Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Anakin hates Sullust.

To be entirely fair to Sullust, there’s nothing particularly remarkable about it that’s causing such a well of un-Jedi like hate in him, he just hates all of these stupid Outer Rim planets and Sullust is just the latest in a long line of sieges. The war has always dragged by, bleak and awful and endless, but ever since Ahsoka left (since she was accused, mistreated, run out of the Order by those kriffing cowards), everything has seemed to drag especially slowly.  

At least he and Obi-Wan have been reunited for this particular siege—sometimes it feels like Anakin is drowning and the only time his head breaks through the surface and he can truly breathe is when he gets to see Obi-Wan or Padmé (or Ahsoka, but she’s left him now). When they’d greeted each other on the bridge of the Negotiator—a big, warm, tight hug that lasted a little longer than normal, Obi-Wan had seemed to sense his distress and had pulled back, searching Anakin’s face.

“Perhaps,” he had ventured, hesitantly, “we could meditate together after the battle? I know I am in sore need of a partner and miss our sessions together.”  

“Mmm,” Anakin had hummed, noncommittal, but secretly relieved. They both know that Obi-Wan knows that Anakin still needs help meditating, as if he were still a tow-headed, snot-nosed youngling and not a grown Knight, but Anakin determinedly pretends otherwise and Obi-Wan graciously plays along, acting as if he need to meditate for his own peace of mind and not because he can clearly feel the frayed edges of his former padawan.

Still, getting to see Obi-Wan, to feel that rush of rightness in the Force as they face off against the Galaxy, shoulder to shoulder, back to back, is not enough to make up for the slog that is Sullust. Oh, the Separatists give up eventually, as they always do, but not before killing too many men and leaving scars in both the landscape and the Force. Anakin hates it, he really does, and he can’t wait to get off this stupid planet, he doesn’t even know why the Separatists are interested in it, he really doesn’t, and they can have it for all he cares—

Suddenly, Anakin falls to his knees, wheezing and gasping and feeling as if he has been punched in the diaphragm.

“Generals!” Rex screams, his voice far away and tinny, as Anakin tries to blink away the ringing sensation in his ears. He glances over and finds Obi-Wan in a similar position, bent over, hand braced against a nearby rock, and looking pale with shock as the Force reverberates with…something.

The next thing Anakin knows, both he and Obi-Wan are being dragged out of the line of fire, Rex shouting orders to the remaining men and panicked requests for medical aid through the coms.

Anakin fights off Rex and collapses on the ground.

“Sirs! The medics are preparing an emergency evacuation for you, we have to make it back to base—”

Obi-Wan holds up a hand, still breathing hard. Even in his clearly befuddled state, the Negotiator is an imposing figure and Rex’s jaw immediately snaps shut.

“We are all right, Captain, I assure you,” he pants, finally. Anakin nods, then stops when he finds that the motion makes his head spin with dizziness. Rex watches them, a whole dissertation on disbelief in the quirk of his eyebrow. Obi-Wan smiles ruefully and acknowledges the disconnect with a wave of his hand. “Or we will be at any rate. We just need a moment to catch our breath and reconstruct our shields. Right, Anakin?”

Anakin holds up his hand in a thumbs up to indicate his assent.

“Sirs, I don’t—I don’t always understand your jetii stuff, but you’re clearly in no shape to return to the field. It doesn’t even really matter—we’re just cleaning up the last of the stragglers, the men and I can handle it by ourselves, no problem.”

“We’re fine,” Obi-Wan insists, straightening to his full height and cautiously stretching. He moves to lay a hand of Anakin’s shoulder and help him up. It’s a good deal less graceful than what Anakin was aiming for, but soon he is up and walking around again and that’s what really matters. “It was only a disturbance in the Force, no need to panic.”

“Must have been some disturbance,” Rex says, doubtfully.

“Quite,” Obi-Wan agrees, dryly. He hesitates, clearly debating the best way to brush off Rex’s concerns.

That’s when Cody coms, uncharacteristic worry in the thrum of his voice.

“Sirs, we have a…situation. We need you back at base ASAP,” he says, before winking out of existence as suddenly as he appeared. “Over and out.”

Rex, Anakin, and Obi-Wan stare at the space he left behind for one long, moment.

“Okay, now can we panic?” Anakin asks into the silence, just to be an asshole.

Obi-Wan shoots him a dirty look.

***

Anakin enters the command center—little more than a slightly bigger than average tent, really—heart in his throat at what he may find. He pushes aside a small flap and blinks into the sudden darkness. It didn’t seem all that light outside, what with the farther than usual distance of Sullust’s sun and the overcast skies, but still the tent is dark and musty compared to that.

He squints, trying to make out the figures inside when—

“Ben!”

Anakin is knocked to the side as a tiny blur pushes past him, heading straight for Obi-Wan. Anakin turns and catches the bewildered look on his former Master’s face as he stares down at the small, human child currently wrapped around his legs.

“Well,” Cody begins dryly, stepping into the light of the half-open flap. “I guess that answers the question of who ‘Ben’ is.”

Obi-Wan looks up sharply.

“Wha—I don’t—” he begins. He stops abruptly, glances down at the child, who is looking up at him with big, wet blue eyes, then back up to Cody. Anakin has never seen his Master look so panicked before. He kinda wants to laugh a little.

“He’s been asking for you, sir,” Cody explains, at Obi-Wan’s obvious confusion. “Ever since he just showed up in the middle of an active battlefield—gave Ghost Squadron quite the scare too. They managed to get him away from the clankers, but he’s been a bit…recalcitrant ever since then.”

 The child shakes his head emphatically.

“I didn’t tell ‘em anything, Ben, not anything, just like you told me,” he says, resolutely. Obi-Wan blinks, then awkwardly extends a hand and pats at the child’s hair.

“Uh, very good, thank you,” he says. The child beams with pride. “But perhaps you could, er, tell me how you ended up on Sullust? I really don’t think you are supposed to be…here.”

The child cocks his head, considering it. Then he shrugs.

“I dunno.”

“You don’t know? How do you end up in the middle of a war zone without knowing?” Obi-Wan’s voice is turning high-pitched, panicky and Anakin rolls his eyes, deciding it is well past time for him to intervene. He crouches down and taps a gentle finger against the child’s shoulder. The boy turns around and shuffles so that Obi-Wan’s legs are between him and Anakin. He peers out suspiciously.

“Hey, buddy,” Anakin says, cheerfully, quietly. “Unfortunately, I think Ben’s a little confused. You know how it is with adults—sometimes they forget these really obvious things. So, I think what Ben really means, what he was really asking, is if you could describe what happened right before you appeared in front of the troopers. I know it might be kinda scary to think back about what happened, but it would be a big help jogging Ben’s memory.”

“Who’re you?” the boy demands, eyes narrowed.

“I’m one of Ben’s friends,” Anakin replies easily. He holds out a hand. “Anakin, Anakin Skywalker.” 

The child’s eyes go wide, his mouth hanging open in a little ‘oh’ shape. He leans forward, nearly off-balancing Obi-Wan in his attempt to get a better look at Anakin.

“You’re Anakin Skywalker?” he exclaims, excitedly. Anakin nods solemnly, by now well-accustomed to how children react to meeting the ‘Hero With No Fear.’ “And you’re friends with Ben? He never told me that!”

“Mmm, yup,” Anakin hums in agreement. “But since you know my name, I think it’s only fair that I get to know yours.”

The boy hesitates for only an instant longer, glancing up to Obi-Wan, who gives him a stilted, but encouraging smile. He ducks his head, shyly.

“I’m Luke.”

Anakin waits for a beat.

“Luke…?” he prompts.

“It depends,” Luke responds with shrug. “We’re whatever Ben says we are. Sometimes we’re Lars, sometimes we’re Vos, and sometimes we’re Bane. I’ve got a secret name too, my mama’s name. But I’m not supposed to repeat that one, not ever, because it’s really dangerous.”

“Huh.” Anakin risks a glance at Obi-Wan and Cody, both of whom are staring at the child with furrowed brows. He turns his attention back to Luke. “And do you know what you were doing before you met the troopers?”

“Hiding.”

“Do you know where?”

“That big Temple,” Luke says, jerking his chin towards the ruins of an old Force-worshippers temple that mark the western edge of their lines. It’s not really Sith or Jedi—it was built well before there were even names for such things—but it still contains a powerful, not-quite-Light nexus in the Force that makes the Temple ruins unstable and unpredictable.

“That’s kinda dangerous, buddy,” Anakin says, frowning himself for the first time. “Why were you hiding in the old ruins?”

“Yeah sure, but the monsters are more dangerous,” Luke says with an eyeroll, the “no-duh” clearly heard in his tone if not his actual words. “We do it all the time—Ben finds an old Temple somewhere and we stay there until the monsters are gone. The Temples are really loud and bright and noisy so they can’t look real hard and see us underneath.”

It is only then that Anakin recognizes that the boy is Force sensitive—a bright, burning supernova that chases away the chill of battle and warms his bones. Stupid, yes, the whole reason he and Obi-Wan had been practically dragged off the field was because of a Force disturbance so strong it had sent them both their knees and what could possibly cause that apart from another Force sensitive? But still, he hadn’t truly understood until just now and Anakin inhales, sharply, overcome by a strange sense of familiarity, of home. Which is extremely odd because while he knows that that’s how a lot of other Jedi describe joint meditation with their brothers and sisters, how Ahoska and Obi-Wan describe their first meditations in the creche, but Anakin has never felt that way around other Force sensitives, not really. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, yeah, but never other Jedi—he’s always been too weird, too powerful, too out of place really.

“Luke, are you and your father Force-sensitive?” Obi-Wan asks sharply. Rogue Force sensitives are always viewed as threats by the Council—but a rogue adult running around the middle of a Separatist battlefield with an impressionable, powerful youngling and enough knowledge of the Force to hide from other Force sensitives? If the boy’s father really is trying to shield the child from the attention of other Force Sensitives, then moving him in between Force wells would be an awfully smart way to go about it. Obi-Wan had even done it once or twice on dangerous missions with Anakin, especially when he had been younger and terrible at shielding.

Luke startles and looks curiously up at Obi-Wan, no understanding in his wide blue eyes. Anakin sighs.

“Luke,” he calls, gently, drawing the boy’s attention back to him. “Do you and Ben have special powers? Maybe he’s been teaching you how to float small objects or to trust that little voice in the back of your head or to sorta figure out what other people might be thinking?”

“Oh, yeah!” Luke chirps, perking up. “We do that all the time.” He closes his eyes and scrunches up his face and reaches, a clumsy, but summery greeting in the Force. Anakin still can’t quite put his finger on the weirdly familiar feeling Luke’s Force signature inspires in him, but it’s almost like the bloom of warmth he gets when he and Obi-Wan meditate together. It’s odd to have that feeling emanating from this strange child and not his Master, and a little fuzzier around the edges, a little less honed, but definitely the same flavor.

Half an idea starts to grow in the back of Anakin’s mind, almost immediately discarded for how karking insane it is.

He shakes his head.

“Okay, so you were in the Temple,” Anakin continues, leading the boy on. “What happened next?”

“Ben went off to buy supplies. But then there was something else in the Temple, something…dark, wrong. It was one of the monsters—the same ones that always follow us and makes Ben get that really worried look, like he hasn’t slept in forever. So I hid, just like Ben taught me, but it kept getting closer and closer and I just sorta closed my eyes and wished I was somewhere else, anywhere else, as long as it was safe and the monster wasn’t there too. And then it was gone, but it was super noisy and there was dust everywhere and I ran outside and that’s when the Imps caught me.” Luke pauses, frowns. “Why are you working with the Imps?”

“Well, I don’t know who these Imps are, but the troopers who found you are my friends—mine and Ben’s,” Anakin replies lightly.  “This is Cody—and those men who found you are Waxer and Boil.”

 “Ben doesn’t have friends. Luke voice is still heavy with suspicion, his pudgy fingers flexing in their grip on Obi-Wan’s tunic. He glances up at Obi-Wan, who looks helplessly back.

“That’s not true—grown up friendships may be different, but they still have friends,” Anakin asserts.

“Nuh-uh,” Luke repeats with the certainty of a child. “Ben doesn’t have friends. They all died and left him alone. He told me and that’s why he won’t let anything happen to me, not ever, because I’m all he has left.”

There’s an awkward silence in the tent.

“Then we must get you back to Ben as soon as possible,” Cody says, quietly. “He must be really worried about you.”

“But I am with Ben! He’s right here, can’t you see him?” Luke cries in frustration. He turns to Anakin. “Can’t you feel him?”

“I—” Anakin flounders helplessly for a long second, reaching helplessly to Obi-Wan for help, who’s own Force signature feels sharp-edged with uncharacteristic panic and…

“You can feel Ben up here?” he asks, pointing to his forehead. Luke nods vigorously. “Is that why you’re so sure Obi-Wan is your Ben?” Luke nods again. “Hmm. Is there anything different about him? Maybe something that’s confusing you?”

“Well,” Luke hesitates, darts his eyes up, then back down to the ground.

“Yes?” Anakin prods. “It’s okay, none of us will get mad.”

“I know you said that they’re not Imps—but they look like stormtroopers, they really do, and Ben wouldn’t ever work with the Empire, not ever. He says they’re evil and they’re the reason my mom died and why the whole Galaxy feels so cold. Only for some reason, it’s not nearly as bad as it usually is? I can feel you and a bunch of other really bright lights out there, pushing away the Darkness. I can’t even feel the monsters—normally they’re always there in the background, but now they’re just gone! And, well, Ben’s like Ben and  also not at the same time. Like usually he’s a lot happier to see me, but now he just feels all confused. And his hair is all wrong—usually there’s a lot more gray. And wrinkles. Loads of wrinkles.”  

As one, Anakin and Obi-Wan’s eyes lock over the top of Luke’s head and they freeze, several key pieces finally slotting into place.

Guess my idea wasn’t so insane after all.

“Hey, Luke,” Anakin continues, in what he hopes is a casual voice. “This might be a silly question, but what year is it?”

Chapter Text

It is at that moment that Rex chooses to finally make his appearance, charging into the command tent.

“We just finished cleaning up—last of the clankers have been sequestered and we’ve captured the tactical droid leading the campaign,” he pants out. He rips his helmet off and glances around at Anakin, Obi-Wan, Cody, and Luke. He does a visible double take. “What did I miss?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Well, apparently Jedi can time-travel now,” Cody drawls, voice as dry as Tatooine’s desert as he gestures to Luke.

“Dimension travel,” Obi-Wan corrects distractedly, still staring at Luke with wide eyes. Both Obi-Wan and the boy have their heads tilted, that trademark, curious examination pose that Obi-Wan often adopts now reflected in this small stranger. Anakin half expects Luke’s hand to rise up to rub against his non-existent beard. “And technically anyone can do it, not just Jedi.”

Rex blinks.

“I see,” he says. He pulls up a chair and collapses into it with a heavy, long-suffering sigh. Anakin sees him exchange a look with Cody as his brother scoots a steaming hot mug of the sludge that passes for caf on the front closer. Rex gratefully takes the proffered drink and cradles the mug between both hands as he takes a long sip. He closes his eyes, inhales, and then turns back to Obi-Wan and Anakin. “Okay, care to explain that a little further?”

There’s silence and Anakin nudges at Obi-Wan with the toe of his boot, breaking his former Master’s reverie.

“Hmm?” Obi-Wan says. He looks up. “Oh, yes. Well, dimension travel is rare, but not so rare that we are unaware of the possibility. These alternate universes are usually just a tad ahead or behind of one another, so it can appear very much like time travel on the surface, but it’s technically inter-dimensional travel.”

“Wait, so I’m a time-traveler?” Luke pipes up, eyes round. “And you’re like a super young version of my dad?”

Rex spits out his caf.

Obi-Wan looks pained.

“Dimension traveler,” he corrects. “But back to Cody’s point—the phenomenon is hardly limited to Jedi. All you really need is a powerful Force well, which yes, generally does tend to be Jedi since not a lot of other people are visiting such places but also doesn’t completely preclude the possibility of a non-Force sensitive from doing the same thing. It’s one of the few major Force disturbances that non-Force sensitives can experience and influence to some degree. That we know of at least. So it’s actually quite the point of fascination as I’m sure you’ll understand. Unfortunately, the exact cause has proven elusive and we’ve never been able to replicate the phenomena in a controlled fashion—all of the travelers we have records of report completely spontaneous trips. And a little over half of them prove unable to ever figure out how to return to their home dimensions—”

Anakin clears his throat pointedly. Obi-Wan stops abruptly.

He’s not one of your science experiments, Master, he says quietly across the bond. He tilts his head towards Luke, who is looking between the four adults in the room with a distinct wobble to his lip.

“Oh. Um.” Obi-Wan pauses and reaches out awkwardly to gingerly pat at Luke’s shoulder. “There, there. I’m sure we’ll figure out something.”

Rex, Cody, and Anakin look on, gaping.

“Wasn’t the General in charge of you when you were a kid?” Rex asks Anakin, sounding vaguely horrified. Cody shakes his head.

“Yeah and look how that turned out,” Cody mutters. Anakin bares his teeth and narrows his eyes—he and Cody have an ongoing love-hate relationship that mostly borders on hate. They keep it civil for Obi-Wan’s sake, when he’s conscious at least, but they’ve exchanged more than one or two bitter barbs over Obi-Wan’s hospital bed.

“Luke,” Anakin calls, drawing the boy’s attention back to him. His blonde head whips around. “You have to know we’ll get you home again—Obi-Wan’s right that we may not be able to do it right away, but if anyone can figure it out, it’s Obi-Wan. And you’ve got two of them—I know your father will be looking for you back in your universe too, so we’ll be attacking the problems from both ends. In the meantime, I know it sucks but you’ll have to be really brave.”

The kid sniffles and nods. He takes one deep breath in, holds it, and then exhales his worry on his next breath out—just as Obi-Wan always does, just as he had taught Anakin as a young Padawan. Only this kid is clearly much better at it than Anakin ever was—in the Force, Anakin can feel the boy’s equanimity returning, like sunshine struggling to peek out from behind a raincloud.

“I can be brave,” Luke says, resolutely. “Just like my mother.”

“Oh, uh,” Anakin fumbles. He squints at the kid’s blonde and blue eyes and makes his best guess. “That’s great—I think you take after her, you know.”

Luke beams.

“That’s what Ben says! He says I’ve got her heart. And she was the bravest—she stood up for dem-ah-cracy even when no one else would and even when she knew they might hurt her.”

Obi-Wan goes pale, his pain lashing across the Force before he snatches it back and locks away under the durasteel trap of his shields.  

“What happened to your mother, Luke?” Obi-Wan says, very quietly. Luke glances down at his toes.

“One of the monsters hurt her really bad. I was still in her stomach and she should’ve just died right away, but she wouldn’t, not until I was safe. She saved all her strength for me. Ben says Mama was really stubborn when she wanted to be.” Luke pauses, kicks his feet.

“That she was—is, I mean,” Obi-Wan says finally, into the silence. He clears his throat. “Satine is the most determined being I’ve ever met. She’s one of the only people I’ve ever lost an argument to, you know.”  

“Huh,” Luke says. He scrunches up his face. “That makes sense. I never win our arguments. I’m trying to convince you that seven is way too old to have a bedtime, but I haven’t really had a lot of luck so far.”  

Anakin fights really hard to keep his lips from twitching, despite the situation.

“The monsters—do you know their names?” Obi-Wan ventures finally. Luke shrugs.

“There’s Vader and the Moffs. And the Emperor, of course. Plus the In-quiz-i-tors, but Ben says it’s not always their fault—a lot of them are just like me, but they were taken from their parents and didn’t have a Ben to protect them, so they only know what the Emperor tells them.”

“Emperor?” Obi-Wan repeats dumbly. Luke cocks his head. “Wha—why is there—what happened to the Republic?”

“For Force’s sake, Master,” Anakin grumbles, “he’s seven. He probably doesn’t have a stellar idea of Galactic geopolitical history.”

“Hey! I’m almost eight!” Luke protests. He pauses. “But yeah, I don’t like politics. Ben doesn’t either. Says its uncivilized.” His voice changes pitch and accent on the last word, an rough but excellent impression of Obi-Wan’s Coruscanti accent.

“Okay, hold on now,” Cody interrupts, looking between Anakin and Obi-Wan’s grim, stricken visages with a furrowed brow. “You keep insisting that this kid here is really just a dimension traveler, not a time traveler, so why do we even care? Yeah, maybe his universe has some kinda dark Empire, but there’s gotta be at least one right? Maybe he just happens to come from a really different sort of universe?”

“The universes are always close together,” Obi-Wan says, his voice carefully neutral. “With few, if any observable differences. The energy required to catapult someone from one dimension to another is just too great for the sort of wild leaps like you’re suggesting.”

“So,” Rex says. He and Cody glance at each other. He swallows. “So that means…”

“Yes.”

“Ah.”

“At the very least, this future is probably decently far away—the universe may be a little ahead of ours and it is usually still fairly close time wise, but close can be relative to Force. We’ve probably got at least a decade or two,” Obi-Wan says reassuringly.

 “Do you know when this Empire was founded? When the monsters started following you and your father?” Anakin asks. Luke screws up his face and thinks.

“Well, my life day is the same as Empire Day—I know cause when he gets really sad, Ben likes to say that just as the Force took everything away, it gave him one small bit of hope,” Luke declares.  He pauses, looks around, and clarifies. “That’s me. I’m the hope.”

Anakin frowns, something niggling at the back of his mind.

“Luke,” Anakin says slowly, quietly, a small pit growing in the center of his stomach. “Do you know what your father means when he told you the Force took everything away? What happened on Empire Day?”

“I dunno the details, not really,” Luke says, with a shrug. “Ben doesn’t like to talk about it, so I’ve only heard the Empire’s story, but Ben says that it’s all lies.”

“And…” Anakin prompts.

“And everyone died—all the Jedi, all the people who tried to help them, everyone.”

Silence rings through the tent.

“All of the Jedi?” Obi-Wan clarifies, his voice cracking.

“Uh-huh,” Luke says solemnly. He reaches out and twines a hand with Obi-Wan’s and then touches his chest with the other hand, right over his heart. “It’s okay, you know. Well, not okay. But we keep them alive in here. All things must die, but not all things must be forgotten.” He adds a common Temple refrain, often spoken over the pyres of the fallen. “And one day the Empire will be gone and then we’ll share their stories with everyone. I’ll make sure of it! I’m going to join the Rebellion as soon as I’m old enough and Ben can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

“Oh really?” Cody asks. “A Rebellion? Now that sounds exciting.”

“Yup! We were with them for a while but Ben says that’s it’s too dangerous because the monsters are hunting us, and we might accidentally lead them to the other Rebels,” he explains. “But I gotta go back—my mama helped start it back before she died.”

“And before that?” Anakin continues, hastily forcing the conversation away from the topic of Satine before that awful burnt feeling of Obi-Wan’s pain can fill the Force again. “It’s hard to understand things that happened before you were born, but do you know anything, anything at all that would help us figure out the difference between now and then?”

“I already told you the year. Shouldn’t that help?”

“I think your Empire uses a different calendar system—the number you gave doesn’t really mean anything to us,” Cody admits.

“Oh. Um—I didn’t know that,” Luke says, twiddling his thumbs.

“Okay, then,” Obi-Wan continues. “We’re in the third year of the Clone Wars—does that help you figure it out?”

Luke shakes his head silently.

“Very helpful, kid,” Rex observes drolly. Anakin taps out a quick cut it out with his fingers as Luke’s lip begins to wobble once more.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve never asked—it just didn’t really seem important.”

“It’s not your fault, Luke,” Anakin replies, gently. “None of this is your fault, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, right,” Luke repeats woodenly.

“Okay,” Cody declares, holding up a hand to forestall any further questions. “I think that’s enough for now.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Cody interrupts Luke, that same stern manner he uses whenever he catches Obi-Wan trying to wheedle another set of stims off of Bones and Painless. “You’ve been very helpful, but even the best soldiers need rest, you know.”

Anakin nods in agreement.

“You can’t help us if you’re dead on your feet,” he declares.

“And we do still technically have a siege to finish,” Obi-Wan chimes in. His brow furrows. “The droids may have been neutralized but the Sullustian government will need to be contacted for the official surrender.”

Cody types something into his wrist com and hits send with a satisfied nod.

“Not to worry, sir. I’ve just contacted Booster—you know how he is with shinies, he’ll be the best choice to help Luke here find a bunk and get settled in.”

“Excellent,” Obi-Wan says with a relieved nod. “We can focus our attention on the negotiations in the meantime—I believe the Senate will be sending a diplomat to aid us this time around, so we’ll also have to check our security measures and assign a squadron to act as guards.”  

“Lovely,” Anakin groans. Luke smiles, quick and unsure. Anakin shakes his head and gives Luke a playful little push. “Hey now, no laughing at me—you’d groan too if you ever had to work with one of these diplomats! Give me a droid battalion or Sith acolyte any day.”

“I just,” Luke says, then hesitates. “Ben always makes you sound super grown-up and important, but you’re mostly kinda funny.”

“Oh ho ho. Now I don’t know what sort of stories Ben has been telling you about me, but you shouldn’t believe a word of it!”

“So you weren’t the best pilot in the Order? In the whole Galaxy?”

“Best pilot in the Galaxy!” Anakin hoots, eyes gleaming. “Tell me more!”

“Well,” Luke says, warming up to his subject. “You were super brave and you always pulled off these super wild feats that no one else would even dream of trying—that’s why there are a lot of good pilots, but only the craziest can call themselves Skywalkers.”

“Call themselves?” Obi-Wan says, faintly, his Force signature suddenly tinged with inexplicable dread. Anakin shoots him a puzzled look.

“Yup! The Skywalkers are the bestest pilots in the whole Rebellion,” Luke continues. They’ve clearly hit upon one of his great passions. “Ben says it was a joke that Fulcrum started, but the pilots took it super seriously and now after every mission they all rush the hangar to see if they made the cut. Only Fulcrum and the Captain can make the final call, but once they do, everyone starts cheering and whooping and celebrating. I saw it once, when I was super small and we were still with the Rebellion.” He shifts his voice to a whisper and beckons Anakin closer. Anakin bends down, smiling. “One day, I’m gonna be a Skywalker,” Luke whispers in a not-so-soft whisper that even Rex and Cody, with their unenhanced ears, can still hear. “But you can’t tell—it’s bad luck to tell everyone your wishes.”

“Of course,” Anakin nods solemnly, a twinkle in his eye. “I’m honored. Am I your favorite Jedi then?”

“Well—it’s kinda tie between you and Master Plo,” Luke admits. Anakin sniffs, as if insulted. “Your stories are my favorites though for sure, if that makes sense? Ben is the best at your stories—he does all the voices and sounds really well. I guess I didn’t know that you were friends, but it makes sense now—he was there too, that’s why your stories are always the best!”

A broken noise slips out from between Obi-Wan’s lips. Anakin ignores it.

“Hmm. Well, how about we make sure to tell you some new stories? Ones your father hasn’t told you before, that way you can go back and tell him all about what you learned. How does that sound?”

“Wicked cool!” Luke breathes out. Booster slips into the tent and hovers awkwardly in the background.

“Good,” Anakin says with a nod. His eyes flick meaningfully to Booster and then back to Luke. “But only if you’re really good for Booster and get ready for bed quickly—I’ll swing by as soon as we finish up here.”

Luke nods happily and easily slips his hand into Booster’s. He waves cheerily as he leaves the tent.

“Bye Mr. Skywalker! Bye Mr. Cody, Mr. Rex! Bye Past Ben!” he chirps, practically dragging Booster out of the tent in his eagerness.

Anakin watches him go, hands on his hips.

He can hardly wait for the two to fully exit the tent before he whirls around, smiling from ear to ear.

“You hear that, Master?” he crows excitedly. “Best pilot! after all your complaints too. I’m never going to let you live this down—”

“Anakin, do be quiet,” Obi-Wan snaps, before ripping the tent flap open and stomping away.

Anakin turns back to Rex and Cody, bewildered.

“What’d I say?”

Cody gives him a pitying, pursed lip look and stands to his feet.

“Sir,” he says and only Cody can make a respectful sir sound so much like you utter nerfherder. “Some future version of General Kenobi shares all these glowing, nostalgic stories of your adventures with his son—in the past tense. All the Jedi are dead, Luke didn’t even recognize you at first, and apparently the Rebellion decided to name one of their suicidal pilot squadrons in your honor. What do you think that means?”

He follows his General out of the tent.

“Oh. I’m dead,” Anakin says, just a beat too late.

Chapter Text

Anakin finally tracks down Obi-Wan hours later, so much later that the first inklings of dawn are starting to peek over the muddy horizon and highlight the well-worn tents that make up the Republic encampment. At first, Anakin was busy with the last of the mop up—Obi-Wan may have stormed off, but someone still had to help the clones—and then he had to help tuck Luke into bed with a particularly fantastic and embarrassing story from one of his and Obi-Wan’s earliest missions, back in Anakin’s padawan days. And then he had to deal with R2, who wouldn’t stop screeching about being left on the battlefield (mostly he seemed upset that he missed all the excitement and gossip generated by ‘the small copy’) and who was only soothed by an eight-hundred volt upgrade to his little electric prod and a good oil scrub. But after all of that the delay had mostly been due to the inherent difficulty of tracking down Obi-Wan when he doesn’t want to be found—and yeah, Anakin may have been waffling a bit, his heart not totally in the search because he’s not quite sure what he should or even can say in this sort of situation.

Obi-Wan’s found a quiet corner towards the edge of camp—a feat in and of itself as their camps are always a hive of activity, filled with troopers rushing to and from. Anakin shuffles up behind him and waits for a moment. He knows Obi-Wan can sense him—with their never severed training bond it is nigh on impossible for them to sneak up on each other—but he must be pretty mad still, because he refuses to take pity on Anakin and break the silence.

Finally, Anakin clears his throat awkwardly.

“I didn’t put it together until after you left,” he admits quietly. “I didn’t mean to rub your face in it.”

“That’s not an apology, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, exasperated. “But I know you well enough by now to know that this is the best I can hope for.”

“How did you—how did you know?” Anakin ventures, hesitantly. He rubs at the back of his neck. “You always seem to figure out these things before I do.”

Obi-Wan half turns and evaluates him in the dim light. He lets loose a heavy sigh and looks away again.

“I began to suspect as soon as we ascertained Luke’s parentage,” he says, quietly, slowly. “It’s not like I’ve never considered leaving the Order before. I’ve mulled it over enough times to know that there’s a very limited number of situations that would induce me to break my vows like that. I care…very deeply for Satine. But I would not leave the Order to start a family if you were still there. When Luke first spoke of his life with his father, I had hoped that perhaps it only meant you too had chosen to leave the Order, perhaps to pursue your own relationship with Senator Amidala—”

“Wha—I. Um, w-what are you talking about, Master?” Anakin manages to squeak out.

Obi-Wan gives him a look.

“Despite what you seem to believe, I am neither blind nor dumb,” he replies sardonically. He shakes his head. “Please don’t tell me you seriously thought you two were being subtle.”

An awkward silence.

“Anakin, really?” Obi-Wan groans.

"How long have you known?"

"I’ve always known.”

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Anakin demands. Obi-Wan looks unbearably sad.

"I was hoping that you'd feel comfortable enough to tell me yourself one day. I suppose I was hoping that you might trust me with this part of yourself."

