Summary: Anakin receives a late-night correspondence. Spoilers for "The Wrong Jedi." I've been really digging Filter's cover of "So Happy Together" lately, so that's where my story title comes from. Dedicated to patientalien.
If I Should Call You Up, Invest a Dime (And You Say You Belong to Me, and Ease My Mind)
Things are quiet after Ahsoka leaves the Order. Anakin suspects that people are giving him a particularly wide berth after all that's happened - even the Council just kind of shrugs awkwardly at him after he returns empty-handed, save for the broken Padawan chain that Ahsoka had tucked into his hand before turning away - but the silence is nonetheless deafening.
Once, he'd gone for a stroll through the Room of a Thousand Fountains, hoping to clear his mind; alas, he had found the chamber likewise occupied by none other than Master Luminara. Their eyes had met; and then, because it would have been sheer cruelty not to, Anakin had bowed in slight deference and allowed the slighter Jedi to approach him. "I am sorry for what transpired with Barriss," he noted aloud, straightening.
Luminara's expression is peaceful, though there is a sadness to it that Anakin suspects is there to stay. "My heart goes out to Ahsoka, as well," she murmurs. She looks upwards, and Anakin follows her gaze towards the apex of the rushing waterfall before them. "I told you once that Ahsoka had much to learn about being a true Jedi," Luminara says, and their eyes meet once more. "I suppose it was foolhardy of me not to consider how this war was affecting my own apprentice; to consider that, just because one does not appear to need guidance back towards the Light, they are not necessarily unaffected by the darkness." She looks at him pleadingly, then, and Anakin nods.
"This war has taken its toll in so many terrible ways already." Luminara's eyes flit upwards again, beseeching. "I can only wonder as to its conclusion. I hope it is soon."
More quiet ensues. Eventually, Anakin feels compelled to ask: "Is her trial date set?"
Luminara shakes her head. "Not yet," she says simply. She does not have to explain that Barriss now resides in the Citadel, a place of safekeeping for, as he once described it to Ahsoka, "Jedi who've lost their way." On one hand, it is an overwhelming relief not to have to picture Ahsoka there, her life a series of dusky cells and regrets. On the other, it is difficult to think of any Jedi having fallen so far.
"I'm sorry," he says, and then there is nothing left to say. The water before them continues to crest and plunge ever downward, the gesture both magnanimous and inevitable. Anakin remains before it long after Luminara has stepped away, watching, waiting in vain, perhaps, for a different outcome.
Obi-Wan has hardly mustered up a brave front as the Council's newest addition. If anything, Anakin has seen less of him than he did during their individual missions in recent past; he has his suspicions as to what, or whom, seems to be occupying so much of his former Master's time these days, but in truth, he cannot blame Obi-Wan for seeking whatever comfort he can, wherever he can. He still wishes comfort took a form other than Asajj Ventress, but there it is.
In any case, the quarters they share are empty when he finally returns. Part of him wants to turn around and leave again, perhaps find his own comfort in the neighboring patches of Coruscant's night-time underbelly that he knows so well. Alas, he's weary now, sloppy, even, and the last thing he needs is to get himself into his own heap of trouble down in the Orange District. Bored, but too lazy to muster up energy to rectify the situation, he kicks off his boots and hunkers down listlessly across the worn lounger in the center of his and Obi-Wan's living space.
He very nearly drifts off there when his commlink chirps; not just any chirp, either, but the tell-tale sound of a communication from Padme. "What is it?" he asks blearily, but Padme does not seem pressed by any perceived (albeit unintentional) rudeness.
"How are you, Ani?"
"As good as can be expected," he shrugs, and then moves himself into a sitting position. There's something suspicious in Padme's dallying - not malicious, of course, but an ulterior motive, nonetheless. Still, her hologrammed image reveals nothing. "Did you need anything?" he asks again, not sure he's up to chit-chatting.
There's a pause, and then: "Well, it's just. I've received a rather unique correspondence this evening, and ... I think I have someone on another channel with whom you might be interested in speaking."
"I'm not really in the mood to socialize, Padme," he warns, running a hand through his tangled hair.
This time, Padme's expression warms. "I know," she smiles knowingly, and Anakin cocks an eyebrow. "But trust me." Then the hologram of his wife disappears; after a few seconds, a second familiar, miniaturized image greets him.
