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Rex, he realizes immediately, is going to actually kill him. This is probably a permanent goodbye to Anakin Skywalker, Rex is going to murder him as soon as he – oh, alright, he’s not Ahsoka.
But nearly walking into a mine is something that should be physically impossible when Anakin has the Force, and wasn’t alone, when the minefield was literally already deactivated, except here he is – back in the medbay because he’s a clumsy idiot and somehow ended up right here. And Ahsoka isn’t even with him this time, which is good, and she’d be even angrier than Rex because Rex gets that stupid mistakes happen –
And.
Ahsoka isn’t here because Anakin can still feel the weight of her padawan braid in his hands, can still feel her fingers closing his over it in firm denial, can still hear her soft whisper of “I’m sorry master, but I’m not coming back”, and…
And then he doesn’t really remember why anything is important enough to keep on fighting for. He can’t remember, really, why he should want to do anything.
Ahsoka’s gone. The main focus he had in the war and everything – his padawan, his little sister, Ahsoka – is gone. She’s away from the war like she wanted, found another way where he’d so stubbornly believed there to be none, and with any luck, she’s doing far better than she ever was with him.
But she’s still gone. She still left him and all he feels inside is empty, and Anakin always knew he would epically fail if he had a padawan, and sure enough – he did. He failed more than he even thought possible. Ahsoka, of course, had to be the one to pay the price.
Rex is still gonna chew him out about the mine, though.
Anakin shoves that far away and decides to think about it later – and he will be thinking about it later.
But that’s when he hears sounds, hears someone coming and tilts his head to the side to see – another presence he hasn’t sensed in a long time. Someone right beside him, someone… familiar. Young, but older now than Anakin remembers.
Mill Alibeth appears beside him, the Zabrak’s black hair pulled back into a neatly combed braid as it spills down her back, and a small smile on her face, though Anakin thinks it’s more strained with the effort taking to keep it there. “Master Skywalker,” she greets.
His throat feels dry. “Hi, Mill. It’s been a while.”
The girl’s head dips a little in a nod. “I haven’t seen you since we came back from Cato Neimoidia… but I’ve heard a lot about you.”
No doubt. Anakin sighs. He wants to let himself be pulled under again, almost, but that feels too much like giving up. And he won’t, even if he can’t remember why he’s fighting anymore. Whispers of the Sun Dragon linger in his head, renewed with seeing Mill once more, but none of that is enough to bring Ahsoka back. None of that means he hasn’t failed.
He doesn’t remember how to do this. Being at the Temple again is a nightmare, like chasing shadows wherever Ahsoka used to be, the halls his padawan will never walk again. Thanks to the Council.
He doesn’t want to think about her right now. Mostly because he can never stop.
“The war is taking a toll on everyone,” Mill murmurs, standing nearby. She’s grown just a bit – taller than Anakin remembers her from before.
But she’s grown. Older. Anakin wonders if he looks older, too. Force knows he feels older - can feel the weight of the war and the strain it's with wearing away at him, feels it all stubbornly pulling him under with exhausted, smothering weight.
He's seen so many people die. And after it all, where he'd once had hopes of things being better, he lost Ahsoka, the one who mattered most. He lost his first kid. The Jedi never should've entrusted him with a padawan.
Mill was right, Anakin thinks broodingly. She made the right choice, choosing never to become a Jedi Knight, to use her powers to help and stay far away where the conflict can't force her to hurt or kill. Ahsoka is going to be happier away from the war. It's what she always wanted.
"I can feel it took a toll on you, too," Mil murmurs, biting her lip.
He opens his mouth to argue. Because he's supposed to be Anakin Skywalker, the Hero With No Fear, unshakable forever. Not to mention, unstoppable. But none of that is true. It's just the face he wears to a galaxy that believes; to people who never see through the mask he wears. Mill sees through it. That really shouldn't surprise him - she's always had a way of seeing.
"Yeah," Anakin mutters. He wants to let unconsciousness drag him under, to crawl away back into that little fake fairytale place where everything is happy and nothing can hurt him. But that's shrinking from responsibility, something that, thanks to Rex, Anakin knows to never do. "I guess it has."
