

“I think,” Padme hesitated, looking from her sister to Obi-Wan, “I think he was upset. Based on what he said to me.”

The fact that this fourteen-year-old girl had made more progress with Anakin in five minutes than Obi-Wan had for three months shouldn’t have been humiliating, but somehow was. He forced himself to offer a smile. “Thank you. I’ll try there.”

“Good luck!” called out the bride as they headed in.

Although the alley looked constructed of misery and granite, there was a little wood right behind it that had a bare path etched through it, littered with fallen leaves. Their gleams of orange and red had faded under the last week’s rains, decaying to a lifeless brown. Saying a short prayer, Obi-Wan set into it, glancing around only to see Anakin’s blonde head in the distance almost immediately. With a disapproving frown, Obi-Wan marched towards it, slowing as he got closer. Anakin had found a bench in a little clearing, and he was sat there sobbing.

Obi-Wan deliberately made noise as he approached, but Anakin didn’t fiercely sit up and rub at his face as expected; he just kept sobbing.

Quietly, Obi-Wan dropped down next to him. He gazed forward critically. Raspy branches and dead leaves and old bark surrounded them in various shades of brown.  

He thought to say something, come up with some wise clap trap about grief being okay and taking time, but then Anakin leaned against him. The movement was unstudied and fragile. The gentle pressure on Obi-Wan’s arm made him fall silent. There were no words for this.

So he thought, but then Anakin had some.

“I’m going to run away,” he informed Obi-Wan somberly. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “I don’t think that logic follows.”

The pressure on his arm shifted. “You don’t like me.”

“That’s not true.”

“You do like me?”

It was really the worst time in the world for Obi-Wan to hesitate, but hesitate he did. He’d been trying to decide how to say, I do love you, you know, but in that split second of his trying to find words, Anakin lifted his head and crossed his arms.

“You wouldn’t have to deal with me at all if Qui-Gon hadn’t gotten me.” Anakin swung his legs moodily. “I’m a problem. I don’t want to be a problem.”

Obi-Wan bit back the then why did you try to keep two pet snakes under your bed, instead stroking his chin thoughtfully. “My grocery bill would go down quite a bit. No more need for chocolate cereal morning, noon, and night.”

Anakin huffed. “You eat it too. I’ve seen you.”

Ignoring the spurious if true accusations, Obi-Wan continued reflectively. “I wouldn’t have to check the toilet for frogs.”

“Where else would you keep one?”

“I wouldn’t hear footsteps on the roof and hope that it’s a very large squirrel.”

“I was i’nvestigating.” Anakin glared, and his chest seemed to puff out. “My life would be better too, you know.”

“Oh, really.”

“I wouldn’t have to hear that boring music you play all the time in the car.”

“Classical music is good for brain development.”

“You’re always losing stuff. Like your coats.”

“I’m not attached to material goods,” Obi-Wan said sagely.

Anakin looked down and muttered, “And you can be mean.”

Obi-Wan looked at him. “Telling you to do the right thing isn’t mean, Anakin.”

“Then why does it hurt my feelings?” Anakin challenged.

Parenthood required patience, Obi-Wan told himself, trying to keep his temper under control. Anakin didn’t like authority; that was why. Then again, sometimes Obi-Wan could be a little sharp in delivery. It was not, Obi-Wan mused, the greatest of combinations.

“I suppose,” Obi-Wan sighed, “We’ll have to figure that out.”

Anakin did not say anything—but he also didn’t push back again.

“Come on,” Obi-Wan got up after a few minutes. “We need to get something to eat.”

Anakin grunted. “I don’t like what you cook for dinner.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said shortly, “we have years ahead of us to fight over what to eat for dinner. How about we skip over it tonight?”

“I like fighting.” Anakin sprung to his feet, weirdly cheered up at the prospect. Obi-Wan wanted to raise his eyes to the heavens. Why that had worked made no sense, but Anakin seemed a maelstrom of exceptions and paradoxes. “I think I should have chocolate cereal.” He raised his chin, eyes sparkling as he issued his challenge.

Obi-Wan shot Anakin a long, unimpressed look—then exhaled. He shouldn’t give Anakin what he wanted, but the only way to do that was to give Anakin what he wanted. “Fine.”

Anakin looked taken aback, like he hadn’t expected to get this far.

“Only because we’ve had a day,” Obi-Wan warned, wondering if he was going to regret this.

“We have days every day,” Anakin pointed out, marching down the path. Ah. So the answer was yes, Obi-Wan was definitely going to regret this.

“You know what I mean,” Obi-Wan scolded. Anakin sped up. “Anakin, wait!” Damn it all.

It wasn’t until they’d gotten to the car, or rather, Anakin had made it to the car where he seemed to be waiting for Obi-Wan smugly, that Obi-Wan realized that the fog of grief had slightly lifted over the past hour. It had returned, thick and smoggy, but manhandling Anakin was a job that required your full attention. He slid a glance at the passenger seat, where Anakin had taken some grubs out of his pocket and was studying them closely. As Obi-Wan watched, one fell and rolled across the seat, leaving a glazed slimy streak that Obi-Wan was immediately sure would never come out. Another one fell. Anakin let out a foul, assuredly not age appropriate curse, and reached out to scoop them up, accidentally dropping three more in the process. Obi-Wan mechanically corrected Anakin’s language, starting the car, only for Anakin to inform Obi-Wan that he’d learned the word from Obi-Wan during the rooftop debacle. A spirited debate about proper language arose, during which Obi-Wan’s attention was split between driving and trying to form an impressionable young mind, leading the fog of grief to fade slightly again.

