Chapter 10 - Mourning

Author's Note: Basically what the chapter title says. :')

~ Amina Gila

It's been several months since the war started, several months since what happened to Jacen. It's a constant ache in his heart, the place where his little brother should have been. Should still be. He wants to hope Jacen survived, because there was no confirmation of his death, but Anakin can't allow himself to become completely carried away with that hope, that desperation. He needs it to be true, because he can't handle the reality of it being anything else.

He and Obi-Wan haven't spoken further about his mother. Not beyond Obi-Wan pulling him aside to tell him that he told the Council and that they haven't acted on it, anyway. Otherwise, they drop it. Whether Obi-Wan is still angry, which Anakin suspects he is, he doesn't say. He's, at least, kind enough to understand that Anakin is mourning and doesn't have the energy to discuss it.

Sometimes, Anakin wants to just leave. Go, leave everything behind, and scour the galaxy from top to bottom, desperate to find his brother. Even if he knows, logically, that even if he was looking, there would be no way to know for sure.

Except now, Anakin has Ahsoka to focus on. He can't even say how it happened, seeing as it feels like he's living his life in a daze right now, but somehow, Ahsoka came to Christophsis. And she's officially Anakin's padawan now.

Why Obi-Wan or Master Yoda thought this was a good idea, Anakin can't begin to fathom. But clearly, they firmly believed it was, or they wouldn't have done it, no matter how absurd Anakin finds it.

"How are you taking it?" he asks Ahsoka anyway the moment they're alone in the tower, trying to find a way past the droid's lines.

"How are you?" she responds quietly. Usually, Ahsoka is practically bouncing off walls. Now, that brilliance has dimmed, and Anakin loathes how it feels as though she's become a mere shadow of the girl she once was.

"I can't imagine letting go. I don't want to. He was my brother."

"He was my best friend."

Anakin stops to look at her then, standing in front of the window overlooking the city, one hand clenched over the macrobinoculars. The pain is obvious in her voice, on her face, in her eyes. Everywhere. It's as deep in her as in him. "I know."

"I don't want to think he's gone."

"I don't know that he is," Anakin confesses, the first time he's been willing to voice it, "There was never a body. There was... nothing. It was an assumption, and... I just don't want to believe it, but I can't live with a false hope."

Her shoulders sag a bit. "I wish I could have been there. I could have helped him."

"I'm the one that should have, Ahsoka. I could have. I just never tried."

She reaches over, taking his hand. He pulls her into a one-armed hug. She's so... small. "You would have if you could," she argues, "I know you would have."

"But I didn't."

Nothing anyone does or says can change what happened though. But just... this is wrong. If it were truly Jacen's time to become one with the Force, Anakin is certain he would have felt it. The only thing he can be grateful for is that he was able to tell Jacen that he loved him. But they should have had more time to talk, to... Jacen was too young for that. It shouldn't have happened, and Anakin simply can't find it in himself to fight blindly in the war when he knows the full extent of what this war can lead to.

It's very hard to keep moving, knowing he doesn't have his brother to go back to.

Anakin had promised their mother that they would take care of each other.

Look where that took them.

**w**

The numb emptiness doesn't leave him, not when they win on Christophsis, not when they finally find Rotta, not when they go back to Tatooine. He had orders, and he's following them blindly, but he no longer has the... passion to it that he once would have.

Any other time, Anakin would have been fighting because he wanted to, trying to end the war with everything he had, because Jacen and Ahsoka would be counting on him, and the galaxy was counting on him.

But if he couldn't even save Jacen, even if he's trying his hardest, who can he truly save?

How Dooku could have caused this, Anakin doesn't quite understand either. It doesn't really... make any sense. He should be angry. He wishes he was, because it would be something except the constant self-loathing and emptiness. It's wrong that Anakin ask Rex and his clones to watch their brothers die when he knows so well what it feels like. He can only try to spare them that as much as he can, but it's not enough.

It's never enough.

It never could be enough.

That should be enough to make him feel something, but it's not until now that Anakin realizes exactly how much he's being driven by passion. It's numbing to be without, and that's wrong. He should be able to let go. He should be able to draw on the Light, at least, but he... can't do it. Passion is from the Dark. He shouldn't be driven solely by that.

He never has been a good Jedi though, has he? Of course not. He couldn't leave his mother, couldn't... anything, really. Except fighting. Which drives Obi-Wan crazy.

He's tweaking his fighter a bit, just to make it faster and whatever modifications he can think of when Ahsoka slips into the hangar. Artoo is nearby, offering whatever assistance and solace he can. That itself, Anakin thinks, is enough. It's better than nothing.

"I know you weren't happy to go back to Tatooine," Ahsoka says, leaning on the wing of his fighter.

Anakin scoots out from under his fighter to sit up. "It has a lot of memories."