"Hi, Master."
"Ahsoka." He breathes her name reverently, drinking in tiny new details, like: She's wearing a loose-fitting tunic, along with what seem to be her old boots. She looks relaxed, the stress of standing trial for murder and the Clone Wars in general having graciously passed her by. Her eyes are kind, and Anakin gapes at her desperately, trying to think of what to say. "I've missed you, Snips." He hasn't uttered her nickname aloud since that day. "It hasn't been the same here without you."
"I've missed you, too." She seems to sense that he has a lot of questions. "I figured it'd be safest to contact Padme. Fortunately, she's used to receiving correspondence at all hours of the day and night."
"Do you need help?" Anakin asks, alert now. "Where are you?"
Ahsoka shakes her head. "I'm fine," she insists. "Safe. Pretty happy, even." She pauses, and then adds, "I'm on Bellassa. The Jedi set me up with some funds and supplies when I left."
Anakin senses there's more to the story. "And?" he presses. "I mean, you could have looked for your birth family or something, gone home. Why Bellassa?"
Ahsoka smiles again, and Anakin is both frustrated and charmed by it. "Well, here's the funny thing, Master: I'm not alone."
"What," Anakin begins to say, and then he doesn't have to finish his thought as the hologram image shifts to accommodate yet another familiar face (and body). "Hey, Anakin," it says, and he shakes his head in disbelief.
"Olin," he frowns, and crosses his arms in (mostly) mock-offense. "What, are you Jedi-poaching now?"
Ferus Olin is taller and more muscular than Anakin remembers, but he still eyes Anakin with as much wry superiority as ever. "Yes, that was my plan all along," he deadpans. "Convince the Jedi to expel Ahsoka, and then bring her on as an agent at my security firm. You've figured it out."
"You're still a womp-fink," Anakin asserts. "But at least you're a funny womp-fink, now."
"Yeah, you gain a sense of humor after you leave the Order." He says it casually, but it's both unsettling and surreal. "Anyway, Ahsoka's safe here with us."
"Us?" He's not sure he can take many more revelations this evening.
"Ferus runs this place with his business partner, Roan Lands," Ahsoka chimes in. "It's really cool; we're still helping people, just on a smaller scale. I miss the Temple, of course," she adds wistfully, "but I think this is a good fit for me."
"I guess you could do worse." He looks away and then back. "You know," he says to Ahsoka, "you could have been a Knight. You would have been even younger than I was."
"I know." Her expression grows pensive. "And then I would have taken my own Padawan into a war the Order isn't equipped to fight, and then she or he might have lost his or her own way. And then I would have been left wondering whether I could have done something differently, or if it was inevitable all along."
Anakin smiles ruefully, shaking his head a little. "That's the path of the Jedi," he murmurs sardonically.
"And that's the point, Master: I didn't think I could go back to pretending I was okay with that anymore. But I wanted to let you know that I don't blame you for any of it; and thank you for clearing my name. It means everything to me."
"You're welcome," Anakin whispers, and then clears his throat. "May the Force be with you, Ahsoka. Be good." He turns to Ferus. "Take care of her," he says roughly. "After all," he adds, "I still outrank you."
"Only because I left," Ferus responds airily, but his expression is sincere. "Take care of yourself, Anakin." He and Ahsoka both wave, and then the connection cuts out. The room is quiet, now, too quiet. He keys in a code on his commlink and waits.
Padme seems to have prepared herself for sleep since they last talked; her hair has been taken down, soft auburn curls flowing past her shoulders, and the outfit that accompanied her through numerous Senate meetings that day has since been replaced by a shimmery nightgown and matching robe. "Told you it was a call you wanted to take," she says by way of greeting, and Anakin smiles genuinely.
"You were right. Thank you." He looks around the sparse living area that he calls, for lack of a better term, home, and then back at one of the few people keeping him tethered to this life. "Can I come over?" he asks. He'll only stay the night, will leave, as always, before more meetings and missions come to call, before he has to pretend to be okay with the way things are again, hoping that before his sleep is mired in dreams of failure and pain, he might lay in Padme's arms for a while and find some semblance of peace.