"Let me hold her!"

"You just got finished holding her, it's my turn next!"

"Hey! You went just before she did, it's my turn when she's done!"

"My two minutes aren't up yet!"

"They will be in just a few… more…now. Now hand her over—"

"To me. Because it's my turn!"

"What about me? I haven't had a chance to hold the baby yet."

"Neither have I!"

"Padmé gave her to you first!"

"I know, and then Eirtaé snatched her right out of my arms!"

"Your two minutes were up—"

"They were not!"

And lo do a group of grown, educated, hyper-competent women descend into squabbling savagery; no better than little girls fighting over a prized doll. Padmé would have never believed this had she not been witnessing it with her own eyes.

"Should we do something about them?"

Sabé, long since fallen hard and fast for Luke and his little baby dimples, doesn't even bother to look up.

"Nah."

Padmé honestly has no idea why she expected better from her oldest friend and closest confidante.

In her most masterful act of subterfuge to date, Sabé, the wily little water snake, somehow managed to divert everyone's attention onto Leia for just long enough to whisk Padmé and Luke all the way over to the other side of the sitting room, and is now smugly soaking up every second of the unlimited, undivided access she will have to the baby for however long it will take the others to realize they've been played. Which, at the rate they're going, could be a while. Spitefully, Padmé almost wants to call them over, because if everyone is being a five-year-old today it's only fair that she gets to join in on the de-aging. She would. If not for the fact that Luke hasn't stopped giggling since being placed in the handmaiden's arms, and she is loath to do anything to disrupt that most precious sound.

It seems that in addition to cheating the others out of a twin, Sabé has also ruthlessly cemented her place as Luke's favorite aunt. Padmé would call herself impressed were it not for the near toxic levels of treachery.

Sabé hip-checks her then, pulling her from her thoughts.

"You're looking awfully smug," she smirked.

"Is that right?" Padmé bit back.

"Mm-hm," Sabé nodded emphatically. "Enjoying the moral high ground?"

"I am. The view from up here is spectacular."

Sabé muffled her laughter in Luke's blankets, so as not to disturb the continuing commotion on the other side of the room. Yané has finally succeeded in wresting Leia from Dormé's stronghold, and now Fé and Eirtaé are pettily ticking off every second that passes on the chrono on the wall. While Rabé, Saché, Motée, and poor Teckla—who still hasn't had a turn—stand hawkishly off to the side.

"I have to talk to you."

The sudden sobriety in Sabé's tone jerks Padmé back to her attention.

"About what?"

Sabé huffed, arching an eyebrow in not-quite annoyance. She held Luke out pointedly, and then rolled her eyes in Leia's direction.

"Ah."

"But first," she continued. Her voice dropping to a delicate murmur. "I feel it would behoove me to mention that Chancellor Monthma and Vice Chancellor Organa have been out to Corellia to visit 'you' four times in the past three weeks."

Padmé nearly choked.

"Four?!"

"Separately."

It was a good thing the other woman was holding Luke, because if he were in Padmé's arms right now, she could have dropped him.

"Sabé, why was I not informed of this sooner?!" she hissed. "Why are you only telling me now? What have they said? What have you told them? What—"

"I've tried," Sabé interrupted carefully. Curling a calming hand around her forearm. "To get in touch with you. You haven't returned any of my comcalls—which I understand, Padmé. You've just given birth. Newborns are a handful, especially without us here to help. Please know that it's not my intention to make you feel cornered, or to alarm you. Really, it's not. Rest assured the others and I have each played the part as well as ever. The Chancellor and the Vice Chancellor don't suspect a thing."

Sabé broke off to let that little tidbit of information sink in. Then took a steadying breath, visibly steeling herself for whatever it was she was about to say next.

"But that isn't the issue here," she said gently. "Please, Padmé. I'm begging you, as your oldest and dearest friend, to seriously ask yourself how long you think you can keep this up."

"This?" Padmé blinked.

Sabé glared at her, steadily losing patience with her evasiveness.

"A secret marriage? A double life? A fugitive husband? Mother of Mothers, Padmé you've brought children into this now. Do your parents even know about them?"

That last sentence cracked through the air like a whip. Padmé and Sabé can both tell by the almost imperceptible change in the atmosphere that they've caught the other handmaidens' attention. But apparently sensing that this was a private conversation, they all graciously keep up the pretense of fussing over Leia, and leave the two of them be. Moteé has her now.

Padmé took a protesting Luke from Sabé, and cradled him to her chest like a shield, feeling for all the galaxy like a chastised teenager. Briefly, she recalled the no holds barred dressing down Sabé had given her years ago after the Crisis was over, for all the reckless stunts she'd pulled, all the needless anxiety and stress she'd put her handmaidens and staff through. This right now feels remarkably similar, except perhaps even more deserved.

She is ashamed to admit this, even to just herself. But until this exact moment, the rush of new motherhood had swept away any and all formerly pressing concern she'd had about elections and galaxy-wide corruption and political alliances, and replaced them with her daughter's first belch. Her son's first laugh. And the adoring, awe-struck gleam that hasn't left her husband's eyes from the moment he'd first laid them on their babies.

