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The air on the Separatist munitions depot was thick with the ozone stink of blaster fire and the acrid tang of melting durasteel. Ahsoka Tano moved like a desert mirage through the chaos, her twin white blades a humming blur as they deflected a barrage of bolts back into a line of B1 battle droids.
“Push up the left flank, Rex!” she called into her comlink, her voice sharp with command. “They’re trying to funnel us toward the reactor core!”
“Already on it, Commander!” Rex’s voice crackled back, followed by the reassuring chorus of clone blaster fire.
Her Master, Anakin Skywalker, was a whirlwind of blue energy twenty meters ahead, clearing a path with terrifying efficiency. “The control console is just ahead, Snips! We shut it down, and the whole grid goes dark!”
“Right behind you, Skyguy!” she shot back, a fierce grin on her face. This was where she thrived—in the storm, the certainty of motion and purpose.
They breached the final doorway into the central control room. It was a cavernous space dominated by a massive, pulsating holoconsole covered in strange, spiraling glyphs. It hummed with a power that felt ancient and deeply wrong, a stark contrast to the sterile Separatist tech surrounding it.
“A Sith relic,” Anakin breathed, his eyes narrowing. “They’re using it to amplify the shield generator. I’ll slice the main power. Ahsoka, cover me!”
As Anakin’s hands flew over a more modern terminal, Ahsoka took up a defensive stance, her senses stretching out. Clones held the door. The only threat was the ominous, green-tinged energy swirling around the central artifact.
Suddenly, the relic flared. A wave of silent, emerald energy erupted from it, not outwards, but inwards, a vacuum that pulled at the light, the sound, the very air in the room. Ahsoka’s instincts screamed. She threw herself in front of Anakin, her lightsabers crossing in a defensive ‘X’, calling on the Force to shield them both.
The green wave hit her barrier.
It didn’t burn. It didn’t blast. It unraveled.
It was a sensation of falling, of time becoming liquid. Memories didn’t flash before her eyes—they were pulled from her, layer by layer, like pages ripped from a flimsi-book. The trials of Ilum, the thrill of her first command, the patient teachings of Master Plo, the chaotic warmth of Anakin’s presence… they dissolved into a bright, formless noise. Then, that too faded, sinking into a warm, dark quiet.
The light died. The humming stopped. Ahsoka’s lightsabers clattered to the floor, deactivated. Anakin, shielded from the brunt of the blast, stumbled back, his eyes wide with horror.
“AHSOKA!”
Where his Padawan had stood was now a small, crumpled heap of orange and white. He was at her side in an instant, rolling her over. His breath hitched.
It was her. But it wasn’t.
Her face was the same, but softer, rounder with the baby fat of early childhood. Her montrals were mere bumps on her head, her lekku short and stubby, barely reaching her collarbones. She was tiny, her body lost in her now-massive Jedi tunics. She couldn’t have been more than four years old.
Her eyes fluttered open. They were the same bright blue, but the consciousness behind them was utterly different. The sharp, battle-ready intelligence was gone. In its place was a hazy, unfocused confusion, and then a welling, primal fear. Her lower lip trembled.
“M… Master?” Anakin whispered into his comm, his hand hovering, afraid to touch her.
The sound of his voice, deep and strained, was too much. The child’s face scrunched up, and a high, thin wail of pure terror echoed in the suddenly silent control room. She began to sob, great heaving cries that shook her small frame, her tiny hands clutching at the oversized fabric around her.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Anakin murmured, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He scooped her up with infinite care. She was so light. She instinctively curled into his chest, her cries muffled by his tabards, her tiny fingers gripping his tunic like a lifeline. The feel of her, so small and terrified, sent a jolt of protective fury through him so intense it made his vision swim.
“Rex! We’re leaving! Now!” he barked into his commlink, his voice cracking.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The ride back to the Resolute was a blur. Anakin held her the entire time in the gunship, ignoring the stunned stares of his men. She had cried herself into an exhausted, hiccuping silence, periodically looking up at his face with huge, bewildered eyes before burying her head again.
In the medbay, Kix worked with a grim, focused silence. Scans confirmed the impossible. “Physiologically, she’s approximately four years and two months old, General,” Kix reported, his voice hollow. “Neural patterns are… simplistic. Age-appropriate. It’s not just her body, sir. Her mind… it’s been reset.”
Anakin stood like a statue, watching the small form on the bed.
