Author's note: Since I'm on vacation, I'm indulging my impatience to finally get to Ahsoka's first major appearance, so goodbye self-control, and here's another chapter today!

Ahsoka, it seemed, had acquired a shadow. Said shadow had evidently, since her last spate on Yavin, selected the hangar as his favorite haunt. She'd seen already him there several times this week: a small, blond human boy, age about five or six, who was always poking his nose into what the mechanics were doing, or scaling ladders to peer into the cockpits of starfighters, or building things with bits of scrap metal and spare parts. For all of his nosey curiosity, however, he somehow managed to never quite be underfoot, and on occasion, one of the mechanics would even beckon him closer to explain a bit about this engine or that control system. Today, Ahsoka found the inquisitive one perched up on the starboard wing of her ship, his attention fixed on the blaster marks that speckled its surface, and his heels drumming a languid tattoo on its underside as he absently kicked his legs back and forth. He looked so natural, so comfortable there, that it took a moment for the wrongness of the image to register.

Small child. Alone. Up high. Over a duracrete floor.

Okay, that's maybe not the best idea.

Ahsoka cleared her throat. The boy appeared not to notice. She repeated the sound, louder. Still, he was utterly engrossed in studying the ship's wing. At last, she called, "Hey, up there!"

He looked about, and his querying gaze came to rest on her.

"Yes, you," she said. "Hi. Are your parents okay with you perching on starship wings?"

He seemed to consider this for a moment, before replying, "Mama never said I couldn't."

"Uh-huh." Well, don't you think you're clever.

The question, of course, was whether Mama had ever said that he could. And the padawan of Anakin Skywalker and grandpadawan of Obi-Wan Kenobi was willing to bet all her credits that Mama had, in fact, never said any such thing.

"You're a little young to be hanging out in here by yourself, aren't you?" she asked.

The boy shook his head. "Mama'n' Uncle Ben said my dad could actually fly when he was just a little older'n me, so I guess I'm not too young. They say just because he could doesn't mean they'll let me." He pouted slightly, but brightened as he added, "But if I learn everything about ships now then they'll have to let me, right?"

"I'm not sure that's how it works, kiddo."

"But learning is good, and if I learn everything except flying then the only thing left to learn will be flying!"

He seemed quite proud of his reasoning, and Ahsoka had to admit that, as far as juvenile logic went, it was relatively sound.

"Where did you learn to argue," she asked, "the Senate?"

He looked at her as if she were a very silly youngling. "I'm too young to be in the Senate!"

And yet thinks he should be old enough to fly.

"That was a rhetorical question." She prepared herself to explain rhetorical questions to a young child, but he was apparently already familiar with the concept, because he nodded sagely. "Ohhh, one of those things. Mama uses them sometimes. She says they're good for speeches. Leia likes them too."

"Leia?"

"She's my twin. I'm Luke! Who're you?"

"You can call me Ashla."

"That's pretty. And it starts with aurek, like my aunt's name! You kind of look like my aunt, too."

Ahsoka smiled, amused by the strange ways in which younglings decided that one thing resembled another. She wondered what similarities he saw between her and his aunt. Did she dye her hair blue? Wear it in three braids? Maybe she was just tall and worked on ships.

"What's your aunt like?" she asked.

"Oh, she's dead."

"I'm so sorry, Luke."

Luke just gave a careless shrug. "'S okay, I never met her. Mama n' Uncle Ben did, though. Can I help with your ship, Ashla? Please?"

He looked at her, pleading like a lothkitten, his blue eyes wide. It reminded her a bit of when her former master would feign innocence after applying creative interpretation to an order. (Usually when said creative interpretation had resulted in an explosion.)

"Sure. But you are not going to inveigle me into teaching you to fly without your mom's permission, understand?"

Luke nodded, the picture of understanding. Or maybe scheming. Ahsoka wasn't at all sure that she trusted his appearance of innocence. She would have to be on her guard, lest something she said should be intentionally misconstrued as a promise of the desired lessons.