But the Senate.

The election.

The War.

Mon.

Bail.

Her parents.

In the blissful haze of feedings and lullabies and bath times, everything that had been weighing Padmé down from before she'd given birth had simply floated away. A tiny speck in the farthest corner of her eye, only visible to her when she squinted.

Three new messages today? She could check them later. Luke needed changing.

A missed comcall from Sola to see how she was liking Corellia? She'd call her sister back in an hour. Leia had thrown up all over her onesie.

The Senate was supposed to vote on whether or not to increase funding for relief for former Separatist colonies, and she'd been anxious to hear the result. But the twins were finally asleep now, and she had all of ninety minutes to squeeze in a nap before they woke for their next feeding.

Parenthood was, without a doubt, bliss. But Sabé had it right. Newborns are a handful.

Still, Padmé is supposed be better than this by now. She is supposed to have learned. There are inescapable consequences for sticking your head in the sand, and letting the world pass you by while you selfishly steal a few precious moments (or days, or weeks) away from duty to be with the ones you love.

She thought of the mess Bail and Mon had still had to slog through, even now that they've won the election. All of the bills that need revising, all of Palpatine's "reforms" that need repealing. Padmé and her colleagues have often lamented that if someone sane were ever elected, it would take them an entire generation to rebuild everything Palpatine spent his entire career dismantling. And now that they actually have the chance to try, she's been avoiding them.

She thought of her parents and Sola, and how devastated they'd be after they learned they missed her wedding. Her pregnancy. Her children's birth.

How hurt they'd be to discover that she's been lying to them all these years. That she's been hiding this whole other life, this whole other self from them for almost four years now. Would they ever look at her the same way again? Would they ever trust her?

Padmé honestly didn't think she could blame them if they didn't, considering she didn't trust herself very much right about now.

"They don't know," she told Sabé, abashedly. "And I know what you're going to say, and I know what I have to do. I know, alright. Just…tell me what's going on with Bail and Mon."

Sabé sighed. "The Chancellor is anxious to have you accept her offer of a seat in her cabinet, and would also like you to join a few other senators in assisting the Jedi with renegotiating a new peace treaty with the Separatists."

"That…" Padmé exhaled, her head suddenly feeling very light. "Wow…That's…"

"Yes," Sabé nodded sympathetically.

"What have I told them?"

"That you would think about it."

"Good," Padmé took in a steadying breath. "That's…good. I should call them. Explain everything."

"You're going to reveal your secret children to your work colleagues before their own grandparents can meet them?"

"I know, Sabé." Padmé groused. "I know. I'll tell them too. Soon. I just…have to process all this."

Her parents…Her babies…The Senate…The Chancellor… The War.

Wow.

Padmé's vision spun. The floor beneath her felt lopsided for a moment. Shaky. Like when she and Sola were children, and they would have spinning contests, and twirl round and round on their tiptoes to see who would be the first to pass out from dizziness.

She shifted Luke to one arm, and dropped her head into her free hand. Her temples throbbed. The tell-tale tension migraine forthcoming.

"Okay," said Sabé, stretching an arm across Padmé's shoulders and giving them a settling squeeze.

"Thank you," Padmé breathed. She looked over to the other side of the room where the rest were still valiantly trying not to appear to be listening in, then turned back to Sabé, who nodded. And together they went over to join the rest of the group.

"Here," Padmé held a wriggling Luke out to Teckla, who was most definitely not pouting at Motée for going over her two-minute limit.

"Since the others have been playing keep-away with you all afternoon," she teased good-naturedly.

Teckla looked for a moment as if she were going to burst open with glee as she cradled the baby in her arms. Padmé smiled at her, and set a soft hand on her shoulder. As the newest member of their group, Teckla was also the timidest, and sometimes had trouble asserting herself to the others. Padmé hoped she had fared well during their time on Corellia.

Speaking of which.

"I want to thank you all," she said, taking care to look each of her handmaidens in the eye as she said this. "For everything. You ladies really came through for me at the last minute. I want every one of you to know how much I truly appreciate your covering for me."

"Pshhh," Eirtaé scoffed, batting away her gratitude with an irreverent wave of her hand. "You sent us on a months-long vacation. We should be the ones thanking you."

The others nodded vigorously, echoing Eirtaé's sentiment.

"Yes, My Lady," Dormé grinned cheekily. "If you really want to thank us, you'll tell us who you've chosen to be the twins' godmother."

Padmé blanched. The pounding in her head intensified.

"Me, obviously," Sabé boasted, before she could answer. "I'm already Luke's favorite. It's only a matter of time before I've won Leia over too."

"Luke hasn't actually met any of us yet, thanks to your scheming," Dormé shot back. "Besides, Leia and I bonded while you were hogging her brother. So if anything, you and I are neck and neck."

"She started fussing while you were holding her," Rabé said smugly. "She didn't make a peep when she was with me."