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” He stops, opens his mouth, then closes and opens it again. “Why—did I…was it something I did? I could never figure out what was holding you back.”

“I—Master, no, I,” Anakin stutters. He shakes his head, then inhales deeply. “I don’t know why I never told you—Padmé’s always wanted to tell you. But I…I couldn’t. At first, I told myself it was just the war—that I’d tell you and resign from the Order as soon as it was over, but then it dragged on and you were nominated to the Council and I—I just didn’t know how to anymore. I guess I thought you wouldn’t understand, that you’d be…ashamed of me.” 

“Oh, Anakin. As Luke is evidence, I clearly understand your desire to leave the Order and be with the woman I love. I don't fault you—I never have."

Suddenly, Anakin’s throat feels tight, his eyes hot and achy.

“I…I can’t tell you how much that means to me, Master,” he chokes out.

“As for shame,” Obi-Wan continues, in a much lighter tone, “it’s not a feeling I’m used to as your Master, but one of the very few times you’ve ever inspired it was when I was forced to watch you flirt with Senator Amidala for the first time, back before Geonosis.” 

Anakin turns crimson.

“It worked, didn’t it,” he mutters.

“A mystery for the ages,” Obi-Wan chuckles good-naturedly and Anakin finds himself smiling through the embarrassment. There’s an amicable silence. In the Force, Anakin feels as if something delicate has been shattered and reforged anew, stronger than ever.

“But, you know, Luke’s existence doesn’t necessarily mean that you’ve left the Order, he could have been an accident—” Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow and Anakin trails off. “Okay, yeah you’re right, that doesn’t really sound like you.”

“Satine and I…discussed the matter, once, long ago,” Obi-Wan replies finally with a shrug. “We both have our responsibilities—I to the Order and she to her people—and so we decided never to risk it, not then and not in the few times we’ve reunited since then.”

“What? You mean you’ve never—?”

There’s a pause.

“I do hope, for the Senator’s sake as well as yours, you do realize that there are so many other ways to bring each other pleasure,” Obi-Wan responds, quietly but with a wolfish grin. “So, yes, I’m sure. Luke could not have been an accident. I must have left the Order and if I left the Order, you must be gone as well. I would like to imagine that means that you and Senator Amidala are living happily on Naboo, raising a family of your own, and that perhaps I’m just jumping to wild conclusions. But you’ve never been one to just stand idly by.”  

Anakin smirks and bends his head in acknowledgement, then hesitates, nearly three years of keeping everything about Padmé bottled up is holding him back. But, after a long pause, he decides to offer a joke as an olive branch. For all the heartfelt words of the last hour, jokes and sarcasm are Anakin and Obi-Wan’s native language.

“If you think I’m bad, you should see Padmé—I once tried to convince her to take a three-day vacation and, when that failed, I hid her datapads around the apartment. She nearly clawed my eyes out.”

Obi-Wan startles, then snorts out a laugh.

“For Force’s sake, what made you think that was going to end well?”

“Okay, yeah, it wasn’t my best plan,” Anakin admits, a little sheepishly. “I was just annoyed and the pads were sitting right there on the couch, taunting me!”

“Out of curiosity, where’d you hide them?”

“The kitchen.” At Obi-Wan’s blank look, he elaborates. “Padmé’s just like you—spoiled rich Core kid who has no idea how to cook. She knows how to tell Threepio what to do and to com for takeout and that’s about it.”

“I can make tea!” Obi-Wan protests.

“Yeah, so can every youngling in the Rim,” Anakin says with an eye-roll, a rush of endorphins flooding his system at the familiar banter, easy in a way it hasn’t been in a long, long time. “Boiling leaf water isn’t exactly hard, Master. Though I’ve got to hope you learn at some point in the near future, otherwise I’m worried for poor Luke.”

“You’re one to talk,” Obi-Wan grumbles, good-naturedly. “I’ve seen you eat bugs.”

“They’re a delicacy on, like, several thousand worlds.”

“Not live!”

“Are you ever going to let that one go? We’d been in the field for months on half-rations—I was starving.The Force provides, isn’t that what you always say?”

“How is it that you only seem to remember any of my teachings when you want to use them in one of your awful quips?”

“I learned from the best,” Anakin says cheekily. “I’ve seen you do the same exact thing to Master Yoda, so don’t you dare play dumb.”

“Hmm, true enough.”

They fall into an easy silence, staring out into the darkness of camp. Finally, Anakin reaches out and lays a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“I know Luke and his future…freaked you out a bit, but we’ll figure it out,” he promises.

“Figure out what? What happened in Luke’s universe? How to prevent it? How to get him home?”

“All of the above. We’ll figure it out, you know we will. This is definitely not the weirdest thing the Force has thrown at us.”

“Really.” Obi-Wan’s voice practically drips with sarcasm.

“Okay, top ten for sure. Maybe top three. But still.” Anakin squints into the sunlight. The sun has well and truly risen at this point, a big round, orange ball in the hazy distance. “We should probably get back to it—Luke’s going to be up soon and he’ll probably want a familiar face.”

“Shouldn’t he be sleeping in? Don’t human younglings do a lot of that?”

“Mmm, newborns and teenagers, sure. But usually around Luke’s age, they’re all full of boundless energy—he’ll pass out after lunch time, yeah, but right now he’s probably raring to go. Didn’t you have rotations in the Creche like all the other Padawans?”

“Master Qui-Gon and I were off planet for most of my apprenticeship,” Obi-Wan replies stiffly. “And, when we were at the Temple, Master Ilyana kindly…requested that I be assigned elsewhere for my rotations.”

“Requested...? What in the Sith hells did you do?”

Obi-Wan is saved from having to respond to that by the timely arrival of Rex.

“Sirs!” Rex says, snapping out a smart salute. Anakin and Obi-Wan turn as one.

“Yes, Captain?”

“The Senator has arrived to help with negotiations,” Rex announces. Anakin groans dramatically, partly to play up a long running joke with Obi-Wan and partly because, well, he really does hate working with these stupid Senators.

Rex’s lips twitch and Anakin stares suspiciously at him.

“What?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Don’t you ‘nothing, sir’ me, Rex—what was that face?” Anakin demands as he reluctantly falls in line and marches towards the makeshift landing area they’ve set up to the south of the camp.

“Just maybe actually meet with them face to face before you start complaining too much, okay, sir?” Rex insists. “Who knows, maybe you’ll actually like working with them.”

Obi-Wan trades a glance with Rex and the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“How come I feel like you both know something I don’t?” Anakin grumbles. “Okay, if we’re doing this, let’s go pick up Luke first—he’ll be on my side.”

“So you’re now relying on the seven-year-old to protect you from the big bad Senator?” Obi-Wan says. “An excellent plan, my young Padawan, I now understand why the Holonet dubbed you the ‘one of the modern Republic’s great tacticians.’”

Anakin sputters indignantly as Rex laughs uproariously.

Chapter Text

As Anakin predicts, Luke is wide awake and eagerly awaiting their arrival. He jumps to his knees on the little cot that Booster managed to find and stares with wide eyes as Obi-Wan and Anakin enter the tent.

“You’re real,” he breathes, eyes shining. Anakin smiles.

“Of course,” he confirms. He pauses. “Any reason we wouldn’t be?”

“Sometimes I see things,” Luke replies easily. “I mostly know when something’s real, but it’s tricky sometimes. You didn’t look like the not real people—they’re usually kinda bluish—but sometimes I get these dreams that feel like I’m awake.”

“Those must be some very realistic Force visions,” Obi-Wan says, neutrally. Across their bond, Anakin can feel concern tugging fiercely at Obi-Wan’s thoughts.

Luke shrugs.

“Ben says that when all the Jedi died the Force didn’t have anyone to speak to,” he explains. “So I get ‘bom-bard-ed’ with all these dreams because I’m the only one listening anymore.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan share an alarmed look over Luke’s head.

“Okay then,” Anakin says, clapping his hands together and forcing some false cheer into his voice. “We have to go meet an important Senator, how’d you like to come with us?”

Luke looks unimpressed.

“This is like when Ben won’t leave me alone because he thinks I’ll somehow get in trouble if he leaves me alone for two clicks, isn’t it?” Luke sighs dramatically.

Anakin opens his mouth, but Obi-Wan beats him to it.

“Considering the one time he seems to have left you unsupervised, you somehow managed to travel across the multiverse, I don’t really blame him.”

Luke squints, shrugs, then shakes out his hair with his fingers.

“Okay, ready!”

He scrambles off the bed and rushes over to stand in between Obi-Wan and Anakin.

They set off across the camp, Rex nodding in acknowledgement and falling in line beside them as they exit the tent. Luke practically skips ahead, glancing curiously around every corner and examining each clone critically. They all watch him, bemused.

“What are you looking for, little Kenobi?” Rex finally asks.

“The Captain.” Luke looks hopefully to them. “Maybe you know him? He looks like you, but he’s kinda old, with a shaved head and a big bushy beard!”

“I have many millions of brothers,” Rex says gently. “So no, I don’t know a clone that fits that description, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist—perhaps I just haven’t met him yet.”

“Good point,” Luke says, nodding his head seriously. “I’ll keep an eye out though. So who’s this Senator person we’re going to meet?”

“Someone to help us with the negotiations,” Obi-Wan explains as they approach a bright red Republic diplomatic vessel, cooling its engines in the brushed-out dirt of the landing area.

“More like hinder us,” Anakin adds with a roll of his eyes.  

“Come now, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, a hint of reproach in his voice and a twinkle in his eye. Anakin watches him warily—that’s the same look Obi-Wan gets whenever he’s setting up some fiendishly clever verbal trap for his old padawan. “Perhaps they will be of some use—Force know we could use the help.”

“Ha! A useful politician, now there’s a joke,” Anakin insists with a huff. He turns to Luke and wags his finger sternly. “Don’t you listen to Obi-Wan, young man—there’s no such thing.”  

“Oh, really?” an amused, feminine voice interjects. “And here I thought we were friends, General Skywalker.”

Anakin whirls around, heart half in his throat, mouth open in disbelief as he’s greeted by the sight of his wife. They stare for a moment, drinking each other in, until Padmé smiles slightly and inclines her head, walking down the ramp of the Republic ship.  

“I, uh. Hum. I guess—there might be one or two good ones,” he admits, breathlessly. Rex rolls his eyes so hard Anakin’s convinced they’re about to fly out of his head. Anakin shoots him a look.

“Senator Amidala, it is so wonderful to see you,” Obi-Wan says, warmly. He steps forward and offers her a clasped hand greeting. Padmé looks vaguely startled at the familiarity—she and Obi-Wan are friends, yes, but Obi-Wan tends to hold everyone, even Anakin, even Cody at a bit of a distance. She looks expectantly to Anakin, but he only spreads his hands in a gesture of helpless confusion. She turns back to Obi-Wan and smiles.

“Of course, Master Kenobi,” she replies. “It is so good to see you as well. You and General Skywalker make it back to Coruscant so infrequently these days. I have missed our afternoon teas together.”

“And I as well,” Obi-Wan replies. “Perhaps we can arrange just such a session after the negotiations have concluded? With that rich North Nubian blend?”

“Mmm, that is one of my favorites,” Padmé agrees. She squeezes Obi-Wan’s hand one last time and then turns back to Anakin. Her eyes dart down.

Then, she blinks.

“And who is this?”

“Who is—” Anakin follows her gaze. “Oh! This is Luke.” As Padmé raises an eyebrow, he realizes how useless that is as an explanation. He glances over to Luke, who is staring at Padmé intensely. Anakin shakes him a little. “Luke, say hello to Pad—Senator Amidala. She’s an old friend of mine and Ben’s. Senator Amidala, this is Luke. He’s uh. From the future. He’s staying with us until we can figure out a way to return him to his time.”

Padmé’s eyebrow looks like it is about to fly straight off of her face.

“The future?” she asks, incredulously. She looks ready to argue, then pauses. “The Force?” she asks, in a resigned tone of voice.

“The Force,” Anakin and Obi-Wan confirm as one.

“Well, then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Luke,” she says, bending down a little to hold out a hand. Luke takes it shyly and gives her a couple of tentative pumps of a handshake.

“Hi,” he says. “Are you an angel?”

Padmé pulls back abruptly and her mouth opening and closing. Her face has gone pale.

Anakin grumbles a little to himself—that’s his line, thank you very much.

“Good to know the Kenobi charm is genetic,” he sighs. Padmé’s head snaps up from where she’s staring at Luke.

“Wait, what?”

“He’s Obi-Wan’s son,” Anakin clarifies.  He shrugs. “From the future obviously, but still. I can’t believe future Obi-Wan passed on his ability to flirt effortlessly with everything that moves.”

“Obi-Wan’s son?” Padmé repeats, a rare moment of slow comprehension. Normally, Anakin is always racing to keep up with her. “As in…our Obi-Wan?”

“Yup,” Anakin confirms. “Weird, I know.”

“You’re…sure?” she asks again, eyes darting between Luke and Anakin too rapidly for Anakin to track.

“Quite sure,” Obi-Wan says, finally. Padmé tilts her head, a troubled, puzzled sort of look on her face. She stares at Luke, who offers her an adorably lopsided beaming smile that could melt even Master Windu’s heart. But Padmé only regards Luke evenly for a moment— Anakin’s her husband and even he’s never been able to truly distract her when she gets some sort of an idea in her head.

Finally, she shakes her head and offers Luke a hesitant smile.

“Well then, it sounds like you’ve been on quite the adventure, Luke.”

“Uh-huh,” Luke chirps. “It’s fine! I’m having fun with Past Ben and Anakin! I’m learning lots. It’s kinda cool, though, getting to meet all of Ben’s friends, even though I’ve only ever seen them in holos before.”

“Ben?” Padmé asks, sliding her eyes over to Obi-Wan.

“It’s an alias I assumed on a few undercover missions back in my padawan days. Evidently, my future self uses the name as well,” Obi-Wan replies. He frowns at Luke. “Holos? Have you seen Senator Amidala before then—in these holos?”

“Uh-huh,” Luke repeats. He flashes them another smile, then frowns. “We used to have a few and Ben used to take them out and tell stories, but we lost them a couple of planets back. The smuggler we hitched a ride with gave us up to the Imps and we had to run for it. It was my fault, too—I’m not supposed to touch Ben’s stuff but I opened up his box and took some of them out and we didn’t have time to pack them all up.”

“I’m sure Ben was just happy that you made it out safely.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said, but I could still tell he was super sad.”

“It is often the case that two things are true at once,” Padmé says sagely. Luke wrinkles his nose.

“You sound like Ben,” he says accusingly.

“Perhaps it’s because your father and I are both very wise,” she suggests with a laugh. Padmé straightens out and brushes some invisible wrinkle from her latest outfit—plainer than her usual Senatorial garb but embroidered with highly ornamental gold filigree. “Come on then, do you think you can show me to the command tent? The Generals and I have a lot to discuss.”

Luke spins around, squinting in every direction as he tries to orient himself. He makes a move as if he is about to dash off, but Rex catches him by the scruff of his neck and forces Luke to take on a more sedate pace—all while muttering about ‘being too old for this jetii nonsense.’

Padmé, Anakin, and Obi-Wan fall in behind them, weaving deftly across the muddy ground and around groups of clones attempting to repair weapons, armor, and ships.

“Luke’s future does not sound like a happy one,” she says in a low voice, shooting a concerned glance towards Obi-Wan. He purses his lips and glances away.

“Mm, not exactly,” he agrees.

“I’m dead, the Sith have taken over, and apparently Luke has spent his entire life on the run,” Anakin explains. Padmé inhales sharply and then slaps Anakin’s shoulder. “Ow, what was that for?”

Padmé gives Anakin her signature I-can’t-believe-I-agreed-to-marry-this-nerfherder look (which hey, fair, Anakin that wonders himself sometimes).

“We won’t let that happen, Master Kenobi,” Padmé says sternly. “Especially now that we have Luke’s warnings to inform us. We have plenty time to prepare—there must be some way to protect you and your son from that future.”

“I—I don’t know what to say to that,” Obi-Wan says, sounding a little taken aback. “I suppose…thank you.”

“Thanks are hardly necessary,” Padmé replies briskly, with a wave of her hand. “You’re a friend, Master Kenobi, and you’ll find there’s very little I wouldn’t do for my friends.”

“Trying to alter the future can have dire, unintended consequences,” Obi-Wan warns, his voice cracked, heavy.

“But we’re trying to prevent the Sith from taking over the Galaxy and killing literally all the Jedi! How can that be bad?” Anakin protests.

“Sometimes I swear it’s like you never listen to a word I say,” Obi-Wan mutters.

“Hey, I’m trying to be helpful, old man!”

“Anakin!” Padmé chides. She pauses. “Okay, perhaps he could have put it better but Ani—General Skywalker does have a point. Surely, if it’s to change the future for the better—”

“We don’t know enough to say it’s for the better,” Obi-Wan says. He sighs and pauses just outside the command tent. “It’s one of the fundamental lessons we learn as Padawans—one I tried to impart to Anakin, with all too little success, evidently. The Force is powerful and all-knowing, yes—but we are not. We may mean well, but it is all too easy to misinterpret the signs the Force sends us. History is littered with the stories of Jedi who thought they knew better and who often blundered into the very future they were trying to prevent simply by taking action to prevent it.” He pauses, eyes flicking to Anakin and shoulders hunching. “It’s why…it’s why I dissuaded you from acting on your dreams about your mother.”

“Oh, yes and what a brilliant idea that was, oh clever little Jedi master!” Anakin snaps, a sudden, familiar, and impossible-to-tamp-down-anger welling up in him at the mention of his mother. “She died because of you!”

“We don’t know that—we’ll never know what might have happened had you gone to her earlier or not gone to her at all. For all we know, your decision to seek her out was the very event that precipitated her death.”

“How dare you—!” Anakin cries, hot tears of impotent rage stinging his eyes.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Anakin, I’m just trying to make you see—we can’t allow visions of a not-yet future to blind us to the here and now. Believe me, I would have given anything to spare you the pain of what you witnessed, anything. I know how you must have felt—”

“Know how I felt? How could you?” Anakin snarls, lashing out with his words and his presence in the Force. Obi-Wan rears back, eyes flashing.

“And who do you think held Qui-Gon Jinn as he lay dying?” Obi-Wan retorts.

“As if that could even come close to what I—”

“He was my Master for twelve years! My family.”

“Oh, so now the Jedi care about family?”

“They’re your family too!”

“No, Obi-Wan, they’re yours. They’ve never been mine and you know it! The other Padawans always refused to play or spar or eat with me. You know why I’m so good with Luke, huh? Because I literally spent every spare moment I had in the Creche—the only Jedi in whole kriffing Temple that weren’t old enough to care about the way everyone else whispered about me.”

“Stop being ridiculous, you know that’s not true—”

Anakin steps forward, hands clenched, ready to lunge and—

“That is enough,” Padmé says, stepping in between them. Anakin barely has enough time arrest the movement of his fists. Padmé doesn’t flinch as his hand skitters to a stop mere centimeters from her face.

“You’re siding with him?” Anakin demands, lowering his fists.

She lifts her chin defiantly.

“I am siding with no one,” she declares, a steely look in her eyes. “But you need to calm down, Anakin. Now.”

“But—” He steps forward, as if continue his confrontation with Obi-Wan—it feels so good to finally let it all bubble and burst to the surface like this, so good—and he only means to shove her out of the way, but at the movement of his arm she flinches.

She flinches.

The fury drains from his veins, leaving only a cold, awful feeling sludge behind. He stares down at his hands in horror, then glances up only to see Obi-Wan and Padmé watching him warily, Obi-Wan angling his body slightly as if to protect Padmé.

From Anakin.

And his men are all staring at him, a range of shock and uncertainty radiating from all of them—Cody and Appo and Rex and…Luke.

Luke, staring at him with wide, scared eyes, hugging himself tight as if to try and protect his body and mind from the suffocating anger Anakin is spilling into the Force.

“I—I’m going to go,” Anakin stammers out, turning on his heel.

He runs away to the sound of Obi-Wan and Rex calling out his name and the constant, pounding thought in his head:

Everything I touch turns to ash.  

Chapter Text

The clanking of armor is what gives him away.

Anakin hides his face in his knees, folding his long frame into a tighter ball and burrowing more deeply into his hiding place—a convenient divot in the walls of a dusty canyon about three miles from the camp. He knows he is mostly invisible from the top of the ridge line unless someone is standing at a very specific vantage point and, to further deter his do-gooder men, it’s a steep, treacherous walk (well, more of a slide really) down.

“Go away, Rex,” he growls, angry, embarrassed, frustrated tears dripping out from behind screwed tight lids despite his best efforts.

“Not Rex,” a familiar but unexpected voice says.

Anakin’s head flies upwards, his eyes wide with shock as he whirls and spots…Cody of all people, standing less than a meter away.

“What are you doing here?” he demands angrily. Cody arches an eyebrow.

“Directing the Open Circle Fleet, commanding the 212^th, helping my General find his wayward former apprentice,” Cody replies drolly. “You know, my job.”

Anakin whirls back around, the tops of his cheeks and ears flushing. How come everybody always runs verbal circles around him? He never gets the last word, never.

“Well you can just leave me here, I’m sure everyone would be better off,” Anakin snaps back, hunching his shoulders as he tucks his hands ever deeper into his armpits

“See, I happen to agree with you, but the thing is, everyone else feels differently. So differently that they’re out there right now, worried sick and searching for you.”

Anakin narrows his eyes.

“Must not be searching very hard if you’re the one that found me first.”

“Eh,” Cody shrugs. “I have the benefit of listening to listening to both my General and my brother complain non-stop about your antics—by now I have a pretty good idea of how to find you when you’re throwing a temper tantrum.”

“Temper tantrum?” Anakin demands, outraged. He glares.

“Case in point,” Cody replies archly.

Anakin blows out a sigh.

"So, is that why you hate me so much? Because you dislike my temper tantrums?” Anakin says, practically spitting out the last two words.

"I don't hate you, Skywalker," Cody says derisively, plopping down on the dusty ground beside Anakin. "I don't like you. That's not the same thing—a distinction it sounds like you could stand to learn. The other Jedi may not like you very much, but that doesn’t mean they’re out to get you. Sir.”

“You don’t know what it was like,” Anakin mutters, looking away. “What it is like. They’ve never accepted me, never.”

“Mmm. Ever tried meditating with them?”

“What? No—what does that have to do with anything?”

“First thing the other Generals do when they get back Templeside is go to the meditation halls and do this weird joint meditation session thingy. Wolffe says that General Koon says that it is how you all ‘reaffirm your connection to each other’ or something. But you’re the only General that never goes.”

“Oh. I. Um. I’m not very good at meditation. I uh…never saw the point of it. Didn’t have the patience.”

“Yeah, figured. But even Commander Tano used to go and I don’t think anyone would ever go accusing her of being patient.”

“What’s your point?” Anakin finally snaps.

“All the other Jedi meditate together. All of them. Except for you. Now is that because they never invited you or because they offered once or twice and you told them ‘you didn’t see the point of it’?”

“I—I don’t remember,” Anakin says, shifting uncomfortably. Cody looks at him pityingly.

“I’m not saying that you’re not right to feel a little different, a little excluded,” he continues. “I actually think you’re probably right—the other Jedi don’t seem to like being around you. But to be entirely fair, the feeling does seem to be mutual and you’re not at all subtle. I don’t know a lot of sentients who like hanging around someone who so clearly dislikes everything about them and their culture.”

“Okay, so you’ve made your point,” Anakin mutters, turning his head away. “I’m a terrible Jedi and now everyone else knows it too because of my so-called tantrum. I look forward to the wonderful lecture I’m sure Obi-Wan’s already rehearsing in his head. Maybe Padmé and Rex will join in too, how lovely that will be.”

“Oh, like they haven’t forgiven you already,” Cody snorts. "Well I suppose I can't speak for the Senator, but I'm sure General Kenobi and Rex have already forgiven you, just like they always do.”

"You can't know that!"

"Oh, I can't? We both know this is hardly the worst thing he's overlooked," Cody says, arching an eyebrow and making Anakin feel very small and stupid. Suddenly, he frowns, seeming to truly comprehend Anakin’s blank stare of incomprehension. "Do you really not know?”

"Know what?"

Cody turns to face forward, his mouth twisting.

"Do you know which General has the highest casualties in the GAR, sir?"

"Uh..." Anakin has no idea what to do with this non-sequitur.

"I'll save you the trouble: it's you. By a lot."

"I do not! I would never treat the 501st so carelessly, how dare you—"

"Not troopers. Separatists. The ones we're supposed to subdue, imprison, and take back to Coruscant for a proper trial. Those casualties. They do count, you know."

"I mean, yeah, I never really kept track, but yeah, I suppose. We're not supposed to, but they don’t exactly come willingly. I'm sure a lot of the Generals have the same problem."

"No, they don't,” Cody replies crisply. “Almost eighty-six percent of the Separatist commanders you're sent after die. The next closest was General Krell, back before he...did whatever that was on Umbara, at eighty percent. And after that? General Vos—but his numbers shift back to the average if you take out all of his Shadow missions—the unofficial official assassinations that we’re not supposed to talk about."

"I—"

"And do you know how I know this? Because I'm General Kenobi's second and we have to file casualty paperwork with the Council and a bunch of Senate subcommittees. It's all there if you care to look. And the only reason that no one else has looked, the only reason why you haven't been dragged in front of the Council or Senate for war crimes is because General Kenobi has been covering your ass. So, yeah, I know he'll forgive you your little temper tantrum. It's far from the worst thing he's forgiven you for."

Anakin is stunned into silence for a moment.

“I—what.” Anakin’s voice sounds small and tinny, even to his own ears. “Why would he do that?”  

"Stars—I know not all of you Jedi are this dense, Bly and Wolffe's Generals are perfectly normal! What did I do to get stuck with the two most emotionally repressed sentients in the whole Republic?" This seems more rhetorical than anything else, so Anakin stays silent. Cody sighs. "Well if he won't say it, I will. It's because he loves you, dumbass."

"But I—what?"

"Tell me, if it was Commander Tano going around slaughtering enemy combatants left and right, breaking all sorts of laws, wouldn't you bend your morals for her? Wouldn't you come up with excuse after excuse to justify her behavior and forgive her every time?"

"Of course," Anakin says, without hesitation. Cody just stares, his eyes boring holes in the side of Anakin's head. "Ah. I see your point." He pauses, guilt tearing raggedly at the edges of his stomach. “He shouldn’t though. I—I’m not a good Jedi…a good person, not like Ahsoka. I’ve…lied to Obi-Wan. For a long time.”

“Is this about your affair with Senator Amidala? Because I hate to break it to you, but if you were lying to Obi-Wan about that, then you weren’t doing it very successfully.”

“What? No! Does everyone know about that?” Anakin groans. Cody arches an eyebrow, opening his mouth. “No, never mind, don’t answer that.” He swallows. “No, not about that. About...I brushed the Dark. Once. After my mom died.”

Anakin fidgets nervously with his hands as Cody cocks his head, his face carefully blank.   

“Bad?”

Anakin nods silently.

“Very bad?”

Anakin looks away. He clears his throat.

“It’s like—it’s like I have this sandstorm raging inside me,” he confesses, quietly, something he’s never really admitted to anyone, ever. “And most of the time I can keep it locked away, but sometimes—like back at the camp—it just…I can’t control it and I hurt everyone around me. And sometimes—like when my mom died—I…it gets even worse and I do…bad things. I don’t know how to make it stop. I wish I did. I don’t want to hurt Obi-Wan and Padmé, but…”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Well, that doesn’t sound healthy,” Cody declares with a shake of his head. He purses his lips. “And I’m seriously not trying to make a joke right now, because it seems like the wrong time, but really this is so far above my paygrade it’s not even funny. I don’t understand a lot about the Force, you know. But you do happen to spend like three-quarters of your waking hours with a real live Jedi Master who not only would be so much better equipped for this conversation, but also cares for you very deeply. Ever considered telling any of this to him?”

Anakin blanches.

“I—I can’t. If I told him—” Anakin’s words start high-pitched, frantic, then trail off into silence.

“Oh—that bad?”

Anakin nods, stiffly. He opens his mouth.

“I found my mother, right before she died, and afterwards I—”

“Nope,” Cody says, holding up a hand.

“What?” he squawks. Cody gives him a deeply judgmental look.

“I am not about to let you use me as a stand in for General Kenobi. You forget, I know you, Skywalker. Far better than either of us would like. You’ll dump all this on me and then use that as an excuse to avoid telling General Kenobi. But that’s a piss-poor plan, if you’ll excuse the language, sir. Afterall, it’s not my forgiveness you really want, yeah?”

Anakin is stunned into silence.

“Anakin!” A small high-pitched voice interrupts him, full of joy. Anakin whirls around and sees Luke’s small tow-headed little figure on the ridge above, jumping and waving his arms madly. “Padmé! Ben! I found him, I found him!” Behind Luke, Padmé, Obi-Wan, and Rex crest the hill and pause for a moment. Then Padmé begins to run down the hill, nearly tripping all over herself as she reaches Anakin and throws herself into his arms. His seated position and still buzzing mind make the embrace rather awkward, but he can already feel himself relaxing infinitesimally with Padmé safe in his arms and seemingly unaffected by his earlier outburst. 

“Don’t you dare ever do that again!” she cries, squeezing him so tightly that Anakin is half-afraid she is about to suffocate him to death.

“Padmé, I just went for a walk,” Anakin says, a little bewildered. “It’s not like I was in any danger.”

She pulls back and slaps his chest, wiping angry, frustrated tears out of the corners of her eyes as she glares at him.

“You were gone for hours! In an active warzone! Even Obi-Wan was worried—to say nothing of the heart attack you gave poor Rex.”

“You weren’t answering your com, sir,” Rex pants as he, Obi-Wan, and Luke finally catch up. Padmé hastily draws back and rubs awkwardly at her arms as she looks anywhere but at Anakin. Cody raises an eyebrow as he looks between the two of them and Anakin blushes, standing to his feet as he brushes dust from his robes.

“You were blocking me out,” Obi-Wan adds, quietly, something hurt in his voice. He lays a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “It was Senator Amidala who figured out that Luke could still sense you—apparently you haven’t shielded him out fully and he’s quite attuned to your Force signature.”

“I—” Anakin has no idea what to say to that. He has all these words bursting in his chest, swirling around in his heart and his stomach, things he almost admitted to Cody, of all people—but this is all too familiar and by now Anakin knows very well how to swallow hard and push it all down, until the Darkness no longer threatens to burst out and taint everyone and everything around him.

Luke lunges forward and darts between Padmé and Obi-Wan, crashing into Anakin. He wraps both arms around Anakin’s knees.

“You scared me!” he says accusingly, voice muffled in Anakin’s tabards. “You can’t do that! You’re Ben’s bestest friend in the whole Galaxy and you just left him! Anakin Skywalker would never do that, never.”

“Hey, Luke,” Obi-Wan says, reaching out and gently trying to draw his son away from Anakin. “It’s okay. Anakin just got angry and he made a mistake scaring you—us— like that. But he picked himself back up, see? That’s important part when you make a mistake and no one’s better at it than Anakin.”

And all of a sudden, Anakin feels something inside himself crack and give way.