They’d managed to get her into a medical shift meant for a youngling, but it still pooled around her. She was awake, clutching a blanket to her chin, watching the unfamiliar men and machines with wide, cautious eyes. There was no recognition in them. Not for him, not for the ship, not for anything.
“How long?” Anakin forced the words out.
“Unknown, sir. The energy signature is unlike anything in the archives. It could be days. It could be… permanent.”
The word hung in the antiseptic air like a death sentence.
“Snips, baby… Do you remember me at all?” Anakin asked with a gentle plead in his voice
“No but you’re really nice,” She said with a little giggle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next few days were a challenge. Anakin had never taken care of a child before and Obi-wan could only help him a little when so far away. This was his Snips though, so he learned how to do everything she needed. He had moved all her stuff into his room to make it easier.
He bathed her— he’d made her a little toy for bath time which ended up being used and played with in every bubble bath.
He cooked for her— turned out she absolutely loved Braised Shaak Roast.
He played games with her— there were a lot of embarrassing dress-up moments of his.
And he cuddled her— his little girl was very affectionate.
It took time but they learned how to function with each other again. She was incredibly spoiled rotten by her Khos, or daddy when she was asked to speak basic. And when she couldn’t be with her Khos, she hung out with all of her big brothers!
Her Sa’daar all looked the same but she knew they were all different from each other and she enjoyed playing with them.
Now though, she was with Khos while he was doing some work.
Anakin busied himself at his desk, trying to formulate a report to the Council, but his focus was splintered. Every soft shuffle from the bunk drew his gaze.
He heard a soft thump. Then a click.
He turned.
Ahsoka had slid off the bed and, drawn by the shiny latches, had opened her own footlocker—the one that held the personal effects of the 17-year-old commander. She wasn’t rummaging for mission reports or data pads. With the unerring instinct of a child drawn to shiny, interesting things, she had found a secret false bottom.
And she had pulled out what she had been hiding as a teenager.
Anakin watched, frozen, as the little girl lifted the most non-regulation item he had ever seen. It was a top, a deep, iridescent cobalt blue, made of a soft, shimmering fabric that caught the light. It was cut for an adult, for dancing, for a life far removed from war. To her, it was a magnificent, glittering cape. She gave a small, delighted gasp—the first happy sound he’d heard from her since the accident.
With solemn concentration, she tried to put it on. It was enormous on her, the neckline pooling around her small feet, the fabric dragging. Undeterred, she spotted the belt—a delicate chainmail thing—and tried to wrap it around her waist three times over. Then came the leggings, black and sheer, which she somehow managed to step into, one wobbly leg at a time, pulling them up over her small trousers until they bunched at her ankles.
“We can play dress up daddy!” Ahsoka squealed.
She stood there in the middle of his quarters, a tiny, ridiculous, and utterly heart-wrenching figure, draped in the secret finery of the woman she should have been. She clutched a handful of the shiny blue fabric to her cheek, a small, wondering smile on her face.
And Anakin Skywalker’s world, already cracked, shattered completely.
This wasn’t a child playing dress-up. This was evidence. A clue. This garment was sophisticated, expensive, specific. It spoke of a secret life, of places his Padawan—his child Padawan—should never have known about. A cold, black fury, sharper and more focused than any he’d felt on the battlefield, flooded his veins.
Someone had given this to her. Someone had known. Someone had allowed, or perhaps even encouraged, his Padawan to have a hidden life that required clothes like this.
And the only people with constant, unfettered access to her were the men of the 501st.
His eyes, when they lifted from the bewildered little girl swamped in velvet, were no longer the eyes of a General or even a Jedi.
They were the eyes of an avenger.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As soon as Obi-wan landed, he asked him to baby sit Ahsoka while he went to figure everything out. After hearing what was discovered, Obi-wan happily agreed.
Alone and armed with the knowledge of secret clothing his padawan had hidden, he stormed to the barracks, where his men would be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Anakin Skywalker entered the barracks like a bomb about to go off.
The troopers didn’t just go quiet — they flinched.
The air around him vibrated with the kind of fury that usually preceded… well, war crimes.
He didn’t speak.
He threw.
The cobalt blue top hit the nearest table with a violent slap.
The chainmail belt scattered across the metal surface like shrapnel.
The sheer black leggings landed last, limp, damning.
Every clone stared.
Rex froze mid-step. Fives’ helmet slipped out of his hands. Jesse looked between the clothes and the General like he was witnessing an execution.