"Yes, but she actually giggled while I was holding her," said Yané.

"That was Luke," the others screech in indignant unison, then turn to Padmé for confirmation.

"It was Luke," Padmé seconded, guiltily watching Yané's proud face fall flat. "Leia hasn't had her first laugh yet."

"Here," Teckla said kindly, placing Luke in Yané's arms. "Let's see if you can make him laugh too."

And just like that, all eyes in the room shifted to the tiny bundle in Yané's arms. No one made a sound, not even Luke and Leia.

The silence only grew more deafening as the seconds ticked by and the infant's placid expression remained unchanging. Until finally, a piercing squeal of distress emanating from Motée's arms broke the spell, sending everyone in the room spiraling into a panic.

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's not wet."

"I just fed her, so she can't be hungry."

"Are you holding her too tightly?"

"Is she hot, wrapped up in that blanket?"

"No," said a new voice. Everyone looked up to see Anakin looming over Motée, his long arms reaching around her to scoop Leia up and out of her lap. He cuddled the baby close. Nuzzling her tiny forehead with his lips, and peppering her with feather-light butterfly kisses.

Padmé watched, equal parts spellbound and mortified, as the storm clouds of what was gearing up to be quite the tempest of a tantrum dissipate as their little girl basks in her daddy's affection.

"She was jealous," he tells them, not looking up from Leia's still-reddened face. "You all dropped her to focus on Luke."

Padmé worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Her head continued to throb.

"That's amazing," said Saché. "You can just…read her mind just like that?"

"Not exactly," Anakin mumbled absently. His attention still fully fixated on his daughter. "A baby's thoughts and emotions aren't as complex as an adult's, or even a child's. So I can't necessarily read her. But I can feel her through the Force. Same with Luke."

Teckla sighed enviously. "If only I'd had that kind of power when either of my children were babies. Stars, I'd settle for having it now. The two of you have no idea how good you have it."

Anakin shook off the admiration with a blushy smile, and came around to sit next to Padmé on the sofa.

"We do," he said quietly, before leaning in and giving her a chaste peck on the lips.

Privately, Padmé had to disagree.

Anakin had it easy. While she on any given day, was just as out of the loop as her handmaidens had been just now. Or so it so often seemed.

Her husband has taken to fatherhood in much the same way he'd taken to mechanics and flying and fighting. Naturally. Zealously.

He was always two steps ahead of her when it came to the twins. Stars, sometimes it seemed he was even two steps ahead of them. He knew when they were hungry before they could make so much as a whimper. He knew when they were awake before she could even hear their sleepy snuffles from across the room. He could tell when they were about to fall asleep before their little eyelids could start to flutter. He was the first to figure out the exact way Leia liked to be swaddled, right arm over the left— "so she can stick that one out if she gets too hot. For some reason it's always the right one that cools her off faster. Isn't that funny?"—and that the reason Luke always cried when he was covered up in the orange nerf blanket, was because "That shade of orange makes him anxious. Try the green one. It's softer, anyway."

And he knew when Leia was jealous of her brother getting more attention than her.

It's not that Padmé is envious of Anakin, and the special connection he shares with their twins.

No, really.

Envy is a useless emotion. Ugly and unbecoming of a monarch. She'd learned that lesson so very long ago—at such an impossibly young age, she realizes when she sits back and thinks on those years.

No, Padmé's not envious. On the contrary, she's very, very happy for her husband. Proud. Relieved. He's been struggling for so long. Carrying so much weight around with him for so long. It makes her heart swell to see him finally begin to unburden himself.

Becoming a father has been transformative for Anakin. He's not just happy, he's content. More so than she's ever seen him in his life. Balanced, yet buoyant. Unfettered, and not in a way that makes her fear for his life or his morality, because he's finally free. Their babies have set him free. And the love Padmé feels for all three of them for it, dwarves her. Drowns her, along with any resentment or jealousy or covetousness she could feel towards the special bond the three of them share.

So no. Padmé is Not envious of her family.

What she is, is torn.

Especially now, after the conversation she's just had with Sabé.

The babies were the sole reason she'd decided to take so much time away from work in the first place. Why she'd avoided thinking about the mess that Bail and Mon and the others, and how overwhelmed they must be. Why she hasn't bothered to reach out to either of them to see how they'd been faring. Why she purposefully hasn't checked the Holonews once, in the six weeks since the twins were born.

But if Anakin's natural affinity for fatherhood has made her a redundancy as far as care of the twins was concerned, and her presence amongst her fellow senators seems to be so sorely needed, then maybe she ought to reexamine how much longer she can afford to stay away.

But

What kind of person does that make her? What kind of parent?

Cold. Self-obsessed. Career driven. Everything her mother had never been. Everything Padmé swore she wouldn't be. Everything she had centered her life's work around not being. How could she, a reputed politician of the people, be warm and caring in her concern for the public, for total strangers, yet cold and distant to her own children? How could she be Padmé for the galaxy, and Amidala to her family?