He can’t keep doing this, he won’t. Somehow, he’s always thought that Obi-Wan and the rest of the Council could see right through him, to the Darkness underneath, and he’s a little bewildered by this sudden, very tangible evidence of how well he’s apparently fooled Obi-Wan. Meeting Luke is like…like watching all of Obi-Wan’s trust and goodness condensed into small human form, without any of the polite distance or carefully neutral masks that his old Master so often employs. Luke clearly idolizes Anakin, loves him and believes in him dearly and desperately, despite never having met Anakin before his little cross-universe journey. There’s really only one person he could have learned that unshakeable faith from. And that’s—Anakin doesn’t deserve that.

 He desperately wishes he did.

“Rex, Cody,” Anakin says, quietly, “can you take Luke back to camp? There’s…there’s some things I need to discuss with Obi-Wan.”

“What, but sir—” Rex protests. Cody clamps a hand down on his brother’s upper arm.

“Very good, sir,” he says, voice neutral as his eyes connect with Anakin’s and he nods once, slowly, something like approval in the motion. “C’mon, little Kenobi, it’s back to camp for you. I’m sure you’re hungry after all your searching.” And there must be something in his tone because Luke only hesitates a little and gives no verbal protestations as he is led away.

“And me?” Padmé says softly, extending a hand, but halting her fingertips before they brush up against the back of Anakin’s hand. He rotates his mechno-hand and clasps her soft hand tightly.

“You should stay. You know some of it. But. Not all. And you should.” He turns to Obi-Wan. “You both should. I—I’ve done terrible things, Master. And I understand that, but I just—can you wait until the end to…to do whatever it is you need to do? I don’t think I’ll be able to get it out otherwise.”

Obi-Wan folds himself down into a meditation pose, drawing both Anakin and Padmé down to sit with him.

“Of course, Anakin. Whatever you need,” Obi-Wan declares, eyes bright and concerned, but also full of so much—well, after listening to Cody, Anakin supposes it must be love. He hopes there’s still a shred of that left for him after he finishes, but it’s too late to turn back now.

Anakin swallows, inhales deeply, and begins his confession.

Chapter Text

Both Padmé and Obi-Wan are silent—too silent—as Anakin’s voice finally peters out some time later. He doesn’t know how long it has actually been, but it feels like it has been hours, days even—his eyes hot and scratchy with barely contained tears. He can’t help but feel that he’s made a terrible mistake as the two most important people in his Galaxy refuse to meet his eyes and the Force is strangely quiet, still, as if it too is holding its breath.

He redirects his gaze to the dusty ground, covered in uneven patches of dry, crackly grass, and swallows. The motion seems too loud in the silence and it unnerves Anakin, so used to the constant clamor and clanging of the Force battering against his shields.

“Oh, Ani,” Padmé says, finally, voice whisper-soft. Her words are full of heartbreak and she reaches out a hand to lay over his tightly clasped one. Her thumb rubs circles on the skin in between his thumb and index finger. Anakin flashes her a tense, hesitant smile and she smiles back sadly. “You’re a good person, Anakin.”

“I’m not though,” Anakin protests, hunching his shoulders and trying to draw his hand out from underneath Padmé’s. But for a petite humanoid, she’s got a surprisingly strong grip and Anakin has no interest in hurting her physically on top of all the other emotional turmoil he’s inflicted upon her today.

“You’ve done bad things,” Padmé agrees, “but I’ve always known that, even before we—” She freezes up, words choking out as she snatches her hand away and glances towards Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“You don’t need to worry, Padmé,” Anakin says hurriedly. “He…uh, knows.”

She relaxes, exhaling deeply and extending her hand to Anakin once more.

“Oh, thank Shiraya,” she says. She bites her lip. “We never wanted to keep this from you, Obi-Wan, you must understand. But we were so scared—”

“Yes, yes,” Obi-Wan says, brusquely, his words crisp, sharp. “And I’d love to hear that explanation. But later. More to the immediate issue at hand—you knew about this?”

Anakin wants to flinch backwards at his tone, more searing than a blow with a saber blade, but Padmé only straightens her spine and lifts her chin.

“I accompanied him to Tatooine,” she says. “I saw the…aftermath.”

“And you didn’t think to say anything to anyone? To help him? Your lover slaughters an entire village of innocents and you don’t think that, at the very least, a conversation with a Mind Healer may be in order?”

“They weren’t innocent,” Padmé throws back, eyes narrowed stubbornly. Obi-Wan looks horrified.

“There were children! How can you say—”

“You didn’t see her body!” Padmé hisses. Obi-Wan rears back and her shoulders slump. “Tatooine tradition holds that family members must wash the body before burial. Anakin and Owen couldn’t—couldn’t even look at it too long—so Beru and I were left with the task. I know it was wrong, Obi-Wan, I know. But you didn’t see her body, you didn’t see the way they dug hooks into her skin as they raped her over and over again. I—” she pauses, chokes. “After the Battle of Naboo, as we tried to dismantle the camps and make records of the Trade Federation’s crimes, I would get daily reports of all we found. I even visited a couple of the camps. My people, starved, beaten, tortured, killed, all because of some sick power play. In those moments, sitting through those reports, there were times when I wished I could have rained fire and death upon Neimodia and killed every single last member of Nute Gunray’s family. I wouldn’t have given a single goddamn what happened to the innocents I took down along the way.”

Anakin reaches out and pulls Padmé close to his body in a one-armed embrace. She leans against him, almost as if she is collapsing, the way she always does when she wakes up from nightmares about the blockade and battle.

“Shh,” Anakin says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m not saying it was right or justified or anything like that, just that…I understand. I’ve had those same thoughts. So perhaps I looked the other way when I shouldn’t have, but I just couldn’t think of condemning Ani for the same thoughts I’d once had myself.”

“But you didn’t act on those thoughts,” Obi-Wan points out gently. Padmé gives a wry smile.

“Yes. But some days I suspect that has more to do with a lack of opportunity rather than a lack of will,” she replies. “Believe me, if Naboo had had any warships—I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Unfortunately, because of his strength is the Force, Anakin has plenty of opportunity to cause mass destruction, warships or no warships,” Obi-Wan says, gently. He finally meets Anakin’s eyes. “And that, Anakin, is why we emphasize control over our emotions, why the Code that I know you chafe against is so strict. All people have these thoughts while angry or frustrated or jealous, but not all people have the ability to act on them as immediately and as terribly we do. I am…so sorry for failing you to teach you this.”

“Master—no!”

“No, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, firmly, not raising his voice. He holds up a hand to forestall any further protest. “I saw how you struggled with meditation and your lessons—but did nothing. The lessons had worked for hundreds of generations of Jedi, so I did not see why I should change it for you. But that is wrong. Everyone learns differently and I should have tried harder to meet you halfway. I am sorry for that, for you.”

“Stop speaking like he’s some sort of lost cause!” Padmé demands, her grip tightening. “He’s not, Obi-Wan, no one is! Good people can do bad things, but that doesn’t mean there’s not still good in them, that they can’t still find their way back.”

“He’s not wrong,” Anakin murmurs and Padmé shakes her head stubbornly, glaring at them both.

“It’s always all or nothing with you Jedi,” she huffs.

“Only a Sith deals in absolutes.”

“That is blatantly untrue,” Padmé shoots backs. “I don’t understand the Force, but I do understand people. Anakin made a terrible decision, but that doesn’t mean he’s doomed to that path forever. And if we stop believing that, that’s what will condemn him, more surely than any single action he takes. He can’t fight his way back if we just give up on him.”

“I’m not giving up on him, I would never.” Obi-Wan says harshly and the bands around Anakin’s lungs loosen by just a fraction of a millimeter. He sighs, scrubs at his face. “I don’t know what else to say. I’ll find a way to help you and stop this from happening over and over again. But I don’t have those answers right now, I need give me some time to process this.”

“I—thank you, Master,” Anakin says. “It’s more than I deserve. I never thought—I never thought you’d forgive me.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, somewhat severely. “Let me be clear, I’m not offering you a free pass. I can’t—something like this…I’m not sure anyone can really offer you absolution. Maybe the remaining Sand People, if you were to reach out to them one day. But really, this is between you and the Force.”

“But you—”

“I’m only a foolish old man,” Obi-Wan replies sadly. “For what it is worth—I think I will find a way to forgive you, one day. But I was not the one harmed and my attachment to you hardly makes me a neutral party.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” Anakin declares. Both Obi-Wan and Padmé wince and Anakin stares at them uncomprehendingly.

“It’s really not,” Padmé sighs. “You’ve always said things like that and, at the time, I thought you were just being romantic, but I’m now realizing you mean it quite literally. I don’t think that it’s helping this whole…darkness thing you described.”

“it’s something we’ll have to work on,” Obi-Wan agrees, looking relieved that he and Padmé are finally on the same page. Anakin blinks, frustration and anger growing alongside his confusion.

“What’s—” he opens his mouth to protest, then abruptly closing it, remembering his resolve, mere hours earlier not to lash out at Obi-Wan and Padmé ever again. The self-enforced silence only makes his helpless anger grow until he doesn’t even know what he’s angry about—

Slow down.

A command, emanating from Obi-Wan’s suddenly unshielded side of the bond. His spinning, spiraling thoughts seem to do just that, as if they are suddenly caught in slow moving tree sap, slowing down ever more and more until Anakin can catch the edge of one fluttering, tangled emotion and unravel it down to its core. His anger is instantly…well, it doesn’t disappear, but it changes shape. His helplessness and frustration are just that…helplessness and frustration, rather than fuel for his rage. It’s not a good feeling by any means, but it’s also so much better than what was building in him not so long ago.  

“Did that help?” Obi-Wan asks. Padmé’s eyes shift between them, uncertain.

“Yes,” Anakin admits in a small voice. Obi-Wan nods thoughtfully.

“An old trick I developed as a Padawan, to calm my temper,” he says, finally.

“You, a temper?” Anakin repeats, dumbfounded. Obi-Wan gives a self-deprecating half-smile that’s really more of a smirk.

“Ah, you’d be surprised…after you made me nearly tear my hair out after your fifth fight with another Padawan, Master Windu opined that it was almost certainly payback for all of the times I had caused the same frustration in my creche masters.”

Anakin’s jaw drops.

Padmé snorts.

“I’m not surprised,” she declares. Anakin swivels his head to her, mouth open in protest. She raises an eyebrow. “Anakin, the only reason anyone even considers Obi-Wan the calm, reasonable one is because they’re comparing him to you. And that’s just a terrible frame of reference.”

“I just—I never knew,” Anakin says. “You never told me.”

“Taking you as my Padawan was controversial,” Obi-Wan says, quietly. “I threatened to leave the Order. Really the only reason they granted my request at all was because with Dooku only nominally a part of the Order anymore and Qui-Gon dead, I was the last remaining member of our lineage. Master Yoda has always been…partial to members of his own lineage and our branch more than most. But I burnt a lot of bridges in doing so and was not so subtly warned that if I stepped one toe out of line, you would pay the price. So, I became the perfect Jedi. And part of that meant not talking about my past, especially with you.”

“Oh, I just assumed you didn’t trust me,” Anakin says, awkwardly.

“And so you never trusted me in turn—with what really happened with your mother or your relationship with Padmé,” Obi-Wan concludes. Anakin wants to protest but…he can’t. Obi-Wan laughs, half hysterical, half miserable. “I failed you so badly that you felt you couldn’t come to me for help in your darkest hour.”

“Don’t, Obi-Wan. You weren’t the only one who failed here,” Padmé says, nudging at his hand with the toe of one of her boots. He continues clenching and unclenching his fingers in the dirt. She huffs. “As you pointed out, I knew about this for years and yet Anakin still didn’t trust me with the whole truth, my own husband. Not to mention that a misunderstanding goes both ways—please, let all of us, me, you, and Anakin share this blame equally.”

“I didn’t tell you so that you two would blame each other,” Anakin protests. He hunches a little and darts his eyes to the ground. “I did it because…I just. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve tried everything—but I’m still hurting you and I don’t want to, but I need…I need help.”

Padmé’s eyes are shining.

“You know that’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me, right?” she says. “You’ve never asked me for help before.”

“What, really? Never?” Anakin feels shocked. They’ve been married for nearly three years, surely at some point…?

“You’ve always been the one who’d rather let the house burn down rather than admit you needed a bucket of water,” Obi-Wan adds, quietly, his voice odd. Then he smiles, slow and hesitant, as if the very motion pains him. “So, I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I’m…proud of you, in way. This conversation is nowhere near over. But still. It gives me hope that we can find some way to combat the growing Darkness within you.”

“I think…for the first time, I’m starting to believe that too,” Anakin admits.

There’s a moment of hushed silence, full of love, hope, and so much possibility.

Then.

“And now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” Obi-Wan says pleasantly, the same odd cast to his voice, “could we go back just a moment, because I could have sworn—forgive me, Senator—but did you say husband?”

There’s a beat of interminable silence, less blooming with hope and more like a ticking time bomb about to go off.

 Padmé whirls on Anakin.

“You said you told him!” she says accusingly.

Anakin whirls on Obi-Wan.

“You said you knew!” Anakin lobs at him.

Obi-Wan looks insulted.

“I knew that you had feelings for her, that you were in love,” he says, incredulous. “That part was easy—but how was I possibly supposed to know that you married her? That’s—literally illegal. How did you even—when did you…?”

“Uh, after Geonosis,” Anakin admits. “When I was…ah, escorting her back to Naboo.”

“You’d known each other for less than a month!” Obi-Wan’s voice is getting kind of screechy. “Why the kriff would you risk marriage! What’s wrong with a good old-fashioned affair?”

“Oh, yes, dearest, please explain to Obi-Wan why we got married,” Padmé says, sickly sweet, and Anakin winces. He rubs at the back of his neck.

“You’re never going to let me live that one down,” he mutters. She arches an eyebrow and Obi-Wan looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. “So, uh…well, when you want to get married on Tatooine, when you’re a slave, it’s kinda simple. Um, you share some tea. And I didn’t really explain it right, so Padmé said she wanted to do that, but just thought it was like a courting thing. But, so. We wake up the next morning and uh, Threepio explained what it meant, properly. And she got steaming mad, even more mad when I suggested that it wasn’t a big deal, and uh…went into town the next day to hire a Nubian holy man.”

“Of all the reckless, idiotic…Padmé, really?”

“It’s insulting! To disrespect his traditions, his mother’s traditions, like that,” she insists, same as she did at Varykino all those years ago. “I couldn’t let it be one-sided like that, like I love him any less than he loves me!”

“Kriffing hells—please tell me you at least used assumed names? And paid the holy man well for his silence?”

“Of course!”

“Well…” Padmé says. Anakin and Obi-Wan turn to her, alarmed.

“You told me he was your grandmother’s childhood friend!”

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about Davoo, he wouldn’t breathe a word of it to anyone,” Padmé rushes to assure him. “It’s just…uh, the names we used were Set and Veré.”

Anakin blinks and Obi-Wan groans, burying his head in his hands.

“What am I missing?” Anakin demands.

“Set and Veré were star-crossed lovers of Nubian legend,” Obi-Wan mumbles, from between his palms. “A Queen who fell in love with an impoverished Knight. You may as well have put up a giant neon sign saying these are our aliases.”

“It’s romantic,” Padmé defends.

“It’s reckless stupidity is what it is!” Obi-Wan shoots back.

“You’re really not taking this well,” Anakin says, cocking his head. “Can I remind you of this next time you accuse me of being overdramatic?”

“Well, excuse me! Were you the one who just found out that your padawan has been hiding a marriage and a slow slide towards Darkness? And don’t forget the part where I’m doomed to watch all of my friends and family die in a massive genocide and then spend the rest of my life as a single father on the run from Sith Lords. I am entitled to one Siths-damned moment of hysteria for once in my life, thank you very much!”

Anakin pauses, eyes wide and holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Fair enough,” he admits. “But—”

“Can you hear that?” Padmé says, suddenly, sharply. Obi-Wan and Anakin both turn to her, confused. Anakin even opens his mouth to protest, after all there is little chance that anything would be able to sneak up on them, what with Anakin and Obi-Wan’s Force enhanced senses, and even if they did, Padmé certainly wouldn’t have been the one to hear it first. But then he notices the frown on Obi-Wan’s face and really pauses and listens and…

“Master, did we have a training exercise scheduled for today?” Anakin asks, slowly, as a Y-Wing skitters overhead, its engine making an unhappy whining noise. Obi-Wan only shakes his head in response as they all stare up at the wobbly fighter, gleefully bouncing along the horizon.

“Do your men normally fly like that?” Padmé asks, a poem of doubt written in the furrow between her brows and at the corner of her lips.  

“What!” Anakin bristles at the implied insult to the 501^st. “No, of course not—”

The fighter swoops a little closer and Anakin is nearly bowled over by the sheer, unabashed glee stampeding through the Force.

He and Obi-Wan exchange wide-eyed looks of dread.

“Is that…?”

“Force, he got his piloting skills from Satine,” Obi-Wan groans for the umpteenth time, a unique type of despairing groan that usually only Anakin (and occasionally Ahsoka) is able to inspire in him. Anakin is not sure how to feel about Luke supplanting him as ‘Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Biggest Headache.’

“Why is there an unsupervised child flying a literal multi-million credit death machine?”

Anakin’s head snaps back up. Obi-Wan’s eyes are even more horrified now, a thousand calculations and what-ifs set off by Padmé’s blunt assessment of the situation.

Anakin shrugs—a little uneasy, but…

“I mean, I was flying pods when I was much younger than Luke,” he points out, in what he thinks is a very reasonable tone.

“You mean you were crashing pods. The Boonta Eve was the first ever race you finished, remember?” Padmé says, severely. Obi-Wan startles, frowns.

“Wait, weren’t you some sort of pod-racing prodigy?”

“Oh, is that what he told you?” Padmé scoffs.

“Hey! I was—I am! But—I was nine and human and building my own pods—I was working at a little bit of a disadvantage.” Anakin is really starting to regret this newfound sense of kinship and camaraderie that his confession and the whole painful conversation afterwards seems to have built between the two of them. Alone, Padmé and Obi-Wan have always been merciless in their teasing—silver-tongued menaces who Anakin can never hope to outwit—but together…well, let’s just say the Republic should be really grateful it wasn’t Padmé and Obi-Wan leading the Separatists, otherwise Anakin would have been forced to surrender a long time ago.

“Qui-Gon…bet…our entire future…the success of our mission. The freedom of Naboo. And our lives. On a kid who never even finished a race before?”

“Now you know how I felt!” Padmé says, shaking her head.

“In retrospect, your coolness towards Master Jinn is starting to make a lot more sense,” Obi-Wan replies, with a shake of his head. “I’ve always wondered why the flight to Coruscant was so awkward.”

“Standing right here,” Anakin mutters. Padmé pats at his cheek absently, comfortingly. He searches for something, desperate to change the subject. “But regardless, Luke can’t be up there totally unsupervised. I’m sure Fives or Jesse is with him. They know better than to—” Both Obi-Wan and Padmé give him a look and he wilts. “Yeah, okay, they’d totally do that. Let’s get back to camp and get him back on solid ground as soon as possible.”

“Excellent plan,” Obi-Wan says as the three of them leg it back to camp.

Chapter Text

Luckily for everyone involved, Cody has managed to grab control of the situation before they even make it back to the outskirts of camp.

Or rather, luckily for almost everyone.

 Luke seems greatly disappointed, pouting mightily as both Kix and Bones check him over for injuries (Anakin’s not sure why Cody thought two medics were necessary) and Fives and Jesse are positively radiating terror into the Force as Cody glares at them. Anakin can just catch the tail end of his verbal lashing as they hurry towards the tableaux.

“—endangering a youngling’s life. What were you thinking? Were you thinking?” Cody snarls. Fives opens his mouth. “That was a rhetorical question, trooper, be quiet.”

Fives and Jesse seem to shrivel further in onto themselves.

“Aww, Uncle Cody,” Luke whines, shaking off the attention of the medics as he hops over and tugs at Cody’s fingers, “don’t blame Fives and Jesse—it was my idea.”

“Still, they should have known better,” Cody says, firmly.

“They said no at first! I wanted to go up alone—but then I pointed out that we could all squeeze in and I could sit in their laps so they could help me!”

Obi-Wan disguises his laugh as a cough. Cody only glances over briefly before reestablishing his narrow-eyed evaluation of Luke.  Luke arranges his face in a beatific, beaming smile.

“I’m really sorry, Uncle Cody,” Luke says, voice turned wheedling. “Really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I just wanted to practice and Jesse told me we should wait for you or Rex or Ben, but I was so excited to see the Y-Wings—I’ve never seen them so shiny!”

He blinks his eyes, blue orbs turning impossibly wider and bluer and shinier on the next blink. Cody fights valiantly for one second, then two before his stern demeanor reluctantly melts. Fives and Jesse audibly sigh in relief.

“Okay, fine,” Cody says, pursing his lips. Luke’s eyes light up and Cody holds up a hand. “But from now on, you stay with the 212^th. Clearly, the 501^st can’t be trusted with you.”

“Hey!” Anakin protests. Fives and Jesse’s eyes widen and behind Cody’s back they shake their heads minutely, but frantically. Cody opens his mouth and Obi-Wan hastily interjects.

“I think you’ve made your point, Commander,” he says. Fives and Jesse nod vigorously. “Fives, Jesse, dismissed.”

As one the two troopers snap out a smart salute to Obi-Wan and begin to move away quickly. But Fives can’t resist throwing a cheeky smile and wink back towards Luke and the vein on the side of Cody’s head pulses.

“But not before reporting to your Captain,” he snaps out. “You are to tell Captain Rex about this incident and submit to any punishment he deems acceptable. And I will know if you leave anything out.”

“Yes sir!” Jesse stutters out as the two clones finally manage to stumble away. Anakin watches them go with a bemused look—sometimes he swears his men are more afraid of Cody than they are of him or even Obi-Wan for that matter.

“Now, Commander, was that truly necessary?” Obi-Wan asks, sounding amused. Cody frowns fiercely.

“I don’t know why I thought you’d be more bothered by your son’s casual disregard for his own safety,” he mutters. “I guess I forgot who I was dealing with.”

“To be entirely fair, earlier, he was very concerned,” Padmé adds. Obi-Wan nods and gives a carefully innocent smile, one that looks suspiciously like the one Luke had used on Cody not even minutes earlier.

“But once I saw that you had the situation well in hand, I saw no reason to interfere,” Obi-Wan explains. Cody furrows his brow fiercely.  

“Luke,” he says, still glaring at Obi-Wan, “how would you like some armor?”

Luke’s eyes go round. Obi-Wan’s eyes narrow.

“Ben says armor is uncivilized,” he says, uncertainly. Obi-Wan nods approvingly.

“He would say that,” Cody snorts. He slaps a hand against one pauldron. “But doesn’t this look so cool? Don’t you want some of your own?”

Luke pauses and glances towards Obi-Wan. He begins nods, hesitantly at first, but then more and more eagerly as the seconds pass.

“Good,” Cody replies, with a sharp dip of his chin. “We’ll get you some paint.”

“Paint?”

“Of course, every shiny must paint their armor—otherwise it’s just a bucket.”

“But—but I wouldn’t even know where to begin!”

“Hmm, you’ll figure it out,” Cody says, fondly. He bends down and taps at Luke’s chest. “It’s in here, somewhere.”

Luke nods solemnly.

“And you’ll help me?”

“Of course, brother. Now, I want you to go find Clang—just ask one of the clones in yellow, they’ll help you find the armory. Once you have your haul, bring it back to the command tent, where we were last night, and I will help you as best I can.”

Luke nods eagerly and dashes off before Cody can even finish his sentence. Cody jerks his head and two clones suddenly dart out of the shadows, following Luke a safe distance away—unnoticed, but not so far as to be useless in case of emergency.

Cody climbs to his feet and turns to fully face Anakin, Padmé, and Obi-Wan.

He glances around.

“What?” he mutters defensively. “We have to keep him busy somehow—look what happened last time.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes are suspiciously wet.

Padmé clears her throat and gives a light, tinkling laugh, masterfully pulling everyone’s attention away from Obi-Wan’s display of emotion.

“Oh, Ani,” she says, “you may have competition for favorite Uncle.”

“Hey!”

She pats consolingly at her husband’s arm.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’m still in the lead for favorite Aunt,” she laughs.

“Quite right,” Obi-Wan replies, sounding more like his usual self, but still a little choked up. “Quite right.”

Cody evaluates them, eyes roving rapidly across the puffy red rim underneath Padmé’s eyes, the downturn at the corner of Obi-Wan’s lips, and the ashen gray color of Anakin’s normal tan.

“Are you three done?” he asks, carefully shaping the words.

“For now,” Obi-Wan responds, deliberately light. Cody pauses, nods.

“Okay then. Shall we then?” Cody says gruffly. “I assumed that returning Luke should be our first priority, sir, so I’ve taken the liberty of clearing our schedules for the day—I had the Senator’s droid tell the Seps we needed more time to attend to our wounded—and prepared a bit of light reading on the subject matter.”

“What ever would I do without you, Cody?” Obi-Wan murmurs.

“Wander around hopeless and robeless,” Cody quips back. Anakin tips his head back and laughs.

“We should totally ask Luke if that’s still a thing.”

“I think we have much bigger priorities,” Obi-Wan sniffs.

“Nope,” Anakin says, loudly popping the ‘p’ and gracing his Master with a shit-eating grin. “no, we definitely do not.”

“It may help us establish the critical divergence between his universe and ours,” Cody adds, deadpan. Obi-Wan buries his hands in his sleeves—which he only ever does when he actually wants to throw his hands up in the air or wrap them around Anakin’s throat.

As they walk away, Anakin can’t resist leaning over to Cody and whispering in a not-so-whispery-voice.

“Okay, but seriously. I’ve got a light sword and I can build droids from scratch and I can teach him how to fly. I’m totally the favorite uncle.”

“Whatever you say, sir,” Cody says, blandly.

***

Anakin groans and buries his head in his arms.

“I’m done,” he declares. Neither Padmé nor Obi-Wan look up from their own datapads. Cody spares him a brief glance, but Anakin thinks he is just reaching for his caf and Anakin just happens to be in his eyeline. He glances over to Rex, who had begged off hours earlier to supervise Luke—nominally Artoo’s job, but, as Rex put it “Artooey’s just as like to join him in eating paint as preventing him.” Artoo had beeped angrily at that, but everyone else had glanced at the giant yellow mess that Luke was making of his mini-armor, face, and Artoo and agreed all too readily with Rex’s assessment of the situation. He’s now sitting just a little ways away, Luke in his lap as he shows the boy how to properly clip his own, rather violently yellow shin guards onto his legs.

 Unfortunately for Anakin, Rex seems to be ignoring his whining as well.

“Oh my, Master Ani. Is there anything I can do to help?” Threepio agonize, shuffling over. Anakin twists his neck and smiles.

“Thanks, Threepio,” he says, really meaning it. “But unless you’ve found an answer to how we’re going to get Luke home in all this mess, then I don’t think there’s much you can do.”

Padmé sighs and finally lowers her pad. She pinches the bridge of her nose.

“As much as I hate to admit it,” she sighs, “he does have a point. We’ve been at this for hours.”

Luke glances up at her tone and looks in between the adults, a small, concerned moue to his mouth. Rex taps at his shoulder and tries to pull his attention back to the armor, but it’s in vain. Luke stands to his feet, using Artoo as a support.

“We just need to keep looking,” Obi-Wan insists, stubbornly. “The answer must be here somewhere.”

“No, I don’t think it is,” Padmé argues. “There are plenty of written accounts of these incidents, but every single one is the same—a few details shifted here or there, but it’s all the same. And none of these accounts talk about how the travelers got home—these writers are much more concerned with talking about what they learned from the travelers about potential futures.”

“Oh don’t forget the guy whose mind was absolutely blown by the fact that pallies are yellow in another universe. So blown away he went on for 12 pages about it,” Anakin mutters.

“Well, what else would you suggest?” Obi-Wan asks, voice even. “Do you have some other solution?” There’s a long moment of silence. Obi-Wan sighs and raises his pad once more. “That’s what I—”

A screechy beep cuts him off, Artoo wobbling back and forth angrily under Luke’s pudgy hand. Everyone in the tent whirls.

“Well, that’s a terrible idea, Artoo! I never,” Threepio gasps, as affronted as Anakin’s ever heard him. Anakin cocks his head and shrugs.

“Dunno. It’s not great, I’ll give you that, but it’s probably better than sitting here, reading for the next eternity,” Anakin says thoughtfully.

Cody clears his throat.

“And for those of us who don’t speak binary, that idea was…” he begins, in a leading tone of voice.

“I would not even want to insult anyone by having to repeat such nonsense,” Threepio insists. Anakin rolls his eyes.

“You just don’t want to tell them because you know none of us speak Sullustan,” he teases. “You’d have to translate everything. You’re afraid.”

“I—Master Ani! I have never been so insulted in my life—by my own Maker, too!”

Artoo beeps aggressively, main light flashing blue and red.

“You two, stop bullying my droid,” Padmé interjects finally. She sounds genuinely upset and Anakin knows he’s gone a little too far—he throws up his hands immediately in surrender and gives her his best wide-eyed apologetic look. Obi-Wan glances between them, seeming a little shocked.

“You must teach me how to do that,” he murmurs. “Thirteen years and I’ve never seen him give in so quickly.”

“You didn’t see what she did to Senator Organa’s aide,” Anakin says, defensively. “He called Threepio fussy one time. Just one time and she destroyed that man’s career. And his marriage.”

“I don’t care what anybody says, Threepio’s got a good heart!” Padmé responds, hotly. She pauses, then darts her eyes over to Obi-Wan and looks down again. “And he has some lovely stories about your mother. She taught him to make tzai. So, he’s part of the family, in a way. Technically.”

Cody and Rex share a look.

“Are we now officially talking about the marriage we’re not supposed to know about?” Cody asks, sounding relieved and amused in equal measure.

“You knew they were married?” Obi-Wan asks, betrayed. Cody raises an eyebrow and gestures to Rex, who is rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.

“For some reason, Skywalker thought it was a good idea to rely on the only person in the GAR who is a worse liar than he is to help keep his secret,” Cody says dryly.

Artoo gives a warbly, laughing beep-boop. Then, a questioning, pushy sort of follow up—just to make sure no one’s forgotten his original suggestion.

“I think that’s a great idea, Artooey,” Luke says, suddenly. He pats at Artoo’s dome. “What’s everyone so worked up about?”

“You speak binary?” Obi-Wan asks, startled. Luke tilts his head.

“Yeah, duh,” Luke replies, with a childish giggle. “Fulcrum taught me. She said she’d take the loyalty of a single good droid over a whole squadron any day, and just because you were a stubborn old bastard about the whole thing didn’t mean I needed to be too.”

“Luke!” Anakin scolds, frowning fiercely. Luke’s eyes widen and his hand flies up to cover his mouth.

“Whoops,” he says, voice muffled, “I’m not supposed to repeat that.”

“And what do you say to Ben?”

“Um…sorry, Ben? I didn’t mean to call you the bad word,” Luke offers hesitantly. He looks to Anakin for approval and he nods. However, much to Anakin’s displeasure, everyone else, even Obi-Wan, just looks amused. Obi-Wan’s son! Swearing! He feels like they should all be much more concerned about this than they actually are.

“Hmm, very well, thank you—and so what does Artoo suggest?” Obi-Wan prompts. His lips twist in a wry expression. “I feel as if I have been waiting an age for this plan to be revealed—I should hope it is worth the wait.”