Anakin’s voice was a low, venomous snarl:
“Who. Gave. My. Padawan. This.”
No one answered.
He slammed a hand onto the table so hard the metal dented under his palm.
“WHO KNEW SHE HAD THESE?!”
Fives swallowed. Hardcase turned pale. Rex’s eyes darted to the clothes, then to Anakin, then away again.
Finally Rex said, voice tight, “Sir… we didn’t give them to her.”
Anakin stepped forward, practically radiating heat.
“Oh? You didn’t?”
He leaned in.
“So where did a seventeen-year-old Jedi commander get nightclub clothes, Captain?”
Rex’s throat bobbed.
He didn’t answer fast enough.
Anakin’s voice dropped into a deadly growl.
“She has no memory now. She’s four. Four. And she put these on because she thought it was for dress-up.”
His fist clenched.
“So tell me EXACTLY who gave her a reason to own them in the first place.”
Fives finally cracked.
“It wasn’t us,” he blurted. “General—Senator Amidala gave them to her!”
Silence.
Anakin’s expression didn’t change.
It got worse.
Rex quickly rushed in, like he could soften the explosion about to happen.
“She—Senator Amidala—sir—she bought them for her. Said Ahsoka deserved to have a life outside the war. To be a teenager. To… go out.”
Anakin stared at them like the words didn’t compute.
Fives pushed on, because apparently he had a death wish.
“She encouraged it. She’d take her out sometimes on leave. Not anything bad! Just clubbing, dancing, girl’s night type stuff—”
Anakin moved so fast several clones reached for their blasters on reflex.
“She WHAT?!”
Rex raised both hands. “Sir—General—please—she wasn’t in danger—”
“NOT IN DANGER?!”
Anakin’s voice cracked across the barracks like a whip.
“She was in a CORUSCANT NIGHTCLUB while the entire galaxy is trying to kill her!”
Hardcase piped up, desperate, “Padmé made sure she stayed safe! She had intel, contacts, private security—”
“She is a SENATOR!” Anakin shouted, furious and betrayed. “A SENATOR who thought the best use of her time was dragging my Padawan into nightlife dens?!”
Rex stepped forward, trying to take the brunt of it.
“Sir… she just wanted Ahsoka to feel normal.”
“Normal?!”
Anakin barked a wild, humorless laugh.
“Normal for a Jedi is training! Missions! Meditation! Not—this!”
He jabbed a finger at the glittering top, voice breaking.
“Not THIS!”
No one breathed.
Anakin’s voice cracked, lost its volume, but not its intensity.
“And how long did you all know?”
Rex didn’t look away.
“Once we realized she was going alone… we went with her. Every time.”
Anakin closed the distance between them in two strides, nose-to-nose with Rex.
“You intentionally kept this from me.”
Rex’s jaw tightened. “No, sir. We protected her when she refused to let you help.”
That hit like a punch.
Anakin staggered back a step, breath shaking.
Fives softened his voice — rare for him.
“Sir… she didn’t want you to be disappointed in her.”
Anakin’s shoulders trembled. His eyes were red, furious, wounded.
“She trusted the Senator,” Rex added quietly.
“She thought… if a Senator said it was okay, it must be.”
The words gutted him.
Anakin stared at the clothes again — the bright blue fabric now looking like a battlefield wound.
His voice was barely a whisper now, but shaking with suppressed storm:
“She’s four years old now. She puts this on and says we’re playing dress-up.”
The clones’ expressions softened with horror.
Anakin looked up, and his eyes were the eyes of someone who had just realized his entire world had been out of his sightline the whole time.
“Padmé kept this from me,” he whispered. “All of it.”
Rex didn’t answer.
Because there was nothing to say.
Anakin exhaled a trembling breath, stepped back, and the room felt ten degrees colder.
“Torrent, with me now." he said, voice quiet but lethal.
Fives blinked. “Sir… for what?”
Anakin’s jaw set.
“I’m going to speak with the Senator.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Anakin Skywalker left the barracks like a storm front, fury rippling off him in waves so thick it felt like the air fought to get out of his way.
Behind him?
Torrent Company.
All of them.
Rex at his shoulder.
Fives and Jesse exchanging grim looks.
Kix muttering, “This is a terrible idea, this is a terrible idea—”
Hardcase practically vibrating.
Dogma looked like he was marching toward his own execution.
