A Father's Reflection

"So, how did you end up here?" Ahsoka asked, taking a bite of nerf steak.

Anakin grimaced. He'd known she would ask again, he'd just hoped it wouldn't be so soon.

He couldn't tell her what he'd done; what he'd been ready to do at Palpatine's behest. She still looked at him with affection in her eyes, and her Force-presence still welcomed him. He couldn't bear to lose those things. Not when he felt his connection to the Light was so tenuous.

"I was with the Chancellor when he issued Order Sixty-six," he said.

Ahsoka gasped and her presence in the Force churned with grief and pain.

"I went to the Temple," he continued. "Djarin and his warriors were there. He asked Appo and the 501st to protect the Jedi at the Temple, then he took me and Padmé, and we came to find you and Rex. He said you were in danger."

Anakin rested his elbows on the table and dug his fingers into his hair. "Fives tried to tell me. A few months after you left, Tup shot Master Tiplar at Ringo Vinda."

"Oh Force, no," Ahsoka whispered.

She dropped her fork and reached out, reaching up to grip Anakin's arm. He took her hand and held tight.

"Fives went with Tup to Kamino to see if they could find out why Tup killed Master Tiplar," Anakin continued. "Instead, Fives uncovered a biochip in the clones' brains. Fives tried to warn me that the Chancellor was behind the chips, and a plot to destroy the Jedi, but I didn't want to hear it."

He looked up at Ahsoka. Her big blue eyes were filled with unshed tears.

"I was blind, Ahsoka. What happened to the Jedi . . . it . . . it's my fault."

"No, Anakin—"

"Yes, Ahsoka!" he snapped back, squeezing her hand hard enough to make her wince. He was trying to take some measure of responsibility for his actions. Why wouldn't she just let him? "I did this! I believed the Chancellor had my best interests at heart. I believed his lies!"

I betrayed Master Windu and helped Palpatine kill him, he thought viciously.

The few Mandalorians in the dining hall were all looking at them. At him. Anakin could feel the weight of their eyes. He released Ahsoka's hand.

"I'm sorry, Ahsoka," he said.

She was staring at him, dread on her face. "Anakin . . . your eyes . . ."

Anakin stood so fast he knocked his chair over and bolted from the room.

"Fek and all," he muttered, using one of the clones' curses.

It had all been right there in front of him. Had he truly been so hungry for someone's approval—anyone besides Obi-Wan and Ahsoka—that he'd just lapped up whatever kind words Palpatine had showered on him? Had he truly mistrusted his friends so much?

And now Ahsoka was afraid of him. Force, what was he supposed to do?

"Sir?"

Anakin's head snapped up at the familiar voice. He'd apparently stormed his way back to Padmé's room in the medical building. Fox stood just inside the doorway, saluting. Someone had found him a shirt and trousers to wear; his armor was nowhere in sight. Anakin wondered if Rex had assigned Fox to stand guard, or if the man had taken it upon himself.

"At ease, sergeant," Anakin said.

There was a fresh bacta patch on Fox's right temple. Anakin glared at the proof that his men had been under someone else's control. The proof that Djarin had been right about something in his crazy story of time travel.

"Where are Leia and Luke?" Anakin asked, seeing the bassinets were missing.

"Yelis, the midwife, took them to the nursery so your wife could sleep."

"Alright. Have you eaten?" Anakin asked.

Fox nodded. "Yes, sir. The mand'alor sent me to the dining hall when the doctors cleared me after surgery."

Anakin bit back a snarl at the thought that Djarin imagined he needed to take care of Anakin's men.

"Go get some rest, then," he managed to say civilly. It wasn't Fox he was mad at.

"Very good, sir. I'll bunk down in the medbay with our men, if you need me."

Anakin nodded and Fox left. Anakin Force-lifted a recliner next to Padmé's bed and settled in. He rested his hand on the mattress next to her pillow and tried to sleep.

Sometime later, when her fingers curled around his, Anakin finally dropped off.

He stood in a room overlooking a moon that circled a huge gas giant. A beautiful auburn-haired woman sat on a deeply curved throne framed by huge transparisteel viewports. She stared down at the forested moon below. Black silk embroidered with scarlet flowers encased the woman's slender form, and rubies winked in her hair and dripped from her ears and throat.