"I know. I don't like being at the Temple anymore, either. At least I'll have my own room now."

Anakin winces. Of course. That's where she grew up with Jacen, and they were in the same group of younglings, so they would have done everything together. They lived in the same area. He may not have been there for a while, but it'd be impossible for her to think of anything else when she's there. Anakin can't imagine that. It's not even that bad for him. "There's a lot to see if you want to come to mine," he offers.

"A mechanical mess?" she asks impishly, leaning over the fighter's wing.

He knows what she's doing, and Anakin appreciates it. "Yes," he confirms, "You don't have quarters here either, so you can borrow mine temporarily."

"Aren't the general quarters a bit big?"

"They have to be, right?" he throws back, reaching for another tool, "And that just means I have more room for you. The clones' are all filled until we make adjustments."

"Sure," she replies. Right. Pretend to be cheerful, pretend nothing is wrong, pretend... everything. Always. Everything in Anakin's life has always been a front, and it sometimes confuses him what's real versus not. Not that it matters.

**w**

Ahsoka couldn't be more grateful that when Master Plo disappears, Anakin doesn't even question her desire to follow. They go together, and he lets her desperate drive to locate him drive them together on the mission, until they finally find and save him. The Council isn't happy that they disobeyed orders so directly, but Ahsoka doesn't care. At least she was able to stop another person she's close to from dying. So soon after losing Jacen, Ahsoka can't even imagine losing Master Plo, too.

Of everyone, he's been helping her through this the most. He's had experience with people dying, though never anyone as close as Jacen was with Ahsoka. She has never seen anyone as close with another friend as they were.

Ahsoka is struggling to adjust to the chaos and death and violence that highlights the Clone Wars, but she's trying. The training is hard, too. Missions blur together, and the war gives Ahsoka a sort of focus. Bit by bit, she's proud to say she thinks she's giving Anakin the same thing.

They might not have Jacen, but they have each other.

And... she doesn't understand the bond she has with Anakin – he's something kind of brotherly, but something more, too. Maybe it's just how masters and padawans are.

But the war gives her something to do, something to drive her. Because if there's anything Ahsoka is, it's angry. Furious, even, that the Separatists and Sith took her best friend from her.

Is that the Jedi way? Certainly not. Is it working? So far. Will she stop? Nope.

Why should she, when it's working? It's not like anything else is or could, anyway.

So, when Anakin loses Artoo, Ahsoka doesn't question it when Anakin is desperate to search for him. She doesn't want to lose the droid, either, even though she's hardly known him. She's tired of losing, and she has no doubt her master is, too.

"You'll be Artoo's placeholder until he gets back," she tells Arthree – Anakin isn't happy about the droid's presence, not that she can blame him. "After that, I'll take you myself, deal?"

He whistles a sad sort of agreement, but she takes that as a victory, anyway. It's better than it could be. The search for Artoo is far more difficult than she anticipated, though. Ahsoka was on the verge of pulling her lightsaber on the fat slob of a person who was collecting from the battle wreckage, but Anakin pulled her back, having sensed her rage, before she could lash out. She doesn't know that Artoo is here, but the Trandoshan is driving her crazy, and he's hurting her master. That's what upsets her most.

"It's not the Jedi way to act on anger," he reminds her softly, "But... thank you."

"Anytime," she sighs, "I just don't understand why this keeps happening to us."

"Me either."

But of everything, Ahsoka thinks it reaches a high point when, on board the listening post in search of Artoo, Ahsoka runs straight into Grievous himself.

Anakin is training her well, but she knows she's not ready to face down the Jedi killer that the cyborg is. But seeing him fills her with enough rage to want to rip him apart, piece by piece, to kill him, to win, to make him stop hurting people.

"You must be General Grievous," she greets him lightly, anyway, refusing to back down. She's a Jedi. Jedi don't run. There's a mission to carry out, and no, she won't be able to win, but she has to try. She owes it to her master, to Jacen. She owes it to Rex and the others Anakin left with her to care for, too. She couldn't save Jacen, but she can save them, and she won't fail.

The cyborg hacks a laugh, throwing off his cape and igniting two lightsabers. He can have four, she's heard. He obviously doesn't think much of her.

Ahsoka wraps her other hand around her hilt, straightening, gathering the Force around her. She's terrified, terrified at the thought of dying or being cut to pieces and left for a slow and painful death, but she won't let that stop her or slow her down. "He's just another tinny. Let's scrap him like the rest."

There's no way to back out, only to move forwards, and that's what she does, thoughtlessly – lunging ahead at him, lightsaber raised. He finds it funny. She can feel it, but their blades clash, Ahsoka all the while knowing that no matter how well Anakin trained her, there's nothing she can do – not against Grievous himself.

