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Ahsoka isn’t entirely sold on this whole idea. The Jedi should be on the frontlines, fighting the war, and yet she’s been recalled, along with Anakin and Captain Rex, to attend some fancy gala filled with stuck-up senators back on Coruscant. Anakin says that it’s an honour, that they’ve been selected by the Supreme Chancellor to represent the GAR, but it doesn’t feel like much of an honour.
It’s not difficult to see how much Rex hates the idea either, she’s never seen the man stand so stiffly as he had when he’d found out their next assignment. He passed it off as worry for his troops if all three of them were away from the front lines, but Anakin assured him that General Secura and General Kenobi would take good care of them.
Very rarely does Ahsoka wish she had, in fact, been assigned to Master Kenobi, but this is one of those occasions where she would give anything to have been someone else’s Padawan, not the apprentice of the Chosen One. Alas, here she is, standing in front of a full-length mirror in the dressing room the Chancellor has assigned for the three of them, with a look of horror on her face.
‘Rex!’ she calls over to the man standing on the other side of the room, reflected in Ahsoka’s mirror, fiddling with the tassel around his midsection.
‘Yes, Commander?’ he responds, giving up on the tie and walking over, his outer robes hanging open.
‘What the fuck am I wearing?’ Ahsoka asks, flicking her eyes up and down the outfit uncertainly.
It had been sent over by one of the Chancellor’s aides, apparently fashionable on Coruscant, but Ahsoka has never felt more naked. Give her a set of Jedi robes or a battle dress any day of the week, this is… there aren’t words for it.
It’s deep purple in colour, with gold accessories sewn in here and there, sequins and beads and such. It reaches the floor and then some, to the point that Ahsoka is sure she will trip over it at some point tonight. On her left side, there’s a slit that reaches from her ankle all the way up to her hip, so high that it’s a miracle her underwear isn’t showing. She scowls at it in the mirror, at the small glimpse of her thigh that a passing senator might catch. She’s always hated her thighs, always covered them as best she can so nobody can see, least of all herself.
And, worse than that, there’s a piece of it, right at the front of her midsection, where the fabric turns sheer, leaving a perfect window into her stomach. She’s going to kill whoever designed this fucking monstrosity.
‘I believe they call this a dress, Commander,’ Rex supplies, unhelpfully. Then, grinning, he picks up the golden jewellery she had set aside on the plush red armchair nearby. ‘Now this… this is something else, what do you even do with this?’
Ahsoka groans and snatches it from him. ‘It’s some weird-ass fucking headdress and I hate it, it should burn in the deepest pits of the Sith hells,’
‘Now, now, Ahsoka, that is a gift for you, so play nice,’ Anakin’s voice pipes in as he appears from behind the privacy screen, with his dark robes tied neatly together. He looks the part they’re meant to play tonight, and if Ahsoka didn’t know him, she could probably mistake him for a senator or foreign dignitary.
‘You can’t make me wear this, Anakin, these are so uncomfortable!’ Ahsoka pleads, holding the thin chain so tightly in her hand she can feel the dents being created in her palm.
‘If you don’t wear this, it will be an insult to the Cerean Senator, you know the whole point of this evening is to increase our support from the Republic nations.’ Anakin stands in front of her now, placing his hands on her bare shoulders and she wishes he’d stop, she can feel the fat sitting there just fine on her own, thank you very much. ‘The men need supplies, Ahsoka, we need more supplies. And we get that by keeping the Republic on our side,’
Anakin’s words make sense, and Ahsoka knows them to be true. Men are dying on the front lines because they don’t have the bandages, or the bacta, to keep them alive. If enduring this hell will save their lives, then Ahsoka will simply have to grit her teeth and do it.
Begrudgingly, she lays the two peaked gold plates on top of her montrals and begins winding the hanging chains around each lekku. The chain has no break in it, so instead of ending at the bottom of her lekku, the chain hangs around her chest, tight enough to maintain the spiral shape around her lekku, and also serve as a necklace. A light pink pendant hangs in the middle in the shape of a flower native to Cerea.