Hypocritical double-think. Yet another thing she has always strived to avoid throughout her time in politics. What is happening to her?

Anakin's lips brush against her temple, his warm hands discreetly massaging her neck and shoulders. Dulling the ache in her chest for only a moment, before she realized that he had probably 'felt' everything that had gone through her head, too. The realization made the space between her eyes twinge.

"Anakin," Sabé spoke up suddenly. The devious glint in her eyes shooting warning pangs into Padmé's stomach. "Do you think you can tell which of us is Luke's favorite?"

Anakin cocked his head to the side, utterly blindsided and completely oblivious to the red checkered flag her handmaiden's just waved.

"Padmé," he answered blindly. Realizing his mistake entirely too late, when the room filled with exasperated groans.

"No," Sabé said impatiently, drawing a sharp, sweeping motion with her hand, encircling all of her fellow handmaidens. "Which of us."

"Oh," said Anakin. His mouth frozen in that dumbfounded 'O' shape as his eyes dart from Padmé's, to the others', and then to every corner of the room in between. "…what for?"

"We're trying to decide who should be named the twins' godparents," Rabé explained.

Now Anakin is doubly confused. His eyes snap back to Padmé's, and she can see her demise formulating on her traitorous husband's lips before he can even open his mouth again.

"I thought you were going to ask Bail and Breha."

And with that the little wampa rat hops to his feet and scurries from the room. Lobbing a harried, "Lunch is ready! I've laid everything out on the dining room table!" at them from the hallway. Heartlessly abandoning her to face down eight scandalized shrieks of

"THE ORGANAS?!"

Skillfully avoiding the daggers of betrayal and fury her handmaidens are shooting at her from their eyes. Padmé stands, and takes a suddenly very irate Luke back from Yané.

"Time for lunch!" she announces over a cacophony of protests and appeals. And blocking out all of their whining and cajoling, leads her infant son and a gaggle of sulking five year olds into the dining room.


Night had been Anakin's favorite time of day as a child on Tatooine. Something to look forward to after the day's work was done, and the sweltering, smothering air that surrounded them throughout the day became cool and still. He and his mother used to sit outside their small hut, look up at the stars and tell each other stories about the planets that lay just beyond them. Of all the places they'd go to once they were free, and the adventures they'd have when they got there.

He'd forgotten all about this little tradition of theirs' after so many years of blocking out memories of his old life, until he'd started doing the same thing with Luke. Who, unlike his sister, who only needs to be horizontal in order to fall asleep, has inherited his father's insomnia.

But that's okay. They have one another for company. And the stars.

Look, Luke!

His son's weak eyes can't follow his finger to the sky, but stay trained on his face. Glazed over and adoring.

Up there? That's the Christophsis sector. That's where I met your big—that's where I met our Ahsoka for the first time. We saved the planet together.

A tiny current of amazement drifts through him. If he didn't know any better, Anakin would have said Luke's eyes widened just a little bit.

I know, right? We were such an incredible team, she and I. I wish she was still around. I wish you and Leia could meet her. She's so incredible! Smart and talented and confident and compassionate. I hope you and Leia grow up to be like her…

He shifted Luke in his arms and held him up under his armpits so that they were now "eye to eye," so to speak.

No one asked me if I wanted to a padawan to train, y'know. They just gave her to me. Do you know how terrified I was, Luke? I was so afraid I was going to be a terrible teacher, that I would fail her…and I did, in the end. I did. It's truly one of the worst things your father's ever done. But, at least she's still alive, right? She's still out there. She's still that strong little woman I raised her to—I helped make her into—right? Even though it ended badly, it's not wrong of me to feel proud of the person she grew into while under my training…right, Luke?

Luke dribbles out a little spit bubble that slides down his chin. Anakin shifts him again so that he's cradled in his flesh arm, and dabs at it with the spit cloth draped over his shoulder. He presses a big, wet kiss to his nose.

I failed Ahsoka, and I'm going to carry that with me for the rest of my life, I know I will. But I'm not going to fail you, alright? Or Leia. Ever. I promise.

He bows himself over so that he's directly in his son's limited field of vision. Because even if Luke's too young to understand the words, Anakin wants him to see his face clearly when he says them.

I'm going to be good for you.

I swear it.

Padmé's warned him before against making grandiose promises he can't possibly live up to, but this is a vow Anakin knows he can keep.

The wind whistles around him. It's a rather balmy night for this time of year, so he doesn't feel nervous about Luke being out in the elements. Still, he doesn't think Padmé would be pleased about him sitting on the roof with their baby in his arms, which is why he'd better be back in their room by the time Leia's ready for her nighttime feeding.

But they still have a little while left before then. He looked back up at the sky.

Over there, Luke? That's Coruscant. Where Mommy works.

Anakin looked down at Luke, who's still staring up at him with his slightly dazed baby stare, and held him tighter.

I think she might be leaving us soon, he confesses like it's some big secret. He feels a little ripple in the Force. Like a whimper. He looks down and finds water gathering in the corners of Luke's little eyes. Which could mean anything really, but just to be on the safe side he gives the baby another kiss on the nose.