Their lightsabers clash once, twice, three times before he backhands her into the wall. She slams against it and hits the floor, pushing herself up slowly. By the time she's on her feet, the clones are already shooting.

Grievous jumps at them, literally, into the center of their group, lashing out with his lightsabers and metal limbs. It's all so fast Ahsoka can't tell who was thrown where, but she Force-jumps across the hall, blocking him barely in time to keep him from beheading Rex.

For one heart-stopping moment, Ahsoka has to wonder what would have happened if she were just one moment too late. She couldn't have gone back to her master and told him that Rex was lost.

Grievous is already coming for her again, and she already knows this isn't something she can finish. He's too strong and skilled – she can only hold him off and try not to get herself killed, too. Most of all, she can't let it be Rex who has to tell Anakin that she died here.

So, Ahsoka does the only thing she can; she runs. The clones can blow up the station without her, and she's the only one who can hold out against Grievous. She makes it to the hangar as fast as possible, but not before nearly getting beheaded.

With her own lightsaber.

And her neck is throbbing from where Grievous was strangling her.

She pushes that and her panic aside, focusing on the battle until all is said and done, and they're finally on the way back to the cruiser.

"Are you okay?" Anakin asks, turning to her the moment they're in hyperspace.

"I'll be fine," she promises, unable to stop one of her hands from reaching up to touch her neck. It hurts.

"Ahsoka," he objects softly, something pained in his voice.

"We both made it. The mission's done," she protests.

"You should never have fought him alone."

"I wouldn't have if not for Arthree."

"I know. I know."

"I'm almost fifteen," Ahsoka reminds, "I know what I'm capable of. I wasn't fighting him. I was distracting him. I was running to keep him from hurting the clones."

"I know, Snips. But you're not ready to take on Grievous." She can sense how afraid he is, how much he feared that she would be lost just like Jacen was when he heard what happened.

"I didn't have a choice!"

Around them, Rex and the others are already making themselves scarce. She can't blame them. She and her master rarely argue, and they're not exactly... arguing now, but the clones are still uncomfortable around these discussions.

Anakin sinks into the pilot seat beside her. He doesn't look at her, though, instead staring straight out ahead of himself through the viewport. "We take risks, every day, in battle," he replies, "But this is different."

"I know." It's the most Ahsoka can offer, the most either of them can. All they can do is stay together, protect each other to the last, because Ahsoka is terrified at the thought of losing Anakin. She doesn't want to know how badly it would affect him if something happened to her, either.

Anakin pulls her into his arms the moment they're alone, and they cling to one another. That's when it finally dawns on Ahsoka exactly how close she came to dying there.

"I thought death was supposed to be peaceful," she mumbles into his shoulder, "I thought we were supposed to become one with the Force."

"We are, and do," Anakin promises, "But not now. Not yet. You are too young. It's not time. You're safe now. We made it."

Ahsoka melts against him, letting her master's warmth burn away the memory of the cold metal fingers clamped over her neck, slowly digging in and slowly ending her life.

She doesn't want to die.

**w**

Despite her worries, her master has always been infallible. Until he wasn't.

Anakin has been injured before, but this is the first time Ahsoka has seen him lying so still and quiet. He could have died. If the Lurmen hadn't been able to offer him some sort of treatment... he may have. She doesn't know the extent of his injuries, but they were bad.

"Even the brightest stars burn out, Ahsoka," Anakin rasps, his voice quiet. "It happens to everyone, eventually. It will always... It is the way of life. The way of the Force, of all things."

"Not you," she retorts fiercely. "Not with you." He can't die. It's unthinkable. Not Anakin. He's too good for that, too strong, too important both to her and the galaxy. But it's not as though Jacen's importance was enough to keep him safe from the horrors of war, either. But she can't lose Anakin to that, too. She can't.Without Jacen, sometimes it feels like they can only cling to each other as a lifeline, and Anakin has to be fine.

"I promise I will stay for as long as I can," he replies. The weighted, haunted look in his eyes is back now – one Ahsoka herself feels so frequently. She never thought losing someone could be so hard. Then again, she never much thought it possible at all.

"We need you, Skyguy."

"I need you, too," he replies, quietly.

They're alone in the tent now, but Ahsoka wants to keep her voice down anyway. She doesn't want to attract attention, especially not when they're having emotional conversations. It's... not the Jedi way, and she's only growing more accustomed to knowing when and how to hide things. This is one. She's not going to let everyone know how close she is with her master. But that he would openly admit how deeply he cares for her is still touching. It warms something inside her, but she can't let go of what he said. This fear of losing people, of her friends dying is something entirely new to her, and she doesn't know how to deal with it.

"How do you do it?" she asks finally, desperately. "How can you lead us so certainly? How can you know what's right?"

"What do you mean?"

"The clones. All of us. We know we could go to our deaths every time we fight, but you do it anyway."