“Oh!” Luke gasps. “Yeah! Artoo just suggested we go talk to the locals—they’ve been living beside this Temple for hundreds of years, right? So even if nothing in written down in our records, they’ve probably got some stories they could share.”

“That’s…” Cody pauses, hums, “not actually a bad idea. Apart from the fact…”

“…that we literally just waged a massive battle with them and probably made a lot of enemies in the process? Yeah, not to mention we can’t understand a damn word they’re saying,” Rex finishes.

“If only we had two very experienced, diplomatic negotiators known for getting their way no matter what and a wonderful translator fluent in over six million forms of communication,” Anakin adds, in a sing-song voice.

Everyone turns to look at Padmé, Obi-Wan, and C-3PO.

“Oh dear,” Threepio frets, his torso servos whirling as he tilts side to side worriedly. “If I am shot to pieces by uncivilized Separatists, it is all your fault, Artoo. All your fault.”

***

Hours later, long after Luke has gone to bed, Cody looks up blearily from his data pad and gives a pointed cough. Internally, Anakin feels as if he could skip for joy. He was ready to head to bed hours ago—he doesn’t really see the point of planning out every pause for breath and tonal inflection like this—but he knows that he alone is not strong enough to convince Obi-Wan and Padmé to stop. But now, with Cody on the job, Anakin knows there’s a good chance of sleep in his near future.

When neither Obi-Wan nor Padmé immediately respond, the clone commander gives a second, much louder cough.

“Sir?” he prompts, running his eyes over the drooping shoulders of his General. “It’ll be much harder to think straight after a sleepless night. The best thing we can do—for the Republic, for Luke—is get some rest.”

“Is it that the time,” Obi-Wan murmurs, looking up and cracking his neck. He glances around the tent, looking slightly bewildered. He blinks at Padmé, then glances at Anakin. “Oh good, I no longer have to pretend like I can’t hear you sneaking into her quarters!” 

Anakin shoots him a narrow-eyed look.

“You couldn’t really hear us,” he protests.

“Mmm,” Obi-Wan says, with a mysterious smile. Padmé sniffs, rising to her feet and keeping her chin raised imperiously in the air as she holds out her hand to her husband and leads them both out of the tent.

“Remember to say goodnight to Luke before you go to bed! He said you can just wake him up, no matter how late,” Anakin throws over his shoulder. He whips back around and leans towards Rex, who is also exiting the tent, and switches to an urgent whisper. “He couldn’t hear us. Right?”

Rex just looks at him pityingly as Padmé leads them both away. She gives him an exasperated look as they duck into her own set of diplomatic quarters—cleaner and a little larger than the ones surrounding it—but otherwise nearly indistinguishable from the dozens of tents surrounding it.

“Why did you tell Rex?” she asks, as she turns around and bares her neck in a silent request for Anakin to help unbuttoning her gown. Only a couple of years ago, all of Padmé’s wardrobe had been a complete and total world mystery to Anakin, but he now unhooks the buttons with practiced ease. He’s just grateful that her traveling ensembles usually don’t involve wigs—those were the worst and he could never get them off without snagging at least one lock in his mechnofingers. “And before you told Obi-Wan, too!”

“I needed help distracting Ahsoka!” Anakin says defensively as he shrugs off his tabards. Padmé turns around and muffles a laugh in his chest. “What?”

“Oh, honey,” Padmé says. “Ahsoka definitely knew.”

“What? No, she didn’t—”

“You had me give her fashion advice. Because you thought her tube top was scandalous but didn’t want to undermine her “feminine power” if that’s what she really wanted to wear.”

“I didn’t say scandalous—I was trying not to contribute to the insidious male gaze.”

“And I appreciated it—it’s always good to know you actually do listen to my rants,” Padmé says fondly, as she pokes at Anakin’s chest. He allows himself to fall back into the bunk and arrange himself as a pillow for his wife. She lays her head on his chest and snuggles in. “I know she did as well. But I took her shopping and paid for one of the most influential, up-and-coming Nubian designers to hand tailor three new outfits for her. As much as I love Ahsoka, that’s not something you do for your friend’s apprentice. It’s more like something I would do for Ryoo or Pooja or…or a daughter.”

Anakin glances at her sharply.

“She was my apprentice,” he sputters, “she never thought of me like a—it’s not the same, you know.”

Padmé cranes her neck so that she can frown at him.

“But I’ve seen you share tzai with them,” she says. Anakin flushes and her eyes widen in understanding. “Ani, you didn’t! Please tell me you’ve explained to them what sharing tea means to you!”

“Jedi forbid attachment!” Anakin protests. He sighs and stares up at the tent’s canvas ceiling. “It was an accident, really. Obi-Wan was just…struggling after Naboo. He liked tea, but couldn’t stand to drink anything Master Qui-Gon left behind. I didn’t really know what else to do, but I had some tzai Mom gave me before I left and it seemed to help. I explained what it meant, I did, but…I don’t think I did it right, or that he ever really understood what it meant. And by the time I was finally learning about the Code and all the rules, I realized he definitely didn’t understand what it meant, but I didn’t know how to explain it any better.”

“Ani!”

Anakin throws his mech-arm, the one not trapped under Padmé’s body, over his eyes. 

“I know, I know,” he groans. “I don’t know how to explain something that was never really explained to me—everyone just sorta knows how it is on Tatooine. And it’s a secret tea, okay? You don’t go around just explaining all of that…weight to people!”

“You explained it to me,” Padmé counters. “I thought you did a…okay, so it wasn’t a great job, but I got the idea.”

“That’s different,” Anakin sighs. “You’re…you. And we’re us. And you just don’t understand how different it is—I know lineages look like families to outsiders, but they’re really, really not—and the Council discourages any sign of attachment between Masters and Padawans. I got enough flak for “my undue displays of affection” with Ahsoka as it was.”

“Mmm, if they’re discouraging it, they’re doing a pretty bad job of it,” Padmé observes. “I’ve seen the three of you together—you and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. That day when Ahsoka got her bead for…whatever that was? I’ve never seen Obi-Wan so proud, except when he talks about you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s real proud of me,” Anakin mutters. “Especially now that he knows about the whole slaughtering a bunch of unarmed sentients bit.”

“But he stayed. And offered to help,” Padmé points out. “If that’s not attachment, I don’t know what is, blood or no blood. And earlier today, you called yourself Luke’s uncle—I know you were joking, but does that make it any less true? And if Luke’s our family, a boy we’ve hardly known for two days, then surely Ahsoka and Obi-Wan must be as well.”

“I—” Anakin pauses and huffs out a breath. “I should have known better than to argue with a Senator.”

“Mmm, yes you should have, but here we are,” she jokes right back. She sobers, then hesitates. “I suppose I never pointed it out because I assumed you knew, but you do know how important you are to Ahsoka, right?”

“I—” Anakin’s throat closes up. “Maybe, before. But then, with the trial and how I failed her—”

“Failed her? How can you even say that, Anakin? You stood behind her when no one else would, fought for her freedom and her good name, and ultimately cleared her.”

“But she left!” Anakin bursts out. “It didn’t matter, she left anyways! I wasn’t enough.”

“I think that had more to do with Ahsoka than it did with you—she’s a teenage girl trying to find her place in the Galaxy. It’s natural to want to do that alone.” 

“I could have helped her though! We both could have us.”

Padmé regards him for a moment, then twists one of his unruly curls around her finger, almost absentmindedly.

“Once,” she begins, thoughtfully, “when I was still in office, I got in a fight with Sola. I forget about what exactly, but I wanted to help her with something and she just…exploded. Later, when we got it all sorted out, she told me that sometimes she needed me to just keep my distance. “You suck up all the oxygen in the room, Pads,” she told me. We’re both like that, I think, and sometimes the Solas and Ahsokas of our lives just need some space, to figure out how to exist without us there. I don’t think it means they love us any less.” 

Anakin is silent for several, thumping heartbeats.

“But I’m worried about her,” he says, finally. “How am I supposed to stop worrying about her?”

“Well,” Padmé says slowly, after a long pause. “Keeping our distance doesn’t mean we can’t help, I should think. I know she said she’d reach out if she needed help, but there’s no reason we can’t precipitate that. It wouldn’t be hovering. Not really. Just…checking in. Monitoring.”

“I—I didn’t think about that,” Anakin says, blinking.

“I’m not saying she has to come live with us or anything,” Padmé clarifies, “but monthly com calls and an allowance of some sort wouldn’t be amiss, I think. Just to make sure she isn’t sleeping on the streets.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Anakin says, glumly. “Unfortunately, I have no idea where to even begin. I don’t even know if she managed to scrape up enough money for a new com.”

“How fortunate for you then that your wife is a seasoned politician with her own elite spy force,” Padmé opines. “I’m sure Sabé can track her down. She’s never failed me before.”

“You’d do that? For me?”

“Okay, first of all, let’s be clear, Ahsoka is my family too, and I’m almost as worried about her as you are, so this is as much for my peace of mind as yours,” Padmé clarifies. “But also, yes, if you think it will help. This clearly has been tearing you up, which is just ridiculous, when there’s such an obvious solution within my grasp.”

Anakin tucks his chin down to his chest and stares at Padmé, a warm smile spreading across his face, stretching muscles he hasn’t used in, oh, ages.

“I love you so much.”

“I know,” Padmé responds dryly. Anakin laughs and pushes at her shoulder with his nose, tickling her. Padmé giggles. “I love you too, you nerfherder.”

“How romantic.”

“Eh, we both know you’re the one in charge of the grand romantic gestures,” Padmé replies, with a deliberately casual shrug. She closes her eyes, settles back into the mattress and Anakin’s arms, and grins. “Delegation, Ani, look it up.”

Chapter Text

The next morning Obi-Wan barges in, bringing the first rays of dawn with him.

“Time for morning meditation!” he declares brightly as Anakin yelps and falls out of bed, driven by an instinctive reaction to scramble away and hide the truth of his relationship with Padmé. He hits his head against one of the tent posts on the way down and lies on the cold ground, groaning as Obi-Wan blinks down at him.

Padmé sits up, clutching the thin sheet to her chest.

“Could you…could you not have waited ten minutes?” she gasps angrily, hair all askew in a way it rarely ever is.

“Hmm…I could have,” Obi-Wan admits, stroking his auburn and gray beard thoughtfully. “But I must say, I haven’t quite gotten over the whole secret marriage thing and I get a wonderful sort of thrill out of inconveniencing you like this. Not very Jedi-like, I know, but I figured I must take my joys where I can these days.”

Anakin glares at him balefully.

“Thanks a lot, Master,” he grumbles, pushing himself up and shrugging on a tunic. “Now please tell me that the Separatists are launching a surprise attack, because I honestly can’t think of any other reason for you to wake me up so rudely at such a Siths-damned hour.”

“Language,” Obi-Wan says mildly, fussing primly with the edges of his sleeves. “And I told you, it’s time for morning meditation.”

Anakin blinks at him.

“That’s what I thought you said, but I figured there was no way you’d…wait, you’re serious? Master, come on, you know I hate meditation—especially in the mornings.”

“And a week ago I would have accepted that excuse and moved on,” Obi-Wan replies calmly, “but like it or not, successful and regular meditation sessions will be necessary to learning how to control yourself and your outbursts.”

Anakin freezes.

“I—I…” he sputters and Obi-Wan’s visage softens.

“I promised to help you, Anakin,” he says. “I have no intention of reneging on my word, but I understand that traditional meditation can be…limiting for you. So, we shall have to try out different variations until we find one that works. And if we’re going to try out hundreds of meditation styles we might as well start sooner rather than later.”

“Er…” Anakin glances over to Padmé. She’s sitting up a little bit more naturally, her death-grip on the sheet little bit more relaxed. She inclines her head.

“Go ahead,” she says, softly. “I’ll probably need a few hours to get ready anyways.”

Luke pops his head into the tent.

Anakin very determinedly does not shriek.

“Can I help?” he asks excitedly.

“Have you been here the whole time?” Anakin demands. Luke shrugs.

“Sure. Ben didn’t want me coming in because he was worried you might be having adult time, but once I didn’t hear any screaming, I figured it was safe to eavesdrop,” he informs them cheerfully.

“Adult time…?” Obi-Wan repeats faintly. “What has my older self been teaching you?”

“Of course, Luke, I’d love that,” Padmé interjects, hastily steering the conversation back into safer territory. “There’s lots of buttons and folds that your little hands will be very helpful at reaching.”

“Yay!” Luke bounces on the balls of his feet. “What’s the first step?”

“Hmm—We’ll have to go through my closet back on the ship.”

Luke’s eyes go wide.

“A whole closet?” he breathes. “Do you have velvet?”

“Of course,” Padmé laughs. “And satins and silks, mostly. Some linens, wools, and furs as well, though those are less fashionable on my home planet.”

“Oh, wizard! Do you know what you’re wearing yet?”

“Well, there’s a couple of options,” Padmé says, tapping at her chin with an indulgent smile. Anakin knows she’s lying. Dormé and Padmé spend at least a half day at the start of every standard week planning out all of Padmé’s outfits for the week ahead. The Naboo place a lot of weight on the subtle, non-verbal language of fashion and no politician of Padmé’s standing could afford to send the wrong message by wearing maroon on the second day of the third month…or something like that anyways. But Luke seems thrilled at the possibility and Anakin knows that Padmé will deftly steer Luke away from any truly…outrageous fashion choices.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Luke says, impatiently, darting forward and clamping on to Padmé’s so that he can drag her out of the tent. Anakin manages to toss her an extra shawl to throw over her thin sleeping attire and she shoots him a grateful look as the canvas flap hits her in the face on her way out.

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan says, watching the two of them leave with a furrow between his brows. “I didn’t mean to make her mind Luke—I was going to drop him off with Waxer and Boil.”

“Nah,” Anakin says, waving a hand, “I’m sure she’s thrilled—she loves being an aunt, you know? Ryoo and Pooja get spoiled rotten anytime we’re back on Naboo.”

“Hmm—is that what all those bodyguard assignments to Naboo during high holidays are about?”

“Uh…if I say yes, will you stop assigning them to me?” Anakin replies sheepishly.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan groans. Anakin scrambles up and snatches up his tabards and lightsaber.

“C’mon let’s go somewhere quieter—I need no help distracting myself during meditation,” Anakin says brightly. Obi-Wan gives him a look, making it clear that he knows exactly what Anakin is trying to do, but will permit him to get away with it, at least for now.

 A few clicks later, they enter Obi-Wan’s tent and Anakin has the opportunity to swish some ice-cold water, to get rid of the nasty feeling on the roof of his mouth. As Anakin bustles around, fiddling and fixing his robes properly, splashing water on his face, and scrubbing at his unkempt curls as best he can—literally any task he can think of to further delay the prospect of meditation—Obi-Wan settles down into his customary pose and begins flicking through a data pad intently. Anakin watches him surreptitiously out of the corner of one eye, unable to suppress his curiosity. Occasionally Obi-Wan will pause, frown, and consult a small holocron in his hand, muttering softly to himself as his traces a finger across the pad.

Finally, Anakin’s curiosity overcomes his wariness.

“What’re you doing?” he asks. Obi-Wan looks up, arches an eyebrow and gestures for Anakin to sit. It’s only as he does so, unconsciously imitating his Master’s pose, that he realizes that this was probably Obi-Wan’s aim all along—to draw Anakin closer by stoking his curiosity, like a feral tooka cat.

Obi-Wan glances up momentarily.

“Investigating alternative meditation strategies—I think we’ll start with ruutanga. It originated on a desert planet in the Expansion region and I’m hoping the parallels to Tatooine may help ground you.”

Anakin raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t exactly have fond memories of Tatooine,” he points out.

“Hmm, yes, I’m aware. But like it or not, it was a part of your formative years, something that set your entire frame of reference. You always did struggle with the water metaphors we traditionally used to teach mediation in the Creche, so I was hoping the guiding allegory of a desert may be easier to grasp.”

“Oh,” Anakin says and it’s…unbearably kind when Obi-Wan explains his reasoning like that, to think that he has poured this much thought and effort to helping Anakin or that he noticed the way Master Yaddle’s ramblings about fountains and oceans and rivers had always left Anakin’s head spinning. The Jedi liked to say that meditation was akin to diving into an infinite ocean, but Anakin knew bodies of water to be anything but infinite—Tatooine had once, long ago been a planet wide ocean, people liked to say, and look how that turned out— so it had never really clicked for him.

Obi-Wan allows him a moment, then clears his throat pointedly, assuming an…odd position with his hands clasping the opposite wrist and close to his center, as opposed to the open-palms laid over his knees that Obi-Wan and most of the other Jedi usually preferred.

“Well? Are we ready to begin?” he asks. Anakin nods hesitantly and awkwardly copies Obi-Wan’s pose.

“In ruutanga, it is less about opening yourself to the Force and more about delving inward,” Obi-Wan explains, at Anakin’s quizzical look. He closes his eyes and Anakin follows his lead. “To its adherents, the Force is a raging sandstorm, one that must be carefully guarded against, lest we become overwhelm. We shall start by shutting ourselves out entirely from the Force.”

“But that’s the exact opposite of what you’ve always told me to do!” Anakin complains, eyes flying open.

“Yes, well. That’s the point, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, his lips quirking upwards as his eyes remain closed. “This technique is actually reverse of the traditional Temple Jedi method. Rather than start by opening ourselves fully to the Force and then slowly letting go of each thought and connection one by one, we shall move in the opposite direction. We shall shut out the Force entirely and reestablish our connection slowly, only allowing in one thread—or as ruutanga calls it, one grain of sand—at a time. This will allow us time to examine each grain and set it in its proper place, so we don’t become overwhelmed.”

“That…actually sounds a lot more reasonable,” Anakin admits.

“Hmm, I thought so,” Obi-Wan agrees. “Based on what you’ve told me on how you experience the Force. Now, enough chatter. Focus, my young padawan.”

“Not your padawan anymore,” Anakin grumbles, with little heat.

“We are all padawans of the Force,” Obi-Wan replies serenely. “Our journey to knowledge never ends, you know. Which is why we meditate. Come, Anakin.”

The next hour is…not nearly as bad as Anakin first feared.

Yeah, meditation still sucks, no surprise there. But it’s not nearly as hard as it normally is to calm his mind and find his center—the extra shielding in the beginning gives him a moment to catch his breath, which makes the rest of it slightly more bearable. It helps too that Obi-Wan is clearly struggling to master ruutanga as well, so Anakin feels less like a naughty Padawan, pulled out of saber training for remedial tutoring, and more like Obi-Wan’s equal, floundering around blindly together. Slowly, ever so slowly, they allow small bits of the Force into their shared consciousness, turning over the thoughts and feelings that these little sparks of the Force inspire.

Finally, they come to the biggest snarl pounding at Anakin’s shields—Luke and all the rage and confusion, helplessness and terror that the knowledge of his future inspires.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan hums. “I was wondering when we were going to get to that. It is perfectly understandable to be terrified, you know. For all that Master Yoda likes to lecture about ‘luminous beings,’ being confronted with your own mortality is a terrible prospect for any Jedi.”

“But that’s not…” Anakin feels his brow furrow in frustration, and he lets out a sigh. It’s going to come out soon, anyways, so might as well be honest. “That’s not what I’m really afraid of though, is it?”

Obi-Wan’s scrutiny brushes against Anakin in the Force, kind but unrelenting as he peels back the layers of Anakin.

“No, it isn’t,” Obi-Wan agrees after a moment of contemplation. “Do you know what is?”

“I’m afraid that I won’t be able save you—not you you, but Luke’s version of you, his father.”

“Why though? That is not your responsibility.”

“What? We can’t just not help him! He’s you!”

“You must learn to let go,” Obi-Wan admonishes, shaking his head. “We cannot save everyone in the Galaxy, let alone everyone in an alternate universe as well.”

Anakin bites his lip and looks away.

“But…” he hesitates, then clamps his mouth shut. Obi-Wan turns to him quizzically and waits, patiently. Anakin swallows. “It’s just…I understand your reasoning, but I feel like I need to help them, you know? Because I failed. Or the other me, at any rate.”

Obi-Wan looks up sharply, eyes flying open.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he demands.

“Some Chosen One I was, huh? Seems like I failed and the whole Galaxy paid the price,” Anakin shrugs, awkwardly, giving Obi-Wan a half-hearted smile.

“That is not your burden to bear,” Obi-Wan replies firmly, reaching out to lay a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “It never has been, no matter what Master Qui-Gon believed.”

“How can you say that? It’s why the Council agreed to even allow me in the Temple in the first place. And it’s the only reason you ever petitioned to me to be trained and why you volunteered for the job, even though you definitely never wanted to. Because it was your duty to train the Chosen One.”

Obi-Wan turns pale, the edges of his lips flattening and turning a stark white color.

“Is that truly what you believe?” he asks. Anakin resists the urge to shrink back—he won’t apologize for finally speaking up and exposing the truth they’ve both been tactfully been ignoring for over a decade. “How long—I don’t. How did you even come to such a conclusion?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Anakin says, not willing to admit that it hadn’t really been obvious to him, not at first, not until Chancellor Palpatine had gently pointed out the truth to him.

“Obvious?” Obi-Wan barks out an incredulous laugh. He pauses, shakes his head. “Anakin, would you say you trained Ahsoka out of a sense of duty and obligation?”

“What? No! Of course not, what kind of ridiculous—”

“But she came to you under less than ideal circumstances, at the request of another Master and despite your…vehement protestations.”

“Yeah, maybe at first, but she’s Ahsoka,” Anakin replies with a helpless wave of his hand, meant to encompass everything Ahsoka was and is to him. Obi-Wan waits for a beat, then two, then raises his eyebrow meaningfully. “Oh. I—I never thought of it like that.”

“While at times I regret the manner in which I took you on as my padawan,” Obi-Wan says slowly, “that has everything to do with Qui-Gon being an old fool and nothing to do with you. Teaching you has been one of the greatest joys of my life.”

Anakin gapes.

“I…what?”

“And I always assumed you knew because...well, everyone else knows. All the other Masters tease me mercilessly about it. That’s why I’m just so taken aback—who put this ridiculous idea in your head?”

There’s a long awkward pause and Anakin doesn’t know what to do—he knows the Chancellor must have just been confused, but Obi-Wan already dislikes the man and Anakin doesn’t want to contribute anymore to Obi-Wan’s unreasonable bias.

“Um. Well, I must have just heard it. Around the Senate. I mean.”

“The Chancellor told you I viewed training you as a duty?”

“What? No! I didn’t say it was the Chancellor!”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says exasperatedly, “you talk to exactly two politicians and I know that Padmé would never say such things. So that leaves the Chancellor—though I’m fascinated to know why he feels he is qualified to comment given that I have never in my life had a single personal conversation with the man.”

“I’m sure he just misheard some gossip,” Anakin responds defensively. “He’s always looking out for me and relays anything he hears.”

“How is sharing nasty rumors about your former Master in any way looking out for you?” Obi-Wan asks, incredulously. Anakin opens his mouth, then pauses.

“I don’t know, actually,” he says, with a frown. Obi-Wan regards him silently for a moment.

“Do you and the Chancellor talk about the prophecy as well?” he asks, finally, in a carefully neutral tone. Anakin bites his lip and nods. Obi-Wan sighs. “I do hope you recgnize how absolutely hypocritical that makes the man—to accuse me of being overly concerned with your supposed status as the Chosen One while also demonstrating a clear interest in the prophecy himself. I would…encourage you to examine his motivations a little more closely, when you have the time. Regardless, that is not the reason I trained you nor the reason I continue to care so deeply about you and your wellbeing.”

“You—” Anakin shuts his mouth.

“Yes?”

“I’m surprised,” Anakin admits. “You’re a Jedi Master and a member of the High Council. I just thought that if anybody had mastered the Code and the idea of non-attachment, it would be you.”

“Attachment? Love does not equal attachment, Anakin. If that were true, I’d imagine hardly anyone in the Galaxy could call themselves a true Jedi Master.”

“What? But then why are you and the Council always lecturing me about love?” Anakin demands.

“Because,” Obi-Wan sighs, “as I was trying to explain at the beginning of this particular conversation, you just do not know how to let go. Attachment is merely love taken to its extreme—when we are so deeply consumed by our feelings that we are unwilling or unable to let the ones we love go.”

“What’s wrong with that? The only reason I’m ever able to pull off some of my crazy plans is because I just refuse to sit back and let people die the way everyone else does.”

“And that is a strength,” Obi-Wan says, gently. “But our greatest strengths are all too often our greatest weaknesses as well. You often struggle to find the line between love and selfishness—and it is selfishness, Anakin, to hold on to the ones we love at the expense of all else.”

“So, you’re saying if it was me or the Galaxy, you’d just…give up and let me die? Because you’re not attached, like me,” Anakin says, bitterly. “Because it’s for the greater good.”

Obi-Wan pauses and raises a hand to stroke his beard.

“I don’t know,” he says finally. Anakin frowns, taken aback by Obi-Wan’s uncertainty. His old master gives an infinitely sad smile. “I’d like to think I would—I know I would struggle, greatly, but I hope that if the time ever comes, I would. I know you often view it as giving up—but there comes a point when we have done all that we are reasonably capable of and yet we still fail. And at that point, we must be willing to accept the inevitable or risk transforming ourselves and our love into something ugly. I know you would hate me if I sacrificed, say, Padmé’s or Ahsoka’s lives to save yours. That’s ultimately what non-attachment is about, you must understand. Recognizing that there are some lines in the sand that should not be crossed, even for the ones we love, and even if that means letting them go.”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do—for you or Padmé or Ahsoka,” Anakin declares—not so much a boast as a statement of fact.

“Yes, I know,” Obi-Wan says, though he sounds not the least bit happy about it. “Which is why I would like you to meditate on that thought today—I’d like to work through it over and over again, truly examining it from every angle. What past incidents are driving you? How does it affect your present? And how may it play out in the future?”

“That…sounds like a lot.”

“It may take more than one meditation session,” Obi-Wan admits. “It may take many years, to be perfectly frank. But I think it is important for you to understand something that is so fundamental to your person, that drives so many of your actions, both good and bad.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I’ll…try,” Anakin finally offers, reluctantly, when it becomes clear how important this is to Obi-Wan. It’s not that he doesn’t want to truly learn how to control his temper and the Dark Side’s hold over him, that he has no faith in Obi-Wan’s guidance, it’s just…he doesn’t see how this is supposed to help. If anything, his attachments are what have kept him so anchored in the Light. Obi-Wan’s eyes light up with mischief as he opens his mouth. Anakin groans in realization. “Don’t you kriffing dare, it was just a slip of the tongue—”

“There is no try, my young Padawan, only do or do not,” Obi-Wan intones in mock solemnity. Anakin can’t help it; he huffs out a laugh. “Come, I think that is quite enough for our first session. Let us slowly lower our shields and return to normal. We have plenty yet to discuss with Rex and Cody.”

And with that, the conversation is over.

***

As usual, Padmé is late.

It’s not that Anakin doesn’t love every part of his wife, he does, it’s just…

“We were supposed to depart twenty minutes ago,” Cody huffs disapprovingly. “The Sullustian delegation may wonder where we are.”

Anakin sighs.

“She said she’s coming,” he repeats, for the tenth time.

“Couldn’t you—”

“If you’re about to suggest that I com her again and try to hurry her along—a) that’s not going to work and b) I don’t exactly fancy getting my head ripped off, thanks.”

Rex and Cody continue pacing back and forth across the command tent, each boot smartly, firmly placed to avoid twisting their ankles in the uneven ground.

“The Naboo have the art of being fashionably late down to a science,” Obi-Wan observes, in amusement. He’s a lot calmer than the two clones, probably because he’s worked with Padmé before and is well aware of her tendency to arrive twenty-five minutes late to everything. She can be punctual when she wants to be, of course, but most of the time, she just doesn’t want to—using her late arrival to command attention and subtly reassert her dominance over other diplomats. Why she does it when it’s just Anakin and they’re at home, Force knows, but having seen the way other Senators and diplomats play right into her hands, he does actually get why she does it in situations like this.

Finally, he and Obi-Wan straighten slightly as they pick up the patter of two sets of feet—one with a slightly longer stride, the other short and furiously energetic.

“At any rate, they’re almost here,” Anakin says. Rex shoots him a looks.

“I don’t hear—ugh, that will never stop being creepy.”

There’s movement at the front of the command tent and then Padmé pokes her head in, very carefully using her hands to keep the flap closed so that all they can see is her neck and head, floating about midway up. She glances around, then ducks back out, murmuring a quick ““They’re ready, Luke!”

With everyone’s eyes firmly fixed on the tent’s entrance, Padmé sweeps forward, revealing a beautifully understated black and Nubian maroon tunic paired with sensible, knee-high boots. It’s a lot more sensible than Anakin would have expected, given the degree of Padmé’s lateness and the anticipation burbling just below the surface of her eyes.

She pauses, glancing behind her as Artoo and Threepio bustle in closely and shuffle off to the side. Artoo gives an excited little wobble back and forth and Padmé nods regally to Threepio.

 At this signal, the protocol drop flips the tent flap open and reveals Luke, backlit by the fading sunlight and standing, hands on his hips and chin raised imperiously. He marches into the tent, ensconced a very different ensemble than the one he had been wearing earlier in the morning. Dark, finely tailored fabric is draped around his body, and held together by a nice, thick leather belt. But most eye-catching of all is the short, synth-silk cape covering one shoulder, edged in delicate velvet and beading. He pauses in the middle of the tent and does a little twirl, cape swishing all around him. He looks over excitedly to Padmé.

“How was that?” he asks.

“Perfect!” she beams, clasping her hands together and Artoo whistles his agreement. Obi-Wan glances over to her, eyes wide. She continues, in a slightly more subdued, explanatory tone of voice. “We had Threepio make some last-minute nips and tucks on some extra little page boy outfits from the back of my closet. Doesn’t he look darling?”

“I picked it out myself,” Luke emphasizes, jutting his chin out proudly. Padmé smooths a fond hand over his hair.

“That he did—he’s got such a lovely eye. And I was a little doubtful about the cape, but I have to admit, it was exactly the right touch.”

“Capes are for drama,” Luke announces very seriously. Rex and Cody muffle suspicious sounding coughs in their forearms, but Anakin is not nearly as circumspect, letting out a big guffaw.  

“That they are, Luke, that they are,” he agrees, still chortling.

“Fulcrum taught me how to swish,” he explains, turning again to give his cape a little fluttering flick. “She’s better at it then me, but I’ve been practicing so I can impress her next time we meet.”

“I’m sure you’ll blow her away,” Padmé agrees, cheeks round and pink with her exuberance. Anakin comes to stand next to her, reaching out a hand to squeeze hers as Obi-Wan steps forward and gestures Luke closer. As the boy approaches, he adjusts the stiff collar of his son’s outfit and brushes away an imaginary piece of lint.

“You look quite handsome, Luke,” he says quietly. Suddenly, he smiles a thin but genuine thing. “And you’re right about the capes, you know. Anakin and I do love a good cape moment ourselves. I’m so…happy to see you carrying on this tradition.”

Luke eyes go wide.

“You’re happy?” he repeats, almost in wonder and Anakin can feel his heart breaking—he remembers what it was like being a young Padawan, the heavy cloak of grief that bowed his new Master’s shoulders and wondering if he would ever see him smile, truly smile again. He’s done a good job, he thinks, over the years, of lifting some of that grief from Obi-Wan’s shoulders, but with his death in Luke’s universe, that whole weight must have crashing down upon him, twice as heavy.