Not forever, mind you. Just for a little while. Mommy loves her work, you see. Almost as much as she loves us. It makes her sad to stay away for too long. So we should be happy for her when she goes back. It'll be hard, being away from her, I know it will. But we're going to be very, very brave, aren't we, Luke?

He shuddered out a breath through the lump lodged in his throat. He's glad he's not saying any of this out loud.

We'll be okay, won't we? All by ourselves? Daddy's used to being without Mommy. We used to have to be apart for months and months and months at a time. But you've never been away from her for that long, have you?

For a second it looks like Luke is shaking his head, but then Anakin sees the lightning bug that's caught his eye. The boy thrashes his little hand out to try and reach for it, but it flits away before he can uncurl his fist. Too slow. Anakin feels a tiny pulse of disappointment come from the baby, and rocks gently him in commiseration.

It won't be so bad. We'll still be able to comcall her. And we'll take lots of holos to show her when she comes back. And we'll…we'll be fine, right? Just you, me, and Leia? We'll be okay, won't we?

Luke, of course, says nothing. The baby is all glassy eyes and wonderment, and a wave of calm drifted through Anakin all of a sudden, accompanied by Luke's tiny giggles. Almost as though he were saying, You worry too much, Daddy.

You're right, buddy. I'm sorry.

A kiss to the forehead.

You're a lot like your mommy, you know that?

Luke grinned, his little face lighting up under the stars above them. And Anakin was at peace.

He leaned all the way back against the roof, repositioning Luke so that he was lying flat on his belly on top of his chest, and went back to pointing out visible star systems, and recounting for his enraptured son the adventures he'd had during his time as a Jedi.

It was only a short while later that he felt it.

A presence. A new one. Foreign yet familiar. Stirring and triumphant. A hunter having cornered its prey. Finally found you! It crowed.

Anakin shot up and looked around. Nothing. But the signature was still there, growing stronger the closer it drew to them.

Quickly, he gathered up Luke, and slipped silently down off of the roof and onto the balcony of his and Padmé's bedroom. Light on his feet, he crept through the room, and up to the bed, where Padmé lay fast asleep smack dab across the middle, her body curled protectively around Leia.

Seeing the two of them, Anakin had to take a second to laugh to himself. For all the work that had gone into their nursery, the twins rarely slept in it. He and Padmé tried those first couple of days after they were born, but the twins would start to cry whenever either of them left the room. So Anakin had ended up moving the crib into his and Padmé's bedroom. But even then, some nights found them too tired to make it all the way over to the crib on the other side of the room. Instead, the twins slept in the middle of the bed between them, which the babies seemed to enjoy more than anything.

Co-sleeping at this age is ill-advised by most parenting holoblogs, but feeling how much comfort the twins find in being close to him and Padmé alleviates most of Anakin's apprehension.

"Padmé," he shook her gently, so as not to startle her. She grumbled something unintelligible and rolled away from him. He reached for her again, more forceful this time. "Padmé, wake up. Someone's here."

Her eyes snapped open. She shot up in a hazy panic. "Wha-?"

"Someone's here," he repeated. "I don't know who. But I felt the presence of another sensitive. I'm going to go check it out. Stay here with the twins."

He shuffled Luke into her arms before she could argue. Then grabbed his 'saber from the bottom drawer of their nightstand, and with one last glance back at his family, stole out of the room to go confront the intruder.


His eyes are blue.

That's the first thing Ahsoka sees when Anakin emerges from the underbrush. His brilliant blue eyes, shining in the darkness. And she breathes a sigh of relief. He's okay. He can still be reached. She was so worried; it's taken her way too long to get to this place. But it turns out she's not too late after all. He can still be saved.

And then she hears the tell-tale click that becomes a deafening hum, as another familiar blue lights up the night sky.

She freezes.

Her entire thought process up until this point, has been centered around getting here. Seeing him again. But has she given any thought to what she was going to say to him once she did?

Of course she has. That's all she's been doing this entire time. Rehearsing their reunion over and over in her head. And now they're finally face-to-face, and she's looking into his blue, blue, not-Sith eyes that are still nonetheless filled with mistrust and danger and fear—eyes that have never looked at her that way, even when she was accused of doing the unthinkable—everything she'd been prepared to say falls straight through the cracks. Ahsoka's got nothing.

She takes her hands from her sides and raises them, slowly, so as not to startle him. Then closes her eyes and does something she's never done once in her life—falls to her knees, and begs.

"Anakin…" she whispers throatily. Her voice breaking. What can she say to him, when he's looking at her like that? All cold steel and open hostility. The way he's never looked at her before. Not even when she was his unwanted padawan. Not even when she'd been framed for murder. What can she say to him?

Please…

I just want to help.

I didn't come here to fight.

Please. Please. I don't care what Obi-Wan says, you're not lost. You could never be! So please…

Please just let me help you!