Ahsoka stares at her reflection in the mirror once more, the thin chain digs into the inside of her lekku painfully and scratches the side of her head. When she turns to the side, she can see how round her stomach still is, despite her best efforts to flatten it, and she wonders how many senators will leave the gala tonight, shocked by how fat the Jedi Commanders must be.
‘Now, remember, you must thank the Cerean senator when you see him, tell him that you love his gift and will cherish it forever,’ Anakin coaches her. Ahsoka scowls at him in the mirror.
‘Jedi aren’t allowed personal possessions,’ she points out, folding her arms across her chest, but low enough that it hides some of her stomach, a position she has perfected over the years.
‘Yes, but he doesn’t know that, nor does he care,’ Anakin retorts, with just as much sass in his tone. ‘And Jedi also don’t give in to discomfort, so wipe that look off of your face,’
Ahsoka’s not sure if it’s the painful emptiness of her stomach, or purely Anakin’s insufferable obsession with this gala, but instead of doing as she is bid, she whirls around to her Master, brows pulled together defiantly.
‘Well, maybe I’m not a Jedi!’ she snaps. Rex takes a step back beside her, clearly shocked by her words, but Anakin’s face doesn’t even twitch.
‘Say that again?’ he says. He isn’t angry, this isn’t Anakin’s angry face, there’s something else going on that makes Ahsoka feel far more uncomfortable and her glare softens as she brings her arms back across her stomach.
‘Nothing, Master,’ she responds quietly.
Anakin watches her for a moment, seemingly considering her every move, her every breath, and Ahsoka hates it when people watch her like this. She just knows what they’re thinking, she knows he’s wondering what would happen if she stepped onto a scale, what number might come up. She hates that she knows the answer, a piece of her wishes she never stepped on that damn scale, but there’s nothing Ahsoka can do about that now, other than fix it.
In the end, Anakin says nothing, merely turns to Rex, clearly finished with his silent surveillance of his Padawan, and picks up the loose tassels, fiddling with the Captain’s robes until they sit across his chest properly and are tied in some convoluted knot Ahsoka can’t even begin to try and decipher.
The two of them look incredible, the perfect soldier and the hero General, ready to bring their stories of glory to the awaiting dignitaries. Ahsoka feels like a whale next to the, more fat than bone, uglier than a gundark’s left ass cheek and entirely out of place among this group.
‘Alright, now remember; you say what they want you to say, no snippy comments, no sneaky insults and absolutely no dead people stories. They don’t want to hear about everyone you’ve seen with limbs hanging off or the skin peeled off their face. They want to hear about the camaraderie, about how we fight together, about the civilians we help, the children we save. They don’t want to hear about dead people,’ Anakin says firmly, looking between Commander and Captain imperiously. ‘If we screw this up, it won’t be us paying the price,’
‘Sir, yes, sir!’ Rex responds emphatically, in that perfectly practiced fashion that shows off just how good of a soldier he is. Ahsoka sighs and lifts her head, tilting her chin down slightly to hide that stupid piece of fat that sits just under her jawline and won’t leave.
‘Yes, Master,’ she says.
‘Very good, now come along, they’ll be expecting us by now,’ Anakin commands, gesturing for the two to fall into place behind him as they leave the dressing room. Four of the corrie guard flank them as they make their way through the halls, and Ahsoka catches Rex looking jealously at their armour. At least she isn’t in this alone, Anakin may be acting like a dick over this, but Rex appears just as displeased as she feels.
The first half of the evening is spent mingling with the guests, Anakin tells them to ‘divide and conquer’, so she’s quickly left on her own to woo and entertain the nearest senators. She wishes desperately that Senator Amidala were in attendance, but she’s been called back to Naboo by the Queen, and is missing this particular function. Ahsoka curses the queen.
Going up to the conversing senators seems terribly awkward, so for a while, she finds herself wandering aimlessly through the hall. Music plays at a sociable volume, a live band set up on the podium at the front of the room, droids squeeze through the crowds with trays of drinks and all around senators chat and laugh and Ahsoka truly wishes she had been shot down on their last mission. Not necessarily shot dead, but injured enough that Kix would have her holed up in the medbay long enough to have avoided this.
