Chapter 1 - You Are The Hole In My Head

Plot: Ahsoka died on Mortis, and Anakin doesn't know how to move on. Except Ahsoka isn't dead. She's still alive on Mortis, having taken up the mantle of the Daughter to preserve the balance, regardless of what she actually wants. And when Anakin remembers, nothing can stop him from going back for her, no matter the cost.

Author's Note: This is a gift for Overgirl69 on ao3. Sorry for taking so long to do this fic! I hope that you enjoy how it turned out! :D

This is for the SW Big Bang! Many thanks to Flipz for beta reading this fic! And the art for the front cover was drawn by Seo. 💖

~ Amina Gila

Grief is not a strong enough word to define what he's feeling. It's something stronger, so much more visceral and overpowering.

Anakin does not think he will ever recover from this. He does not think he ever can recover from this. Because Ahsoka is dead. She died on Mortis, killed by the Son. He felt their bond shatter, held her body in his arms, and he knew he failed. He failed her the way he failed his mother, except it's somehow worse, so much worse. It hurts more than it did when his mom died. Maybe it's because Ahsoka was his to care for and protect and he failed her.

He failed her.

The Father kept her body there for reasons Anakin does not understand or care to, but it hadn't really mattered. Putting her to rest in the Daughter's part of the planet, amidst the greenery and life, had been the hardest thing Anakin ever did, but he knew it was the place for her. Ahsoka should not have died, but she did, and it only seemed fitting for her to remain in a place so Light, free of war and conflict. It's everything Anakin wanted to give her when she was alive, but he was unable to do so because of the war.

The clones, his boys, they don't blame him for her death. Anakin thinks they should, wishes they would. He would feel better if they did. This was his fault. It was his duty to protect Ahsoka, and he failed her. He failed her, and she's dead because of it. She's not coming back.

It still doesn't seem real.

Some days, he wakes up thinking that she's still there, and the pain is just as sharp and agonizing as the moment when she died.

Obi-Wan tries to help, but… Well, Anakin is grateful to him for being there, for trying to help, but truly, there's nothing he can do, nothing at all. He can't bring Ahsoka back. The most he can do is be a support to him and help distract him from the grimness of reality. It works. Sometimes. Often it doesn't, but Anakin is still grateful that he's willing to at least try.

**w**

Ahsoka gasps in a breath as her eyes fly open. Something is different. The Force feels different. What – what happened? The last thing she remembers…

She looks around, frantically, her head thumping back against the ground when she recognizes the Father's monastery. She tries to speak, but only a croak comes out, and she coughs, rubbing her temple. The Son took her, and he did something to her, but it's all… blurry, hazy. There was a sudden cold, a rush of nothing, and then…

And then, she woke up here.

"Ah, you are awake." It's the Father, his voice echoing oddly in a way that can't be missed.

"What – happened?" she whispers finally, pushing herself upright, a strange feeling crawling over her skin. "Where – where's Anakin?"

The Father's expression never changes. "They are gone, daughter, back to their world."

"No!" Ahsoka denies hotly, fists clenching. "They wouldn't!" Because she knows Anakin, and she knows that he would never leave her behind without so much as a goodbye. Never. He wouldn't leave her for anything.

"Only the Son and Daughter together, can ensure the balance is kept," the Father replies, "And with my daughter dying, the balance was broken. Ruin and destruction would have followed as my son grew in strength without his sister to keep him in check. I knew of only one way to restore the balance."

His pause feels significant, and Ahsoka just blinks up at him blankly. What is he saying? Is he trying to imply something? What –

"Child, I transferred my daughter's powers into you," he explains, "You have become her. You are the Daughter, the embodiment of everything Light in the galaxy."

Ahsoka feels her face pale, and she sucks in a shaky breath, reaching out with the Force to confirm it. He's not lying, and only now can she pinpoint what it is that she noticed as being so different when she first awoke. The Force is – It's –

Alive is the only word she can think of, but even that doesn't do justice to what she can feel. She can feel everything. Everything. She can feel things in a way she never has before, and dimly, she realizes that she's trembling. She doesn't know how to handle it, doesn't think she can. Anakin. She needs Anakin. If he was here, he could help her balance it.