She doesn't hear the click of the 'saber. She doesn't hear Anakin's quiet footsteps darting across the ground. She doesn't sense his presence coming closer, closer, closer until she's being

Lifted…?

Literally hoisted up by her arms and slammed into something hard and warm. She opens her eyes to find herself pinned to Anakin's chest. His entire body trembling as he clings to her. Clutches her. Tighter, and tighter and tighter. His hands rubbing up and down her back, as he buries his head in her shoulder and exhales a shaky, shuddery breath that Ahsoka would almost call a sob. But that'd be ridiculous. Anakin doesn't cry. He never cries.

But this is how Ahsoka knows for sure that he's actually himself. No one else has ever held her the way Anakin did. All full body and desperate. Like she was someone to be treasured. Protected. Loved. Not even Master Plo had ever been this way with her before.

She feels her eyes well up, and no. She is not going to do this. She's come here to do a lot of things, but sobbing in her former Master's arms like some homesick youngling is not one of them.

Only she does cry. And Anakin cries. And they're both crying over each other and it's so horrible and gross because she Did Not come here to do this, but Force, does it feel so damn good to just let it all go.

There are still tears streaming down both of their faces when they lean back and touch their foreheads together, and the tattered threads of their old bond steadily weave themselves back together.

Ahsoka sees everything. Her leaving. His loneliness. His fear. His frustration. His confusion. And…that. It's unnecessary. All of it. Ahsoka's forgiven him for all of it, and then some. Anakin doesn't need to show her for her to understand why he did what he did. But she's grateful. So very grateful that he still trusts her. That he still wants to let her in. That her view of him still counts.

Her vision of the past few months is then abruptly cut off, and she notices for the first time Anakin is speaking to her through their bond. Rapidly. A parsec a second in a language she can't understand but whose meaning she can feel through the Force as Anakin heaves her over his shoulder and starts sprinting through the trees.

Have to meet them! You have to meet them! Have to meet them!

Who? I have to meet who?

Brother and sister! Have to meet them!

What?


Wow. So this is it.

"What's it?" Anakin asked, with a wide grin. He hasn't stopped with that big, dumb smile since he placed Leia in her arms.

Ahsoka's cheeks burned. She hadn't wanted to say this bit out loud.

"The babies," she said awkwardly. Looking down at the sleeping baby in the sling across her torso. Leia is a nice name and all, but Ahsoka thinks Anakin and Padmé missed an opportunity in not naming her Anakin Jr. Her signature is him, all frenetic and feisty. Leia may only be a few weeks old, but even now when Ahsoka looks at her she sees her father's fiery temper, his passion, his tenacity, his protectiveness, his righteousness, all right there through tiny closed eyelids. She's all his, for sure.

"I had this feeling a few weeks back, while I was still looking for you," she said, looking up from Leia's sleeping face. "It was like…like my whole body was being lit up from the inside out. But in a good way. A happy way. I didn't have any idea what it was, but it told me how to find you. But now I know. It was the babies…"

She can feel her blush deepen. "It was how you felt when they were born."

Anakin slings an arm around her, and pulls her in for another one armed hug. He hasn't stopped doing that since he set her down. It's starting to get a little awkward, to be honest. But in a good way. It's strange, because although Anakin's always been freer with physical affection than most in the Temple, Ahsoka's still not used to receiving it from him so frequently. But at the same time, she's getting the feeling that this is the way he's always been—the way he's always wanted to be with her, but has never allowed himself until now, now that they're both no longer apart of the Order.

It's strange, but it's also kind of nice.

She's always known Anakin. And he's always just been Anakin. But now Ahsoka feels like she's getting to know the secret him. Or the real him. The part of him that he's never been able to share with anyone, except maybe with Padmé. And the twins. And now with her, too, apparently.

And it's just really, really nice.

"Where all did you go to look for us, Ahsoka," Padmé asked, as she came back into the kitchen carrying Luke in one arm and a plate piled high with food in the other. She set the plate down in front of her, and took a seat on her other side. Anakin slid the mug of hot tea closer to her, and rubbed her back encouragingly.

"Ummm," she thought back. She's been to so many planets, in such a short span of time now that she thinks about it. They all passed through her in a blur. "Well first there was Corellia."

She sent Padmé a teasing glare. "Nice job with the old handmaiden hat trick. Did anyone actually fall for that?"

They both double over in laughter. She doesn't get it.

"Ahsoka," gasped Anakin between chuckles. "Let's just say, if you had been in my shoes, you would have cut Palpatine down before the War could have even been started."

She stiffens a bit at that. Then the more she considers it, she relaxes. He's Anakin. Of course he would make a joke like that. She shook her head and smirked at him in spite of herself.

"Anyway," she went on. "After that there was Dantooine, Rodia, Kashyyk…"

She ticked them off one by one with her fingers. Still trying to remember them all.

"Xo, and then Tatooine. Then on the way back there was—"

"Ahsoka," Padmé stopped her with a concerned hand on her forearm. "How did you manage to get so far on your own? I don't mean to pry, but how could you afford to travel from one end of the galaxy to the other?"