“Yes, young one, very happy,” Obi-Wan repeats. “Now can you give another swish, so Anakin and I can give you some constructive criticism? We were so shocked that I don’t think we had the time to truly take it all in.”

Luke beams and happily complies, Rex, Padmé, and Anakin clapping and cheering in support as Obi-Wan offers some gentle pointers and Cody subtly takes some holos with his helmet cam.

“Come on,” Luke finally says, once he is fully finished preening. His voice is only a little whiny. “I want to go back to the ruins!”

“Bossy, much?” Anakin snorts. Rex laughs and bumps Anakin’s shoulder, looking pointedly at Obi-Wan.

“Wonder who he got that from?”

“Stop insulting my General or I’ll tell Wolffe it was you who repainted his armor,” Cody replies calmly.

Rex pales.

“You wouldn’t!”

“Now, now boys,” Obi-Wan says, “settle down and focus. It’s time to unravel a millennia old mystery and figure out how we’re going to get Luke back to the future.”

Luke jumps and pumps his fist as he leads the way out of the tent.

“Yipee!”

Chapter Text

The Sullustian diplomats frown mightily at Obi-Wan and Padmé.

Or at least, Anakin assumes they’re frowning. It’s kind of hard to tell—Obi-Wan would say he just hadn’t paid close enough attention during the Temple xenobiology lessons and…well, he’d be completely right. 

The head Sullustian, Prime Viceroy Sybor, is distinguished by his wardrobe—feet clad the finest, most intricately tooled leather boots that Anakin has ever seen—and the agitation in his demeanor. He lets loose a series of deep clicks that echo across the small, war-damaged pavilion they’ve chosen for their detente. Does Anakin know why the Sullustians built this random pavilion out in the middle of nowhere? No. But it’s smack dab in the middle of an open field and well out of the shadow of the dark, not-quite-swampy forests that blanket most of the planet, so they’ll have good sightlines if the Sullustians attempt to betray them. Padmé had frowned, but not commented when Rex, Cody, and Anakin explained the reasoning behind their site selection. Even now, the two clones, Anakin, and Artoo stand slightly behind and apart from Obi-Wan and Padmé, their eyes (well, sensors in Artoo’s case, but the point still stands) carefully cataloguing all possible threats so that the other two can focus on their negotiations. Anakin doesn’t feel too badly about the show of distrust, though. Not when the dozens of armed Sullustian soldiers standing behind their diplomatic party are doing the exact same thing.

Threepio hinges at the waist, waiting patiently for the Sullustian leader to finish. He swivels back to them, his eyes lighting up as he translates.

“The Prime Viceroy would like to know why the Jedi are suddenly so interested in an old Temple that was abandoned a millennia before they were even a twinkle in the Galaxy’s eye.” Threepio’s eyes light up as he translates. His tone suddenly shifts, making clear that the next part is not a translation, but rather all Threepio’s lovely commentary. “Oh dear. That sounds a bit aggressive, doesn’t it?”

Obi-Wan tilts his head.

“Yes, yes, the ways of the Jedi are strange and mysterious,” Padmé says airily, with a wave of her hand and a girlish laugh. Anakin and Obi-Wan give her identical, offended looks as Threepio translates and Padmé shares a conspiratorial look with Prime Viceroy. “I find that when the Jedi ask for my help, it’s best not to ask questions. Not unless I want to be treated to a four-hour lecture on the mysteries of the Force.”

The other politician pauses, the entire moment balanced on a saber’s edge and then…

Laughter. Belly deep, chuckling laugher emanates from the Sullustians. Another series of clicking sounds follow—though it seems Sybor is now directing his words to the other Sullustans, rather than Padmé or Obi-Wan. Threepio doesn’t translate at any rate and he’s usually pretty good about distinguishing which parts of the conversation are meant to be translated and which are not. There’s a long back and forth, then a nervous pause as one of the older Sullustians turns to Threepio. Threepio’s circuits whirr as if he wants to back away from the attention, but his courtesy algorithm won’t quite let him. Artoo wobbles closer to his friend, bumping against his leg in support.

“This is Hochar, he who speaks on the Prime Viceory’s behalf—he says,” Threepio begins, “that as the not-Jedi left, they took all their artifacts and anything of value with them. If you have questions, you should go back to your own Temple.”

Obi-Wan tilts his head as he evaluates the diplomat’s tone, strands of gray catching in the dim light as he moves his head.

“But there was something,” he insists. “Wasn’t there?”

“I don’t know,” Hochar shoots back, with no hesitation. Threepio’s eyes light up for a solid thirty clicks as he endeavors to keep up his translation duties. There’s a certain mocking tilt to his next series of clicks. “Our ancestors also found it advantageous not to ask questions.”

“Surely you and your people must have some stories or legends,” Padmé presses, her palms open, facing towards the Sullustians in supplication. “Even the smallest hint of the truth would help narrow our search.”

The eldest Sullustian—older by far from either Sybor or Hochar, situated firmly in the middle of the pack—slashes his hands across his chest. In emphasis or anger, Anakin doesn’t know.

“Yes, yes, so you’ve said. But search for what?” Threepio translates. He wobbles a little. “Dear me. Mistress Padmé, they do seem to be getting rather frustrated.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not the only one,” Anakin mutters. Padmé doesn’t even bother to look at him, but Obi-Wan sends a distinct wave of not-helping through the Force.

“I know you know something—they know too, because of the Force,” Luke blurts out suddenly, from behind Anakin.

“Luke!” Rex hisses, as his eyes widen and he hastily slaps a hand over Luke’s mouth.

Mutters break out amongst Hochar, Sybor, and the other Sullustians. Obi-Wan winces—yes, the Jedi are often easily able to tell when others are lying, but it’s considered bad manners to point that out. Luke fights off Rex and steps forward, facing the nearest diplomat as he squares his tiny shoulders, his black cape fluttering with the movement. The dark color lends a certain gravity to his innocent, chubby baby face.

“No, don’t stop translating! I need them to listen,” he declares imperiously and Threepio continues to translate for him. Force, Anakin can’t believe that Threepio is taking orders from Obi-Wan’s son, the disloyal traitor. “We’re sorry about that, we can’t really help it. But please just listen! All of you! You’re all just talking around and around in circles because you’re so determined to keep everything a secret and it’s not working.”

The Sullustians look to one another in befuddlement, then to Padmé, Obi-Wan, and the rest of the Republic envoy, as if looking for a sign on how to proceed. There’s an awkward, uncertain silence, then…

“Your youngling speaks the truth—the Republic could stand to learn something from his honesty,” that old Sullustian, the one who had never introduced himself at all, except to express his displeasure with their questions about the Temple. “Well, then? Speak. Why do you wish to learn of things no one should know?”

Luke swallows.

“We don’t want to do anything bad with the information,” he says. “They’re not bad, you know. They’re just trying to get me home.”

“Luke!” Obi-Wan and Cody snap as one. Luke juts out his chin, but before the reprimand can really start, the eldest Sullustian speaks again.

“You’re a Visitor?” he asks, tilting his bulbous head downward so that he can better examine Luke. He makes as if to move closer and Anakin steps forward, his body a physical shield between the Sullustian and Luke. “No one on Sullust has met one in a very long time.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you the truth at first, but Ben was just trying to keep me safe,” Luke explains.

“Wise of him,” the Sullustian observes. “Many sought out the Visitors, desperate to learn a way through the gateways between worlds. It rarely ended happily, either for the Visitors, their pursuers, or my people caught in the crossfire.”

“Those are nothing but stories, old man,” Hochar scoffs, Threepio’s circuits working overtime as he tries to translate the crosstalk.

“Perhaps. But then, if they are just harmless stories, why were you so reluctant to share them with the Jedi?” He pauses, as Hochar grumbles, then returns his attention back to Luke. “Tell me, youngling, how did you do it? Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know,” Luke admits, slowly, his young, high-pitched voice carrying a certain…heft. Cody looks like he wants to reach out and shove Luke behind him, to hide him completely from the elder Sullustian’s curious gaze. Luke’s eyes dart to Anakin, and then to Obi-Wan at his side. “But I’m starting to think the Force knew exactly what it was doing—that I was sent exactly where—exactly when—I was needed most.”

“Fascinating. But you now believe that your purpose is fulfilled? That it is time for you to return?” The Sullustian looks pointedly to the war-scarred landscape surrounding them—a skeletal tree in the far distance. “That now all is suddenly right?”

Luke’s eyes roll so hard Anakin is afraid is about to give himself brain damage.

“I can’t solve all your problems,” he sighs, as if it is obvious. Padmé looks very much as if she wants to hang her head in her hands. Obi-Wan can’t resist the temptation and rubs at his temple as if to ward away the building headache—he used to do that a lot when Anakin was his Padawan. Still does it, sometimes, if Anakin’s being honest.

Luckily, the eldest Sullustian doesn’t seem insulted, only sad.

“I suppose that is true—there are far too many problems in this horrible Galaxy for only one youngling to fix,” he clicks quietly, as Threepio translates. He pauses. “There is a way back, of that our stories are sure. But what it is exactly, I’m afraid we never learned.”

“Oh.” Luke deflates.

“But,” the Sullustian continues, “we do have contemporaneous paintings of what the Temple looked like in its prime. I cannot say for sure if what you look for is there, but our stories say that the instructions to unlocking the Temple’s power were written on its walls. Many of the paintings contain likenesses of the runes that once lined the Temple walls, now faded with time.” He pauses and gives what Anakin interprets as a self-deprecating smile. “I spent much of my time at university trying to translate those runes, all to no avail. Perhaps you shall have better luck than I.”  

Obi-Wan looks shrewdly at the diplomat.

“I found no mention of such paintings in the Jedi Archives,” he says, finally, and oh, Anakin can’t wait to feel the entire Coruscant Temple shake with rage when Jocasta Nu realizes that there is some bit of knowledge not tucked away in her precious stacks.

“Sullust supported the Jedi for centuries, but when we needed you most, you left us behind,” Hochar snaps, sharply. “To the mercy of a Republic that clearly favors humans over all other races. Why should we give you humans our most precious cultural treasures—ones which you are not even capable of appreciating?”

“The Republic is for all planets, all species,” Padmé interjects, her voice uncharacteristically harsh and cheeks pink with ire.

“And what was the race of your last six Chancellors?” Sybor interjects, before either Hochar or the older Sullustian can respond. Padmé’s eyes widen, then…narrow, the shrewd way they do when she knows that Anakin’s made a good point but doesn’t quite know what to do with the revelation yet. “It has always been this way, but at least in the days of the Old Republic we could trust the Jedi to give voice to our concerns. But we’ve learned our lesson and we’ve learned it well. We cannot rely on the Republic, nor the Jedi. If Sullust is to be saved, we must save it ourselves. Even if that means we must make bargains with the cursed Count and his wretched droids.” 

There’s a long pause, the bitterness in the air so strong that Rex’s hands start inching towards his holsters, only to be stopped with a gentle hand from his brother. Hochar inhales deeply, shaking his head as he turns away. He takes a moment to confer with Sybor, the old Sullustian, and their servants, before turning back to their group.

“We shall deliver the paintings to you later this week,” Hochar says finally, reluctantly. “It will take some time to ensure their safe transport.”

“Thank you, for trusting us,” Padmé says, true relief in her voice. “For trusting Luke.” She reaches out a hand and squeeze Luke’s shoulder. The boy glances back to her and then faces forward again, beaming with pride.

Hochar’s lips purse.

“It is not as if we have much choice. Now that Vechon has seen fit to spill one of our most precious secrets and the droids have abandoned our cause, you could march into the city and take them by force if you so wish. At least…at least this way, they shall not be damaged.”

Obi-Wan frowns.

“You don’t think—we do not mean to take them from you,” he protests. “We shall return the paintings to you, as soon as we have accomplished our goal. I will see to it personally. And…and if you would so desire, I shall not even take a holo of them for our own archives.”

 Anakin wishes these Sullustians understood what it costs Obi-Wan to make that offer—the way he snaps holos galore everywhere they go, happily collecting knowledge to add to the Jedi Archives. And it’s not fair that Obi-Wan should be looked at with such distrust by these people. Anakin, sure. But not Obi-Wan.

“I believe you,” the eldest Sullustian—Vechon, apparently—responds, earnestly. Sybor and Hochar don’t respond, their silence answer enough. Anakin wonders at his place in this society—that he is able to hand over such dear information so freely and with so little consequence from his companions, even though they are clearly unhappy with him. He turns to Luke. “And thank you for your honesty, young man. Perhaps I shall tell my grandchildren of the Visitor I once met; the same way my grandfather’s grandfather once told him.”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth, but Padmé only touches her free hand to his.

“We will not convince them of our sincerity with words alone,” she murmurs quietly, with a shake of her head. “Only action—true, genuine, meaningful action—can fix what we broke.”

Obi-Wan shuts his mouth with a click and instead offers a stiff bow.

The Sullustians nod silently and board their hover craft to leave.

***

The walk back to camp is strangely upbeat.

Padmé leans happily into Anakin’s arm as they walk back—a warm, welcome weight as the distant Sullustian sun somehow manages to peek out from behind a gray cloud. There’s been so few moments, outside of Varykino, that Anakin has ever been allowed to just be with his wife like this and that, combined with their success with the Sullustian, is enough to have him feeling hopeful.  

Luke crashes into Padmé, throwing her forward and jostling Anakin’s hold on her hand. Anakin resists the urge to strangle the child—he’s just trying to work off his sudden burst of happy energy, hyper-sensitive to the feeling of everyone else’s optimism in the Force. He’s been running ahead and back and then ahead again—not too far ahead, of course, Anakin had very sternly insisted that he stay within eyesight, much to Obi-Wan’s amusement.

“He’s survived his whole life on the run in a Sith Empire with only my older self to protect him,” he’d volunteered, when Anakin had first complained. “I’ll hazard a guess that a sunny stroll in safe territory, surrounded by two fully fledged Jedi Knights and another two clone commanders, is about the safest he’s ever been.”

Anakin had only huffed in frustration.

“I don’t understand why you’re all smiling like that,” Rex grumbles suddenly, as he appears beside Anakin and carefully helps Luke and Padmé right themselves. “It’s not like we’ve found the actual solution, only a place to start looking.”

Despite his words, Anakin notes the lightness in his tread, the way his boots don’t quite crush the dirt beneath his feet the same way they have ever since…since Umbara or maybe Ahoska’s trial, Anakin can’t quite pinpoint the exact moment everything changed.

“Obi-Wan’s just happy because the solution involves more research,” Anakin snipes. His own, more optimistic moments have always manifested in his light-hearted verbal spars with Obi-Wan or Ahsoka. Rex gives him a disapproving look. “Hey, you’d say that too if Obi-Wan ever made you spend a whole month combing through the Archives for information on rock formations. I couldn’t even use the datapads, because some of the flimsis were so old, they were on parchment. I didn’t even know that was a thing. It was torture.”

“As it was meant to be,” Obi-Wan points out, with a quirked eyebrow, as he neatly sidesteps a mud puddle in the middle of the path—somehow, the war has done very little to dampen his Master’s fastidiousness. “You broke the gardening droids and destroyed Master Mui’s rock garden.”

“It was just a personality-matrix upgrade!”

Artoo beeps in agreement, adding in that the Temple gardening droids are stodgy little idiots that could do with a personality upgrade or seven.

“They’re gardening droids, Anakin. They’re supposed to garden, not throw sarcastic quips at an old man who just wanted some peace and quiet in his retirement.”

Luke giggles as he hangs off Obi-Wan’s arm.

“I love that story,” the young boy declares. Anakin scoffs.

“Sharing incriminating stories of me to your son—how could you, Master?”

“It’s hardly my fault,” Obi-Wan points out, rather defensively. He sighs as the very tops of the Republic tent encampment comes into view. “Besides, we’re all rather missing the point.”

“Which is…?” Cody prompts, ever focused and practical. His eyes skim across the horizon, as if searching for impending danger. Obi-Wan sighs.

“We’re going to have to com the Council,” he says finally, grimly.

Everyone blinks at him.

“Why—why would we ever do that?” Rex asks, sounding genuinely confused. He glances to Luke. “You want to tell them about…?”

“No, no, no,” Obi-Wan hurries to correct the captain. He pauses, grimaces. “I don’t want to, but we will have to give them some explanation, if we want their help. And we’ll need it—we don’t have a hope of translating the runes in those paintings without some sort of help from Master Nu and the Archives.”

“Ah,” Padmé says. She continues, softly. “The Chancellor will likely be on the call.”

 Anakin cocks his head at the apparent non-sequitur.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Anakin—” Obi-Wan halts suddenly and grabs at Anakin’s upper arm, then releases him just as quickly. A small bubble forms around them, Rex and Cody studiously not looking at either of them as Artoo and Threepio engage Luke’s attention, dragging it away from…whatever is about to happen. Anakin half turns and raises a quizzical eyebrow. Obi-Wan pauses. “I just—”

“We won’t say anything—to the Council or Palpatine,” Padmé interjects. Anakin turns to her, mouth open in protest. Padmé levels him with one of her infamous looks, then glances back and focuses on Obi-Wan, eyes soft. “Satine deserves to hear the whole story from you, Obi-Wan, not from some snot-nosed intern in Amedda’s office.”

“The Chancellor wouldn’t—” Anakin feels his temper boiling up to the surface at the slight to his friend and mentor.

“Oh, come on, Ani!” Padmé scoffs, a deep furrow between her brows. “You know these lines aren’t secure.”

“Please, Anakin,” Obi-Wan adds, his eyes pleading. “It’s…a lot. And I know Satine must be told. Eventually. But I haven’t been able to get ahold of her and now there’s no time to waste. She shouldn’t have to find about Luke through some…political scandal.”

“From what Luke’s told me, it sounds like he never even really got to meet his mother,” Padmé says, quietly, her brown eyes immeasurably sad as she speaks of her friend. “That would be awful—to know that you were fated to have a son, but never meet him or truly be a part of his life.”

Anakin frowns, falling silent. He doesn’t really like Satine or her judgmental pacifism, but her happiness is important to Obi-Wan and Padmé, so...

“Okay,” he agrees, finally, reluctantly. “But then what are we supposed to tell them?”

“I’m sure we can come up with something believable,” Padmé says.

“And when they ask about the sudden interest in ancient Sullustian archaeology?”

“Well, relatively believable at any rate,” Obi-Wan sighs. “We’ll just have to come at the truth from a different point of view.”

“Is that what we’re calling bantha-shit nowadays?” Rex asks, sounding amused as he and Cody rejoin the conversation. “A different point of view?”

“Fulcrum says spewing bantha-shit is one of Ben’s special powers,” Luke informs them all, cheerfully, popping up from behind Artoo’s little dome.

Anakin barks out a sudden laugh.

“First the droid, now this. I’m starting to get the sense that this Fulcrum doesn’t like you all that much!”

Obi-Wan looks rather as if he can’t decide whether to be insulted or amused.

“You two fought. A lot,” Luke says, with a shrug. He looks away. “She didn’t want us to leave the base—she said she could protect us from the Empire, no matter what. But you wouldn’t listen.”

Obi-Wan tilts his head, thoughtfully. Anakin watches in confusion as his former Master’s smile gentles a moment later.

“Tell me, Luke, does Fulcrum have markings on her face, like this?” he gestures to his cheeks and forehead, tracing some vaguely familiar symmetrical pattern. Luke’s eyes widen and he nods quickly. “And you said before she travels with the Captain—a clone soldier who looks much older. Does he carry his blasters like Rex over there?” Luke nods again, eagerly.

Rex pales, seeming to understand something that Anakin has not quite grasped.

“Sir, you don’t think—?” the clone begins, eyes wide, as Obi-Wan nods in satisfaction, the way he does when he’s solved some fiendishly difficult mystery.

“Ah. Well, I suppose that solves the mystery of who Fulcrum is,” he declares.

“Huh?” Anakin demands. Obi-Wan slides his eyes over, a teasing sparkle in them.

“You trained Ahsoka well,” Obi-Wan says quietly. “I’m sure she’s making both of us proud, even as she drives Rex and myself absolutely insane.”

“Ahsoka! What, really? And Rex?”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan replies, smile quirking his lips. “I can’t think of anyone else who would tease me so mercilessly, yet still care so deeply about the wellbeing of myself and my son; who would fight so tirelessly against the Sith, even going so far as to run an entire Rebel base; and who would engender such loyalty in Captain Rex’s alternate self.”

“Wait, you’re the Captain?” Luke exclaims, eyes swiveling over to Rex. He starts running in circles…for some reason. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I—I didn’t know,” Rex says, sounding odd. Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow.

“Not so funny when you’re the one finding out about your alternate timeline, now is it?” Obi-Wan murmurs, so quietly that Luke can’t hear over his gleeful shouts and exclamations of how cool the Captain and Fulcrum are.

“Huh,” Anakin pauses, watching the boy run around for a moment. Then. “Hey, Luke, is Fulcrum the most badas—coolest Rebel in the whole Galaxy?”

“Of course!” Luke chirps. “She’s got these two white lightsabers and—and she’s gone up against Vaderand Tarkin and Thrawn and gotten away each time!”

“That’s my Snips,” Anakin says approvingly, his and Rex’s chests puffing out as one. Cody watches them both, a faint smile on his face.

“Wilhuf Tarkin is a member of this evil Sith Empire?” Padmé mutters, out of the side of her mouth. “Color me shocked.”

“Yeah. I’m not afraid of him, though,” Luke says, shifting uncomfortably despite his brave words. He pauses, then brightens. “There is this really funny holoclip, though. The Empire scrubbed it from all the official channels, but the Rebels still keep a couple of hard copies. Fulcrum loves to just randomly dump it onto the Net every once in a while, just to piss—uh, sorry, annoy—Tarkin.”

“Yup, definitely Ahsoka,” Rex agrees. “And what’s in this clip?”

“It was some sort of state dinner on Alderaan—Tarkin said something, the holo didn’t catch it, but whatever it was, it made the Princess really angry, so she kicked him in the shins and he fell over in front of everybody.”

Obi-Wan and Anakin wheeze with laughter.

“The Princess of Alderaan?” Padmé asks, cocking her head, a puzzled frown on her face. Luke again nods in confirmation. “I can’t imagine any daughter of Bail and Breha’s being anything less than perfectly behaved.”

“Have you met Bail?” Obi-Wan asks, incredulously.

Padmé smiles.

“Bail may find himself smack dab in the middle of trouble more often than not, but he prefers to smile as he stabs someone in the back, rather than resort to open warfare. Breha’s the same—I’m just surprised any child of theirs would be so…obviously aggressive.” Padmé pauses. “Was…was the Princess okay? I can’t imagine attacking a high-ranking member of the Empire in front of the whole galaxy is something one can get away with.”

Luke shrugs.

“I mean, Tarkin’s really got it in for Alderaan now, but the other Moffs that were there were actually kinda happy. Ben says Tarkin’s really cruel and evil, so he’s useful to the Empire, but no one really actually likes him, not even the Emperor. There’s even a rumor that the Emperor thinks the whole thing was absolutely hilarious and that he and Vader like to replay the holo any time they think Tarkin is getting too big-headed.”  

“Hmm, never thought I’d agree with a Sith, but he has a point—I’d pay good money to see that holo,” Anakin chortles. “And I don’t really like Organa, but I gotta say, I’m really loving his daughter—she sounds like a right terror.”

“Anakin!” Padmé and Obi-Wan scold, as one.

“He’s your friend, not mine,” Anakin replies, with a roll of his eyes. It’s not that Anakin hates Senator Organa, it’s just that…well, like so many other people apart from Rex, Ahsoka, Padmé, and Obi-Wan, he just doesn’t care. It’s like the Force gave Anakin a deep well of loyalty and compassion, but only decreed that he could share that compassion with a select few. Everyone else could jump off a cliff for all Anakin cares. Speaking of which… “Do you have any other stories about Fulcrum and the Captain, Luke? I’d love to hear them.”

Luke pauses, cocks his head, a shrewd sort of look in his eye.

“One story of Fulcrum for one story about you and young-Ben and young-Fulcrum ,” he bargains. “A full bedtime story, with all the noises and voices. And it has to be brand-new—Ben can’t have told it to me before.”

“Easy peasy,” Anakin agrees, breezily.  He’s already got a story in mind and beside, tucking Luke into bed and making sure he’s asleep will be a great way to keep him out of the way during the upcoming com call—Force forbid the Council catch sight of an unexplained youngling running around in the background. “There’s no way Obi-Wan’s told you about the time on Cato Nemoidia, right?”

Luke’s eyes go wide as Obi-Wan’s narrows.

“That doesn’t count, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, exasperation in his voice. Rex and Cody’s voices intermingle and overlap with Obi-Wan’s as they automatically parrot the Jedi Master. Obi-Wan whirls on them, a betrayed look in his eyes.

Anakin grins and leads the way back to camp.

***

Later—after Anakin has helped Luke into bed, gleefully related each and every moment of Obi-Wan’s embarrassment in great detail, and left the ever-eager-to-please Threepio to watch after the sleeping Luke—he takes the long way back to the command tent.

Sullust’s natural rotation has a much longer nighttime-to-daylight ratio than Coruscant—that’s part of the reason why Sullustians have those big, bulbous eyes, according to Obi-Wan, adapted to best see in the long dark-hours of their planet—so even though it relatively early in the day cycle, darkness has completely fallen over the camp.

But it’s not a bad, lonely kind of darkness, Anakin thinks, but rather one filled with the bright blue-light of military-issue lamps and the softer, red-light of the fire. He hardly has to walk through any truly dark patches at all as he makes the rounds and greets his astonished men—Fives and Jesse, Kix and Digger, a couple of recently arrived shinies. The astonishment brings a new well of guilt to the surface. Back when Ahsoka was here, he and his Padawan used to do this after nearly every battle, whether they were planet or shipside. He’d fallen out of the habit once she…left, the very thought of doing alone what they had once done together sending a sharp pain through his chest. Still, the men seem happy enough to see him and greet him enthusiastically. Most of their questions are about Luke—they’re a little disappointed that Obi-Wan’s son chose such a boring name for himself, only to have Anakin explain that most humans go by the names they were given at birth, rather than ones they choose themselves. The shinies’ eyes had widened at that, horror in every plane of their face.

“But—but that’s not right!” one of the newest shinies, Tup, exclaims, as Fives claps him on the back good-naturedly.

“I mean, it’s not unheard of for some cultures and peoples to go by their chosen, rather than birthnames,” Anakin replies with a shrug. “One of the Knights chooses to go by what zey call zeir true name and as younglings we were sternly warned never to use zeir dead name. I don’t know zem very well, but I’m sure Obi-Wan can explain it better than I can.”

“No offense General, but General Kenobi can explain most things better than you,” Jesse replies sagely. This sends up a round of outraged shouts at the blatant show of disloyalty to their General.

Anakin only chuckles and waves his goodbyes, with a promise to bring Luke around to the 501^st mess area early next morning, so that they can meet their “little brother-that’s-not-a-brother” and ask what name Luke would like to be called by.

He checks the chrono on his bracer com-unit, swears, and switches up his pace as he finally leaves the men behind, making a beeline for the command tent at a brisk pace. He’s late, as usual, even though he really, honestly wasn’t even trying to be this time.

Obi-Wan is waiting for him at the entrance to the tent when he arrives, raising a single eyebrow as Anakin approaches. The mud and dust flies up into the air as Anakin stops abruptly in front of Obi-Wan.

“Not a word,” Anakin warns, holding up a hand. “Not a single word.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything! Look at me, over here, not saying anything.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, right, save it for someone who believes you, old man.”

Obi-Wan smiles fondly.

“Are the men doing okay?” he asks. Anakin shrugs.

“As well as they can be in this stupid war. Fives and Kix are supervising the shinies, making sure they are holding it together after their first battle. They’re not saying that, of course, just inviting them around the fire-pits for drinks and cards. But. You know.”

“Yes, I know,” Obi-Wan sighs. He gazes out across the dusty, grey and brown landscape of the tents.

“Are we ready then?”

“Hmm?” Obi-Wan seems to pull himself back, from somewhere very, very far away. “Ah, yes, Rex and Artoo are just working on securing the line as much as we possibly can—but the Council knows we’re coming and are ready to connect whenever we are.”

“Good,” Anakin says, as he makes a move to enter the tent, only to find Obi-Wan’s hand on his chest. His former Master evaluates Anakin for a moment, then frowns. It’s not unhappy, though. More just…puzzled.

“You feel calmer, more centered,” Obi-Wan ventures, after an interminable minute. “I’d like to believe it was my brilliant idea to use alternative meditation strategies, but…well.”

“Yeah, sorry, Master, you’re not quite that good,” Anakin snorts. Obi-Wan doesn’t allow himself to be distracted with yet another quip. And Anakin sighs. “It means a lot, knowing Snips is still out, still fighting in Luke’s universe. I dunno. But it feels like I didn’t really, truly fail, if she’s out there still causing trouble, you know? Like—like some small part of me lives on if the lessons I taught her are helping her survive and fight back. Who knows—maybe that’s what that stupid Prophecy means. Maybe I bring balance to the Force by training the most badass not-quite-a-Jedi to ever live.”

Obi-Wan looks at him for a long moment.

“I feel sorry for that Sith Emperor when she gets her hands on him,” Obi-Wan finally says. Anakin gives him a feral grin.

“Oh, I don’t.”

As he ducks into the tent, Anakin finds himself automatically drifting into Padmé’s orbit, where she frowns over a shared data pad with Cody, murmuring quietly about the planned exchange of Republic and Sullustian prisoners. Rex is over in the other corner, fiddling with the controls and cursing—trying to get reception in these half-forgotten corners of the Galaxy was often half the battle for the GAR. The Separatists had a knack for picking battlefields with the absolute worst connectivity Anakin’s ever seen—and Anakin grew up on Tatooine. Padmé smiles and reaches a slim hand out to Anakin without even looking.

Anakin steps forward eagerly, only to have Obi-Wan grab him by the collar of his robes with an exasperated sigh.

“Could you two at least try to keep your marriage a secret?” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.  “Force. You, stay on my left, Senator stay over there. No hand-holding in front of the Jedi Council—how is that so hard to understand?”

Padmé hides a giggle in her hand but is saved from responding by the sudden cry of victory from Rex and the familiar fizzle and spit sound of a connecting holo call.

Mace Windu is the first to appear, as severe and forbidding as always, and Anakin resists the urge to shuffle awkwardly from foot to foot like a scolded Padawan. Then, Yoda, Mundi, and the Chancellor blink into existence, one after another.

“Skywalker, Kenobi,” Windu intones, his voice somehow managing to be both perfectly even and totally judgmental at the same time. With some prompting from Obi-Wan, (in the form of a heel expertly slammed against his instep out of view of the camera) Anakin inclines his head in greeting. Windu turns, spots Padmé, and pauses. “Senator. How go the negotiations?”

Anakin hates how Rex, Cody, and any other clones in the room seem to just melt into the background and disappear whenever they com the Council and Chancellor—as if Rex doesn’t do half of the 501’s paperwork and know the state of the war better than Anakin sometimes.

“As well as they ever do,” Padmé replies with a small shrug. “The Sullustians have no interest in rejoining the Republic, of course, but they know the battle is lost for now, so they resort to simply making our lives as difficult as possible.”

“Hmm, that is so unfortunate to hear,” the Chancellor says, shaking his head sadly. “After all the Republic has done for them—surely not everyone on Sullust must feel this way?”