When they pulled into the driveway, Anakin burst of the car and ran to the front door, turning around to look back with a shit-eating grin. I beat you in a contest you didn’t even realize existed. Obi-Wan knew with regret he’d never hear the end of this for the rest of the evening. He turned the key with a click, pausing for a second to watch the little boy standing proudly victorious in front of the door.  

Out of nowhere, Qui-Gon’s final words came to mind. He needs us. And with them came a new addition, one that Obi-Wan was beginning to see had been there all along waiting.

And we need him.

Chapter Text

The old house by the Naboo lakeside had long overrun itself with snaking weeds and heavy crabgrass; a passerby might have thought it abandoned, its days of marbled glory long-gone and buried. A few of the neighbors remembered it before, when its white stone halls had offered clean sunshine with ivy terraces perched on its side for blue lakeside views. Back then, during the shadows of summer’s velvety evenings, light would spill out from every window, and distant music would glimmer across the water; flashes of ballgowns and glittering jewelry danced across the terraces; indulgent laughter rippled like a slight wind across lake surface; affluence and complacency reigned. No shrieks of war rang here; instead, wealth idled and indulgence fed.

Over the past decades, that had all gone. The house had shriveled in on itself. Stone had crumbled away, and paths disappeared. The overgrowth seemed as if the earth had risen to seize it, slowly closing it in its grip. Soon it would disappear altogether, forever gone from sight and memory.

Luke Skywalker had little interest in moth-eaten houses. He preferred the swoop of the ship and screech of blaster-fire, seeking that thrill of adrenaline that hummed alive, alive, alive in his veins. A decayed old house did not present much interest to a young soldier who spent his time defying death, almost daring it to take him. However, the powers-that-be had ordered him out to investigate what the house held. Recent intel showed a hulking, black-armored figure had visited it more than once over the past years. It shouldn’t have been noteworthy, but there was a general galactic disposition that ignoring Vader’s activity tended to be bad for life expectancy rates.

He and Han had landed in the back vineyards, or what had formerly been vineyards. No more neat rows lined across rolling hills. It was a snarl of branches and leaves, and finding a spot to land had been difficult. Han, muttering to himself, had chosen to crush it a wide swathe of it in the end, swooping the Falcon like a scythe.

Luke walked out to a still, starry evening with warm, lazy breezes that brushed by gently. The house loomed ahead, blocky silhouette cut out against the midnight sky; Han looked up at it, then shook his head with a curse.

“Dunno what we’re looking for here.”

“Maybe nothing,” Luke said distantly. The faint breeze brought a freshwater scent from the lake on the other side, pleasant and clean, and he wanted to enjoy it a moment.

“What’s that smell?” Han’s face screwed up.

“The lake,” Luke answered. “We’re near the water.”

“If you say so.”

 Although time had done its best to choke out all signs of former life from the place, time, as always, was steady but slow. Underneath a carpet of vines lay a trace of an old path through the vineyard. Han had stretched out a boot and scraped away the brush with his foot to find dirt-caked stone. “Huh. There we go.” He scowled. “Damn burrs. Now I’m covered with them.”

“We’ll be fine once we get to the house.” Luke picked his way forward, curiosity prickling about what lay inside.

“You sure about that?” Han grumbled, following.

A massive patio door stood impressively, heavy stone and transparisteel untouched by age. Han tugged at the handle, but it didn’t give.

“Why lock an abandoned house?” he mumbled, but Luke spied a little door on the other side that must have been meant for droids, and upon Luke trying the handle, it slid open smoothly.

“I think whoever was last here just left it locked,” Luke guessed, ducking under the doorway into a pitch-black, low ceiling hallway. The light from Han’s glowrod showed heavy veils of cobwebs hung in sheets all the way through. “Watch the back of your neck,” he said chipperly, shooting Han a grin. “You might get a friend.”

“I think you mean watch your neck,” Han said flatly. “Just in general.”

Pushing through the lacy passage, during which Han kept slapping at his arms and neck while Luke forged forward steadily, led to a dim kitchen. Between the hush in the air and the soft shadows hanging in corners, Luke was reminded of waking in the middle of the night for a drink as a child, all the world still except for you.

Han was shivering and wrapping his jacket tighter. “Whatever we’re looking for, it’s not gonna be here.” He lifted the glowrod. “Mebbe it’s in the bedrooms.”

Luke had cocked his head. “Han.”

“What?”

“There’s no dust in here.”

“So…” Han trailed off. He swung the glowrod around, taking a closer look at the clean counter-tops, the updated equipment. Luke watched the realization settle in his eyes, the keenness Han typically hid, whether deliberately or not, the spark that came and went like a meteor flash. Or an emergency flare.

“Someone still lives here.”

“Whoever they are, they don’t care about security.” Luke glanced up. “No alarms or guards.”

“So what, Vader was visiting them?” Han said in disgust.

“Maybe…” Luke hesitated, looking back at the state-of-the-art machinery around them. “Maybe he takes care of them.”

Han’s mouth curled down. “Great. That makes sense.”

With silent assent, the two moved forward, more stealthily this time. On the left side of the kitchen, a door led to another long hallway, but with no cobwebs this time. A single slit of light ran alongside the wall, it bare glow just enough to see by, like a nightlight. Their footsteps shuffled through the space, Han leading the way with the glowrod and a scowl. Luke kept scanning his surroundings, although there was nothing to see; as he walked, he looked around, up, down, craning his neck to see what was above him, peering around Han to see what was in front.

“Han. Is this place…” Luke paused. He’d wanted to say familiar.

“Creepy as Sith hells? Yeah.” Han suddenly lifted a hand. Quiet.