Eventually, one of the senators calls her attention and she makes her way over, smiling in a way she didn’t know she could smile. It’s all teeth and poise and Ahsoka feels sick as soon as it happens. The chain hanging between her lekku swings annoyingly against her chest and she’ll do anything to take her lightsaber to it.
Instead, she greets the senators politely and answers their questions about the war. She keeps her answers clean, she holds her back straight and makes sure to tilt her pelvis backwards so her stomach won’t stick out so much. As Ahsoka speaks, the senators laugh around her, even if she doesn’t think what she’s saying is funny, and she keeps tugging at the fabric around the slit down her leg, trying to cover up her thigh a little more. Hopefully, nobody sees that.
Soon enough, the senators move on to other conversation, and Ahsoka finds herself whisked away to another person who wants to meet the famous Commander Tano, so she tells them her stories as well and by the time a man gets up on stage, interrupting the band momentarily, and calls dinner, Ahsoka is sure she’s told the same stories a dozen times.
Anakin finds her and Rex quickly and sits them all down together at the table, where seats have been reserved for them, and the food is brought out by the droids. Corrie guards line the walls and Ahsoka doesn’t miss the tension that seems to pass through the looks between them and Rex.
Steaming plates piled high with food line the tables soon enough, and the Chancellor rises from his seat, Ahsoka hadn’t even realised he was in attendance, but she supposes it makes sense for him to be here. He’s sitting at the far end of the tables, seated at the head with three troopers on either side of them, all with the same uniform corrie guard markings, except for the two in front, whom she recognises as Commanders Fox and Thorn. Rex won’t look at Fox, his eyes flick over him very briefly and Ahsoka feels the flash of hurt in the Force, before he quickly focuses his eyes on the Chancellor as he invites everyone to eat their fill.
Anakin digs in immediately, as do many of the senators, some eating in a more polite fashion than others. Ahsoka tries to chalk it up to cultural differences but some of these people really don’t know basic table manners. She sees far too many forks and knives left forgotten, and a female Kiffar a few seats down is chewing so loudly, Ahsoka is sure they’ll hear her back on the woman’s home planet. It makes her feel sick.
The food all looks terrible, the stench of it makes Ahsoka want to rip her nose off, but she can’t imagine any of these fancy senators will appreciate that. Rex begins serving himself some food, Ahsoka notices the skeptical way he looks at it, he’s probably never eaten food like this, too used to military rations and slop. But, he fills his plate and begins eating without problem.
‘Ahsoka, you’ve gotta try this, you’ll love it,’ Anakin says suddenly, snapping Ahsoka out of her thoughts and she looks up to see him holding a platter of some kind of meat near her and using a fork to transfer some of it onto her plate. She wants to scream at him, but instead, she smiles.
‘Thank you, Master,’ she says stiffly.
‘Go on, take what you want, everyone needs a break from ration bars every now and then,’ Anakin tells her, but Ahsoka would desperately like to disagree.
She loves her ration bars, she knows exactly how many calories are in them, how much fat and how much protein, and she knows that she can make one last a day and a half now and it’s the cleanest food she’s known.
This meat in front of her looks revolting. As does everything else, but Anakin is looking at her expectantly, and even some of the guests sitting nearby have clocked her, so she has no choice but to reach for a nearby plate of some other kind of meat and move some of it onto her plate.
Everyone around them is talking loudly, Anakin is regaling anyone in earshot with glorious stories of his heroics on the front line, with Rex piping in every now and then, but Ahsoka’s mouth feels glued shut by the thought of the food in front of her and she can only nod numbly when Anakin asks her opinion on something.
Before anyone can comment on the knife and fork still lying on either side of her plate, Ahsoka picks the utensils up and begins cutting into her meat. She takes her time with it, meticulously slicing everything into tiny bite-size pieces. By the time she’s finished, most people are helping themselves to seconds.
