Although He Smiles

Chapter Eleven: The Yellow in a Nine-Year-Old's Eye.

"...moisture farms for the most part, but also a few indigenous tribes and scavengers. The few spaceports like this one are havens for those who do not wish to be found…"

"Like us."

An exotic array of alien life scattered the scene before her. Padmé, who had only ever walked the antiquated streets of Theed, tried to place the foreign sands of Tatooine against the organised, conservative architecture of Naboo. Her limited frame of reference seemed sorely unequipped for the constant wall of yellow beige. Her eyes scanned the horizons for any glimpse of green to relieve the eye — nothing.

"Is this your first time in the Outer Rims?" Ahsoka now hovered beside her, the blue eyes of their unforeseen ally now peering into her's. Padmé cast her gaze across the alien ocean once more. "I've never been off planet before, but don't think me uncultured,"

"You, uncultured?" Ahsoka laughed, but the sound seemed to die in her throat. Instead, she settled for a gentle smile.

"I've acquainted myself with all the known corners of the galaxy. It's considered standard knowledge if you intend to go into public service. It's just…" Her eyes were caught again wondering round corners and down alleys she wouldn't dare to venture down herself. Ahsoka followed her gaze with a knowing smile.

"It's just really different when you're actually there, isn't it."

"Yes." A wall of uncertainty met an encouraging smile — there was nothing to be ashamed of. Something cool brushed against the young Queen, skirting around the sleeve of her peasant garb. A faint tug at the hemming reminded Padmé of the sensation of skin against skin. Even with an unavoidable ignorance to the Force, Padmé curled her fingers around the invisible touch as Ahsoka continued forward. The young Togruta joined her master as the ungainly gungan now provided some form of shade.

"Ah, mesa be thinkin' that mesa be takin' some of dat water now."

With a smile crushed by the blistering sun, Padmé fetched her water canister for the gungan.

Meanwhile, Ahsoka struggled not to let her eyes roam around every doorway and through every shady outcrop. With her senses cast outwards, brushing against every presence in the small plaza they'd wondered into, it was no great surprise when her bait managed to real in the only other Force sensitive with her. Qui-Gon's brown eyes cast downwards, the sun-kissed skin of his charge radiating just as much discontent as her Force signature.

"Ahsoka. I know it might seem prudent to discern and anticipate any possible threats from those around us," He looked away, his head turning as if in search of something. Sure enough, the master switched directions, dragging their small party towards a line of well stocked junk stores. "In fact, I would encourage your attention to your surroundings and the Living Force. However," the Master's eyes met her's with a lighthearted twist of his brow. "Don't you think it would be best that the entire plaza, force-sensitive or not, isn't staring at us?" At her upturned brow and slightly slack jaw, Qui-Gon gestured his head back to a small outdoor café. A few rough-looking patrons had hardened gazes homed on their small party. Ahsoka's eyes widened before her head was dipping down.

It was a rookie mistake.

"Sorry Master Qui-Gon."

"No need for apologies, Padawan." He gave no further reprimand, and as Ahsoka looked up, she tried to gauge his expression. However, a combination of the sun haloing his form and the assemblage of facial hair, she could make neither hide nor tail from the towering master. It was an exact opposite of Anakin. She felt, even after only a few war-torn weeks as his padawan, she could discern every minute change across her master's face. He wore his heart on his sleeve, baring his passionate and tumultuous nature for all.

She herself wasn't much better. In fact, she felt their partnership only encouraged her sharp tongue and 'insolence' (she didn't need Master Windu's constant exasperation to advertise his dislike of her brusque behaviour.)

So, whether she liked it or not, Ahsoka was both a reflection of her master and her own person's. Master Kenobi had made the comment early on in her new-found apprenticeship that she and Anakin were rather suited together. It dawned on her at the time he was passing comment on their similar dispositions and proneness to unrestrained outbursts. But it wasn't until later, when she'd nearly died by her master's side, picked up the pieces after him (always remembering to collect him as well from the floor as she went) and had spent countless nights on some desolate planet pressed to his side that Master Obi-Wan's true meaning came to her. She doubted even the master himself had understood just how accurate his observation had been. She would have lived and died by Anakin Skywalker's side once, yet… She took herself down those steps and witnessed his downfall. Her departure, her abandonment, had simply been a catalyst to his situation. His disillusionment with the Order, his hatred towards the Council, and the slow, agonising decline of his relationship with Obi-Wan — a man who was only truly alive when seeing the light in his former apprentice's eyes.

In the sands of Tatooine, thirteen years before Anakin Skywalker's betrayal and the downfall of the grand Republic, Ahsoka Tano measured her steps and came up short.

She'd loved Anakin, too, just as much as Obi-Wan and Padmé had (and hopefully still would).

Invisible strings tugged on her heart, pulling tired feet along until Ahsoka Tano found herself standing within the cooler climate of some featureless junk-shop. When the barbed wires retracted, leaving her blinking sand from her eyes and placing the tall frame of Master Qui-Gon, Jar Jar, and the shorter stature of Padmé and Artoo before her, Ahsoka regathered her posture. Had Qui-Gon found a store he liked? Had the Force whispered of the possibility of a hyperdrive generator being in here? Would he object if she asked to slip out into the town?

Because he was here.

She could practically feel it. The Force pulsed like caged wings against her sides, the intensity of the fluttering gradually building as she craned her neck around every possible corner in Mos Espa. Here, within the confines of this small shop, it seemed to leave her standing in a mess of swarming Frailop Bats. Anakin was nearby, somewhere on this desolate planet. She'd tried to reach for his Force Signature; tried to tap along a bond that only existed in broken remnants within her mind — and was given nothing in return.