Ahsoka shrugged. "Uh, I worked?"

Duh. How else do you get anywhere in the real world?

"Worked where?" said Anakin pointedly. "What did you do for the year and or so after you'd left the Order? Where did you live?"

"Worked…" Ahsoka said, getting more and more uncomfortable with the worried, reproachful looks the two of them were sending her. "...cleaning. Doing odd jobs here and there? The captains of the transports I hitched rides on let me clean the bathrooms and work in the kitchens in exchange for free passage."

Padmé squinted knowingly. Anakin glared at her, one hand on his hip, the other rocking a whimpering Luke in a rather tense motion. Force, even the babies seemed to know that she was leaving some stuff out.

"Also…" she drummed her fingers against the table. "I paid for my way off Tatooine by working in a cantina in Mos Eisley."

"A cantina—"

"—In Mos Eisley," Anakin raged. Then immediately softened as Luke began to whimper. "Ahsoka, what were you thinking? That…pit is crawling with pirates and psychopaths and slavers, on a good day."

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. "Honestly, the both of you. You'd think we were just sitting around meditating for two years. Did you forget that I spent my entire padawanship in an active warzone?"

Padmé huffed in that way she always did when there was some glaring point that either she or Anakin were completely missing.

"But surely there was somewhere a little more…legitimate you could have found work."

Ahsoka and Anakin rolled their eyes at each other.

"Legitimate and Tatooine is a bit of an oxymoron, Love," Anakin grumbled.

It's so weird, seeing them so openly lovey-dovey like this. Ahsoka's always suspected—Force, anyone with eyes has suspected. But to actually witness it first hand is…really nice, actually. Again, it's like seeing the real Anakin. The real Padmé. She shouldn't. But Ahsoka thinks she could get used to this.

"Obi-Wan didn't like the idea much, either," she said off-handedly. Then flinched, as the temperature in the room suddenly dropped.

"You…saw Obi-Wan?" Padmé asked tentatively.

"Does he know you came here?" Anakin demanded. His formerly stern face now cracked and frantic.

"Yes. And no," she answered quickly. "I didn't tell him anything about where I'd been. He just knew that I was looking for you. But he didn't approve."

"Why not," said Padmé.

"He…" she struggled for a moment. Unsure of how to explain. Unsure if she should even bother, judging from the scowl that spread across Anakin's face at mention of his old Master's name. "He didn't want—I mean, he thought it would be best if—what I mean is—"

"He didn't think I could be saved," Anakin said bitterly. His scowl deepening. But the swell of sorrow that passes through their bond with the words bely the undercurrent of betrayal. The hurt. The loss of faith and the widening chasm between Anakin and the unflagging devotion he once had for Obi-Wan. Ahsoka aches for both of them.

"No, that's—I mean, yes. Sort of. I mean, it's more complicated than that, Anakin. Please just listen—"

"It doesn't matter," he says decisively. His voice wavering ever so slightly. It's probably just the room's light reflecting off of his eyes, but for a split second they look a little dim. Watery, almost. More like rainclouds than the bright sky she's used to seeing.

"It doesn't," he said again. Same decisive tone, but lighter now. Warmer. "None of it."

He slides out of his chair, then. So that he's kneeling before her on the floor. His hands come up to cup her shoulders. His thumbs smooth along them in small, soothing circles.

"It doesn't matter, Snips," he said again. Full on beaming now, his smile practically tearing his face in half. Force, she's never seen him like this before. So content. So open. So free. It's nice, okay? It's really, really, really nice.

"You're home now," he whispers.

They both freeze.

This is not what Ahsoka came here for. She came here to restore. To fight. To drag Anakin Skywalker, the greatest Jedi—no, the greatest person she's ever known back to the Light, or die trying.

Except he's already there.

And Ahsoka had nothing to do with it. So what purpose does she serve here now? What's left for her to do?

This is not what Ahsoka came here for. And Anakin knows this. And yet…

Wouldn't it be nice? To stay here, and have a family again. A proper one this time, with the only two people who have always stuck by her no matter what. She can stick by them, too, right?

Ahsoka can hear the words—her own words—I have to figure this out on my own, echoing over and over again across their bond. And she wonders if this was another reason, if she was another reason Anakin did what he did. And the shame and regret nearly overcome her.

Until she realizes, it's not because she left. It's because she came back. Anakin's not throwing what she said back at her in blame. He's asking a question.

Please?

So she moves first this time, throwing her arms around his neck and slamming into him—gently, so as not to squash baby Leia. He falls into her, sagging and heavy with relief. He's not the only one.

"I'm not leaving you again, Anakin," she whispers vehemently. "Not this time. Not ever."

If possible, he draws her in tighter. She can feel him shudder with silent tears that drip onto her shoulders, as he once again starts speaking in that language she can only feel, not hear.

Thank you.


There's an auction taking place in the market square today. Obi-Wan doesn't know how he could have forgotten this was happening today. After the first time he'd stumbled upon one of these, he'd made sure to schedule his supply runs around this barbarism.