Shakily, Ahsoka pushes herself to her feet, and suddenly notices that she's glowing. Her skin is glowing, her body is glowing. … Of course, it is. The Daughter's did, too, and if she's her, or whatever that means or however that works, then it stands to reason that she would be the same, right? She – what will this mean for her? What has she become?

"Anakin," she whispers, stumbling back, shaking her head, "I need –"

"He is gone," the Father repeats again, holding out a hand, but it's not his so it can't soothe her. Anakin is the one she turns to, but he's not here he's gone she needs him –

"Peace, Daughter," he says, and Ahsoka inhales, trembling, as she reaches to the Force, for him. She can feel him, the brightness of his presence, out there in the galaxy. She can feel him, and she knows that he's alive. "He could not stay, and you cannot go. This is where you must remain, for the good of the galaxy."

A good Jedi would accept that. A good Jedi would let it rest because the galaxy matters more than selfish desires, but Ahsoka does not think she's a very good Jedi. The Force is bright and so very Light, but it's not what she needs, and she can't quite listen to the calming, soothing currents that flow around her, breathing life into the world. She just wants Anakin. She wants Rex. She wants to be back with the people she knows in a place she knows. She doesn't want to be here.

"He wouldn't have left me," she whispers, because she knows that, and she is afraid of why he's gone. He must be frantic. He'll come looking for her. He will. She knows it. Because that is who Anakin Skywalker is. She has never known anyone like him, and there is no one else like him in the entire galaxy. "He'll come for me."

The Father's smile is sad. "No, he will not, Daughter," he answers, "Because to the galaxy, you are dead. You are no longer Ahsoka Tano. You have been reborn as the Daughter, the champion of the Light."

Ahsoka shakes her head, slowly backing away. This cannot be her fate. This cannot be her future. She cannot be trapped here, forever locked away from the galaxy, doomed to an eternity all alone except for the Father and the Son. She didn't ask for this. She doesn't want this. She wants to go home.

She isn't – she doesn't even know what she is anymore, and she doesn't know what she's capable of. The power flowing through her is simultaneously frightening and soothing, and she doesn't know how to make sense of these feelings.

Ahsoka runs.

She runs as fast as she can from the truths that she can never escape, pretending that there aren't tears pricking at her eyes, pretending she can't hear the cold cackle of 'sister, you have nowhere to go' from the dark creature circling overhead.

What she hates the most is that the Son is right.

She has nowhere to go, and she is trapped in a prison from which she can never escape.

**w**

Sometimes, Anakin sees Ahsoka in his dreams. He doesn't know whether they're more painful or soothing, to see her there, young and carefree, laughing, her padawan braid swinging at her shoulder. She was his to love and care for, and he failed, and he doesn't – he doesn't know how it all happened, what he should have done differently to protect her, to keep her safe. He did everything, but it still wasn't enough, and it gnaws at him.

It feels as though the universe is laughing at him, whispering you failed her Anakin Skywalker like you failed your mother who will be next?

He can't keep those whispers, those fears at bay. A good Jedi would, but Anakin is not a very good Jedi. He feels too deeply, loves too deeply, mourns too deeply. He should be able to let it go, but he can't. He doesn't know how.

Ahsoka is in his dreams that night, sitting cross-legged across from him in the Room of One Thousand Fountains, in a spot where Obi-Wan often took Anakin when he was still a padawan. Anakin hadn't had the time or freedom to take Ahsoka here as often as he would have liked, but they'd still come. He doesn't know what to make of the look on her face, intent and searching. "Are you okay, Master?" she asks finally, and he can't quite help the slightly hysterical laugh that escapes from him as he scrubs a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

"Snips –" He flinches when he says the nickname, remembering the I hate it when you call me that which she had yelled at him on Mortis. He doesn't know if she meant it, and he never had the chance to ask, but if – if it's true, if she hates the nickname, he won't call her that anymore. He couldn't do that to her, and she's gone, so he can't ask, either, but even in his dreams, he will try his best not to hurt her, no matter that it's not real.