"Okay, then, how about you come down from there, and we can look at why this landing gear keeps sticking. The mechanics swear they can't find anything wrong, but if nothing's wrong—" she paused, applying a wrench to a particularly stubborn bolt with a jerk, "—then the thing shouldn't kriffing stick." The bolt relented, and she removed a piece of the ship's hull to reveal the workings inside.

After a long day of meetings, first with Mon and with then High Command as a whole, and a holocall with Bail, Padmé was glad to return to the small apartment that she was to share with the twins and Obi-Wan. They had been given a few days to settle in before entering into the activity of the rebellion, so the kitchen had by now been put in order, and the twins established in their own room. It had been both a relaxing break and a boring lull.

Yesterday, however, had been the last of those few days. This morning, the work had begun, and by midday, Padmé had made the annoying discovery that her endurance for long meetings had decreased astonishingly in the past six years.

The apartment's common area was weirdly quiet after the babble of voices that had been a constant since breakfast, but she relished the silence that echoed around her as she surveyed the room, which had the awkward welcome of a space that was vaguely familiar, but not yet home. It gave the impression of a room that was trying, despite its sparsity. A room that knew its deficiencies, but had determined upon being a gracious host in spite of them, and was sufficiently comfortable as a result.

Granted, after sitting around in meetings for an entire day, her standards for comfort were probably a trifle warped. All that was really necessary was a relatively soft chair, a cup of tea, and peace and quiet, all of which she presently had. Artoo was sleeping at his charging station, Obi-Wan had taken Leia for a walk, and Luke was—

The door whished open, and she heard the scramble of small feet that meant Luke was hopping around, trying to kick off his shoes without bothering to unfasten them, and in the process expending far more effort than if he had bothered. Well, Luke had been enjoying himself in the hangar, under the watchful eyes of a host of mechanics.

"Mama?" a young voice piped.

"Living room," she called back, and a few seconds later, Luke dashed into the room, rocketing toward her lap. "Mind the—"

Disaster was narrowly avoided as she set down her cup of tea on a nearby box just moments before a significant quantity of high-velocity child landed in her lap.

"Uuhff! Careful with your poor, old mother!"

"You're not old, silly."

"Hm. Then why do I feel old?" She carefully brushed his hair out of his eyes, but as soon as she had done so, he shook his head, and it all fell back into its previous arrangement.

"Because you went and listened to a lot of boring, old, grown-up talk instead of playing with Leia'n me."

"You think?"

He nodded solemnly. "I think. I think you should come play with us, and not go to boring meetings."

"But if I don't go to boring meetings, then who will help the Alliance?"

He pondered this for a moment. "Ashla!"

"Who is Ashla?"

"She's a Rebel I met in the hangar today. She's wizard! She knows how to fly, and she has her own ship, and she can fix it, too! She has le—le—head-tails. Like Aunt 'Soka! She let me help with her ship today, and we started fixing the landing gear, 'cause she said it gets stuck, and she's gonna teach me more about ships!"

Padmé smiled at the small fount of enthusiasm in her lap. If ever she flagged in her devotion to the Alliance, if ever there were dark nights when, exhausted and discouraged, she wondered whether all of their work was futile, she had only to spend five minutes with Luke, and she would remember why she was embroiled in this fight—for every child who deserved to be as happy as her little sun, as bold as his kraytling sister, for every parent who deserved to watch their children grow up, for every person who deserved the security that she and Obi-Wan and Beru and Owen had worked so hard to provide for the twins. She would remember, and she would be filled with determination and hope anew.

The next afternoon, after a quick round of katas in one of the training rooms, Ahsoka found Luke waiting for her when she returned to the hangar to apply further coercions to the obstinate landing gear. He chirruped a cheery, "Hi, Ashla!" and bounced down off the stool he had perched on—Ahsoka having declared the ship's wings off limits on the previous afternoon.

"What are we going to do today? Do you think we can get the landing gear finish—whoa, are those lightsabers?" He pointed to the cylinders hanging at her waist. "Are you a Jedi?"

"I was, once upon a time." Forever ago. Or just yesterday. Funny, how it seemed like both at once.