He can't be here. He can't be here. He can't. It just… It makes him

(The shock collar around his throat seems to tighten with every move he makes. He tries to block it out. Tries to trick himself into believing it to be just another body part. When that doesn't work, he tries to leave his body altogether. Luminous beings, he tells himself. It doesn't help. It works.

"The Jedi only make things worse!"

It doesn't work.)

Remember things. Things that are long past.

A Jedi does not cling to the past. Right.

Except…

(Something sticking him in his side.

A tiny something.

A tiny, annoying something.

"Anakin," he grumbled, without turning over. "We've talked about this."

"I know, Master," the boy whispered. "I'm gonna go right back to my room. I promise. I just wanted—"

Obi-Wan groaned, and rolled over in a huff. "What," he grunted. "It's the middle of the night. What could you possibly want that couldn't wait til morning?"

Anakin looked down and scuffed his feet. "I had a bad dream," he mumbled, hugging himself with his spindly little arms. "'Bout Mom. She was—I know I'm not s'pposed to talk about this stuff. But it's auction season coming up on Tatooine, and—"

"Anakin," he groaned. "Dreams are just dreams. How many times do I have to tell you this?"

"But it's auction season," Anakin said emphatically. Desperate to have him to see the significance. He can't. Ordinarily, maybe. But it's dead o'clock at night, and Anakin had worn him out with double training sessions this afternoon. He really is not in the mood for this right now.

"It's auction season," the boy said again. Quieter this time. His voice cracking with tears. "C-can't we just make a quick trip back? Just to see if she's alright? Please? Watoo's shop might not be doing so well now I'm gone. And he might have to sell her and I—"

"Anakin."

"Yes, Master?"

"Go to sleep. We'll talk about this in the morning."

"But can we?" Anakin begged, coming closer and leaning into his face so that all Obi-Wan can see is fear and blue. "Go back I mean? Just a short visit? Just to check on her?"

"Bed," said Obi-Wan. Batting Anakin away, and flopping over onto his other side.

Already half-asleep, he pretends he doesn't hear the sniffles the boy tries so hard to stifle, as he pads out of the room and back to sleep.

He'll deal with that in the morning.)

Women. Men. Children. Their hands and feet shackled. Their bare skin burning and blistering under the planet's twin suns, as they are manhandled onto the bidding platform one by one.

Onlookers watch and jeer. Some make lewd gestures at the women and even some of the older children.

It's a horror show. Truly is the stuff of nightmares. But Obi-Wan finds himself unable to turn away.

Anakin is up there in every single one of the petrified faces on that platform. As one of the children screaming for their mother, who's just been sold to a different owner. One of the young boys being fondled and 'inspected' by brothel owners. One of the men, aged and beaten after a lifetime of indignity and abuse.

Obi-Wan wants to vomit.

Instead, he turns away from the auction, and heads in the direction of the stalls. He did come here for a purpose, after all. Obi-Wan buys his staples—alcohol, bread, alcohol, water, dried meats, alcohol—as quickly as possible. All the while, the auction continues on in the background, fulminating and inescapable. He doubles his pace, and beats a hasty retreat back to his hut, located on a rather expansive homestead belonging to a moisture farmer, his son and daughter-in-law, who don't really trust off-worlders—especially not Jedi—but have agreed to let him stay on their land in exchange for occasionally helping out around their farm.

He has off today, though. So with the horrid memory of the auction still fresh on his mind, Obi-Wan tears off the cork of the bottle of drink with his teeth, and downs half the bottle in one steady gulp. It burns his throat going down.

The singular beauty of Tatooine is that there is little to no policing of the dubious chemicals that have long been banned from use in foodstuffs in the Republic. In laymen's terms, you can find the good stuff here. And as an added bonus, it's cheaper than water. Obi-Wan supposes there has to be some small consolation to life here. At the very least, one doesn't have to endure the heat and hunger and depravation and slavery, sober.

(It's auction season coming up…)

(Can't we make a quick trip back?)

(Just to see if she's alright? Just to check on her?)

(Please…?

Please…

Please, Master?)

Force, what was Qui-Gon thinking, with his blasted dying wish?

What was Yoda thinking, indulging him?

What was he thinking. All these years? That he was good enough, that he could be enough for Anakin? Had it ever even been about Anakin at all? Or was Obi-Wan only ever in it out of a selfish desire to cling to the memory of his dead Master?

(The Jedi only make things worse!)

When Obi-Wan looks back on it all, on all the mistakes he made, and where they all led, he can't be sure.

He can't be sure of anything, anymore.


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Okay space marshmallows, confession time: I really, really hate 's posting method. I just find AO3 (archive of our own)'s method to be much more user friendly. So from now on, all of my stories will be posted on that site under the same user name. Feel free to migrate on over there and look me up. There are some more stories there that I haven't posted on here at all.

Apologies for the delay in updating. Real life stuff just got really, well, real for a while there. But i'm you enjoyed this chapter!