The elevator doors closed.
No one said a word.
No one had to.
Torrent Company knew exactly where they were going.
And despite all common sense, they followed their General.
Halfway down to the diplomatic deck, Jesse finally said it—
“You really wanna bring us in on this, sir? I mean—it’s your wife.”
Anakin froze.
Rex’s soul left his body.
Dogma dropped his helmet.
Anakin turned slowly. “Excuse me?”
Fives pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sir… we know.”
“Know what?” Anakin snapped.
Kix sighed. “General, with all due respect, we share walls. Thin walls. You think you were being subtle?”
Hardcase nodded vigorously. “Sir, you literally SNUCK OUT of the barracks at 0300 wearing civilian clothes and cologne.”
Rex cleared his throat.
“We also had to remove lipstick from your armor four times.”
The elevator pinged open.
Anakin stood there, stunned into silence for the first time in years.
Fives clapped his shoulder.
“We don’t judge. We’re clones, not tattletales.”
“Unless,” Hardcase added brightly, “it’s funny.”
“It’s not funny,” Anakin growled, storming out of the lift.
Torrent Company followed.
The closer they got to Padmé’s senatorial suite, the worse the air felt.
Anakin’s anger pressed outward like a Force gale.
The clones walked through it like wading into a hurricane.
Two Senate Guards stepped forward.
“General—”
Anakin didn’t even look at them.
The guards jumped out of the way.
Fives whistled. “I’ll give them this. Good instincts.”
Padmé’s door slid open without Anakin touching the keypad.
He just looked at it.
The Force took care of the rest.
Inside, Padmé sat at her desk, datapad in hand, mid-sentence:
“Ani, darling, you’re—”
She froze as Torrent Company filed in behind him.
Her eyes darted between them.
“…this feels… formal.”
Anakin stepped forward, voice low and shaking.
“Where. Did. Ahsoka. Get. The. Clothes.”
Padmé blinked.
“Which clothes?”
Rex set the cobalt top on her desk like a piece of incriminating evidence.
Padmé’s face was drained of all color.
“Oh.”
Anakin leaned in, palms on her desk, breath shaking not from rage now but from betrayal.
“You took my Padawan,” he said quietly, “into a nightclub.”
Padmé opened her mouth.
Torrent Company leaned forward collectively like an audience at a holodrama.
Padmé tried again. “Anakin, it wasn’t—”
“You gave her these clothes.”
His voice cracked.
“You told her it was okay.”
Padmé swallowed, guilt flickering in her eyes. “She… she needed a space to breathe. To be a girl. She was drowning under responsibility—”
“She was SEVENTEEN!” Anakin finally exploded.
“A CHILD compared to the things on Coruscant nightlife! A child YOU took out!”
His fist slammed onto her desk.
“She trusted you. More than she trusted ME.”
Padmé stood, fire returning.
“She trusted me because I let her have a life!”
Anakin reeled back like he’d been slapped.
Rex subtly lifted a hand to tell the boys not to jump in.
Padmé continued, voice rising:
“She was suffocating. She told me herself!”
Her eyes glistened with angry tears.
“She said she felt like she had to be perfect for you. Like she couldn’t have flaws or mistakes without letting you down!”
Anakin opened his mouth—
And nothing came out.
Torrent Company stood completely still.
Even Hardcase didn’t breathe.
Padmé stepped closer, voice breaking,
“I didn’t take her to dangerous places. Only private clubs with full Senate security. I didn’t let anyone near her. And I got her those clothes because she wanted to feel—”
Her voice cracked.
“—beautiful. Grown. Like she wasn’t just a commander with the galaxy on her shoulders.”
Anakin’s rage faltered like a flame hit by wind.
Padmé swallowed, whispering:
“I did it because she needed someone to give her freedom without judgment. And she didn’t think she could ask you.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Rex finally spoke.
Soft.
Careful.
“General… she never wanted to hide from you. She just didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Anakin closed his eyes.
Rex’s words… Padmé’s words…
Everything hit at once.
The fear.
The guilt.
The realization that Ahsoka hadn’t been rebelling.
She’d been hurting.
And someone else had seen it first.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On the way back to their room, Anakin had a lot to think about. He wanted to protect his little one, and wanted her safe. Maybe he’d been doing it the wrong way.
Walking into his room, he gathered Ahsoka from Obi-wan into a big hug. Silently resolving to be the father she needed.