"I'm sorry about Ahsoka," Mill continues. Hearing the name instantly raises another violent surge of pain and longing. Ahsoka, his kid who, by every right, should be right beside him here. In a different world, she would be -- sitting right at his side and clinging to his hand with a series of snippy comments on her lips about how he needs to stop nearly dying. Assuming she wouldn't have been the one to save his life in the first place.
And she would have, no doubt. Even if Anakin had fallen for it, Ahsoka never would. Not anymore. She's trained enough to fend for herself now.
And he's starting to realize, with a growing pang, that Ahsoka doesn't need him anymore. That's good, because he can't be relied upon to care for anyone, but he still needs her. Desperately.
“She had to go,” he murmurs, half to let Mill know, just as much to convince himself of the words he’s speaking. “Her place wasn’t with the Jedi, I – I cannot fault her for walking away.”
"That hasn't taken your pain away," the girl replies quietly, pulling one of the chairs nearby a little closer to sit next to him. Like she understands better than any other Jedi. Like she’s the one who won’t tell him just to let it go.
For a moment, he tries not to think, to convince himself if he turns his head to the side, the face he’ll see will be small and smiling, and orange with white diamond lines, but all that stares back with a sorrowful smile is Mill. Who he couldn’t be more happy to see, but also…
“Ahsoka is the one I focused on throughout so much of the war,” he confesses, “I don’t know how to keep on moving forwards now that…” The rest is something he can’t bring himself to say.
Mill’s face falls into a frown, and her hand reaches out to squeeze his gently. “You’ll figure it out,” she promises immediately, “I know you will.”
“How?” Anakin asks helplessly, “Ahsoka was my padawan, and I couldn’t have failed her worse.”
Mill's face is troubled, and the girl shakes her head. "You didn't fail Ahsoka," she insists, strangely firm.
“I heard what happened. None of it was your fault. There was nothing you could’ve done differently that would’ve helped or changed anything.”
"That's what scares me," Anakin admits. The ceiling is dull to stare at, but he has nowhere to redirect his glares. "If I failed Ahsoka, the one person I was supposed to protect, at any cost, my padawan, what else can I fail? I'm supposed to protect everyone."
You don't have to be the sun dragon, the girl had told him once, but Anakin hadn't understood, and he thinks he can say for a fact that he doesn't understand any more now when Mill leans forwards, an intense look on her face. "But that's not your job," she insists firmly. "I know you always try to save everyone, but you don't have to."
"Yes, I do. Saving is why I was born. I'm supposed to be the Chosen One." Born to destroy. Not to save. But maybe – what if that’s just it?
What if he was born to destroy, and not to save? What if Anakin can’t fix anything because he just wasn’t born to fix? What if the Jedi are right about him, and not in any way anyone thought? Everyone knows he’s different, they know he can’t be the Jedi they demand of him, why would this sort of failing be any worse than the actual truths Anakin has known about himself for so long?
What if...
"Anyone can make a difference," Mill replies firmly. "I'm making a difference, and I'm not a Jedi. I know Ahsoka can, too. But we do it because we choose to, not because there's any destiny telling us we have to do anything. You don't have to be or meet anyone's expectations, Master Skywalker."
But… that’s just it. He doesn’t know how not to, when his entire life has run on other’s expectations. “I don’t know how to live like that,” he confesses, hating how much it feels like defeat. “To me, that life would feel meaningless."
“But I know you can figure it out,” Mill vows, “And I hope you can someday.”
He doesn't know how that makes him feel. The girl's belief is so misplaced. Anakin hasn't been able to do anything. But she still has what he hasn’t had in himself for the longest of time – a belief that not even Ahsoka really looked at him with after the war wore her down.
It’s the kind of belief that only Qui-Gon ever had. Not that he could be a great leader, but that he could be… him. Whoever he was meant to be. He just wishes he felt the same.
Anakin sighs again, closing his eyes. "Mill? Thank you." Because she deserves to hear that after everything she's done for him. For the endless patience, and everything. "I'm glad you stopped by."
"Just think about what I said," she requests, "You still don't have to let this destiny be decided for you."
How that will is something long ago taken, he doesn't say. He isn’t free. Maybe he never has been.
Mill doesn’t need to know, and besides, it would change nothing. Anakin lets himself fall asleep again – and oh, he’ll worry about Rex chewing him out later.