"Ahsoka," he corrects, seeing the way her brow furrows with some measure of confusion as she watches him, "I – I'll be fine," he settles on finally. Even in a dream, he cannot let go of his need to protect her, to bury his own conflicts for her, as though she might somehow feel guilt for dying and leaving him alone, hurting.

"You're not," she denies, frowning, and he looks at her, really looks at her.

She's – something about her is different, though he can't quite place… Oh, actually, he can. Her skin is… glowing a little. It's weird, and if hadn't been looking so closely, he might have missed it. She is in the light, so it's not that obvious, but she's somehow brighter than everything around them. It's weird. Her eyes are… off, too. There's a greenish hue to them that he's never seen before, and he doesn't really understand why she looks like this. He's never seen Ahsoka like this, so why is she not like he remembers?

Anakin presses his lips together, slowly breathing in and trying to cram down the aching grief that threatens to swallow him alive as he looks at her. He aches, seeing her, knowing she's dead. "I…" But words fail him. What can he even say? "It's different with you gone," he says weakly, finally, as she continues looking at him expectantly.

"Did I – did I do something on Mortis after the Son took me?"

… Why is dream-Ahsoka asking him that? Why would his subconscious be making him relive that? His hands clench. "He possessed you," he admits finally, "But it doesn't matter. It – trust me. It doesn't matter."

Her expression is skeptical, and it's like a knife to the gut just seeing it. He misses her, so much and so fiercely, and he doesn't know how he's supposed to keep moving on like it didn't happen. How can he avoid the reminders, when everything he does and everywhere he goes, it's as though the universe is waving in his face that his padawan, his child, his world is gone?

"Okayyy," she replies, drawing out the word in such a way to let him know that she doesn't believe him but is still dropping it.

The world flickers around them, glitching a bit, and blurring around the edges before it resolidifies. Ahsoka's face tightens. "Just let me –" She doesn't finish the sentence, leaning forward. He watches, befuddled, as she presses a finger to his forehead.

He jolts, and it's as though he's been struck by a live wire, Light slamming into him with such intensity that he can't breathe. It's Ahsoka. It's her, but it's also not and she's real this is real she's alive –

The world goes dark.

**w**

"What have you done?!"

Ahsoka opens her eyes, staring defiantly up at the Father. "I healed him," she answers simply, anger simmering in her veins. "He was hurting. You had no right to take his memories like that! None! He thought I was dead! I wasn't going to let him mourn me when I'm still alive."

The Father looks at her, disappointed. "You should know better," he chides. "As a Jedi, you were taught to serve others, yes?"

Sullenly, she nods.

"And you can only serve the galaxy so long as you remain here in obscurity. When news of your life, of your resurrection travels from here, what do you think the Sith will do?"

Ahsoka scowls, crossing her arms. The Jedi would say that she should do whatever she must to keep the Sith from gaining power, from seeking her out. But Anakin would say differently. He would have wanted her to tell him. He would have wanted to know, so he could be with her, so he could teach her. He's her master. It's only right for him to know. The Father is wrong in this, she knows. She can't say how she knows, but she does. It's a strange certainty rooted deep inside her. She saw what Anakin was capable of when he was here, taming the Son and Daughter both. He's the Chosen One, whatever that may mean, and she knows that he is capable of knowing the truth and not misusing it. He is stronger than the Sith ever could be.

"Maybe the Sith will know," she acknowledges, because she has to at least say that, "But Anakin will protect me. You don't know him." She knows that every bit of the passionate loyalty she feels for Anakin is audible in her voice, but she doesn't care. The Father is not a Jedi. He's nothing to her, except her prison warden. She owes him nothing, and she doesn't care what he thinks.

"And if the Sith find a path to this world?" the Father challenges, "What then?"

She shrugs. "Then they will die."

He shakes his head. "No, Daughter –"

"Don't call me that!" Ahsoka hisses, angry, "I'm not your daughter! She's dead! I might have her power, but I'm not her!"

He ignores her. "– You do not understand these things. There was a mortal once, who sought to gain our power, to be one of us, so she could remain with us. She touched the Light and the Dark, and it corrupted her. It was only with the three of us, together, that we were able to lock her away so she would not destroy the galaxy. You are being selfish. You must let it go, let him go."