"I'm older," he points out, a tired smile on his face. "I've been more... experienced with controlling emotions. It's about practice and, as Jedi, we have to let go of our fear."

"But leaving you there, even if I knew Rex would watch over you, was so hard."

"You did the right thing. You know it's what I would have wanted you to do. And I am afraid, Ahsoka. I'm always afraid. But sometimes, all we can do is try."

"Master Yoda says there's no such thing as trying."

"In this case, I don't know what more there can be."

**w**

The most he can do is try harder, be better, stronger, faster – it's never going to be enough, but he has to try, because if he doesn't try, he'll have nothing. It's all Anakin can do, though.

Especially now that Ahsoka, Rex, and Padme's lives are all on the line, along with Jar Jar and many other of his men. Anakin and Obi-Wan are on the way to Iego to find a cure to the virus the others have been infected with. He's worked closely with Obi-Wan on other occasions, but this is the first time they've been together when Anakin is as stressed as he is now.

"How are you handling it?" Obi-Wan asks him.

"It doesn't matter." He doesn't want to talk about this. He doesn't know how to talk to Obi-Wan, period. His relationship with his former master has been severely strained since before the war broke out, since... well, maybe it always has been, because they've always had conflicts, the size depending on the situation. Normally, Anakin doesn't have a problem with reading people – he can always feel it in the Force – but now, he can't get a good hold on what Obi-Wan's aim is. "If you're concerned about me being unable to finish his mission, don't be."

"It's not that," Obi-Wan answers immediately, "But I know you are not taking this well."

"It won't interfere with my duty," Anakin replies glumly – really, he doesn't know why else Obi-Wan would be asking. It's not as if they were close on a personal level, really – masters are no more than teachers, even if Anakin has always seen Obi-Wan as something familial.

"You know that's not why I'm asking."

Anakin never knows how to handle these conversations anymore. "I'm sorry for lying to you," he says abruptly. "I didn't mean to. I..."

"I know," Obi-Wan reassures, "But I cannot expect you to fully fit into the Order and embrace our ways."

He can't tell if that was supposed to be an insult or not. Probably not. But still. "I'm trying to. I just... can't. Sometimes."

"I know you are. And I cannot always expect you to."

It's better than nothing, Anakin thinks, though it still feels like he's asking far too much of his master, to be willing to accept him as he is, to accept him when Anakin is so tiring. "I – I just didn't know how to tell you," he repeats again, anyway.

"I know," Obi-Wan says, and he... hopes that's true, even if he doesn't know if his master has really let it go or not, "But how are you handling this now?"

He's terrified that he's going to lose Ahsoka, and Padme, and Jar Jar, that he's going to fail them all again the way he did Jacen. Not that he can tell Obi-Wan any of that, especially when he's always been so disapproving of what happened with his mother. "I will be fine. We must find this antidote soon," Anakin replies.

"We will," Obi-Wan reassures, and they leave it at that, letting the topic drop now the same way they always do.

**w**

Since the war broke out, Anakin rarely has time to see Qui-Gon, but he's back at the Temple briefly now, to give Ahsoka and the other members of the 501st who were infected by the virus time to recover. It's the first time he's seen Qui-Gon in a long time, too.

"How is the war?" Qui-Gon asks, stopping in front of him.

"The same as... it has been," Anakin offers. It's not escalating, but he doesn't mention that. He wants to bring an end to this, but it still feels like... something died inside of him the moment he lost Jacen, and it's not something that's ever coming back.

Qui-Gon didn't want to fight in the war, staying at the Temple instead to do... whatever it is he's doing. "Of course," he agrees, "I... fear for where this war will take us."

"What do you mean, Master?" Anakin asks, even if... in a way, he knows what he means. The clones are essentially slaves, and leading armies like this isn't the Jedi's role. But it's what they must do now. Still, he's not oblivious to how dark so many are becoming because of it.

"The galaxy is only being plunged further into chaos." Qui-Gon has seemed... different, too, since what happened to Jacen. Everything has.

"What else could we have done?"

"I don't have the answer to that, but the Force is only growing darker," he replies, sighing quietly, "How have you been, Anakin?"

Him? The question catches him off-guard, with how rarely he even takes time to think about it himself. It's all moving from one mission to the next, lest he stop to think and... "I still cannot believe he's gone," Anakin replies, subdued. He doesn't want to hope senselessly, but sometimes, he just can't believe it's really true. They never had a confirmation, and if only subconsciously, sometimes that's all his mind can fixate on.

For a moment, the flicker of pain on Qui-Gon's face is obvious. "He is... at peace in the Force now. If not, we should have heard by now."

"I know," is all he can say, even if he doesn't, not truly. He can't let go of that one thread of hope, even if he should know better than to wish, when it will only be more painful.

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