They’d reached of the end of the hall, which finished in a doorway framed by ridged wood that looked uncomfortably like an open mouth. Han stepped through with a very studied casual air, and Luke strode after him to see a grand entrance room. They’d gone to the front of the house where guests would enter. High ceilings stretched up and met in a razor point from which a chandelier dangled. A series of other open mouth hallways gaped on the walls. To their left, an enormous staircase curved up to the second floor. Luke stepped forward, but something crunched with a rustle. Han shot him an irritated look, and Luke lifted his hands in an okay okay gesture, but brought his gaze down to see what exactly was underfoot. Some sort of papery slip—a program, actually. His brow furrowed. A program from over twenty years ago.

“Cleaning droids didn’t bother here,” Han said under his breath.

“Why do they only take care of part of the house?” Luke murmured in bewilderment. He expected Han to make some crack about rich skinflints, but Han had gone still next to him, letting out a choked sound.

Luke glanced up warily, then froze too.

There, at the top of the staircase in the shadows, stood a woman with her gaze trained directly on them. She was older, with graying chestnut hair and fine wrinkles that might have seemed elegant in a different light.

She was also wearing a yellowed wedding dress that swept to the floor and rippled out, including a white capped veil. It draped across her angular figure like a sheet thrown over a corpse.

Slowly, she stretched out a skeletally thin hand towards them.

“Ani?” she called out in a sing-song voice. “Ani?”

“Fuck this,” Han said, turning on his heel. Luke was still spellbound. She’d begun to move down the stairs, gliding so gracefully she seemed as if she was floating. Mesmerized, Luke suddenly got yanked backward by the collar, dragged along half-bent over until he hissed, “Wait, wait, wait--!” and tore himself away. He turned back to where the woman was standing alone at the bottom of the stairs, watching them. “I don’t think she’ll hurt us.”

Han sputtered incredulously, but Luke stepped forward.

“Sorry, ma’am. We…uh, we didn’t know anyone lived here.” He glanced back at Han, a thought forming. “Does Ani come and visit you?” Han, who’d still been halfway through the doorway, straightened, eyes narrowing in realization.

She didn’t respond, eyes tunneled on Luke. He and Han exchanged glances.

“You happen to be expecting him tonight?” Han asked nonchalantly, darting an alarmed look at Luke.   

The woman still had her gaze fixed on Luke. She tilted her head.

Then, slowly, steadily, a smile bloomed over her face. The click of heels sounded as she swept forward, heading straight for Luke. Han shifted, but Luke, without breaking his gaze with the woman, waved Han off impatiently behind his back. Wait.

She reached him and cupped his face, studying it, her expression aglow with happiness as she crooned: “Baby. My baby.”

“Luke?” Han gritted through his teeth, voice pitching in warning. “Luke?”

The woman paused.

“Luke,” she echoed after a moment. Han looked like he instantly regretted speaking. She smiled, repeating, “Luke.”

Luke in the meantime had let her caress his face, staying quiet. No words had come to him, only a deep, certain knowledge that this woman was like a preserved butterfly and that one wrong move would crumple her to dust. She moved delicately, and up close, he could see her eyes seemed consumed in a dream she would never wake from, distant and absent and yet here.

“Come,” she said, dropping her hand and turning. “Come upstairs. I’ve prepared your room.”

Han shot Luke a look that said hell no. Luke in turn cringed, looked guilty, and proceeded to follow the woman while Han threw up his hands.

She ascended the stairs like a flame of white light, and Luke climbed after her, watching her in marvel. Han stubbornly stayed where he was, taking out his blaster to signal he’d be lookout, although Luke didn’t see it. He was still gazing at the woman.

She led him softly through shadowy hallways, hushed and dark, as if he were a wayward child who’d been found out of bed. The space up here, unlike below, actually seemed like a home. No marble hallways and pristine décor, but carpeted halls with old wallpaper and creaky bedroom doors. She stopped at one, fiddling with the handle, letting out a small cry when it wouldn’t open.

“Ani locked it.” She looked at Luke wildly. “He locked me out. You have to understand. He locked me out.”

“It’s okay,” Luke said softly. “I think it’s about time for me to go anyway.”

She frowned.

“You can come with us,” Luke found himself offering, knowing Han would give him no end of hell for this. “You don’t have to stay here.” He glanced around, frowning as well. Whoever Ani was, and especially if he was whom Luke suspected, he couldn’t take good care of her.

“You’re leaving?”

Luke halted. Her voice had dropped, almost unnaturally deep. She lifted her chin regally, eyes blazing and face like a mask. “You’re leaving?” A tinge of cold and mildew tinted the air.

“Han is waiting for me,” Luke said weakly, trying to keep his voice level.

“Stay.” Her arm crept around him gently, pleading. “Stay and rest.”

“I have to go.”

Her arm dropped.

She stepped back smoothly, as if they’d been partners in a dance that just ended. The regal power from a moment ago, the command and self-assurance, was gone, collapsed in an instant like it had been crushed in someone’s fist. She looked at him, eyes full of tears.

“I—I’m sorry,” Luke said uncertainly. “But I have to go.”

“It’s all right,” she said, smiling limply. “I left you first.”

He thought she’d walk him back downstairs, but instead, she watched him go from where she stood as if tied there. He looked back to see a pale, gaunt woman standing alone by a locked door, before he descended the stairs slowly. Han looked beyond relieved to see him, barely waiting for Luke’s boots to touch the last step before scampering back down the hallway they’d entered through. They exited to find a balmy wind skimming the world, night still lush and velvety.