Ahsoka feels tears come to her eyes, unbidden, but she blinks them away stubbornly. Let Anakin go? Can she let the Light go? Can she pretend she does not have the Force? What a joke. "No."

She had settled into meditation at long last, in the center of her wellspring of power, reaching for her bond with Anakin. She's the Daughter now, an embodiment of the Light, and even here on Mortis, she can feel Anakin so strongly, a star of power and warmth. She'd reached for him, and it had been easy, so easy, to slip into his mind when he was sleeping, to enter his dreams and speak to him.

Seeing him in pain, seeing him grieving, she had known that she could not do it. She could not continue to remain here while he thought her dead, so she had touched him, healed his mind from what the Father did so that he would remember the truth. If he chooses not to come – something Ahsoka highly doubts – she will accept that, because he is her master, and he has always been able to see clearly in a way she cannot. Ahsoka will follow Anakin anywhere, through anything.

"You must," the Father says, lightly castigating.

She lifts her chin. "You don't know what he means to me, what he would do for me. You are not my father. I do not have one, but if I did, it would be Anakin. He is the only one who can make decisions for me, for my future." And it is true that she does not always like it when he makes decisions for her, either. She has argued with him in the past, but he is – well, he is Anakin, and he does not make choices lightly. He is always so very aware of what he asks of her or others, and for as angry as she may be sometimes, it's impossible to argue with his logic. Doesn't mean she doesn't try.

"You disturb the balance of things by clinging," he warns.

Ahsoka's grin is a bit feral and not sincere in the least. "Then you should have chosen someone else to be your new daughter."

**w**

"Ahsoka!"

Anakin is at her side in a moment, turning her body over, though he knows it's too late. Her empty, lifeless eyes will haunt him forever.

Everything is a blur, as he cradles her body in his arms, trying not to cry, feeling too overwhelmed and empty to do so, anyway. It's over. He – he failed her the way he failed his mother, and he's lost another person he loves. This – this is why he didn't want a padawan. Having a child depending on him, a life in his hands, it wasn't a responsibility that he ever wanted. But Ahsoka was stubborn, and he cared about her so fast. He knew he couldn't send her away, not when it would mean she'd be handed off to someone else who might not protect her the way she deserved, or worse, sent onto the fronts on her own. He couldn't do that to her.

He promised to protect her, but he failed.

She's gone.

Dead.

The Father's voice filters in from what feels like far away, and it seems to be echoing more than normal. "All is lost. The balance has been broken. I thought by bringing you here, I could… but I have destroyed everything."

Anakin looks up, tightening his grip on Ahsoka. "Can you help her?" he whispers. This is a planet that is not natural. It is of the Force. If anything can undo what's been done…

But that hope breaks when he sees the look on the Father's face. "There is no light. Evil has been unleashed, and the Dark Side shall consume everything."

"Help her," Anakin practically begs because he can't – he can't give up on her. It's Ahsoka.

"I cannot," says the Father. A pause. "Not in the way you desire."

He stills. "What do you mean?"

"If I bring back your friend," the Father explains, "She must take my Daughter's place so balance can be restored. It will save your galaxy from destruction, but you will lose her all the same. She will not be able to set foot off this world."

He doesn't – can't believe that. Maybe it will change her, but she'll be alive, which matters more. He can figure out how to take her with him after.

Anakin shifts back, reluctantly, laying Ahsoka back on the ground. Obi-Wan's hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly as the Father touches both Ahsoka and the Daughter. Light flares, and Anakin has to look away from the intensity of it, though he can still feel it in the Force, the way Ahsoka's Force presence reignites and grows brighter. When the light fades, Anakin opens his eyes. Ahsoka is still lying on the ground, unconscious but alive. He reaches out, touching her face gently, but she doesn't stir.

"What's wrong with her?" he asks, looking up. "Why isn't she awakening?"

"It is time for you to leave," the Father says instead of answering.

Anakin pulls back slightly. "What? No –"

The Father is suddenly there, touching his forehead, and the world goes dark.

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