"Come watch the end of the Rebellion, father," she said without looking at him.

"Leia?"

She turned and Sith-gold eyes stared at him out of a lovely oval face that reminded him of her mother.

"Everything is proceeding as our Master has foreseen," a young man said, stepping out of the shadows beside the throne.

His dark blonde hair was a few shades lighter than Anakin's and his eyes matched his sister's in burning golden intensity. His tunic and trousers were black, and the cape falling from his shoulders was lined in crimson.

"The forests are burning," Luke said. "And once the last of our troops are clear, we shall demonstrate the capabilities of this fully operational battle station on the dregs of the Rebel army."

"It's too bad Mother chose to fight for the wrong side," Leia murmured, turning back to watch the destruction below.

Anakin jerked his hand out of Padmé's gentle grip.

"Ani?" she said sleepily.

"It's alright," he said, trying to calm his racing heart. "Just go back to sleep."

Padmé murmured something unintelligible and resettled under the blanket. Anakin sank back into the recliner but returning to sleep was out of the question. He sat for a while, thinking over the implications of the dream. Or had it been a vision? Was it something that would happen, or had it only been a nightmare brought on by Ahsoka's reaction in the dining hall?

Huffing irritably, Anakin rose and left the room. He paused at the nursery to watch his babies as they slept, the sight of their innocent faces warring with the memory of blazing gold eyes, then slipped out of the medical building. It was early, the eastern horizon barely tinged with color. Anakin knew he should probably meditate and try to come to terms with all the changes that had been thrust upon him within the past couple of days. Obi-Wan would have encouraged him to do so.

Instead, he propped himself up against the side of a building and watched village come to life. Men and women heading out pastures beyond the village. Others down at the docks to the east of the town were patching nets and launching boats to go fishing. As the sun peeked over the horizon more people filled the streets. The aroma of fresh baked bread filled the air.

Anakin watched the families; spouses with their partners and parents with their children. The loving interactions. The gentle yet stern reprimands when a child misbehaved.

Fear coated the back of Anakin's tongue, sharp and bitter. He knew he wasn't prepared to be a father. He was barely a husband, if he were honest with himself. The war had kept him from Padmé's side so often. He'd regretted the lack of time spent with his wife while he was away from her, and always fell into her arms with relief when they could spare a moment. But looking back now, there had been relief too when he'd been called back to battle. For all that he loved Padmé, he'd always had an escape; he could return to the war when things got too complicated with his wife.

He no longer had that excuse.

The fear souring his stomach turned to anger.

Damn Din Djarin!

The man had all but thrown Anakin's marriage and children in the face of the Council. Obi-Wan hadn't shown any surprise, but the other Council members had reacted with varying degrees of shock and displeasure. Anakin was surprised they hadn't called for his immediate expulsion from the Order.

"Mister?" a young voice said.

Anakin looked down to see a human boy staring up at him. Swallowing his anger, Anakin knelt down to one knee so he was eye-to-eye with the youngling.

"Hello," he said.

The child held out a sweet-smelling glazed bun. "You feel mad," the little boy said. "Sometimes, when my bu is upset, my buir makes her eat something, and she get happier."

Anakin felt his lips twitch into a cynical smile. If only the world were so easily fixed. He ruffled the boy's hair.

"Thank you, but you keep it. I'm not hungry right now."

The little boy frowned but nodded. "If you get hungry later, my buire make the best nerf-meat pies. You should come by our bakery."

"I will," Anakin said.

The child scampered away. Anakin rose to his feet and froze. Din Djarin and his Nautolan warrior were walking toward him.

"You look pretty irritated for a man who just became a buir a few hours ago," Djarin said as he drew close.

Anakin fixed the other man with a glare. "I've had a couple of relatively calm hours in a rather terrible couple of days," Anakin growled. "I think I have the right to be irritated."

Djarin didn't react other than to incline his head in acknowledgement.