“I don’t know what that was,” Han grunted, “but whatever it was, I think it’s best to stay away from it. As in, a few systems away from it.” He took off his jacket and eyed Luke. “You weren’t cold in there?”

Luke was lost in thought. “She wouldn’t leave. Not even when I asked her to.”

“I wouldn’t sweat it.” Han spotted the Falcon and his steps quickened. “She seemed stuck in la la land, playing bride like that. What kind of adult plays marriage?” He bounded up the ramp. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here before we can’t.”

Wise words, especially given Vader’s previous visits. Although those were even more inexplicable now. Luke followed silently, wondering at it all, and as the Falcon blasted off, its lights flashed over a skeletal house containing cobwebs and rot and a nursery long abandoned.

Chapter Text

“You looked at that,” Obi-Wan flatly gestured at Anakin, “and thought…more.”

Ahsoka hadn’t stopped grinning. Her string of beads swung back and forth as she practically vibrated in place. She skipped across Padme’s office from where she’d been on the couch. “When are you due?”

“Force,” Obi-Wan muttered faintly, collapsing onto the couch and pinching his forehead. “How much longer do we have?”

“Now, Obi-Wan,” Padme said reasonably, trying to share a glance with Anakin, who had frozen by the doorway, his arms crossed and his eyes raised to the ceiling. He hadn’t moved for the past five minutes, clearly wanting to be anywhere but here. “My sister Sola did this, and she had a great experience. That’s how I came across the clinic. Besides, I don’t have time to date. And I wanted the father to be someone I knew.”

“So, you asked Anakin?” Ahsoka said dubiously. “Why not anybody else?” Her eyebrow markings furrowed. “Wait, Skyguy, why did you agree?”

“Yes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan threw a sharp-as-a-knife glare. “Why did you?”

Anakin spoke for the first time. “I…” He seemed to be moving in slow motion. Whatever sentence he’d had prepared fell back down his throat, and he let out an unintelligible series of sounds that vaguely seemed like “nrkraggkad.”

A lifetime of raising Anakin seemed to have given Obi-Wan translation skills no one else in the room possessed, because he leaned forward in disbelief. “Not against the code?”

“Hey, it’s not attachment,” Anakin said defensively, resurrected by the prospect of fighting with Obi-Wan. “I thought I was helping a friend out.”

“You do realize that your child will be Force sensitive.” Obi-Wan, done with trying to lasso Anakin’s mind with reason, was looking at Padme with an expression close to despair. “Very Force sensitive.” He shook his head, disapproving and spluttering at the same time. “And—and—” he jabbed a hand at Anakin. “And—”

“Force sensitivity is a possibility with any child,” Padme said smoothly. “Parenting is about accepting whomever you get.” She smiles. “I’ll love my baby the same.”

The word baby seemed to get stuck in the gears of both Obi-Wan’s and Anakin’s minds. Obi-Wan stood up, pacing back and forth, mouthing the word baby to himself helplessly. Anakin looked vaguely woozy.

“You really didn’t think this through—no, I meant Skyguy, not you, Padme.” Ahsoka smirked. “A baby.”

Anakin flashed, “Maybe I didn’t think she’d do it,” only to cower under a bone chilling look from Padme.

“An actual real, live baby,” Ahsoka repeated for the fun of seeing Anakin’s brain turn off again and Obi-Wan pale slightly.

“Obi-Wan,” Padme said, approaching him with a reassuring air. “Think about it from my point of view. Many people would choose to have the Hero with No Fear’s children—”

Obi-Wan gagged like he’d thrown up in his mouth.

He covered it in a rather pathetic attempt at politeness as Padme straightened, nose slightly turning up. “Myself included.”

“We’re going to have a mini Padme and Anakin combined,” Ahsoka marveled, probably to see if she could get Obi-Wan to go greener.

Padme beamed. “Yes.”

“The Council…” Obi-Wan whispered in vague distant horror. “The Council will…”

“I’ve already informed them,” Padme said briskly. “They can’t object. There’s no rules against a Jedi—”

“LA LA LA,” Ahsoka sang loudly and pointedly, covering her ears. “We get the point.” She paused in realization, then grinned a shark grin. “I can hardly wait to tell the 501^st.”

“No,” said Anakin. It had the force of a word that had skyrocketed up from a nuclear explosion.

“Yes,” Ahsoka answered promptly. “Maybe they can babysit sometimes.”

“Anakin will not be raising his—er, this—child,” Obi-Wan interjected sternly. “That’s not how this works.”

“That’s how it usually works,” Ahsoka pointed out. “Besides, who else is going to be capable of that? You?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I would hope,” Padme said wryly, “that I am qualified enough.” Her eyes danced, warm and bright. “Although naturally I hope that all of you,” she was only looking at Anakin, “will be a part of my child’s life.”

“You’re thrilled by this,” Obi-Wan said resignedly.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Padme answered wickedly. “I’ve always wanted to be a mother. Anakin made that dream come true.”

Obi-Wan appeared close to hurling again. Even Ahsoka looked a little nauseous at that.

“Just imagine,” and, oh, dear, Padme’s expression had gone hazy soft and dreamy, “a little boy toddling around, jumping in puddles with tiny rainboots and an umbrella—”

“I think you mean running,” Obi-Wan corrected wearily. “Running around. Sans umbrella. He won’t ever remember one. You’re accurate on the puddle mark. Particularly mud puddles, right before you’re due somewhere important.”

“It is kind of adorable to think about,” Ahsoka sighed, grinning at Anakin (who had resumed defensive postures via crossed arms and clamped mouth). “But what if it’s a girl?”

“It’s a boy. Mother’s intuition.”