“It is no matter,” Windu interjects, not so much as glancing at the Chancellor as he bites out the words. “Their current Prime Viceroy most certainly is not, and he was the one elected to speak for his people. If such a group of Republic loyalists even existed, they clearly don’t hold significant political sway.”

“Ah, the perils of democracy.”

Anakin thinks he sounds rather bleakly humorous, but he knows he must be missing some sort of undertone, based on the way Padmé’s lips flatten. Obi-Wan and Windu are too well-trained to show their own annoyance, but Anakin’s pissed both of them off enough times to know damn well how the two Jedi Masters look when they’re irritated.

“Have they made demands?” Mundi asks, deftly redirecting the conversation.

“The usual,” Obi-Wan volunteers, though no more.

“Well—” Padmé begins, then cuts herself off with a look from Obi-Wan. Anakin stares, wide eyed—he’s not sure if they rehearsed this while he was gone, tucking Luke in, but it seems totally natural, unplanned. Which, he guesses, is the point.

“Yes?” Windu prompts.

“It wasn’t so much a demand, so much as an ask. Well, not even that,” Padmé says, spinning her tale with mastery. “It turns out that Master Kenobi and one of the Viceroy’s advisers share an interest in ancient archaeology.”

“Interest?” Anakin snorts, at a mental prod from Obi-Wan—he can’t lie for bantha-shit, but he can tease Obi-Wan like nobody’s business. “More like obsession.”

“Yes, well. Vechon was the only one of the Sullustian diplomats who seemed even vaguely interested in rapprochement—I know it seems silly, but would it be possible to search the Jedi Archives for anything related to ancient Sullust? If Master Kenobi then shared those findings with Vechon, it might engender the goodwill we so desperately need.”

Anakin marveled at how effortlessly Padmé danced around the real reason for their request—nothing she had said so far was untrue, per se, but rather a string of technically-true statements strung together to suggest something wholly different.

“Really? Can we afford to spare General Kenobi for even that long?” the Chancellor asks, sounding concerned. “I am sympathetic to Sullust’s plight, of course I am, but it is still only one planet and we have so many others that need our aid.”

Yoda regards them for a long moment, claws folded over his gimmer stick, his ears cocked oddly.

“Hmm, stranger missions for stranger rewards we have done,” Yoda points out. “Need Master Nu’s aid, you will.”

“That was my thought exactly, Master,” Obi-Wan says. “But I am reluctant to take Master Nu away from her current duties—I know she and the other Archivists are running ragged trying to fulfill all of our research requests.”

“Nonsense. For a mission of this importance, to help the Negotiator and the Hero with No Fear, I can think of no higher priority,” the Chancellor says brusquely. Obi-Wan had once commented on how quick the Chancellor was to insist on any course of action the moment the Council mentioned how that action would further strain the Order’s already spread-thin resources. It’s the first time Anakin’s seen Obi-Wan employ it to get what he wants, though, and he frowns to himself.

Judging by the thoughtful, narrow-eyed look on Windu’s face, Anakin’s not the only one who noticed Obi-Wan’s sleight of hand. Still, after looking long and hard at Obi-Wan, almost as if he is boring holes into the other Jedi’s head, Windu sighs and nods. Mundi, as if waiting for the signal, takes up the thread of the conversation.

“Very well, then. The Council shall set up a secure com channel for you and Master Nu to discuss the specifics,” the Cerean Master says. “But we cannot afford too long a delay—a week or two at most, Master Kenobi.”

“Time was we used to spend years cultivating good will and negotiating alliances,” Obi-Wan observes, voice neutral. “It is times like these when I most often wish for the old days.”

“Yes, well, I’ll be sure to send your wish list along to Count Dooku when I next have a com call with him,” Windu replies, dry as a bone. He eyes Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Padmé very carefully as he tips his head.

“May the Force be with you.” Masters Yoda and Mundi murmur their goodbyes and snap out of existence. Just as Anakin can no longer take the scrutiny anymore, Windu speaks.

“Just…just try to stay out of trouble this time,” Windu says, finally.

“Don’t I always?” Obi-Wan replies, somewhat cheekily. Cody’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline and Windu gives Obi-Wan a droll look.

“I mean it,” he warns. A whole paragraph of unspoken words seems to pass between him and Obi-Wan. The Chancellor watches the interaction, an open, blithe mask fixed on his face. “May the Force be with you,” Windu finishes, and then he too is gone, only the Chancellor remaining.

The Chancellor turns to Anakin.

 “I hope the next few weeks shan’t be too boring for you, General Skywalker,” he says, sounding jovial.

“It’ll give my men some much needed rest,” Anakin shrugs, uncomfortable at the deception.

“Ah, that it will. Too often our brave forces are pulled blindly from one crisis to another, with no time for recovery or even thought. I pray there will come a day when that is not the case.”

“Perhaps if we approached more of the Separatist planets like this,” Padmé suggests, tone neutral and words anything but. “Diplomatically and not with military force, that day may yet be possible.”

“If only the Separatists were not so fully under the sway of a Sith Lord,” the Chancellor replies smoothly. “Still, I wish you the best of luck in your endeavor—if anybody can bring peace, it is you, General Skywalker.”

Anakin shifts awkwardly at the pointed exclusion of Padmé, Obi-Wan, Rex, Cody…practically everyone else currently on Sullust doing far more than he to solve the current mess. Yes, he is a great babysitter for Luke, if he does say so himself, but apart from that, Anakin is useless when it came to any problems that can’t be solved with a lightsaber. Worse, he’d distracted Obi-Wan and Padmé for crucial hours with his outbursts and confessions of the last few days.

“Thank you, your Excellency,” Anakin says, not sure what else to add.

“And do keep me apprised, will you? I have to admit, I’m somewhat of an amateur archaeologist myself, though the burdens of the war have slowly leeched away what little free time I have left to pursue my hobby. I would be interested in learning all you uncover—perhaps you could even secure a few artifacts for the Archives and the historical museum here on Coruscant. The Sullustians are notoriously…territorial, shall we say.”

“Of course, sir,” Anakin promises easily, finally back on familiar footing. He couldn’t say anything now over the coms, not when he had promised Padmé and Obi-Wan—but once Luke was home and Obi-Wan had the time to explain the situation to Satine and Anakin was back on Coruscant, there wouldn’t be any harm in indulging the Chancellor’s interest.

“Thank you, as always, for your help, your Excellency,” Obi-Wan interjects smoothly. The Chancellor shifts to focus back on him. “But I am afraid I will have to cut this call short—Anakin will need to take over some of my duties so that I may focus on my work with Master Nu and there’s already far too much work to do.

“Of course, of course. Please don’t let the idle interest of an old man stop you two from saving the Galaxy,” the Chancellor chuckles good-naturedly. “Good day, Generals.”

“May the Force be with you,” Obi-Wan and Anakin murmur and bow as one. Rex motions for Artoo to disconnect the call.

 Obi-Wan sighs, scrubs his face, and turns around, moving towards the ancient caf dispenser. It’s more a reflex than an indication of Obi-Wan’s desire for the terrible sludge the machine dispenses—before the war began, he’d never even touched the stuff, declaring it an inferior substitute for tea. But at this point in the way, Obi-Wan’s constant need for caffeine has won out over his tastebuds.

Obi-Wan abruptly halts, nearly toppling backwards to avoid running into Luke, who is standing there in the shadows of the tent, hands on his hips and betrayed look on his pale face. His blue eyes flash and gleam in the tent.

“You’re helping the Emperor?” he demands, the Force around him simmering with seven kinds of hurt and anger.

Obi-Wan blinks.

“What—”

Luke stabs a pudgy finger in the air, pointing accusingly at the now empty space where the Chancellor’s image was once projected.

“That’s Emperor Palpatine—I saw him! Why are you taking orders from him?”

Chapter Text

For a long moment, there is an aching, porcelain silence.

“Shouldn’t—shouldn’t you be in bed?” Anakin hears himself say, through numb lips. The Force echoes strangely in his ears.

Luke glares. He looks as if he is going to lunge straight for Obi-Wan.

“You were talking to the Emperor—why were you talking to the Emperor?” Luke demands.

Suddenly he pounces, flying straight towards Obi-Wan as everyone else just looks on, too shocked to even move. It is Cody who spring into action and gently catches Luke around the waist, drawing him backwards.

“Luke, that wasn’t the Emperor. I think you’re confused—” Cody murmurs, though his voice is the shakiest Anakin has ever heard it.

“No, I’m not. I’m not—don’t touch me! I have to listen to him give a speech every Empire Day—my birthday! I know exactly what he sounds like.”

“That’s—that’s impossible—” Padmé whispers, her face ghost-white. She flings out a hand, resting it against Artoo’s dome for support as she shakily falls into the nearest chair, a hard, un-cushioned thing with no back rest. Artoo gives an uncertain warble.

Luke whirls on her.

“I’m not lying!” he says, defensively. “I’m not.”

“No,” Obi-Wan says, slowly, bleakly. “No, you’re not—I can feel your sincerity in the Force.”

“What?” Anakin snaps. “I know you don’t like him, Master, but you know that’s not true—the Chancellor is a good man, he wouldn’t...Luke’s just mixed him up with someone else.”

“Did not!” Luke declares hotly, eyes blazing.

“I’m not saying you’re lying, Luke,” Anakin says, voice patient and soothing. Luke is not impressed. “I believe that you believe this is your Emperor, but you can believe something with all your heart and still have it not be the truth. They’re not the same person. They can’t be.”

“Why?” Luke demands.

“What?”

“Why am I wrong? If he’s such a good person, if he’s not actually the Sith Emperor, then prove it!”

“Well,” Anakin flounders for a moment thinking, then straightens in triumph as a thought occurs to him. “Well, for one, he’s not Force sensitive.”

“Yeah, right,” Luke scoffs, folding his arms, “that’s what Palpatine says in my universe too, but he’s just a liar. He gets his apprentice to do all his dirty work for him, but he’s more powerful than even Vader.”

“Like Dooku, running the war as his master pulls the strings,” Padmé says quietly, her voice cracking over the words. Her face crumples and she buries her head in her hands. “Oh Shiraya, I put him in power, I called for the vote of no-confidence in Valorum. What did I do?”

“He used you,” Obi-Wan replies, his voice barely above a whisper. He’s staring at Anakin, something bleak and horrible in his eyes. “You were a child. It wasn’t your job to protect yourself from his manipulations—the adults around you should have noticed something, should have tried to protect you.”

Anakin feels the sickening tangle in his stomach grow hard and weighty.

“He didn’t—he isn’t manipulating me. He’s my friend.”

This time it is Obi-Wan who catches Luke as he gives a cry of rage and flies at Anakin, hot tears of frustration in his eyes.

““He’s a liar! A liar and Sith who killed all the Jedi!” Luke shouts, looking as if he wants to claw Anakin’s eyes out. Obi-Wan gathers Luke close and envelopes him in a protective embrace. His knees hit the dusty, canvas bottom of the tent.

“Shh, it’s okay, I believe you, Luke,” Obi-Wan soothes, repeating the words over and over again. “I believe you.”

“How could you?” Luke sobs, beating at Obi-Wan’s chest. “How could you!”

“We didn’t know. I swear, we didn’t know.”

“Then you’re stupid and I hate you as much as I hate him! I was supposed to have a family and he took them from me!”

“I know, little one, I know,” Obi-Wan murmurs, resisting Luke’s attempts to shove him away. “And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry—I made a mistake. I trusted the wrong person and you had to pay the price. It isn’t fair, I know, and I’m sorry.”

Luke finally stops resisting and flings himself fully into Obi-Wan’s embrace as he cries and cries and cries.

Anakin just stands there, shell-shocked.

“Master, you can’t really believe—” he begins but Obi-Wan is totally focused on the small child in his arms, not even sparing so much as a glance for Anakin’s protestations. Anakin turns to Padmé for support. “Padmé—it’s—this is ridiculous. Palatine isn’t a...He’s a friend and a mentor, not some kind of power hungry dictator.”

“Except he is,” Padmé says—her voice is still quiet, but there’s a thread of steel running underneath. The tent’s flap rustle in the breeze and a glimmer of moonlight flashes across her face. “He’s been slowly amassing more and more emergency powers over the course of the war, so many that—that he’s already an emperor in all but name. I didn’t see it, I didn’t put it together until now, but—oh, it all makes so much sense now.”  

“That’s not true, that can’t be true,” Anakin repeats, that same sick feeling twisting and slithering in his gut.

“And why can’t it be true?” Obi-Wan says, not taking his eyes off Luke. “We’ve long suspected that Dooku’s Master must be high up in Senate—it was the only explanation for why every victory is followed shortly by a defeat, an inexplicable leak of our intel and plans that cuts us off at the knees each time. And Dooku, he’s always mocked us for the corruption at the heart of the Senate—and why shouldn’t he? And his…fascination with you…” he trails off. “Search your feelings, Anakin. You know it to be true—it’s not just Luke’s belief, the Force knows that this is the truth.”

And that’s the worst part—Obi-Wan’s right. The Force rings with truth and righteousness at Luke’s declaration, in a way that Anakin hasn’t felt since…since, well, before the war had demanded a constant stream of lies, muddled half-truths, and messy compromises for the greater good.

“He can’t...” Anakin pauses, swallows, and continues in a small voice. “He knows about Tatooine.”

Everyone’s head snaps up at that, from Padmé and Obi-Wan to Cody and Rex over in the corner.

“You told the Chancellor of the Republic about…?” Obi-Wan says, frustration and exhaustion coloring his words. “For Force’s sake Anakin, even if he wasn’t a Sith Lord, don’t you see how stupid that was, how he could have used that against you?”

“I didn’t—I thought he was my friend.”

Padmé stands and gathers Anakin’s hunched form into a soft embrace.

“We both did,” she says quietly, leaning her forehead against Anakin’s. Luke watches them from within Obi-Wan’s arms.

“You really didn’t know,” he says, finally, his voice small.

“No,” Obi-Wan agrees. “No, we did not.”

“I just—he feels so wrong, why didn’t you notice?”

“Sometimes, the hardest things to spot are the things right in front of your nose, the ones that you know deep in your heart to be true, but don’t want to acknowledge all the same,” Obi-Wan says, finally. “It’s a poor explanation…we’re supposed to be better than that, but it’s an explanation all the same.”

Cody approaches and bends down to Luke’s level.

“What else do you know about him?” he asks finally. “Stuff that you assumed we already knew.”

“Commander!” Obi-Wan scolds, voice as harsh as Anakin has ever heard him use with Cody. The clone just looks evenly back at him.

“We need to know, General. We have an enemy that knows much more—almost everything—about us than we do him. Luke is our best shot at changing that.”

“I want to help,” Luke confirms, his face screwed up with courage. “I don’t want him to hurt you guys because you were surprised.”

“That’s very brave of you,” Padmé says.

 Anakin doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“I don’t know a lot, not really,” Luke adds. “Even Ben doesn’t know the whole truth, just what he’s managed to piece together. And then I only know what I’ve managed to piece together from what he’s told me.”

“Everything you have—anything you have will help,” Rex says, coming to stand next to his brother.

“He’s super powerful—not because he’s super strong, or anything, but because he’s so smart and has spent forever studying the Dark.”

“That explains his interest in our adventures in Sullustian archaeology,” Padmé interrupts. “He must know about the Temple and dimension travel from his own research. Bantha-shit—we basically handed our plans to him on a silver platter. He must suspect something—”

“Not now,” Obi-Wan says, with a quick shake of his head as they all refocus on Luke.

 “He’s always got a plan for everything.” Luke drops to a whisper. “He knows that Vader might kill him one day. That’s why he’s always on the lookout for a new apprentice, why he wants me, Ben says. If…if I was ever captured, I was to do anything I could to avoid becoming his apprentice, even if that meant agreeing to become Vader’s instead. Ben made me memorize this whole speech for what to say if that happened.”

“That’s sick,” Anakin blurts out. Obi-Wan flinches and Cody glares.

“No, it’s realistic—when you have two awful choices, you can’t always just throw a temper tantrum and refuse to make any choice.” Cody’s tone makes it clear how he thinks Anakin would have handled the situation.

Rex clears his throat, and uses the toe of his boot to kick lightly at Cody’s heel.  Cody glances back to his brother, then Obi-Wan, and purses his lips, as if it physically pains him not to say more. Rex nods and gives Cody a grateful smile.

It is in moments like these that Anakin really, really loves his captain. 

“Anything else? Maybe about how he came to power?” Rex presses, focusing back on Luke.

The young boy pauses and stews for a moment.

“I told you I don’t know a lot about what happened,” he says, finally, very quietly. He looks away. “I know he doesn’t like non-humans very much—that’s why we try to stick to those sorts of planets. They’re less likely to turn us in. I know the war ended and the Emperor told everyone the Jedi tried to overthrow him, which is why they had to be killed.”

“What—what about the GAR? Surely the troopers must have fought back—we know our Generals, we must’ve known that was bantha-shit,” Rex insists.

“I—I’m really not supposed to ask about that,” Luke says. “I know it’s bad—Ben doesn’t like to talk about it—at all. He still has nightmares sometimes. So, I stopped asking. But the Captain was the only clone I’ve ever met, so I guess they might’ve been wiped out along with the Jedi? The Imps wear the same armor, kinda, and I know that makes the Captain really mad, says they don’t deserve it.”

“But…All of us? There’s millions of brothers. I just—I don’t understand how he could kill so many of us, so quickly.” Cody clamps an arm over Rex’s, halting the flow of words.

“Later,” he says, quietly. “One problem at a time.”

“No, Rex brings up a good point,” Padmé says, suddenly. “How did Palpatine manage to kill all of the Jedi and the clones? Who did it? Even a single, mediocre Knight is a force to be reckoned with. The only time I’ve ever seen you defeated in combat is by another Force user or when you’re taken by surprise—when your attackers can somehow disable or disorient you in the first few seconds.”

“Ben always said the Jedi were betrayed—that Palpatine made sure they were all alone and surprised. He never would have won in a fair fight, but Sith don’t fight fair.” He pauses, then hunches his shoulders miserably. “I’m sorry I don’t know a lot more.”

Padmé drops to her knees and gently pulls Luke’s chin up.

“None of that now,” she says, firmly. “None of that. I don’t think you realize how much you helped us just by telling us who Palpatine is—even if you don’t know the exact details, just knowing what we’re up against is extremely helpful. So don’t worry if you can’t tell us anything else—this is more than enough. You are more than enough.”

Luke’s face crumples as he begins crying anew.

“I don’t want you to die just because of me,” he wails miserably, a familiar, but terrible sound that portends the beginning of a long and drawn-out tantrum.

“Oh, honey—” Padmé begins, with an aborted movement that Anakin thinks was meant to offer comfort. Luke just shakes her off and continues crying.

“It’s m-my f-fault,” Luke hiccups. “It was my f-fault you died and now it’s gonna h-happen again and there’s nothing I can do because I’m an id-idiot!”

“You will cease this nonsense, immediately,” Obi-Wan says, very firmly, shocking Luke into round-eyed silence. Obi-Wan waits one second, then two, before continuing. “If Palpatine is as crafty and evil as you tell us he must be—then he’s been planning this for years. Far longer than you’ve been alive, far longer than most of us have been alive. He likely has plans upon backup plans upon backup plans and no one could be expected to know all of them. Not even your father likely knows the whole truth. So how are you expected to?”

“But—”

“No buts. Padmé is right—we may not know the true extent of his evil plans, but we know that they exist and that is so much more than any of even suspected. All the wise Jedi Masters and experienced politicians in the Galaxy, and you were the one who told us the truth. You have helped us negotiate the beginnings of an actual, honest relationship with a former Separatist planet. You brought us together and taught us so much about ourselves and each other. You have given us every possible tool we need to succeed—and if we mess it up after you leave, that is not your burden to bear.”

Luke blinks up at Obi-Wan, hope and trust and so many other emotions painting the lines of his pudgy cheeks and thin, baby-fluffy eyebrows.

“But—but you won’t mess it up, right? Now that you know, you’ll make sure he can’t win.”

“I am not infallible, little one, and I won’t lie, Palpatine is a very dangerous enemy, but yes that is exactly what I plan to do.”

Luke nods sharply.

“You’ll win,” he insists stubbornly. “Palpatine won because he tricked the Jedi. But now you can’t be tricked and you’re the smartest and strongest person in the Galaxy. You’ll win.”

Anakin doesn’t know if it is childish faith or the gift of foresight that imbues Luke’s words with a certain heft, but whatever it is, he can feel the Force swirling and changing as Luke makes his declaration. Obi-Wan pauses, stroking Luke’s back for a few more seconds, before standing to his feet gracefully—he is no longer just Obi-Wan Kenobi, but the Negotiator.

“Very well, then. Our first task: how to warn the rest of the Council?”

“Do you really think—” Anakin begins, the first time he’s spoken in a long, long time. His voice feels weird—hoarse and quiet. Obi-Wan cuts him off with a look.

“Yes,” he replies, his tone brooking no argument. “Luke says that Palpatine won because he tricked and isolated the Jedi—we are stronger together and Palpatine knows it. We must move swiftly and use all of our available resources.”

“But how?” Rex adds. “We can’t risk the coms.”

“One of us will have to go back to Coruscant to tell them in person,” Obi-Wan decides. “I’m reluctant to separate us, but it must be done. Senator Amidala, you—“

But Padmé is already shaking her head.

“Senators must submit official paperwork to the Chancellor in order to even request an audience with the Jedi Council—he said it was to help manage their time, to make sure we weren’t taking your attention from the war unnecessarily, but...I can’t visit, not without a reason.”

“The Council was unaware of any such law,” Obi-Wan says, sharply.

“It was buried in an appropriations bill—there were so many other problematic riders and clauses to fight that I didn’t even think—”

“First part of our plan: save the self-recriminations until later,” Cody interjects cutting her off. “After we defeat Palpatine, we’ll play a long game of how-badly-did-we-all-kriff-up. We’ll grab some of Fives’ hooch. It’ll be nice. But we all played a part in this mess and we’re not going to get anywhere trying to assign blame.”

“Well said,” Obi-Wan agrees with a nod. Padmé shoots a shaky, uncertain smile towards Cody.

“I hope the liquor is worth it,” is all she says. Cody cocks one corner of his lips in amusement, practically belly-aching laughter by the stoic commander’s usual standards.

“After this engagement, the 212th and 501st will almost certainly be sent off to yet another battlefront,” Obi-Wan continues. “There’s already two or three other legions clamoring for relief. We won’t be back on Coruscant for months—months we just don’t have.”

“So, we have to send a messenger,” Padmé concludes.

“It has to be someone willing to believe us—it’s not...it’s not easy to hear,” Rex adds. “We’ll have to convince them and then they’ll have to convince the Council.”

“But if we send another Commander or General, the Chancellor will immediately know,” Cody shoots back. “The GAR reports all troop movements to the Chancellor’s office. Knowing what he is now, I bet he keeps a really close eye on any so-called threats, especially if they start requesting emergency meetings with the Council.”

“CorSec’s definitely watching the Temple. They keep track of everyone coming in and out of the building,” Anakin adds, subdued. Everyone looks at him and he fidgets self-consciously. “He mentioned something along those lines during the whole Temple bombing incident.”

“Okay, so whoever it is, they’ll basically have to sneak into the Temple and request an audience in secret,” Rex says. He pauses, then snorts. “Easy, right?”

“We could send a message through our brothers, sir,” Cody suggests, referring to the informal network of trooper gossip. One brother told another brother when their legions were stationed together and then that trooper would pass the message along to another brother once their legion had moved on. It was effective but...

“Too slow,” Obi-Wan declared. “too much up to chance movements of the troops and faith that our message won’t be garbled beyond all recognition by the time it gets to the Council.”

“Okay, so let me see if I’m tracking this right,” Anakin says, sarcasm dripping from every word as he holds up a hand and begins ticking off items on his fingers. Artoo beeps. “we need a someone who we and the Council trust without reservation, but not so important that Palpatine will be tracking their movements. They can’t be a Senator or Clone or any of our other usual suspects, but willing to drop everything they’re doing immediately to help us. Oh, and don’t forget, they must be able to sneak in and out of the Temple undetected, but they can’t be a Jedi. Who in the Sith hells even meets all of those criteria?”

There’s a hopeless sort of silence.

Then—

Padmé pauses, cocks her head. Slowly, a wide smile spreads across her face. Anakin, Obi-Wan, Rex, and Cody stare at her as if she’s lost her mind. Luke and Artoo just look intrigued, their faith in Padmé Amidala unshakable, no matter what sort of half-psychotic smile she wears.

“Oh, I think I might know someone up to the task,” she declares, her teeth flashing white in the near-darkness of the tent. She taps at her com, waits for it to chime, and then holds it to her lips. “Sabé, have you managed to track down Ahsoka Tano yet?”

Chapter Text

Anakin fidgets anxiously with his hands as the battered old shuttle vents the last of its oxygen and settles more fully into the sucking, not-quite-wet-but-not-quite-dry Sullustian mud. Padmé quells his movement with a gentle palm to the back of his knuckles. An understanding smile graces her features as she manages to tear her eyes away from the approaching shuttle for just one moment.

“It’s Ahsoka, it’ll be fine,” she reminds him, for the ten millionth time in the three days since Sabé had responded to Padmé’s call for help. The former handmaiden had confirmed that not only had she found Ahsoka, but she had also booked the young Togruta passage on the fastest smuggler’s ship she could find. Apparently, Ahsoka had been out near Mandalore—which, huh?—but at least it cut the travel time to Sullust in half. Transporting personnel and supplies from the Core always took forever.

Anakin nods, mute, as he has after every single one of Padmé’s ten million reminders. He knows Obi-Wan is just as nervous, can feel it in the Force, but at least his Master had been able to throw himself into researching and decoding the painting, a much-needed distraction. Meanwhile Anakin’s been stuck with his worried thoughts on an endless loop and nothing else.

Finally, the ship settles fully, several systems locking into place with a series of rapid-fire clicks. The ramp begins to lower and the rumbling of the pistons creating an odd symphony with Artoo’s excited beeping and the whirling of the servos in Anakin’s mechno-arm.

There’s a gust of wind, one last thump of ramp meeting ground and then…

And then there’s Ahsoka, standing at the top of the ramp, surveying the scene in front of her with an inscrutable expression as she throws the hood of her old gray cloak back. Anakin frowns to himself—she’s thinner, taller than when Anakin last saw her and he doesn’t know if it’s poor nutrition or just a continuation of puberty. The last year of her apprenticeship had seen Anakin requesting new clothes practically every month as she shot up like a weed and lost her baby fat. She descends the ramp, every step as cool and as elegant as the one before, every inch the grand-padawan of the cool and composed Master Kenobi.

Anakin’s eyes ache strangely as her feet leave the ramp and make contact with the muddy ground.

Unable to contain himself a moment longer, Artoo zips forward, knocking into Ahsoka’s knees like an overeager tooka. Ahsoka glances down and…smiles, her whole face changing. She stops and kneels, as she leans her forehead against Artoo’s blue dome.

“Artooey!” she laughs as Artoo bleeps furiously. “It’s good to see you too, buddy! Hopefully you didn’t get into too much trouble while I was gone?”

“How could he,” Rex says, stepping forward, his words light and teasing, “when you took all the trouble with you?”

“Rex!” Ahsoka cries, launching herself upwards and into Rex’s embrace. The clone Captain catches her with a grunt of effort and Anakin’s half-surprised Ahsoka doesn’t knock out half her teeth on his pauldron.

“Oof, kid, you’re a lot heavier since the last time you tried that,” Rex jokes, as Ahsoka pulls back and punches his shoulder. “Hey! It’s true.”

Ahsoka’s riotous laughter fades as Padmé, Obi-Wan, and Anakin creep closer, their bodies forming a shield from the myriad of curious eyes. The men are whispering amongst each other, staring openly as they pause in their drills and chores. And it’s not that Anakin doesn’t trust them or believe that they don’t deserve their own joyous reunion with their long-lost commander, but…this is his moment, not theirs. So instead, he uses his height to block their view and stares and stares and stares at Ahsoka.

A slow, indolent breeze winds its way across their little circle, breaking the moment.

Padmé is the first to step forward, clasping both of Ahsoka’s hands between hers. For once, Anakin’s wife seems at a loss for words.

“Senator Amidala,” Ahsoka greets, warmly. “Thank you for reaching out—I’m of course happy to help in whatever way I can.”

Padmé can only nod.

Finally, Ahsoka inhales deeply, and turns to face Anakin and Obi-Wan. Her face and emotions are inscrutable in the Force. It’s so weird, trying to decipher her emotional state without their bond to help him. Her eyes rove over Anakin, then Obi-Wan, as if checking them for injury.

“Masters—”

“Sni—Ahsoka—”

Anakin and Ahsoka begin talking as one, their voices overlapping. They both stop abruptly, abashed. Anakin rubs at the back of his neck self-consciously and toes at the dust beneath his boot.

“You can go first. Sorry,” he says.

Ahsoka only smiles.

“Thanks. But you can still call me Snips, you know. If that’s something you’re okay with.”

A big knot unwinds in Anakin’s chest and he feels his shoulders loosen.

“Only if you’re okay with calling me Skyguy,” he replies. He watches Ahsoka’s smile broaden.

“Really? It won’t be awkward or anything?”

“Maybe. But calling me Master Skywalker would definitely be more awkward. So.”

Ahsoka smiles for real then, a big, teasing, full-mouth grin that Anakin has missed so, so much.

“Okay, then, Skyguy. Looks like the only thing that’s changed about you is the length of that shaggy mop you call hair,” she shoots back. “And the new gray hairs in Master Obi-Wan’s beard—tell me, how many of those are your fault?”

“Hey!” Anakin exclaims defensively, but also delightedly. This is a dance he knows—as well-ingrained in his bones as a kata.

“Most, but not all,” Obi-Wan murmurs, a quirk at the corner of his mouth. His eyes are shadowed. “Oh, Ahsoka, how we’ve missed you. I’m so sorry—”

Ahsoka holds up a hand and tilts her head so that the white markings on her face catch and gleam in the dim afternoon sun. As they fall silent she allows her hand to fall and she places both hands squarely on her hips.

“Hey, I want to have this conversation, but not when there’s a threat looming over our heads,” she says, firmly, confidently. Anakin is so proud of her. “I think I deserve more than a rushed, half-explanation because we have to focus on the next big crisis, yeah?”

Obi-Wan pauses, then nods.

“You’re right, of course.”

“Okay, then. So what is the next big emergency?” Everyone looks at each other for a long moment. Anakin and Obi-Wan face off in a fierce staring contest for several long minutes.

You tell her, Anakin says silently—it’s half the old training bond linking them together in the Force and half him and Obi-Wan just knowing what every minute facial expression means.

No, no, the honor’s all yours, Obi-Wan responds.  

 Ahsoka raises her eyebrows as she glances between them.

“That bad?” she guesses, dryly.

“Let’s walk,” Rex suggests, holding out an arm to help usher Ahsoka in the right direction as he makes a wide turn, towards the wide, packed down path that leads straight towards the tent in question. “Threepio, Cody, and...well, they’re back at the command tent.”

“What’s Commander Cody doing way over there?” Ahsoka asks, a puzzled slant to her eyes. Rex leads the way, and they all fall into a tight clump—all of their plans may be for naught if the wrong person was to overhear. “Shouldn’t he be helping with all the usual post-battle headaches?”

Obi-Wan ignores her and instead asks:

“Do you remember those old Temple stories about the Travelers?”