Behind Djarin, Aedo stood with the little child, Grogu, in his arms. The sight of the child turned the anger burning in Anakin's chest into shame and horror. Palpatine had ordered him to march on the Jedi Temple, telling him to kill all the Jedi for their treasonous actions. At the time, it had made sense. In Palpatine's presence, it had seemed reasonable.

But looking at the tiny child, thinking of all the other younglings in the crèche, the Padawans, the healers and the injured in the Hall of Healing, Anakin felt nauseated.

I would have killed them all, he thought, because Palpatine made it seem judicious. How could any sane being think that was okay? I'm a monster.

Djarin took a step toward him and lifted two wooden training sabers in his hand. Anakin's fingers twitched toward his hip where his lightsaber should be hanging.

"Why don't we go down to the beach?" Djarin said. "Work out some of your frustration."

Anakin nodded. Sparring sounded much better than meditating. Djarin led the way toward the docks, then peeled off to the left where the golden sand was soft underfoot.

Djarin stopped next to Aedo and Grogu and pulled his helmet off, leaning close to the youngling.

"The jetii and I are going to spar, ad," the mand'alor said, taking the child's hand between his fingers.

The little one looked up at Djarin with large brown eyes, his big ears lifted and his manner attentive. Anakin wouldn't have thought someone so young seeming would understand the words, but maybe he was wrong.

"It may look like we're trying to hurt each other," Djarin continued. "But it's just practice. An cuyir jate, ad."

Djarin bent and pressed his forehead to Grogu's, the little one lifted his hands, held onto the mand'alor's cheeks, cooed happily. Anakin's heart clenched at the sight, thinking of his own babies.

They don't ever have to know about my darkness, he thought. I can protect them from that. I want to be better for them. I can be better . . . for them.

Djarin replaced his helmet and approached Anakin, holding out one of the wooden 'sabers. Anakin took it and twirled it around a bit to get a feel for the weight. It was surprisingly well balanced. He fell into a ready position.

"There's only one rule," Djarin said. "You may not use your Force powers. No jumps, pushes, physical enhancements of any kind. If you do, the match ends."

Anakin scoffed. "I might as well ask you to take off your armor then."

"I won't use any of my armor's enhancements either," Djarin said, as if that were somehow equal to what he was asking of Anakin.

"Fine," Anakin said through gritted teeth.

Before he finished the syllable, he lunged at the man. Djarin swatted his blade aside and landed a blow across Anakin's shoulders. Anakin turned with a snarl and lashed out again.

"Easy," Djarin said, matching Anakin's blows. "This is a friendly spar."

Anakin took a step back and breathed, then fell into ready position again. He closed with the other man, hammering away at Djarin. The mand'alor blocked or dodged each strike which only fueled Anakin's irritation until he unconsciously sped up his movements to the point where Djarin couldn't block anymore. Anakin made three successive hits—back, chest, helmet, each blow making beskar armor ring—before backing off with a fierce smile on his face.

"We're done," Djarin said, removing his helmet and wiping sweat from his face.

"You're giving up? And just when I'm winning," Anakin said, pointing his wooden 'saber at the other man's throat.

Djarin shook his head. "No. You're not."

He walked back to where Aedo stood with Grogu.

Anakin frowned at his back. "What happened? Did I hit you too hard?"

"No." Djarin had the gall to smile at him.

Aedo took a step forward and opened his mouth, but Djarin laid a hand on his shoulder.

"He'll figure it out, verd'ika." The mand'alor clipped his helmet to his belt then took Grogu from Aedo, tucking the child into the cook of his arm. He turned to face Anakin again.

"I'll be back here tomorrow morning, if you'd like another go."

Anakin folded his arms across his chest, his frown deepening. His anger from earlier had faded into exasperation.

"Fine," he said after a moment.

Djarin nodded and started back toward the village.

Anakin stayed on the beach for a moment, idly swinging the practice saber and contemplating running through a few katas.

Overhead, the sense of hundreds of Jedi suddenly exploded into proximity. Anakin looked up and saw the distinctive arrowhead-shape of a Venator just visible in the sky.

The Jedi younglings, and their minders, had arrived.

Mando'a:

Buir - parent; plural- buire

An cuyir jate - all is well

Verd'ika - little warrior (affectionate)