“And father’s intuition?” Ahsoka swung to Anakin, while Obi-Wan looked thinned at the use of the word father in connection with Anakin.

“Uh,” Anakin said eloquently.

“What does his opinion have to do with it?” Padme said airily after he hesitated a beat too long, taking a seat behind her desk. “I’ve chosen to take this on myself.”

“You are bold, indeed, Senator Amidala,” Obi-Wan said drily.

Chapter Text

“Padme,” Clovis said, eyeing the couch from where he was sitting stiffly at the kitchen table. “I think—”

“Ah ah ah,” Padme laughed, dropping a kiss on his forehead, which remained wrinkled. “It’s my apartment, and my decision. Come on,” she cajoled, dropping into the chair next to him. “It will be good for me. You know I get lonely when you travel for the bank. Now I’ll have company.”

Clovis did not seem convinced. Instead, his eyes drifted back to the couch, where a mound of ratty fur, sharp teeth, and big paws rattled with loud, snarling snores. “Are…you sure that’s a dog?”

“He looked so lonely, out in the rain,” Padme said touchingly. She pouted as she looked at the couch, where a crocodile-like snout flashed up. “You have to admit, Clovis, he’s cute.”

“Do I?”

The big black dog on the couch rolled over onto its belly, resting its eyes on Clovis. Clovis straightened a hair, then looked annoyed with himself. Padme hadn’t noticed anything, too thrilled.

“Look who’s woken up!” she made her way to the couch, cooing in that pet owner baby voice—“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?”—as she ruffled the dog’s ears. Clovis later swore that the dog started purring, although nobody believed him.

“Dogs don’t purr,” Ahsoka said critically from behind the checkout. “Padme’s dog snarls. It snarls a lot. But dogs don’t purr.”

“Neither do wolves,” Obi-Wan added. “Or bears. Or the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park, for that matter.”

“I don’t see why everyone is making such a big deal,” Padme said bewilderedly from the table, sipping her latte for good measure. “Anakin’s friendly.”

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan shared a look that Padme, dabbing her mouth with a napkin, did not see.

“We had such a fun time at the dog park the other day,” she continued, blissful.

“You took…that…to a dog park?” Obi-Wan said slowly. “Were there any survivors?”

“Oh, pah,” Padme swatted him. “Most of the people that were there left in the first few minutes anyway, so there was virtually nobody there.”

“They did, huh,” Ahsoka said grimly. “How mysterious.” She paused. “How does Clovis feel about his new partial roommate?”

Padme sighed. “He’s not having a good time. He insisted on sleeping on the couch the other night because he didn’t want to share the bed with Anakin.”

“He got the couch, not Anakin?” Ahsoka said, a little gleeful.

“He’s not that bad. You two are being ridiculous.”

It wasn’t clear whether Padme meant Clovis or Anakin, and neither Ahsoka nor Obi-Wan enquired.

Over the next few months, Clovis had to travel for work more and more, and it became a common sight to spot Padme walking down the street, coat in in the frosty air, holding the leash to what Obi-Wan darkly called ‘the leviathan.’ Her dog, half as tall as her, would stalk in front, sweeping its gaze over everything with the air of, now, what’s for lunch.

“He’s friendly!” became Padme’s chipper call, as neighbor, passerby, and friend would stop and blanch. She wasn’t wrong. Anakin was friendly. To Padme, and Padme alone. He tolerated Obi-Wan, although he had a talent for throwing up on Obi-Wan’s and only Obi-Wan’s shoes, and he did seem to accept Ahsoka as a miniature Padme. To Padme, he would curl up at her feet in a raggedy black heap of slinky muscle, pant happily next to her on the couch—canines glistening sharply—or lie belly up with his paws dangling.

“Next time, why don’t you adopt one of Odin’s ravens,” muttered Clovis. “Or the minotaur.” He gingerly made his way into the living room where Anakin sat on the couch, while Padme was in the kitchen.

A giggle sounded from the other room. “Don’t be silly, Clovis. Anakin likes you.”

Clovis looked at Anakin. Anakin let out a long, low growl.

Padme came in, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“I’d like to be able to get up again,” Clovis responded.

Padme laughed, tugging him to the couch and pulling him down. “There. You’ve sat and you’re alive.”

While Padme leaned forward to grab the remote, Clovis met Anakin’s eyes behind her back, saw what they promised, and promptly stood up. “Actually, I have to go. I forgot to tell you. I have a…a meeting.”

“Oh,” Padme said, disappointed. “Well, maybe you can meet us at the park tomorrow. I go there early. Anakin likes to watch the rabbits.”

“Watch,” Clovis mouthed sarcastically. Out loud, he replied, “I’m certain he does.”

“I think Clovis and I are drifting apart,” murmured Padme the next day at the park. Ahsoka had heartily volunteered to come instead, but then again, Ahsoka was training for her softball team and swore that playing catch with Anakin was like a free batting cage. “We hardly ever see each other, and he just seems so distant these days.”

“That’s odd,” Ahsoka frowned. “He seemed really into you.” She hurled the ball forward, and like a killer whale diving, a sleek black figure sprung and snatched it from the air with a snarl. A distant thud sounded as paws hit earth.

“I’m wondering if I should end things,” Padme continued absently as Anakin dropped the now-smashed ball at Ahsoka’s feet and trotted over to Padme, where he lay down and propped his head on her legs. “Oooh, look at you,” Padme crooned, cradling his enormous jaws in her hands. “Look! At! You! You’re the cutest dog in the whole world, yes, you are!”

Anakin’s tail wagged so hard it practically blurred. It also leveled everything on the picnic blanket like a grim reaper's scythe. Padme just laughed in delight. 