Moving her fork into her right hand, Ahsoka sets down her knife and puts her left hand on her thigh under the table, using the slit of the dress to grab hold of the flesh, as she brings a piece of meat to her mouth. She doesn’t know what it is, but she knows that Anakin was wrong and it tastes horrible. Chewing mechanically, Ahsoka stares at him across the table and squeezes her fingers harder, trying to focus more on the pain than the ashy texture in her mouth. When she swallows, she nearly gags and spits it out, but somehow she manages to keep it down.
She moves her fork back to her plate, picking up another piece of meat. Just as she’s about to press her nails into her skin once more, a warm hand sets itself atop of hers and she looks down to see Rex’s hand pulling hers away from her tight and twining his fingers with hers. All the while, he keeps his gaze fixed on Anakin and his exaggerated gestures, continuing to eat with his free hand.
Ahsoka knows what he’s trying to do and she wants to hate him for it, but it also makes her want to cry. But she can’t cry here, so she just squeezes his hand as hard as she can as she brings the next bite of food to her mouth.
It takes forever to chew, and she can’t figure out if she hates having food in her mouth more than she hates having it in her stomach. Both seem equally unbearable. After what seems to be years, she manages to swallow again, and then it starts all over again with another bite of meat.
Eventually, Anakin runs out of stories to tell, or perhaps realises that not everybody wants to hear his voice all evening, and the conversation turns to other boring topics that Ahsoka tunes out all the same. Instead, she looks down the table at everyone, all the while holding tightly to Rex’s hand as she tries not to think about the sludge in her mouth.
The man next to her has a plate filled so high that Ahsoka recoils just at the sight of it. She can smell the food on his plate and she hates how strong it smells, how easily she can smell the calories in it. It’s like they infuse into her blood through the thin skin of her nose and she wishes she could stop breathing.
Everyone is dressed up magnificently, many wearing the latest Coruscanti fashion (Ahsoka notices many gowns with the same sheer circle across their stomach and can’t help noticing how beautiful it looks on their flatter bodies). One woman, again with more food on her plate than would ever fit in Ahsoka’s stomach, hardly fits into her chair and she can’t help thinking that she could certainly do with much less food.
Truly, Ahsoka doesn’t understand how some people can get up in the mornings, look at themselves in the mirror, and still eat half their weight in one meal. And, for this particular woman, that is a feat indeed.
The Chancellor seems to be enjoying his meal, talking animatedly with those around him. At one point, she notices him gesturing to Commander Fox and whispering something in his ear. The Commander leaves quickly, signalling to two other troopers who follow him just as swift.
Littered across the table are a few larger carving knives, meant for certain meats that, according to the lady Ahsoka overhears speaking of them, should only be cut right before consumption. Ahsoka wishes she might reach for one of those knives and use it to carve the fat out of her stomach. Kix would be able to stitch her up in a way that nobody would even know she’d done it. It’s easier to stomach the food in front of her when she can imagine sliding the knife across her stomach. She’d start at the bottom, slicing clean across her torso, the knife would reach far enough to scrape out all of the fat in her stomach in one big lump. And just like that, everything would be better.
Ahsoka could do it anywhere she likes, her chin, her thighs, her shoulders. Just scrape all of the fat away and leave only bone and muscle. How many kilos could she lose doing that?
By the time Ahsoka has had a fourth bite of meat, her stomach feels as though it may burst. She looks down to see it protruding grotesquely from her dress and immediately, she sets aside her fork. It comes on so suddenly that it takes her by surprise, when her stomach churns violently and then cramps in a clear signal of what is to come. Ahsoka lets go of Rex’s hand.
‘I need the bathroom,’ she tells him quietly when he looks at her curiously.
‘You know where it is?’ he whispers as she stands, setting her napkin on the table next to her plate.
‘Yeah, we walked past it on the way in,’ she responds and then leaves as quickly as she can without arousing suspicion. Her stomach convulses threateningly as she moves, and by the time she reaches the hallways, she has one arm wrapped around her midsection while the other hand covers her mouth.