“I mean, yeah, but there hasn’t been a confirmed event in over—wait. No way.” She stares, wide-eyed at all of them, nearly stumbling over her own feet. “You’ve encountered one? An interdimensional traveler?”

“Yup,” Anakin confirms. He grins a little to himself, because he lives to make Obi-Wan’s life more difficult than it already is. “And that’s not even the best part—the traveler in question is Obi-Wan’s future son.”

Ahoska stops abruptly, Padmé crashing into her back, and gapes.

“You’re joking.” She glances over to Padmé and Rex—they don’t look very amused, but neither are they rushing to correct Anakin. Ahsoka must take this as a confirmation. “You’re not joking.”

“I thought we agreed we were going to ease her into the idea,” Padmé sighs, rolling her eyes at her husband’s antics.

“Eh, Luke gave us all a heart-attack when we realized, I just wanted to recreate the feeling for Snips,” Anakin says, beaming. He turns back to Ahsoka. “He’s really cute, actually, does a great impression of Obi-Wan’s accent.”

“I—Master Obi-Wan, betraying your vows and fathering a secret Mandalorian love child—who’d’ve thunk ya had it in ya!” she chirps. “He is Satine’s, right? Bo Katan swore up and down that you two were having an affair and while I’m sorry to lose my credits, hot damn, what a way to lose them.”

Obi-Wan’s offers her a droll look, but even in the shadow of the tents, Anakin can see the way the top of his cheekbones are dusted with red.

“Unfortunately, the truth is much worse,” Obi-Wan says, eye twitching. “It appears that I fathered Luke some unspecified time in the future after the Jedi Order was—after the Jedi Order was destroyed.”

“Oh,” Ahsoka breathes. Her deep orange skin has gone a paler, awful shade of salmon. “I—oh.”

“But we’re going to stop the same thing from happening here,” Anakin rushes to reassure her. “We’ve figured some stuff out from Luke and with your help, we won’t let it happen.”

“Stuff? What stuff?” Ahsoka pushes, suspicion clear in her voice. Anakin opens his mouth as Padmé’s hand flies up.

“Not yet,” she warns Anakin, eyes flashing. She turns back to Ahsoka with a gentler smile, then gestures so that they can continue making their way to the command tent. “We wanted to give you the chance to meet him first, before talking business. He’s—quite excited to meet you.”

“Me?”

 “You’re apparently one of his heroes,” Rex explains.

“What? I don’t—but I’m not...”

“He adores you,” Obi-Wan adds, quietly. “Your other self taught him how to speak binary and swish his cape.”

Ahsoka chokes on a laugh.

“Okay, you’re right, that does sound like something I would do,” she admits, reluctantly. She frowns. “I just can’t believe—I’m sorry, Master Kenobi, I’m having a hard time believing you’d just…leave the Order. Even if it was some alternate universe.”

“From the sound of it, there were some extenuating circumstances,” Obi-Wan admits. He stares at the tents they pass, unseeing. Ahsoka opens her mouth and Obi-Wan only shakes his head. “Later—we’ll get to that, I promise. It’s part of the reason we brought you here, after all.”

“But, why—”

“Obi-Wan isn’t exaggerating, Luke is…” Padmé pauses for a moment, searching for the appropriate word to describe how absolutely off-the-walls elated the young Kenobi had been once they explained who they were calling in to help. “…thrilled to meet you and it’s best to allow you a moment to catch your breath and digest this information.”

Ahsoka’s eyes slide over to Obi-Wan for confirmation. He gives a chagrined smile as they finally draw to a stop in front of the command tent.

“I think Luke might burst if we keep you from him much longer,” he admits. But still, he pauses, waiting for Ahoska’s assent before unleashing the full might of Luke Kenobi.

Ahsoka breathes in and out through her nose, staring at the greyish tent in front of her. Then, she nods solemnly and squares her shoulders, as if preparing to go into battle.

Obi-Wan moves forward, poking his head into the command tent. Anakin bumps gently again Ahsoka’s tense form as they wait. 

“Don’t worry,” he assures her, “he’s really easy to love. You’ll get along just fine.”

“I never liked my rotations in the Creche,” Ahoska admits.

“Really? You too? Am I really the only one in this lineage with any affinity at all for younglings?” Anakin grouses. Ahsoka gives him a look—the teasing distracting her from her nerves, just as he planned. Anakin smiles inwardly, victorious. He’s no Obi-Wan, but Anakin can carry out a good scheme every once in a while, with the right incentive.

“Well,” Ahsoka drawls, crossing her arms and tapping at her chin with one finger. “I didn’t know Master Qui-Gon very well, but considering he got censured by the Council for leaving Master Obi-Wan in the middle of planet wide civil war during his apprenticeship, I kinda doubt it. There’s Dooku, technically. I think it’s safe to say he’s out and…oh, Master Yoda! There you go, Skyguy. Master Yoda’s great with the younglings—must be who you got it from.”

Anakin is saved from having to admit he shares anything in common with the green troll by Luke’s shriek of joy.

“Fulcrum!” the boy shouts, flinging himself into Ahsoka’s arms and kicking up a small whirlwind of dust and grass. Ahsoka’s eyes widen and she just barely manages to catch him. “It’s you, it’s you, it’s you!”

Anakin watches the emotions flicker across Ahsoka’s face—bewilderment, wonder, then finally a fierce protectiveness as she encloses her arms around Luke.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “It’s me.”

***

Ahsoka takes the news of Palpatine’s machinations much better than Anakin had—much better than Padmé or Obi-Wan even.

“I mean,” she says, with a shrug as she settles into the bench that Luke had pointed out—a bench, not a chair, so that Luke could stay glued to her side without actually sitting in her lap. Artoo remains loyally attached to her other side, positioning himself at the end of the bench. “I never really liked him. And he definitely didn’t like me.”

“What,” Anakin and Obi-Wan blurt out, as one.

“I mean, I put it down to me being female and Torgruta—the Naboo can be really elitist when it comes to non-humans. Uh, sorry, Padmé.” 

“It’s the truth,” Padmé replies, with a shame-faced shrug.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Anakin demands.

“I did,” Ahsoka shoots back, narrowing her eyes. “You told me I sounded like Obi-Wan and dismissed me.”

“I wouldn’t—” Anakin clamps his mouth shut as he remembers, no, actually, Ahsoka had done exactly that, and he’d brushed off her concerns without a second thought. Ahsoka purses her lips. “Sorry, Snips.”

“Maybe he knows how powerful you are, Socks,” Luke chimes in, using the nickname that he and Ahsoka negotiated out in the first hour of their meeting. Ahsoka wasn’t comfortable being called Fulcrum, said it was a title she hadn’t yet earned, but Luke was morally opposed to using Ahsoka’s full name for some reason and so instead they’d settled on Socks. “Maybe he used his powers to see all the trouble you’re going to cause him in the future!”

Artoo bleeps his agreement, with a few, far more colorful descriptions of exactly what he thought of Palpatine.

“Oh my, Artoo, you are a violent one,” Threepio says, scandalized.

“Hmm, maybe,” Ahsoka agrees, sounding amused at the droids’ antics but not at all convinced by Luke and Artoo’s larger argument. “So you want me to carry this message back to the Council?”

“And to Senator Organa,” Padmé adds. “We’ll need to start working together—destabilizing all of Palpatine’s plans and attacking from all angles, the way he’s been attacking us this whole war—using politics and the Force.”

“Sounds like fun,” Ahsoka says, baring her pointed teeth. “When do we start?”

“As soon as we can figure out a way to send Luke home,” Obi-Wan replies. “It’s too dangerous—if Palpatine realizes that we know, if he realizes how we know…he’ll stop at nothing to hunt Luke down.”

Ahsoka glances to the side, to where Cody and Obi-Wan painstakingly hung each of the Sullustian paintings. They’re riotously colorful sort of things, painted in painstaking photorealism, but with all the colors heighted and flipped around—green where there should be brown and red where there should be black. Anakin wonders if this is how the Sullustians’ bulbous eyes see the world and what he must look like in such a world. Cody positioned them to be out of view if someone was to just peak in from the front entrance, but also catch the best light from all the glo-lamps.

“And how’s that going?” Ahsoka asks.

 Obi-Wan sighs.

“Not well,” he admits. “For some reason, I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to translate in a few days what all the scholars of Sullust haven’t manage to crack in over a millennium. I suppose my hubris will be my downfall one day.”

“Hubris indeed. It is quite the fascinating dilemma—I am fluent in over six million forms of communication, as I’m sure you remember Mistress Tano, however even I—”

“You’ll figure it out,” Cody says, loyally, cutting off Threepio’s rambling with a look.

Obi-Wan gives his general a wan smile.

“Thank you for your faith, Commander, but I’m afraid Threepio has the right of it,” Obi-Wan replies. “We are quite stuck.”

“But we’re working on it. And to that end, we have a call with Master Nu at…oh, right about now, actually,” Padmé adds, glancing at the chronometer with some surprise. “We’ve arranged for Vechon, the old Sullustian, to join the call as well—he mentioned studying the runes in university, perhaps that knowledge will be of some use.”

There’s a beeping noise from their coms and Artoo begins to whir in warning. Cody hastens to shuffle both Ahsoka and Luke off the bench and out of the holocamera’s view.

“Wouldn’t it just make more sense for us to leave the tent entirely?” Ahsoka asks, sounding a little puzzled as she rests her hands on Luke’s shoulder and draws him back into the gloom of the tent.

Rex snorts as he moves to position himself and his brother directly in front of Ahsoka and Luke’s shadowy little hiding spot. Artoo moves to the center of the room, taking up his long standing duty as master of poor encrypted com connections. After three years of this, Artoo had become quite good at hopping from frequency to frequency, something that Anakin abused to no end for both his official military communications and his calls to Padmé back on Coruscant.

“We tried that, but this one,” Rex says, with a jerk of his hand towards Luke, “likes to eavesdrop.”

Ahsoka frowns and Luke smiles innocently.

“Besides, this conversation is about him,” Anakin adds. “He deserves to know what’s going on.”

Padmé hushes them all into silence as Vechon and Jocasta Nu’s images flicker to life in between one breath and the next. The Sullustian minister looks quite short projected next to Jocasta Nu—no giant herself, but still taller than the average Sullustian.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Minister Vechon,” Obi-Wan says, with Threepio translating hurriedly in the background.  He gives a deep, respectful bow. “Master Nu, this is the Sullustian diplomat we spoke of—he has a long-standing passion for the ancient archaeology of his planet and once studied these very paintings in his university days. Minister, this is Master Nu, Chief Archivist of the Jedi Temple.”

Jocasta Nu evaluates Vechon evenly.

“The paintings are admirably preserved,” she offers finally, one of the highest compliments Anakin has ever heard the old bat give. Minister Vechon nods, accepting the praise as his due.

“It is my people’s hope that we will be permitted to continue preserving them,” he says in response. His big black eyes are shadowed with hope. Master Nu’s eyebrows rise.

“During the initial negotiations,” Threepio rushes to clarify, “the Sullustians expressed some concern that the painting might be seized from them, as spoils of war.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jocasta Nu snorts in response. “As if the fools at the Coruscant Museum could ever be entrusted with such treasures.” Even before Threepio fully translates her response, Vechon relaxes—Jocasta Nu’s no-nonsense tone communicating her position on the matter more clearly than mere words. She continues. “However, I should hope that the Archives may be permitted to send a team to Sullust to study the paintings. Under your expert supervision, of course. In exchange, we might be able to help you with the frames—I noticed some wear in the ancient plastoid coating. It’s a common enough problem and we have developed a few techniques to deal with it.”

“And if I said no?”

“Well I’d be terribly disappointed, but I would at least hope that you would accept our help on the frames—such rot has a tendency to spread and I would hate for carelessness in their care to result in damage to the painting itself.” Jocasta Nu’s eyebrows slant viciously over her eyes. “You do intend to accept my offer, do you not?”

Vechon nods, his lips twitching.

“Of course. I would ask that you keep your team rather small—we feel that those best equipped to interpret Sullustian history are Sullustians themselves—but I would welcome the chance to bring a fresh perspective to our efforts.”

“Good,” Jocasta Nu says, with a sharp nod.

“Why don’t the Jedi send her out to these diplomatic meetings more often?” Rex murmurs under his breath to Anakin. “That was amazing.”

Jocasta Nu’s eyes sharpen as she zeroes in on Rex—Anakin has no idea how she heard him, halfway across the Galaxy and with a static-filled com connection.

“To answer your question, Captain, my considerable talents are best employed in the Archives,” she declares, not arrogance so much as surety infusing her words. “It is no easy task, the pursuit of knowledge, even in peace time. And now, with the war…I have no time for diplomatic fripperies. Minister Vechon is an exception—an archivist of his people and a sensible sort of sentient after my own heart.”   

To his credit, Rex doesn’t flinch under the weight of her stare. He raises his chin.

“Maybe, but there’s probably more Vechons out there, on all these planets we’ve been fighting on. I think they’d appreciate seeing your side of the Republic, much more than they appreciate the GAR. It might make them a little more aware of the good the Republic can do.” Rex pauses and Vechon watches them talk, a strange tilt to his head. “There are probably tons of other treasures like these paintings out there that you have no idea even exist. And then the war destroys them and we can’t do anything about it. Seems like if you and your Archivists are really interested in the pursuit of knowledge, you might want to work a little harder to preserve it.”

Anakin chokes and starts praying to the gods he doesn’t believe in anymore for Rex’s life. Jocasta Nu’s shoulders square and her eyes narrow, a thousand calculations flickering across her face.

“Your argument may have merit. We shall talk on this further,” she says, finally. Anakin’s eyes widen in shock. She shakes herself and turns her attention back to Obi-Wan. “But at a later date. Today, we must focus on the problem at hand—namely, the translation of the runes in those paintings and the texts Master Kenobi requested of me. I gathered that my initial suggestions were unhelpful?”

“Yes.” Here Obi-Wan shifts, looking straight at Vechon. “It is as you said in our earlier conversations, it was easy enough to translate, but the resulting translation makes little sense.”

“Complete nonsense, mixed with abhorrently structured syntax,” Vechon agrees. “The prevailing theory is that it is some sort of jumbled code.”

“Hmm, not a code, I should think,” Jocasta Nu murmurs. “After your message, Master Kenobi, I elected to take a closer look at the snippets you sent over and I believe I see the problem. You’ll find on your datapad a scanned text regarding ancient proto-Sith dialects that I dug up. Long ago, before the Sith formalized such things, these dialects were often written using whatever alphabet the writer knew best, often their native tongue.”

Vechon’s jaw drops and Obi-Wan’s eyes widen.

“A Sith language…written in Sullustian?” Obi-Wan whispers, mostly to himself. He turns suddenly to Vechon, who is already turning to look at him, a similar joy in his own face.

“That’s why we could never translate it—we were missing half the puzzle,” Vechon murmurs. “It could never have been translated by us alone, we know nothing of your Jedi and Sith languages.”

“And nor could I translate it by myself. I know too little of Sullustian phonemes,” Obi-Wan adds. “But together…”

Vechon nods, his fingers steepling together and wiggling excitedly.

He nods to himself, then turns back to Jocasta Nu. “Please send us whatever you might have on ancient Sithic, I need to brush up on my memory. And…”

Obi-Wan trails off.

Jocasta Nu raises a single, imperious brow.

“Yes?”

Obi-Wan almost quails under that icy gaze. Jocasta Nu may not be one of the Order’s great duelists, but she is one of the greatest living Jedi nonetheless. Temple legend said that the Jedi that Dooku most feared was not Windu or even Yoda, his old master, but rather Jocasta Nu.

“I—have you informed the Council of your revelation?” Obi-Wan finally manages to ask.

Jocasta Nu evaluates them evenly, her wrinkled face giving nothing away.

“Not yet. I understood that time was the essence for your project and wished to communicate my findings immediately.”

“Hmm. I—that is we,” Obi-Wan begins, gesturing expansively to the room and Anakin wants to strangle him for dragging Anakin into this, “would appreciate if you could…refrain from reporting this. It’s not that we don’t trust the Council or you, but rather—”

Obi-Wan cuts himself off, unable to come up with any reason other than it’s-not-you-we-don’t-trust-but-rather-the-evil-Sith-lord-masquerading-as-the-Chancellor-of-the-Republic-that-the-Council-reports-to.

“If you are implying that I would lie to the Council, you are more foolish than I ever believed you to be, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she sniffs as her eyes flash dangerously. Anakin gulps. She locks eyes with them, then returns her attention to the datapad in her hand. “However, my next report out to them is not scheduled for another…hmm, look at that, two standard weeks. I hardly think it necessary to bother them or more importantly, myself, by trying to schedule a meeting before then.”

Obi-Wan sags.

“Thank you, Master Nu,” he breathes. She observes him coolly for a moment more.

“If there is nothing else, I have ten other Generals and commanders clamoring for my attention and my Archives,” she says.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan replies, bowing deeply. “May the Force be with you.”

“And with you,” Jocasta Nu says, as her profile winks out.

“She is scary,” Luke breathes, finally emerging from where Ahsoka was keeping him restrained. Vechon startles a little and glances down at Luke. Luke wiggles his fingers in greeting to the Sullustian and then turns his attention back to Obi-Wana and their little group. “I love her.”

Ahsoka snorts.

“You’d be singing a different tune if she made you reshelve an entire sub-shelf by topic and date,” she opines.

“Did…” Obi-Wan hesitates, then plunges ahead. “Did she survive the destruction of the Order, in your universe?”

Luke only looks at him.

“I would have thought if anybody would have survived, it would have been Master Nu,” Obi-Wan says, sadly.

“She burned the Temple Archives to the ground rather than let Sidious have them,” Luke replies. “She stood her ground and fought as best she could so that by the time Vader finally got past her, he couldn’t put out the fire. He tried, but it was too hot, too all over the place. Ben told me how he watched the security holos later, about how Vader and Sidious screamed in frustration.”

“Yep, that sounds like Jocasta Nu,” Anakin says. He glances at Obi-Wan’s pinched face out of the corner of one eye. “And it’s exactly how she would have wanted to go down, you know. Smack dab in the middle of her Archives.”  

“I think she would have preferred for them to outlast her,” Obi-Wan says, sadly. “But yes, if it was a choice between the Sith and oblivion, that’s exactly what she would have wanted.” He pauses, then turns back to Vechon. “Are you ready?”

“I have never been more ready,” Vechon says, straightening as much as his hunched back will allow. Threepio’s toneless translation doesn’t quite capture the pride and excitement present in the Sullustian’s tone, but nonetheless Anakin can feel anticipation pulsing through the room.

“Ahsoka, Captain Rex, please keep both Anakin and Luke occupied and out of trouble for the next few hours. It would be immensely helpful for our combined concentration,” Obi-Wan says, a sparkle in his eye as he gazes at the old Sullustian paintings in front of him.

“Hey!” Anakin and Luke exclaim as one. Luke stomps his foot.

“I can stay out of trouble!” Luke insists. At the doubtful looks of their assembled group, he narrows his eyes and points at Anakin. “I’m at least better than him. I’ve never crashed an entire Star Destroyer into Coruscant.”

Vechon coughs, in a way that sounds far too much like laughter, and Anakin realizes that this Sullustian must understand basic—his throat anatomy may not allow him to speak it, but he certainly understands them as Threepio has stopped his rapid-fire translation in order to issue his own faint, “Oh, by the Maker…”

“I’ve crashed a lot of ships, but I’ve never done that,” Anakin retorts.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Am I sure—?” Anakin sputters in outrage. “Of course I’m sure, I think I’d remember crashing a ship of that size into the capital of the Republic!”

“Oh. That must not have happened yet,” Luke says, thoughtfully. He turns to Cody. “You should add that to the list.”

Cody nods very seriously, tapping away at his bracer unit as he adds one more item to the master list of things-we-learned-about-the-future-from-tiny-Kenobi. Anakin scowls and Ahsoka simply watches, eyes wide. Padmé clears her throat.

“Didn’t you have something to show Ahsoka, Ani?” she prods, none too subtle.

Luke jumps to his feet and Artoo screeches.

“Yes, yes, yes! The surprise,” he exclaims. He tugs at Ahsoka’s hands. “C’mon, Socks! C’mon!”

“How come you seem to know so much about my surprise?” she teases as she allows Luke to drag her out of the tent. Anakin and Rex follow closely behind, Anakin stopping only briefly to drop a kiss to the crown of Padmé’s head.  He glances down briefly at Artoo.

“Sorry you can’t come with, buddy,” he says, quietly. “I know you wanted to. But I’ll tell you all about it, later.”

Artoo beeps dismissively and agrees that his time is better spent keeping the coms running and Threepio calm. He beeps, telling Anakin to hurry up and run before the little copy ruins the surprise.

Anakin laughs in agreement and sprints after them. Anakin may be a good foot taller than Ahsoka (though he was starting to suspect she was about to shoot up past him) and at least three feet taller than Luke, but damn if Luke can’t hustle when he wants to. Anakin just manages to catch the tail end of Luke’s response.

“…and so I’ve been helping Anakin get it ready!”

“Well, thanks, I guess. Though I have no idea what I’m saying thank you for…”

“You’ll love it,” Luke promises, just as they reach Anakin’s little tent. Anakin holds open the flap and ushers them inside. He grabs a box, hidden underneath one of Padmé’s cloaks as Luke and Rex make themselves comfortable. Ahsoka doesn’t even raise an eyebrow as she takes in the feminine clothes that are clearly-not-Anakin’s scattered everywhere—it appears that Padmé was also right about Ahsoka knowing.

Anakin very consciously keeps his attention focused on the well-made, natural wood box in his hands as he approaches Ahsoka once more. Then, he practically shoves it into her hands and steps back.

“What’s this?” she asks, tracing a finger along a beveled edge. Anakin bites his lip.

“Just…just open it,” he sighs with a vague wave of his hand.

Ahsoka obeys without further complaint or question, for once in her life.

Her breath hitches in her throat.

“You saved my sabers,” Ahsoka says, wonder in her voice. Anakin shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Uh, yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

Rex clears his throat pointedly. They had all talked about this when Anakin had first dug up Ahsoka’s sabers and carefully removed them from the box so that Luke could help him polish the handles. Somehow it had been easier to explain to anyone but Ahsoka. Anakin sighs and tilts his chine to stare at the drab brown ceiling of the tent. “On Tatooine, after a slave was sold, we’d clean out their quarters and burn anything they left behind. It was our version of a funeral, an acknowledgement that they’d never return. I didn’t—I couldn’t think like that.”

“Oh, Anakin,” is all Ahsoka says as she finally enfolds Anakin in a big hug.

Something in Anakin’s chest shatters and reforms.  

***

Hours later, Cody comes running to grab them, his dark eyes filled with victory.

“They figured it out,” he declares breathlessly, before running back out again. Ahsoka bends down and swings Luke onto her shoulders as if he weighs nothing. Anakin doesn’t know what Obi-Wan looked like as a child, but Anakin imagines the boy must take after Satine—only rich Core world aristos have that sort of slender, but not starving, short but somehow still elegant sort of build, in Anakin’s experience.

It’s dark outside, again, but Ahsoka’s strides are sure and confident as they make their way through the camp, dodging both stray rocks lodged in the mud and the gobsmacked looks of shock on every troopers face as they see first Luke and then who is carrying him.

They arrive to command shortly on Cody’s heels, to Obi-Wan and Padmé’s faces flushed and Vechon happily chattering away with Threepio and Artoo. Ahsoka squats to set Luke down but he twists out of her grip and jumps from his perch before she’s even halfway to the ground.

Padmé whirls as they enter the tent.

“Cody told you?” She tilts her head back to look at Anakin, her eyes shining.

“Cody told us,” Rex confirms, clapping his still panting brother on the shoulder.“Is it true? Did you really figure it out?”

“It was surprisingly simple, once we understood what we were looking for,” Obi-Wan explains excitedly, his inner teacher coming out as it always did as he is about to launch into a long-winded lecture.

“I can go home?”

Luke’s small voice stops Obi-Wan dead in his tracks. Obi-Wans inhales, then nods silently.

“There’s a small chamber in the lower levels of the Temple—Vechon says the tunnels are collapsed by still passable,” Cody explains.

“The Temple should recognize your otherness and allow us to open a portal,” Padmé adds. “The only problem is…well, we don’t know what the problem is. One of the paintings depicted a warning, but it cut off before going into specifics.”

“We shall simply have to be on our guard,” Obi-Wan says, very firmly, as he throws a linen sheet over all but one of the paintings and shifts the glo-lamps to focus on the one remaining uncovered. “Whatever it is, I am sure we can handle it.”

“I’m going home!” Luke repeats, sounding giddy this time. Ahsoka smiles and squeezes his shoulder. “I’m gonna see Ben again!”

There’s a few more hours of rushed planning after that initial rush of joy, of course. Over the course of this Sith damned quagmire they call a war, Anakin has learned that winning is never so easy as single moment, a single revelation, but the mood has helped turn the tide—their ebullience powering them late into the night. Cody and Rex consults with Vechon to determine the most stable pathway to the chamber and Luke carefully listens to Padmé’s explanation of what would be required of him once they arrived. Ahsoka and Rex are the first to leave, after she helps finalize their plans to assume a defensive perimeter around the portal, ready for whatever might happen once it opened. She wants to say her hellos to the rest of Domino Squad and Anakin doesn’t begrudge her the early exit—he just wishes he could see the look on Fives’ face for himself.

After that, they trickle out one by one, all making their excuses Threepio helps Luke to bed, while Cody and Obi-Wan drift out to check in with the rest of the 212^th.

Padmé and Anakin are the last to leave—Padmé has taken the extra time as an opportunity to solicit Vechon’s suggestions for legislative improvements she may be able to introduce in the Senate to repair the Sullustian’s faith in the Republic. Anakin’s gone to bed without his wife too many times to want to do so voluntarily when the option is presented to him. He’d rather wait, even if it does mean he has to listen to an exorbitant amount of political shop talk.

Finally, Vechon’s holo flickers out and Artoo, Anakin, and Padmé make their way out.

Then, Anakin swears softly and begins to double back.

“What did you forget?” Padmé asks, sounding concerned. Her tiredness is imprinted into the purplish smudges beneath her eyes, visible even in the faint starlight, and she sags a little onto Artoo. The loyal droid skootches forwards just a millimeter, to make his dome a better rest for her weary legs.  

“Luke—someone needs to tuck him in,” Anakin explains. He turns briefly, continuing to job backwards as he waves Padmé away. He doesn’t want to keep her up any longer than absolutely necessary. “Don’t wait up, it won’t take long—he’s probably already sleeping anyways.”

Padmé watches him, a faint smile on her face.

“Mother hen,” she jokes, hiding a delicate yawn beneath her hand. “Tell him I said goodnight!”

Anakin is too far away by then to respond, hurrying onwards to the small tent that Cody had commandeered for Luke when he’d showed up. It’s not as if Luke needs Anakin to tuck him in, but Anakin likes to think that it helps the little boy sleep, to feel a little less adrift in an odd half-dream of a place, surrounded by total strangers. Anakin knows all about that feeling and remembers how he had clung so viciously to Obi-Wan in those first few weeks after coming to the Temple. So, yeah, maybe Anakin doesn’t need to do this, but he wants to and…

Anakin stops in his tracks, suddenly, as he becomes aware of voices drifting out of Luke’s tent. He tilts his head, trying to place the voice despite his distance—sure, everyone’s helped out with Luke’s bedtime once or twice, but this has largely been Anakin’s domain. He can’t quite suppress a small twist of jealously as he recognizes the familiar shush-shush sound of Luke snuggling deeper into his blanket nest, the way he does when he’s content and sleepy and fully ready for bed.

Anakin tip-toes closer, moving around the back of the tent, to where the corner edges of the canvas gape open just the tiniest bit—the way they always do because three years in and the Republic still can’t seem to manage to buy high-quality, properly constructed tents, despite all the money they’ve thrown at the problem. He briefly wonders if that’s another one of Palpatine’s machinations, to wear the Jedi and their clones done with inferior supplies. But, whether it’s Palpatine or just good old-fashioned Republic war profiteering, Anakin can’t help but be grateful for it in this moment. Because he knows if he stands off to the side and angles his head just right he can—there!

Anakin catches a glimpse of the warm yellow light of the interior. His breath catches as he watches Obi-Wan turn down the glo-lamp. The tent dims.

“Is that better?” Obi-Wan asks, quietly, still standing near the center of the tent. Anakin finds himself stepping closer just to hear. He uses a whisper of the Force and a flick of his fingers to soundlessly undo just one of the knots holding the tent corner together, expanding his field of view. “I left it on, just a little. I thought it might help if you woke up in the middle of the night.”

“It’s perfect,” Luke says. “Thanks, Ben.”

“Of course, little one. If there’s not anything else, I’ll get going and leave you to your sleep—you have a big journey tomorrow. It’s important to rest up.”

Obi-Wan stands as if he is about to leave the tent when—

“Ben?” Luke asks, his voice plaintive.

“Hmm?” Obi-Wan turns, a question in his eyes. Luke pushes himself up on his forearms, a small frown marring his face.

“Why’d you never tell me about Anakin?”

Obi-Wan huffs out a sigh and approaches the bed once more. Unlike Anakin or Obi-Wan or any of their men, who often complain that the cots are far too small, Luke’s tiny body is dwarfed in the cot. Obi-Wan moves to perch himself on the edge.

“I don’t know, little one. I’m not truly your Ben, you know, and I can’t really say what drove him to make the decisions he did,” Obi-Wan responds quietly, slowly. He pauses at Luke’s clear dissatisfaction and hums, clearing his throat. “But if I had to guess, Anakin is…very dear to me. My padawan, my friend, my—my brother, really. I imagine he’s quite painful for my future self to talk about, especially if he died.”

“I know that,” Luke says, with an exasperated sigh, as if Obi-Wan is being purposefully dense. “I know the stories about your best friend makes you sad—I don’t ask for stories about him very often. But you showed me holos and gave me these stories about him and then you had these whole other stories about Anakin Skywalker, the bestest Jedi Knight who ever lived, as if they were separate people, but they’re not. I didn’t even know they were the same person until I came here.”

“Oh.” Here Obi-Wan pauses, stroking at his beard. In the shadows, Anakin leans forward, Luke’s question sparking his own curiosity. “Well. Anakin has always burned very brightly, you know. In the Force, of course, but also in his personality. And because of that, many people have placed a huge burden upon his shoulders—they often ask him to be even more, to do even more, to burn even brighter. It’s an impossible quest—to never fail anyone for any reason. And as much as I…love him for it, for it is just part of what makes him Anakin, I sometimes wish that part of him didn’t exist.”

“But…it’s who he is?” Luke scrunches up his nose.

“Yes. And no. It’s complicated. Amongst the Jedi, we have a saying—your focus determines your reality. And sometimes, we’re so focused on such a small part of a person that over time that becomes the only thing we remember about them, the only thing they remember of themselves as well. I’ve always feared that I will be forced to watch the hero burn so brightly that it destroys the man—and I know which one I would want my son to know, which version of Anakin I would most fear everyone else forgetting.”

“Huh.” Luke pauses and thinks. “I think I’m starting to understand.”