Ahsoka shook her head. “Never change, Padme.”

Chapter Text

For the first time in Anakin’s life, the handmaidens looked happy to see him. He tried not to be insulted. He’d been directly responsible for many a late morning and rushed glam session back when he and Padme had kept their relationship secret, which had led to him getting endless flat looks. Even the end of the war and leaving the Order, the handmaidens still had seemed to mostly tolerate Anakin like he was Padme’s favorite pet rock—something they couldn’t understand her joy for but had decided to be supportive friends about.

Until recently.

The door flew open. Dorme stood there, eyes alight with a huge smile. “Finally! We’ve been waiting!” She waved him in. Squeals of delight sounded from throughout the room. Brunette women seemed to swarm forward en masse.

“Oh, there he is!”

“Oh my gods, at last! We were waiting forever!”

“Look at him!”

Anakin tried not to roll his eyes as the women surrounded him—more specifically, surrounded the tiny, blonde, fuzzy headed baby in his arms.

Luke giggled.

“Oh, look at you,” Dorme tutted, seizing Luke from Anakin’s arms. Seizing. It was the only word for it, no matter what Padme said. Luke’s little boots had practically whizzed past Anakin’s face. “How are you?” Dorme sang to Luke, who smiled.

“Fine, thank you,” muttered Anakin, which went ignored by one and all. Meanwhile, Luke piped, “Ga,” and a practically harmonized “oooh” rose in response.

“I brought drinks,” Anakin added, a little desperately. “As a thank you.”

“You can put them there,” said one of the handmaidens without looking up from Luke. Or pointing out where there was.

“Great,” Anakin sighed, bringing the carton over to the kitchen table. At least he’d tried.

“Wait, why isn’t Leia here?” demanded Rabe, swiveling to Anakin for the first time. Other gazes landed on him accusingly, like he was a delivery man who was going to get a very low rating. “I thought we were watching both of them.”

“Leia’s still back at home with Padme,” Anakin tried to explain, somewhat frantically, as all the gazes on him cooled. “She’ll bring her by later because—”

Dorme had already turned away, back to Luke with a bright smile and a coo. “Oh, we get to see your mommy too? This is a special day!”

Anakin shook his head. “I give up," not bothering to keep his voice low. Nobody was listening anyway.

Chapter Text

Anakin swore it was a coincidence, but everyone else was dubious. Ahsoka cast a loud glance at his tent, currently covered in a black swarm. Unlike every other tent around it.

“It seems pointed to me, Skyguy.”

“Coincidence!” Anakin said testily and a little louder, as if volume proved the point.

They’d landed on yet another planet in the endless stream of planets their lives were made up of; they’d prepared for a long trek to a hidden fortress, like any other day; they’d made camp as they always did, next to some cornfields.  

That was when it had started.

“They’re everywhere,” Anakin cursed. “It’s like I’m walking through a cloud of feathers and claws.”

“For you. I haven’t been bothered by them.” Ahsoka smirked. “Nobody else has.”

“It does seem like an omen,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully. “Maybe this is a message from the Force.”

Further research had not been promising.

“Death,” Ahsoka read from the datapad, “death, death again, death, more death, some say death, then death—”

Rex had not so subtly taken a step away from Anakin.

“Hey!”

“It doesn’t say it’s your death,” Ahsoka pointed out. “It could be anyone’s.”

“Great. So instead I’ll be connected to a bunch of other people’s deaths?”

“This planet does have a long history of superstition,” Obi-Wan sighed. “With all these around, it’s not hard to see why.”

“Oh, c’mon, Skyguy,” Ahsoka cajoled, seeing Anakin’s expression. “I’m sure you’ll live a long and happy—”

“CAW!” a rush of black feathers swooped in, leaving everyone spluttering and Anakin pawing at his hair.

“I swear that it tried to attack me!”

“Maybe it’s trying to save the galaxy.” Obi-Wan’s eyes danced.

Chapter Text

It had been Leia’s decision, and most decisively had she made it. She would brook no argument, suffer no opposition. Bail and Breha had been completely supportive—outwardly. Behind closed doors, they’d had many a conversation about the wisdom of letting your eight-year-old meet her sketchy biological father.

“You don’t need to worry, Daddy,” Leia said reassuringly to Bail, patting him on top of the head as he was sat in his office chair. “You’ll always be my favorite.”

Bail met Breha’s eyes. His wife stood in the doorway worriedly while Leia twirled away, snatching the sprig of lavender off of Bail’s desk while she was it.

“Are you sure about this?”

“She’s going to have questions,” Bail sighed. “She also has the right to know.”

“Daddy,” Leia had run back in. “Can we give him a black cat?” Her eyes were pleading. “It’s perfect for Halloween.”

“How about we give him something with a black cat on it?” Bail suggested, rising with another look at Breha. “We can take a trip to the store.”

“Great!” Leia chirped with an efficient nod. “I also need some brown sugar.” She paused, darting a glance at her parents. “I want to make him a treat.”

“He better handle this well,” Breha muttered. “He has an eight-year-old girl’s heart in his hands.”

It had been agreed among all parties to meet on neutral ground, which translated to Obi-Wan’s house. As the Organas exited the car, Leia skipped out along the old and cracked sidewalk, hopping from one crack to the next with deep intent. They made it halfway up the walk before she remembered that she’d forgotten her gifts for Anakin, and Bail ran back to get the black cat mug and the thermos that Leia had excitedly said was her lotion invention.

They entered, saw a gruff and scarred man waiting in the living room, and introductions were made all around. Leia offered him the mug, then insisted Anakin try on her thermos mixture right away. Anakin obediently assented, even as everyone winced over Leia’s head as the thermos lid slid off to rancid fumes.