The corrie guards open the doors for her and the cooler air outside the hall helps somewhat, but she’s still only in the bathroom by the skin of her teeth, tossing the seat of the ‘fresher up and kneeling on the, thankfully remarkably clean, floor, and hastily pulling back the chain dangling around her chest as she promptly empties her stomach into the basin below.
Her eyes water as her stomach contracts painfully, trying to force more up her throat when there’s nothing left to be brought up. The smell of bile quickly fills the room and Ahsoka’s tears fall into the ‘fresher as she continues gagging and dry heaving.
Ahsoka doesn’t notice when she starts crying, and by the time she does, she doesn’t know if it's because of the pain in her stomach, the taste in her mouth or knowing that this has never happened before. Pitifully, Ahsoka rocks back on her heels and leans against the wall behind her once she stops gagging, and leans her head in her hands as she cries.
She’s never thrown up before. Not like this. Sure, she’s had stomach bugs and all sorts, and food has always made her stomach churn for as long as she can remember. Everyone she’s ever met seems to love food, especially the clones, half the time it’s all they talk of, but Ahsoka has always hated it. The smell of it, the taste of it and the texture. She hates what it does to her body and it’s always made her feel sick, but she’s never actually done it.
For months, she’s watched the numbers on the scale slowly dwindle and she’s sworn that she’s not like the girls in the holo-dramas that Fives loves. Not like the girls who count every calorie and stick toothbrushes down their throats to make sure they don’t stay in their stomachs. But in the end, Ahsoka didn’t even need the damn toothbrush and, fuck, it feels so good.
Oh, shit, she didn’t think she’d enjoy it. How empty her stomach feels, the relief of the sudden emptiness, the gentle burn in her throat, the taste of bile in her mouth. It feels good. It feels right. Like this is how it’s supposed to be, and isn’t that a terrifying thought.
Because Ahsoka knows it’s wrong, of course she knows. She went to all her classes as a Padawan, learned the importance of good nutrition but for some reason it just never really felt like it applied to her. But now she’s here, sitting on the floor of a karking Senate bathroom, her mouth burning and tears streaming down her face and she’s sure that she’s seen this film before. She never thought she’d be the one starring in it.
Just as she’s about to try and calm herself down enough to re-enter the hall before anyone marks her absence, there’s a banging at the door and Ahsoka freezes, holding her breath to try and quiet her sobs.
‘Who’s in there? Are you hurt?’ a voice calls. It’s a clone trooper, but Ahsoka doesn’t recognise them.
‘No,’ she answers, wishing her voice didn’t make it so obvious that she’s crying. ‘I’m fine,’
There’s a pause, and then…
‘Commander Tano?’
Fuck.
‘Pull your pants up, I’m coming in,’ the trooper says gruffly, and then the main door creaks open. Footsteps tap against the tiled flooring until Ahsoka can see two red and white boots standing outside her cubicle. ‘Don’t make this hard, sir, open the door,’
‘No,’ Ahsoka says quietly, as if that’s going to change the outcome of this interaction.
‘Commander, I won’t ask again,’ the man says. He sounds impatient and guilt floods Ahsoka’s stomach. He’s just trying to get through his shift, he doesn’t want to be dealing with her shit.
Sighing, Ahsoka reaches up and presses the button to unlock the door. It slides back to reveal none other than Marshal Commander Fox standing in the doorway, looking down at her and even with his helmet, Ahsoka knows he’s got that same look all the clones get when they don’t know how to deal with someone’s emotions.
‘Why are you crying?’ he asks bluntly, hands on his hips and the shadow he casts over Ahsoka only makes her want to cry harder, but she forces herself to regulate her breathing and try to speak properly.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she tells him.
Fox sighs. ‘Fine. I’m calling Rex,’
‘No!’ Ahsoka cries, lunging forward and trying to grab his leg as he turns around and takes a few steps again, but she’s too slow and she only falls pathetically onto her stomach, head turned to the side. The chain trapped between her head and lekku hurts even more and again, she bits back the urge to cry.