Ahsoka set her boots against the sandy cobble. She could feel Padmé's eyes dancing around and around the interior of the store, her body seeming to follow suite as Qui-Gon began conversing with the Toydarian store-owner. Ahsoka set her jaw and approached the Jedi Master. Greedy eyes filled with an obligatory level of distrust settled on her. Ahsoka had no qualms with crossing her arms as she came elbow to elbow with Master Qui-Gon. (Well, almost elbow to waist, really. The man had a good foot on her.)

"Hi chuba da naga?" A rough voice suited the alien who scratched a poorly-shaven chin. However, Master Qui-Gon seemed to exude calm and patience into the Force. Within the trio of Jedi she had once belonged to, that had been the man-beside-her's once-padawan's unspoken job to provide. Master Obi-Wan's constant level-headedness and reserved nature always balanced out her and Anakin's more volatile disposition.

She always wondered where he gained such a serene demeanour. She'd always thought he'd simply been born to it. But perhaps Master Qui-Gon Jinn had quite a considerable hand in shaping the man that was Master Kenobi — a man that always brought a sparkle to every initiates eye when mentioned in hushed awe.

More than once she'd taken an initiate's class for a day, and been bombarded with eager questions and hopeful looks regarding the 'dynamic duo' she worked with. 'Does Master Skywalker really have a robotic hand?' 'Yes.' 'Did Master Kenobi really take on Count Dooku, Ventress and Grevious, all at once?' 'And lived to tell the tale.' 'Is Master Skywalker really the Chosen One?' 'Of course.' 'Did Master Kenobi really sit through three days of constant negotiation with the Tralorians?' 'And managed to settle all political disputes on the planet and welcome them into the Republic. But do you know what the best part was?' 'What, Master?' 'He was only invited to overlook proceedings for the Queen's birthday.' 'Gosh.'

Ahsoka paced away from the exchange in front of her, choosing instead to cross her arms and cover her mounting smile with a stealthy hand. Her eyes overturned every corner of the shop, but really peering past the collection of droid parts and over mechanical bits-and-bobs she couldn't place.

Granted, that question had come from an older initiate on the prow for a master to train her, but it was one of the better questions no less. So yes, maybe Qui-Gon had shaped the diplomat within Master Obi-Wan. The young man she'd left across the desert would one day stride up to her and offer her his cup of tea in the middle of a war-torn continent on some far away planet. It was kindness that only Master Plo or Yoda had shown her before. And when her middle wanted to rise from her mouth and join the mess of slaughtered clones before her, she'd all but pulled Master Kenobi next to her and let him talk her around the carnage.

Anakin was different. He'd either joke about it, or pull her into a bone crushing hug. She struggled with those moments, she wouldn't lie. His attachment was obvious, dangerous, yet… she allowed him to hold her. In hindsight, she'd been utterly foolish. Perhaps she wouldn't be here, thirteen years in the past with memories of a nightmare bound to come true if she'd simply said something.

Anakin Skywalker stormed his way through a Temple of Jedi, seeing neither race nor age as the bodies began littering the hallways. He only saw an ancient enemy and a blinding red. Somewhere in her mind, she found she could recall the stench. The feeling of her fingers pressing against the gossamer skin of a butchered initiate, the racing words, please… please… drowning out all other thought.

She was the padawan. Simply the padawan. Yet, she'd been cursed to live with the memory of those hallways and the charred flesh within. Behind closed eyes, she relived memories that were not her's but no less real. It showed a future that begged for change… for liberation.

Yet, she feared the yellow in eyes that had once been so kind to her. To all.

"My droid has the readouts of what I need."

A whistle of contentment shunted Ahsoka from her thoughts. As if she'd literally been lifted from one reality to another, Ahsoka fell back into the present. Had only a matter of moments passed? With a shiver sorely out of place on Tatooine, Ahsoka looked past the lifetime she had lived in mere seconds. Artoo Detoo raced past, leaving the Jedi padawan stranded at the counter she rested against.

Hands settled on her ponchoed arms. Ahsoka lifted a heavy head to the gaze of Padmé Amidala, concern seeming to dribble from her.

And then, just to add the cherry to the metaphorical Corellian Cake, a bouncing head of blonde hair brought a small body down a flight of stairs. As the boy arrived on weary feet, Ahsoka failed to breathe. Unable to stave it off any longer, the Togurta sank to the dirt-covered ground. She gave into the threatening attack that had loomed like a sixth member of their party.

"Ahsoka."

Force, why?

Master Qui-Gon's hands were scooping her up body and all, gently prying her head from the cobble stone that Padmé had somehow managed to buffer the impact of. Later, Ahsoka would have to apologise for causing scuffed hands and bruised knees. Now, however, Qui-Gon was busy batting away an irritated Toydarian and his curious slave boy.

"Not again." He grumbled, resting a hand to her forehead. She has got to stop this. Some part of him had hoped that simply relaying her mysterious arrival would allay such volatile fits. Qui-Gon heaved a sigh — he'd clearly thought wrong.

"Anakin."

Blue eyes widened to unimaginable measures, peering at the fallen woman in the older man's arms. An impossible name fell from her lips, and behind closed eyes, she tracked impossible nightmares.

"Who's Anakin?" Another young woman had fallen by her side, her beauty beyond little Anakin's imagining. Her loveliness, however, was soured somewhat by the severity of her expression. Small hands were pressing into the girl's side.

Anakin blinked.

"I— I'm Anakin. I mean, my name is Anakin. Anakin Skywalker."

All eyes were suddenly on him. He gulped. Oops.