“I found it on the internet,” Leia said confidently when Breha asked delicately how she’d come up with the recipe.

Anakin seemed ill at ease, although polite enough that Breha’s fears about his treatment of Leia were put to rest. He patiently asked her about school and her friends, and Leia answered perfunctorily—and increasingly impatiently, soon down to one-word answers. She had been watching him intently and began to narrow her eyes with a frown. Anakin was in the middle of telling Bail about his first job out of prison when Leia leapt up and interrupted him.

“You should try your mug!” She pulled it out. “See. It has a black cat. Get some tea.” The last sentence had the iron bent of a command.

Anakin and Bail stared at her, still rerouting their brains from their conversation about lawnmowing, then Anakin stood. “Okay. Obi-Wan will have some somewhere.”

Getting the tea, however, did not seem to satisfy Leia. She watched him like a hawk as he drank it down; watched him as he set aside the mug with a clink and thanked her for it; watched him and frowned and frowned and frowned, until that frown grew into a great black scowl.

“Leia,” Bail warned. “Why don’t you come sit back down?”

“I knew it should have been a real black cat,” Leia replied accusingly. She looked back at Anakin. “You should get a black cat.”

“Uh…” Anakin’s eyes shot to Bail, with the question of what the hell is your daughter doing. Bail, however, was already looking at Breha with the question of what is your daughter doing. Breha herself, in the meantime, was gazing at Anakin with the question of what the hell is your daughter doing.

“We can go now,” demanded Leia. “There’s a pet store close.”

“No, thank you,” Anakin said simply. Leia scoffed and crossed her arms.

 “Leia,” Bail reached out and tugged her arm gently. “What’s this about?”

Leia looked at Anakin and glared. “It was supposed to work.” She shook her head with a sigh. “I looked it up and everything.”

“What was supposed to work, dear?” Breha asked in bewilderment.

“The curse.” Leia’s little face knitted up unhappily, until she looked over her shoulder at Anakin with a glare. “I got the lavender and everything, just like the recipe said.”

A stupefied silence fell.

“You…tried to curse me?” Anakin said slowly.

“It should have been a real black cat,” Leia replied ominously, gazing at Anakin with a hard expression.  

“Why the hell would you try and curse me?” Anakin said, equal parts sharp and confused. “You don’t even know me.”

Leia leaned forward ferociously. “Exactly.”

“Leia,” Bail seemed to find his voice, “It’s not…” he paused. “Not nice to curse people.”

“Yeah,” Anakin scoffed. “No kidding.”

Leia just stood alone, arms crossed and eyes filling with tears. “It should have worked.” She sniffled. “It was s’posed to work.”

“I am…so sorry,” Breha began, looking uncertainly at Anakin, while Bail knelt before Leia and had a low-toned conversation with her. “We had no idea…”

“She wouldn’t be the first,” Anakin said wryly. “At least she didn’t slash my tires.”

Leia emerged from her conversation with Bail, tearstained but dignified. “I would like to ‘pologize.”

“Uh huh,” Anakin nodded. Inexplicably, the attempted curse had appeared to set him at ease. “Anytime.”

“I won’t try to curse you again.”

“Probably for the best.”

Leia raised her head, the picture of noble sacrifice. “You don’t have to keep my potion.”

Anakin shook his head gravely. “I wouldn’t dream of throwing it away.”

That, of all things, made Leia smile. “Okay.”

The meeting ended soon after, with some awkward thank you’s and assurances about reaching out if necessary, sounds of shuffling filling the room. As the Organas said goodbye, Leia peered up at Anakin and did not hug him, but extended a hand with an air of professionalism.

“Until next time.”

Anakin solemnly shook her hand. “Until we meet again.”

Leia seemed to approve of his respectful deference, and she skipped back out, hopping down the sidewalk again, although more carefully than before.

“I think I just aged thirty years,” Bail whispered wearily to Breha on the way to the car.

“Don’t age just yet,” Breha said drily. “You’re going to need some energy for the teen years. Remember Obi-Wan’s stories?”

Bail paled.  

Chapter Text

Padme had been acting oddly around Anakin, lately.

At first, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka had rolled their eyes at him and told him it was all in his head. Ahsoka, piled on the floor, tongue peeping out as she concentrated on Mario Kart, had snorted something about Anakin being so weird he didn’t understand normal human interaction. Obi-Wan had hummed in agreement with a half-smile, although he said nothing aloud.

To be fair, all of Anakin’s examples ranged from she asked me how I was doing to she asked about my job to she said hello. But as Anakin kept stubbornly insisting, they’d known each other since they were children, and this was a change of behavior for Padme.

“She never used to ask. That’s what I mean.”

“Uh huh. Get over yourself, Skyguy.”

Even Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, however, were forced to admit something was off a few weeks later at a Halloween party. Padme, dressed as a black cat, spent the entire time talking to anyone and everyone except for Anakin. She did approach him but seemed to force herself to do so, too bright smile pasted on and teeth nearly gritted.

“Your costume was a little insane,” Ahsoka said doubtfully. “Spooky. Headless and missing an arm and all that. Maybe that’s why.”

“I actually am missing an arm, though. Padme is used to that.”

“Wellll…”

“She’s certainly used to you not keeping your head,” Obi-Wan said cheerfully. “Perhaps she’s going through something. Her life can be chaotic.”

Neither Anakin nor Ahsoka could argue with that. Between local politics, volunteer efforts, and a giant friend network, Padme barely had time to see any of them. Anakin had once jokingly complained that when they were teens, she’d disappeared for a solid ten years. She had a habit of levelling her steady gaze on what she wanted and then pursuing it relentlessly. Hesitancy was a foreign mood on her.