This is quite possibly the worst moment of Ahsoka’s life. It’s officially over. In the end, it’s not a blaster bolt or a lightsaber that ends Ahsoka’s life, it’s another Commander calling Rex on her as she lies on the floor of the bathroom like a sack of fucking vegetables.
Fox says something into his commlink that Ahsoka can’t hear, the conversation lasts only seconds and by the time Fox has turned around, Ahsoka has pulled herself back up so she’s sitting in the doorway, leaning against one side of it.
‘He’ll be here soon,’ Fox tells her.
‘I hate you,’ Ahsoka mutters, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring up at him. She must look like a fucking youngling, sitting on the floor, tears and drool running down her face and pouting.
‘Join the fucking club, kid,’ Fox replies drily. ‘You’ve got good company in it,’
In another situation, Ahsoka might ask what he meant by that, but she’s far too focused on the indignity of all of this to recognise the meaning of his words.
They stay in silence until Rex arrives, neither having anything to say to the other. As soon as Rex finds them, he’s on his knees in front of her, his hands on her arms and looking at her with that penetrating look of concern in his eyes.
‘Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?’ he asks hurriedly.
‘I threw up,’ Ahsoka explains pitifully. She’s never felt so embarrassed in her life.
‘Yeah, I can see that,’ Rex says, pulling Ahsoka to her feet as he speaks. ‘You can’t keep doing this, Ahsoka, it’s only going to get worse,’
‘Doing what?’ she asks innocently as he starts wetting a towel from the neat stack on the nearby shelf.
‘You know what I’m talking about, don’t insult me like that,’ Rex tells her sharply, as he brings the towel to her face, cleaning her off. ‘You can’t keep not eating, it’s not healthy,’
‘I eat enough—’
‘Ahsoka,’ Rex cuts her off harshly, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her slightly. ‘I will tell Kix about this, I should have a long time ago,’
Ahsoka’s eyes widen as she tries to pull away, but Rex is holding her too tightly. ‘No, you can’t! You can’t tell Kix!’
He levels her with one of those looks that tells Ahsoka he’s caught her in something she hasn’t quite figured out yet.
‘If you don’t want me to tell Kix, that means you know it’s not healthy. You can’t go on like this. Either let me help you fix it now, or I’m telling Kix and we can do this the hard way,’ Rex says and Ahsoka feels strangely like a child again, being scolded by the crechemaster for not sharing.
‘I didn’t make myself throw up, it just happened!’ Ahsoka insists. Rex doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Ahsoka has this entirely under control.
‘This isn’t the place for this conversation, but rest assured that we will be having this conversation. Now, take a deep breath, and then we need to get back out there. The senator from Corellia wants to talk to you, she’s wondering where you are,’
Rex tosses the towel into the nearby basket, ready to be taken by the service droids. He looks at her, and Ahsoka can see the worry and the concern, but it doesn’t feel the same. He’s never been angry with her before, there’s always been a certain gentleness she thought he reserved for her, but she can’t find it anywhere now. Perhaps it’s because of where they are, or perhaps she’s just pushed it too far this time and he’s realised that she really isn’t worth all of the fuss.
‘Okay… I’m ready,’
‘Good. Night’s nearly over, vod’ika. We’ve got this,’ Rex tells her with a gentle squeeze to her arm and then he pulls her with him towards the door where Fox is still lingering.
The two brothers look at each other for a moment, one with his helmet on, the other posing in another man’s robes. Something happens between them that Ahsoka can’t understand and she knows she never will, and she also knows better than to ever ask Rex about it.
‘Thank you, brother. You did the right thing,’ Rex says.
That’s all that is said between them, and then Rex is pulling Ahsoka along again, leading her back into the banquet hall. The hot air washes over her, as does the lingering smell of food, along with a distinct sweetness as dessert is served. It makes her want to gag, but the Corellian senator is watching her walk over and Ahsoka has a job to do. This is no time for weakness. So she heads over and smiles as Rex retakes his seat, and stands by the senator as she eats her pastry, telling her all about the wonders of frontline warfare.