“It’s okay if you don’t understand right away, it’s quite complicated, even for adults.” Obi-Wan pauses and nudges at Luke, moving him over so that he can kick his boots off and swing his legs up. He’s now fully on the cot and he takes a moment to get into a comfortable position as he wraps one arms securely around Luke. Maybe he’s realized that he shouldn’t leave a young boy alone after dropping such a weighty bombshell or maybe he doesn’t want to be alone after doing so—Anakin doesn’t know for sure, but Obi-Wan definitely doesn’t look like he’s leaving at this point. “Perhaps when you get back, you can ask your Ben? He might know of a better way to explain it—after all, he knows quite the story a bit better than I do.”

“That’s a good idea!” Luke says happily, snuggling into Obi-Wan’s side.

Obi-Wan hesitates and bites his lip. Anakin steps further away, into shadow, and stops breathing, half-afraid Obi-Wan will glance over, see him, and clam up all over again.  But he doesn’t look around, just stares into nothingness before he finally inhales deeply.

“Luke, do you know—do you know what happened to the Anakin of your universe? How he…he died?”

Luke stares at him, looking torn.

“I could tell you, if you really want,” he says, finally, doubt weighing heavy in his small voice. He pulls the blanket up to his chin. “But I don’t think you really want to know, do you?”

Obi-Wan sags into the rigid, uncomfortable cot.

“No, I—I don’t think I do,” he admits. “I don’t think I could bear it, going through this whole war, knowing exactly what was coming, but unable to stop it. I wish I was strong enough to face the future. Maybe it would make this whole mad plan to stop Palpatine easier. But I just…I can’t.”

“Even if I did tell you, I don’t think it’ll happen the same way,” Luke admits. “If it happens. I think I changed too much—well, not me really, but just me being here. I think I’ve changed so much I don’t even know if I’ll ever be born.”

Obi-Wan’s arm tightens around the boy.

“You don’t know that,” he protests.

 “I mean, not for sure, but still. But I’m not sad or anything—even if I’m not here, you’ll have Padmé and Anakin and Socks and Cody and Rex and all the other Jedi. I know you—not you you, but the other you—love me and all, but I think you’d be happier if they were still alive and I’d never been born.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Obi-Wan whispers fiercely. “Don’t you dare even think that.”

“What? It’s the truth,” Luke says, with a forlorn little shrug. “You’ve always missed your friends.”

“I may have loved them, very deeply, in fact. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Two things—”

“—can be true at once,” Luke finishes, flashing Obi-Wan a small smile. “See I do listen to you! Well, sometimes. But, earlier, Padmé said the same thing. So it maybe sounded like you stole that one from her.”

“Oh, I most certainly did,” Obi-Wan replies, with a little laugh. “Anakin and I spent over a month on Naboo after the Trade Federation’s blockade, helping clean up. That was one of the Queen’s—Padmé was Queen at the time, you know—favorites. It sounded a lot better when she said it—as much as I make fun of the Naboo for their obsession with elaborate fashion, the costume and the makeup really do add an air of mystery and pomp to everything the wearer says.”

“A good cape swish is worth a dozen witty one liners,” Luke recites, his childish giggle breaking the mock solemnity of the moment. Obi-Wan ruffles Luke’s hair.

“That it is,” he agrees. “But truly I want you to know—I will miss you when you are gone, just as I am sure that your Ben is missing you now. He loves you and I must know that you understand that—I’ve had enough of the children I raise thinking I don’t care anything for them.”

“I do,” Luke agrees, his voice finally serious once more. He and Obi-Wan lock eyes for a long moment.

“Good,” Obi-Wan says with a nod. He closes his eyes and tilts his head, almost as if he is listening. Suddenly he smiles and opens his eyes. “Besides, if it is any comfort to you, I think that this will not be the last I see of you.”

“Huh?”

“The Force works in mysterious ways,” Obi-Wan intones. “And if you are meant to be exist, then you will. The circumstances may be little different—and a little happier, Force willing—but I have a feeling that one way or another, we will meet again.”

As Anakin backs away, leaving father and son to their private moment, he catches a glimpse of Luke’s answering smile—brighter than both the suns of Tatooine combined.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Padmé and Anakin rise early to enact their plans.

They’d talked about it, back when they’d first learned about the paintings and the possibility of sending Luke back had become a distinct possibility. Rolled up in their little nest of blankets, the lights turned so low that Anakin couldn’t even see his wife’s face, he had admitted to the terrifying sense of helpless and responsibility he felt when it came to the events of the other universe. And in the dark, Padmé has held him as he tried not to cry and this had been her suggestion.

“We’ll send Luke back, but not empty-handed,” she whispered into his curls. “Even if we can’t defeat the Sith lord of Luke’s home universe, we can make damn sure that Ben and Luke have every advantage possible.”

And so they planned.

This morning, Padmé dresses quickly and simply, then opens up her datapad, immediately tap-tap-tapping away. Anakin turns away, shrugging on his own tunics and tabards, so that he can finish packing up his own gift. He still has some shipments from Ilum and Coruscant that haven’t arrived yet, but Aayla and Plo Koon had answered his call for aid without hesitation and their legions are a lot closer, so he still has something to give.

He must be careful packing them up and for a while he had dithered over what to use, but Threepio’s already come up with a brilliant solution to that problem too. He focuses his attention on the pads of his fingers, carefully, gently shifting everything into place. He places a line of his gifts down across a length of scrap linen, then surrounds it with fragrant packing, then rolls the cloth tight around the resulting pile, repeating the process three times until he has three tightly wrapped, thin ropes that he can weave into a tight braid—after ten years as a Padawan, Anakin had gotten really good at braids.

Finally, he’s finished his braid and begins winding the cloth into a small, bundled spiral about the size of Padmé’s fist. They don’t know what the portal will allow through, but last time Luke had shown up wearing clothes, so it stands to reason that anything he carries will be fair game. Still, Anakin doesn’t want to push it too far and risk sending Luke back with nothing at all, so the smaller the better, he figures.  He pauses just before he takes the final square of cloth, a second layer for extra security. He nods to Padmé.

She unplugs the datachip from her pad and carefully folds a piece of flimsy around it—her looping, curling handwriting disappearing from Anakin’s view as she creases the paper. She hands it to him wordlessly and he tucks the datachip into his bundle. He ties one last knot and then he’s done.

He and Padmé stare at the bundle for one, long moment, as musty brown and unremarkably grey as everything else in this tent, apart from a few scattering trinkets and outfits that belong to Padmé. These sort of camps are always filled with drab colors, the mud and despair seeming to mute even the brightest of colors, even the red spray of blood.

“Do you think it will be enough?” Padmé asks, but before Anakin can even open his mouth she shakes her head fiercely, as if to dislodge any such doubts from her own head. “Of course it will be. It has to be.”

With that, Anakin picks up their gift, cradling it gently between his hands as they make their way to the rendezvous point at the edge of the camp. It’s still just a little past dawn, but this is a military encampment, so of course, it’s already bustling—it never really stops, even in the middle of the night to be honest.

Anakin and Padmé are the last of their group to arrive—Rex, Cody, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, and Luke. Everyone but the droids, really. Based on Vechon’s description they didn’t think that Threepio would be able to make it past the partially-caved in and rubble-filled passages down to the central chamber. Artoo had been torn, to allow his Master and Mistress into danger without him or leave his friend alone, but Anakin had soothed the loyal little droid’s overheated circuits by reminding him that someone had to stay behind and help keep Threepio calm if the worst happened—to call for help and to warn the Council about Palpatine. And so Threepio and Artoo had said their own goodbyes last night, Luke tearfully promising to find them in his own universe—no one had had the heart to tell him that if Anakin and Padmé were dead, it was likely their beloved droids had been blown to scrap metal long ago.

“Okay, then, let’s head out—” Obi-Wan begins, stopping abruptly as Padmé clears her throat.

“We have something for Luke. A gift. We’d like to give it to him now,” she says quietly. Luke stares up at them, his gaze wide and curious as Anakin bends down and tucks a small bundle in between the fold of Luke’s tunic and his skin.

He pauses, laying one hand on top of the bundle and using the other to bring Luke’s small hand up to join his. There is nothing now in this moment—not Rex or Ahsoka, not Obi-Wan, not even Palpatine, just Anakin and Luke.

“What’s that?” Luke asks, frowning. He inhales deeply. “It smells good.”

“It’s called tzai,” Anakin says, equally as quiet as his wife. “It’s a special tea the slaves of Tatooine share with their family—only family. Everyone has a different recipe—this one is mine, the Skywalker tzai.”

In the background, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka inhale sharply—a puzzle piece has clicked into place and he almost hear the hundreds of questions clamoring at their tongues, but he pushes it aside for now.

“S-aye,” Luke repeats, his small tongue tripping over the unfamiliar syllables. Anakin winces a bit at the butchering of his mother tongue.

“Your Obi-Wan will recognize it—I shared it with him many times, though I doubt he understood what it meant. And now I would like you to share it with him as well,” he says. Anakin smiles briefly. “But that is more of a happy accident than anything else—I needed something soft to pack the kyber crystals in and Threepio suggested that dried herbs would work well.”

“What? Real kyber—like the crystals your lightsabers use?” Luke is gaping.

“Yup. You told Cody that you could never make a lightsaber of your own, only borrow Ben’s, because all the kyber was gone, taken by the Sith,” Anakin explains. “So I got together what I could—we keep extras on hand to avoid having to trek all the way out to Illum in the middle of siege. What’s in this bundle comes from Obi-Wan and I’s stashes, as well as those of Aayla Secura and Plo Koon.”

“Plo Koon!” Luke breathes. “No way. I can make a lightsaber…from kyber…handpicked by the Plo Koon?”

“Yup. And if you find a new planet—one cold and windy, just like the crystals like—you may be able to use these crystals to start a new Illum, to grow crystals for not just yourself and Fulcrum and Ben, but for all the Force-users you can recruit to your cause. I don’t know the specifics, but I’m sure Ben can figure it out.”

“We can bring the Jedi back!” Luke whispers, his fingers spasming in excitement.

“If that’s what you want, yes,” Anakin agrees. Padmé kneels down beside her husband and lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Inside you will also find a small datachip, my own gift to you and your Obi-Wan,” she explains. “It will allow Ben to access some of my secret accounts. Long ago, when my life was in danger, one of my handmaidens insisted on making a series of shadow bank accounts, in case I should ever need to drop everything and run. They are a complete secret, apart from myself and my handmaidens, so they should provide you and your father with a safe, but reliable source of funding.”

Luke watches her, wide-eyed.

“We know that the money won’t solve all of your problems,” Anakin says, “but it should help.”

“Indeed,” Padmé agrees. She pauses. “And—should any of my handmaidens still…live in your universe, they will be alerted of the withdrawals and come to investigate. If that happens, then you are to use the code phrase written on the flimsi inside that bundle—Varykino is cold in the summer. Repeat after me, Luke.”

“Var-i-kino is cold in the summer,” he parrots dutifully. Padmé smiles and ruffles his hair.

“Tell them that phrase, tell them your story, tell them of the Sith and the Rebellion and your journey here and then…and then they will go to war for you,” she promises him. “They have served me loyally and without fail for many years, I know they will do no less for my nephew.”

Luke nods solemnly. Anakin gives the boy one last, encouraging smile and then he and Padmé rise as one and draw backwards. They glance around.

“We’re ready now,” Padmé says, her voice clear and determined.

***

The trek to the chamber deep in the heart of the Temple ruins is a long and treacherous one and it’s a relief when Anakin can finally feel the air getting less stale and see the faint gleam of light ahead. He’s been the leading the way for most of the journey—they’ve been relying on his strength in the Force to levitate away the worst of the falling rubble and near-miss cave-ins. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka focus on shielding their party, leaving Anakin to make sure that the way forward remains unblocked. It’s exhausting work, requiring constant physical and mental alertness, and Anakin can feel the sweat beading on his forehead and the loosened stone and dust sticking to that sweat.

He sighs in relief and glances back with a wild grin.

“I see it!” he calls out, before slithering through a hole in the tunnel—it may have once been a full-sized door, but now Anakin needs to fold himself nearly in half to get through. He falls to the ground with an oomph—he really was not expecting that seven-foot drop. Anakin glances around. “When you said chamber, I was imagining something a lot smaller.”

Cody and Padmé emerge, equally coated in the white-grey dust of this whole Temple. Padmé coughs, but even that can’t stop her wide-eyed wonder.

“What—where’s the light coming from? We must be hundreds of feet below ground.” she breathes, as she takes in the gloriously shining stone surrounding them, shining brightly as if lit from within. Cody reaches back and grabs Luke underneath his armpits, helping him into the chamber. The brightness flares suddenly and a near-inaudible susurration picks up, echoing from one end of the chamber to the other.

“It’s the kyber in our lightsabers,” Obi-Wan explains as he drops down next to Luke. “And the crystals in that bundle you gave him. There must be some small amount in the stone itself and they’re lighting up, calling out to each other. You should see Ilum.”

Rex and Ahsoka follow next, Rex collapsing in an ungraceful heap next to Ahoska’s lithe, crouched landing. Rex stays where he is for a moment, craning his neck back and staring up at the ceiling, at least a hundred feet above them, as he lets out a whistle.

But Anakin, Ahsoka, Luke, and Obi-Wan’s attention has already been inexorably pulled to the center of the room, to the large, impossibly still pool in the center of the room. It would almost look a mirror—maybe it was a mirror, but Obi-Wan had been clear that it was definitely water of some kind—if it wasn’t for the pulsing, throbbing knot of the Force emanating from the thing.

Luke shrinks back in fear.

Obi-Wan places both hands on his son’s shoulders.

“Be brave, now, little one,” he whispers. “We’re right here with you.”

Luke inhales deeply and glances back up at Obi-Wan before nodding. They approach the pool silent, barely daring to breathe let alone speak. Then they’re standing at the very edge of the pool and Luke closes his eyes, as instructed. Anakin wants to look away as the boy scrunches his face up in pain, his little fingernails digging into his palms—but he can’t interfere. They need one of Luke’s tears—the tears of Traveler missing home—to activate the portal, at least according to that crazy painting.

Anakin tracks the course of one, silvery tear as it wends its way down Luke’s chubby cheek, then to his chin, where it hangs for one, two, three breaths and then…it falls.

For a moment, Anakin feels the crushing onset of disappointment, when absolutely nothing changes and then—

Rex grabs both Padmé and Anakin and jerks them backwards, as the pool begins to shake and—rotate? It’s eerily silent the whole time—everything Anakin sees tells him that there should be some sort planet-shaking, deafening roar to accompany the terrible visual disturbance unfolding in front of him.

Obi-Wan has already grabbed Luke, scrambling away to the far edge of the chamber with Ahsoka and Cody, as the pool really does begin to rotate and move, the water remaining as impossibly still and reflective as before as it comes to a stop ninety degrees from its starting position—no longer just a pool but a gateway, a portal.

It is like looking into a mirror and not, looking into water and not, and looking into air and not at the same time. Every cell in his body screams that this wrong, wrong, wrong—but even as he wants to turn away, he can see Luke, drifting forward, his eyes wide and round as his universe calls him home.

Luke turns to them with a wild smile.

“It worked!” he says, voice echoing strangely and despite himself, despite the heaviness in the air, Anakin can feel the corners of his mouth pulling up into a smile. Luke is hugging goodbye to Cody and a relieved smile is blooming on Obi-Wan’s face as Padmé and Ahsoka squeeze each other’s arms in a loose hug, as if to remind themselves that it truly did work and they truly did succeed.

But Anakin…Anakin can’t look away from the sucking, rippling-but-not-rippling surface, his own reflection staring back at himself. He watches his mirror self frown, puzzled and…the constant swirl of the Force is making him feel—feel…he doesn’t know what. In fact, he can hardly hear the Force over the roar and pull but—

Anakin’s eyes widen and his hand flies to his lightsaber.

“Something’s coming through!” he shouts. Padmé goes pale and she grabs at Luke, dragging him backwards, away from the portal, and then behind her. The rest of their group falls into a defensive circle, sabers and guns held at the ready as they keep their eyes focused firmly on the strange, rippling void in the center of the room.

“It’s a two-way connection,” Obi-Wan mutters, as he flexes his free hand and prepares his muscles for battle. “That’s what the warning meant—you can go through, but you can’t stop someone on the other end from doing the same. If someone else was in the Temple when we opened the portal, if they sensed the disturbance…”

“And the last thing Luke remembers from his universe is hiding from a Sith stalking him through the Temple,” Cody growls, finishing the terrible realization for his general as he thumbs the safety on his blaster. “Karking fierfek.”

Rex swears in Mando’a.

The liquid air of the portal begins to bulge and reform, almost as if something is pushing through a thin but strong film. The air breaks without warning, the film washing away to reveal the invader beneath and—

“Luke!”

A voice cracks across the silence, hoarse and brimming with a tangled web of hope and fear, emanating from a man in a simple, brown robe.

He flips his hood back, to reveal a strong, wrinkled face—weathered and haggard, but undeniably Obi-Wan.

“Ben!” Luke shrieks, as Padmé’s hands go slack and he fights his way out of her protective grip and their defensive circle. A split-second later and he’s already charging across the open space of the Temple ruins, face alight with joy and small legs somehow eating up the ground beneath him as if it is nothing but air. Anakin stumbles a little then begins to rush after him, a simple instinctual reaction.

Anakin slows to a stop, then halts just a few feet away as Obi-Wan—no, Ben, it feels wrong to call this man who looks both so much and so little like his Master, Obi-Wan— bends down and catches Luke’s hurtling figure with ease, picking up and swinging him around before drawing him close and clutching the boy to his chest.

“It’s alright, Luke, I’m here now, I’m here, it’s okay,” he murmurs soothingly, voice breaking. He sounds as if he’s trying to reassure himself as much as his son. His hands shift and smooth at Luke’s downy hair.

Anakin hovers awkwardly. Ben glances up and stiffens, rotating so that his body now forms a barrier between Luke and Anakin.  

“Anakin,” Ben says, quietly, brokenly. He pauses, searching for words. “I—Anakin.”

Anakin smiles back, hesitant.

“Your son’s a great kid,” he says, gesturing to Luke. The boy beams and Ben seems to clutch even tighter at him. “You did good by him, Master.”

Ben lets loose a half-sob, half-laugh.

“Oh, my old friend, you have no idea how much that means to me,” he manages to say. He hesitates, looking strangely lost. “I must warn you—”

“That Palpatine is the Sith Master?” Anakin asks, quirking an eyebrow. “Yeah, Luke told us. Don’t worry, we’ve got a plan.”

“Knowing your definition of a plan, that is not the least bit reassuring,” Ben says, the faintest of smiles at the corner of his lips. Anakin shrugs.

“Don’t worry—Padmé and Ahsoka are doing most of the planning,” he quips. Ben glances back, eyes roving over their small group. Pain flashes across the Force for a moment, but then Ben’s eyes widen and he glances quickly down to Luke.

“You…?” he begins, trailing off. Luke nods quickly, smiling uncertainly.

“I met them all,” he says. “But I didn’t say anything—you’ve always said I had to keep it a secret, no matter what. I wasn’t sure what the rules were with time travel, but better safe than sorry, yeah?”

“Dimension travel,” Ben corrects, the same way Obi-Wan had at the beginning of this whole mess. Ben’s voice is distant as he drinks in each member of their little goodbye party. There’s a pained sort of longing painted across his face. “But, yes, I think you made the right decision.”

Anakin glances between Ben and Luke, feeling very much like he is once more a youngling, Obi-Wan and the other Knights speaking over his head in strange, half-riddles he can barely grasp. He frowns, opens his mouth, a thought half-formed, then—

“You feel…quieter. More at ease,” Ben says, abruptly, his eyes zeroing in sharply on Anakin. Anakin resists the urge to hunch his shoulders.

“Yeah. Um, you’ve been helping me with that. We’re trying to find a meditation technique that works.”

Ben frowns.

“I don’t remember—”

“Uh, yeah. Probably never did that in your universe, I don’t…I don’t like asking for help, you know. But. Some things happened and well. I’m trying now.” He pauses awkwardly as pain rips across Ben’s face, fumbling for words. “It’s not…there’s not…I mean, I don’t think there’s anything you could have done. For your Anakin. I think that’s what’s bothering you, yeah? But, it was all Luke, really. He helped me realize some things and so I talked to my Obi-Wan and…here we are.”

“Here you are,” Ben echoes, that same, terrible maw of pain emanating off him. Luke watches them both closely, eyes darting to Ben, then Anakin, then back again. Anakin bites his lip.

He can’t save Ben and his universe, maybe, but he can give him this.

“He’d want you to know—and I think I’m a pretty good authority on what your Anakin would have wanted, yeah? And I know he never would have told you this to your face, but…you’re my brother, Obi-Wan. I love you. He loved you.”  

Something cracks across the Force, like lightening flashing in the desert and Anakin almost doubles over from the pain, but then…then there’s relief. As if Anakin had just lanced a deep, festering wound.

Ben swallows, the sound loud in the odd silence surrounding the portal.

“And I you, Anakin,” he murmurs, something close to tears sparkling in his eyes. There’s a long, aching drawn out moment. Then, Ben shakes himself out of his reverie, abruptly breaking their staring contest by glancing back to the open portal. “Ah, well, we need to get going before that closes.”

He steps backward, just one step at a time, never quite taking his eyes off Anakin. There’s a brief hesitation, then a flash of mischief, so painfully like the gleam in Obi-Wan’s—the real Obi-Wan, Anakin’s Obi-Wan—eyes. He murmurs something unintelligible to Luke, whose eyes light up with identical, devious glee. Suddenly, Luke twists his body so that he can wave madly back to Anakin and the others.

“Bye Uncle Cody! Bye Uncle Rex! Bye Socks! Bye Young Ben!” he calls out. Ben’s face is unbearably, heartbreakingly fond. Luke turns his attention to Padmé and Anakin. “Bye Mama! Bye Papa! I’m so glad I got to meet you. I’ll miss you every day, but I know you love me lots and I’m so proud to be a Naberrie. And don’t worry, Ben is taking good care of me, just like he promised you.”

Anakin freezes, chokes. Behind him, he can hear Obi-Wan doing the same exact thing.

“Wait, what—”

“And I think that’s our cue to leave,” Ben says, like bantha-shit eating little bringer of chaos that he is.  

Anakin starts forward, just as Ben and Luke fall backwards into thin air.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, don’t you kriffing dare—ARGH!” Anakin is cut off by the sight and sound of the portal popping out of existence.

Anakin whirls around.

Something ripples through the Force and Padmé’s hands fly to her currently flat stomach.

“Oh,” she whispers.

Obi-Wan’s eye twitches and the silence drags on for a long, crystalline moment.

Then, a snorting, shaking, belly-aching laugh.

“You let a Skywalker wear the 212’s colors,” Rex crows, turning to his brother with a wild gleam in his eyes. Ahsoka’s lip twitch, but Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Padmé are still frozen, still staring at her stomach as the entire world shifts and slots into place. “A Skywalker, in 212 yellow, ha!”  

Cody scowls.

“He’s as much as Kenobi as a Skywalker,” Cody says, defensively. “You heard him, Ben’s raised him since he was a baby, he’s basically the only father Luke’s ever known.”

“Still counts,” Ahsoka replies, in a singsong voice. She and Rex exchange a high five, still laughing uproariously at Cody’s distress. Their laughter peters out as Ahsoka’s eyes flicker to Padmé, who has gone absolutely bone white. Ahsoka reaches out to grasp her shoulder, brow furrowed. “Padmé, are you okay?”

“I thought—I suspected when I first saw him, he looked so much like Anakin, so much…” Padmé’s voice is whisper thin and bone dry. She swallows, then gives a half-hysterical giggle. “Luke’s not even a Mandalorian name, Satine would never name her son that…why did I let them convince me otherwise?” Suddenly her eyes narrow as her head snaps up. She slaps the back of Obi-Wan’s head. “You didn’t do a genetic test!” she shrieks. “You told me you were sure, but you didn’t do a godsdamned genetic test!”

This slap seems to shake Obi-Wan out of his stupor.

“This is not my fault,” he shoots back, voice rising. “How was I supposed to know that you were going to get knocked up in the middle of a galactic civil war? I’m not the one who decided it was a good idea to have sex without adequate access to birth control!”

“Oh, that wasn’t me—blame your padawan! Just-this-once-Padmé and it-will-be-okay-Padmé and what-could-possibly-go-wrong-Padmé.”

Together they whirl on Anakin, brown and blue eyes flashing.

He backs up and gulps.

“ANAKIN SKYWALKER!” Obi-Wan roars. “I MADE DAMN SURE YOU KNEW HOW TO USE CONTRACEPTIVES. WAS IT A FUN CONVERSATION? NO. DID I WANT TO HAVE THAT CONVERSATION? NO. BUT DID I DO IT ANYWAYS? YES, BECAUSE I WAS TRYING TO PREVENT EXACTLY THIS SORT OF MESS—YOU BANTHA-BRAINED, IDIOTIC NERFHERDER!”

“Fifty credits says Anakin doesn’t make it out of this one with all four limbs,” Ahsoka says to Rex.

“No deal, he’s already missing an arm, and I feel like the Senator and General Kenobi will have a lot fewer qualms about damaging the mechno-arm”

Ahsoka’s eyes light up.

“One hundred credits says they detach Anakin’s mechno-arm and use it to bitch-slap him,” she says as she and Rex shake on it. Anakin glares at them with one eye as he keeps another careful eye on the advancing figures of Padmé and Obi-Wan.

“Uh, a little help here?” he says, desperately.

“Look, I’m already helping you with this whole Sith lord business—I think that’s more than enough danger to my life without throwing in an angry Padmé Amidala and Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Ahsoka explains, sounding perfectly calm and reasonable as she inspects her nails. Anakin turns his beseeching eyes upon Rex, who only shrugs.

“I want first dibs on second-favorite uncle, so I need to stay on the Senator’s good side for now,” he explains.

“Please,” Anakin begs.

Finally, it is Cody who clears his throat.

“General,” he says, quietly. “Perhaps we could redirect some of that rage into our plans to thwart Palpatine? We need Skywalker alive and in fighting shape for that.”

Obi-Wan pauses and inhales. He throws up a finger and points it at Anakin.

“This isn’t over,” he promises as he grits his teeth.

“I take everything back, you’re my favorite,” Anakin says, fervently, gratefully looking to Cody. The Commander only purses his lips and wrinkles his nose.

 “We’ll have to reformat our plans, sir,” Cody continues. “This changes things.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan agrees. “Our timeline has accelerated. And we’ll have to make sure Senator Amidala can stay out of sight and out of danger.”

“Like hell I will!” Padmé cries, hotly. “I will not sit idly by and let my son be born into a Galaxy ruled by a Sith tyrant.”

“Padmé,” Anakin says, aghast. “I know you want to help, but it’s not just you anymore, I can’t—what if…I can’t let you do that! What if something happened to you? To Luke?”

“I don’t think you can stop her,” Rex points out. “She did apparently start an entire Rebellion over in the other universe.”

“I’m not going to be reckless,” Padmé clarifies, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t help. And my particular brand of help, my politicking, requires a certain amount of visibility. Besides, we still have a few more months before I start showing and even after, I can use my wardrobe and my handmaidens to hide my condition.”

“I don’t think you know how not to be reckless,” Obi-Wan sighs and rubs at his temples. He glances between her and Anakin. “Either of you. And it will be hard to protect you while we’re in the Outer Rim waging this farce of a war. It’s not unreasonable to be worried, Senator.”

“So I’ll look after her and the kid,” Ahsoka declares, crossing her arms. She and Rex share a look and after a long moment, Rex inclines his head. “Rex and I have been talking and…well, we didn’t want to tell you like this, but when it’s time for me to head back to Coruscant, he’s going to go AWOL and join me. I need someone watching my back and there’s no one I trust more. We’ll keep an eye on things in Coruscant, including any threats to Padmé.”

“And we can be there for her when she needs to go in for any check-ups. She shouldn’t be alone for that,” Rex adds. Everyone turns and stares at him. His cheeks go pink as he continues in a mutter. “I did some research after we figured out who Luke was—or who we thought he was, at any rate. There’s pictures and stuff they can take, to make sure the baby’s healthy.”

“I—I didn’t even think of that,” Padmé says, sounding overwhelmed. She smiles and reaches out to squeeze Ahsoka and then Rex’s hands. “I’d like that very much.”

“See, a plan!” Ahsoka crows, punching at Anakin’s shoulder, as they begin to trudge out of the Temple. Anakin and Padmé engage in a staring contest for several more long, drawn out seconds. Then, Anakin feels his shoulders sag and he holds his arms out to Padmé. She falls into them.

“A child…” Anakin whispers, repeatedly slowly at first, but then with wild joy. “We’re going to be parents. Padmé, we’re going to have a family. Wait—why…are you crying?”

“Happy tears, Ani. Happy tears.”” she sniffles. She inhales, wet and noisy, and not all like Anakin is used to hearing from his wife. She steps back, though she keeps a firm, almost painful grip on Anakin’s arm as she scrubs at her glistening eyes with her free hand. She exhales. “And now that we’ve sorted all of that out, I believe it is well past time for us to overthrow the Chancellor of the Republic.”

“Three cheers to that!” Ahsoka agrees.

Anakin’s chest swells, pushing back the tide of hopelessness and despair for one crucial moment—he’d always hoped they’d win, of course, but against all of Palpatine’s plans and power it had seemed a little bit more like wishful thinking. But now, after having met Luke and having caught a glimpse of exactly who they’re fighting for, he can feel the hope and determination pulsing in himself, in Padmé, in Ahsoka and Obi-Wan and Rex and even Cody…Around him the Force sings its agreement and Anakin silently thanks it for sending Luke to them.

A gentle tendril caresses his mind, a barely-there impression of you’re welcome left behind.

Anakin knows they have less than nine months to do the impossible and right this crazy, broken galaxy, to make sure that his son is born into peace, but he knows they can do it now.  Besides, Obi-Wan’s always liked to say Anakin does his best work under a deadline.

Ahsoka and Rex turn and fall in line, marching forward to clear a path for their trudge back through the treacherous tunnels.

And if Anakin is just a little more paranoid about making sure Padmé doesn’t twist her ankle on a stray piece of rubble, is just a tad more solicitous than he normally is, holding out his hands for support and gently picking Padmé up to help her across particularly large cracks in the stone—well, no one comments on it out loud, anyways.

Behind him, he can hear Obi-Wan and Cody muttering to each other.

“I barely survived one Skywalker, what in the Sith hells am I going to do with two?” Obi-Wan says, still sounding shell-shocked.

“Just think, sir,” Cody consoles, patting Obi-Wan on the back, “it could have been twins.”

***

seven months, several death-defying heroics, and one very dead sith lord later…

“Hey, Obi-Wan, remember how Rex and Ahsoka took Padmé to the obstetrician a couple months back and Rex’s chip set off one of the scanners? Well, funny story that I kinda forgot to tell you, what with the whole us trying frantically to prevent the clones from becoming chipped slaves of an evil Sith, which really, was probably the more important revelation at that appointment anyways…”

“Ani, just tell him.”

“I’m trying! I’m just terrible at this. It’s just well—Are you sitting? I feel like you should be sitting for this.”

“Oh Force, is Luke okay? I didn’t even think to ask—”

“No, no, no—Luke’s fine, I swear, that’s not it—he’s fine. He’s just…not alone. Um, turns out we’re having twins. A boy and a girl, surprise! Uh…Obi-Wan, are you still there? Oh no. Oh no—Padmé, he has that look in his eyes, I told you I shouldn’t have been the one to tell him, shit, shit, shit—”