As the weeks passed, more odd behaviors began popping up. Padme would not-so-subtly ask Obi-Wan and/or Ahsoka how everyone was, everyone clearly being code for Anakin. Although Anakin didn’t tell anyone, sometimes he’d glance up to find her watching him, and she’d quickly glance away. The first time, he frowned and glanced down at his shirt, but it was one of the less offensively unfashionable ones. The second time, the same. The third time, he began to wonder if Padme had finally reached her limit as to Anakin’s clothing choice of black, black, and black again. Padme, however, said nothing.

More than that, Padme’s giant network of friends—the hive, as Anakin sarcastically termed it—began to buzz. They’d whisper into Padme’s ear and giggle as Anakin passed while Padme went red, and Anakin would give them an unimpressed look, disbelieving on just how far this judginess on his fashion choices went. Sabe would sidle up to Anakin and ask about his taste in anything and everything, throwing out questions that felt weirdly loaded about his future plans and whether he enjoyed his movie nights “with Padme……..and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka.” The pause felt relevant, somehow. But Anakin couldn’t parse it.

“I’m just saying,” he grunted from where he laid on the ground, tossing a racquetball up in the air idly. “I think something is going on.”

“Oh, something is assuredly going on,” Obi-Wan’s voice echoed from the kitchen. “We just have to wait for her to share it.”

“A very Obi-Wan tactic,” Ahsoka commented, eyeing Anakin’s racquetball like a cat planning to swipe a glass off a table.

“Snips, I will kill you.”

“Charming as ever, I see.” She flopped back against the couch sulkily. “We could just ask. Maybe we should just ask. Hold a friend intervention.”

“Won’t she, I dunno, feel put on the spot?” Anakin’s forehead wrinkled. “What if it’s something she doesn’t want to share with all of us?”

“Versus just you?” Ahsoka hooted. “Okay, Skyguy.”

“I don’t know,” Anakin said worriedly, glaring at the racquetball as it smacked back down against his hand. “This is very weird for Padme.”

“It’s not weird for someone to dislike you,” Ahsoka pondered. “But Padme never seemed bothered before.”

“Thanks, Snips. You really know how to make a guy feel better.”

“She might be overwhelmed by work,” Obi-Wan said reasonably, entering with a greasy sandwich and depositing himself on the couch. “If she’s stressed there, she might not have as much patience as she normally does for…” he circled a finger at Anakin without looking up.

Anakin sat up in offense. “What do I do that’s so bad?”

“For one, you had a huge embarrassing crush on her when you were fourteen,” Ahsoka said happily, as if thrilled at the opportunity to bring it up.

Anakin flexed a threatening finger. “You weren’t even there. You were basically a fetus at that point.”

“And yet it’s lived on to the point that I know all about it.”

Anakin fell back down with a mumble.

“You have a strong personality, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said delicately, diplomatic air somewhat marred by the mayonnaise splotched on the corner of his mouth. Both Ahsoka and Anakin shared a delighted smirk, then Obi-Wan shot the room a flat look and wiped it off, continuing. “Sometimes people like strong flavors in small doses. Especially if the rest of their life consists of strong flavors.”

“I think you lost that analogy halfway through,” Ahsoka interjected dubiously.  

“Sometimes,” Anakin said testily, “people use strong flavors to crowd out any other taste. Because they love it so much. Like the ketchup steak people.”

“And those people have something wrong with them,” Obi-Wan said with gentle certainty. “Do you think Padme has something wrong with her?”

“N-no,” Anakin stumbled, “She’s perfect. But—”

“Something’s off, and I don’t know if we should just ignore it,” Ahsoka said crisply. “She could be, like, dying.”

“I think her work has been getting to her,” Obi-Wan mused. “I heard from Bail she’s been distracted lately.”

“Burnout?” Anakin proposed, thoughtful. “She does work too much. She wouldn’t go on that road trip with me last year.”

“The one you asked her on last minute with no plan?” Ahsoka crooked an eyebrow. “Big surprise there.”

“Hey!”

“Maybe she’s having family issues,” Obi-Wan considered, forehead puckering. “Her father did have that health scare last year…”

“None of this explains why she’s acting this way around me and nobody else.” Anakin groaned. “What if I really pissed her off this time?”

“Ding ding ding!” Ahsoka chirped with a grin, raising a finger. “Most likely explanation so far!”

“I’ll talk to her,” Anakin’s head fell back in frustration. “Just me. Middle ground solution.”

“Good luck.” Ahsoka patted him on the head. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

-

Unfortunately for Ahsoka, her words proved more accurate than to anyone’s liking.

“I can’t believe we missed this,” Ahsoka groaned from behind the steering wheel. “They’re still at it.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Obi-Wan said tightly. He’d pinched his forehead like he had a migraine, eyes screwed shut. “Is it over yet?”

“You look. I’m not going to.”

“I refuse to.”

“Ugh! Fine. And—nope, nope, nope. They’re still,” Ahsoka made air quotes, “saying goodbye.”

“Blow the horn.”

“Well…”

Without ceremony, Obi-Wan reached over and pushed it. Its blare filled the frosty autumn air. It did the trick. Barely.  

“Why’d we agree to give Anakin a ride home from the restaurant?” Ahsoka thudded her head against the wheel. “Can’t he ride with Padme?”

“We do still live with him, Ahsoka.”

“For now.”

“I get the sense,” Obi-Wan sighed, watching Anakin jog forward, “that will be changing sooner than even close to sensible.”