"I know lots about the Jedi," the boy said, "but Mama says I'm never s'posed to say, 'cause it's dangerous for everyone, but if you were a Jedi too then it's okay, right?"

"I don't know about that, Luke. Some people say Vader used to be a Jedi, and you sure as heck wouldn't want to go telling him that you know lots about the Jedi."

"Oh." The boy's brows knit in anxiety, and he fiddled with a washer for a moment before asking, "Is it bad for me to tell you, then?"

"No, it's fine. Just be careful who you tell in the future, okay? Ninety-nine percent of Rebels are okay, but there could be Imp spies, and Jedi talk is definitely not something you want them to hear. Pass me that bolt, will you?"

He did, issuing a continuous stream of chatter the while. "Leia'n me know lots of stuff 'bout the Jedi. Leia got mad at some stormtroopers we saw on the way here for telling lies about them. She got so mad, she told them they were ignorant and stupid lackeys of a tyr'nical government, and kicked one in his shin when he tried to get her for being a rebel spy. And then when he said he'd take her away if she did it again, she called him—" Luke looked around and then leaned in, confidentially close, eyes sparkling with mirth, and said in a stage whisper, "She called him a bantha-kriffing sleemo! And then Mama was mad, and Uncle Ben was mad too, but in the Force it also felt like he thought it was funny! And a little sad. Grownups are weird. They can think things are nice and sad at the same time. Is it one of those things everyone says I'll understand when I'm older?"

"Probably." Ahsoka smiled. Then she paused in the middle of tightening a bolt.

"Luke," she asked, "did you say that you felt how your uncle was feeling in the Force?"

It was possible, of course, for a Force-sensitive child to find his way into the Rebellion, particularly if his family were acquainted with ways of the Jedi, but for him to actually know how to use the Force—that indicated training, and training required a teacher. It was possible, of course, that another Padawan had survived, but if this "Uncle Ben" was old enough to have known Luke's father when the latter was a child, that indicated someone rather older, a Knight or Master.

For a second, a wild hope took hold—that out of thousands of Jedi, it might be someone she knew, maybe even—after all, she had never actually felt her training bond snap, so wasn't it possible that her master was out there somewhere, helping to counter the Empire, training another padawan… she tried not to feel a slither of envy at that last thought, instead returning her attention to the present as Luke nodded.

"We feel lots of stuff in the Force, Leia'n me. Uncle Ben says we get it from our dad. He was a Jedi, and he was really good at using the Force!"

Well, Master, sounds like someone managed to outdo even you in the Code-breaking department.

"I wish he could teach us, that'd be so wizard! But Mama says he's been dead for ages and ages, so Uncle Ben's teaching us. He's a good teacher, too! When we were littler he wanted to teach us some stuff Mama didn't like. She says the Code had some big mistakes—but it's okay now because Uncle Ben doesn't want to teach us that stuff anymore."

Well, it certainly sounded like the mysterious "Uncle Ben" was a Jedi, but he couldn't possibly be Anakin, if he had had to be dissuaded from teaching the Code. Still, though—it might be someone familiar, one last remnant of the life she had once known. She had to find out.

"Luke, is your uncle a Jedi?"

"Yeah! He was one of the famousest generals in the Order, just like Dad, and they fought together in the Clone Wars, and when Leia'n me grow up—"

Famousest generals in the Order… fought together…. What if—what if—but no, Luke had said his dad was dead, and she knew her training bond hadn't been broken. His dad couldn't possibly be her old master. (Please, don't let his dad be her old master, the bond was still there, shriveled and frail, but it was still connected, it had to be—) There must have been other Jedi who had gone against the Code during the war. There must have been other Jedi generals who had been close, who had fought together. Just because she couldn't think of any names right now did not mean that there were none.

When her attention returned to the present, Luke was still chattering away. "... well, not exactly, but anyways, Artoo has all these cool old holos of—"

"Artoo?" Ahsoka exclaimed, somewhere between a yelp and a squawk.

"He's our astromech, he's really smart and weird and funny, and Mama's always giving him a look because she says Dad expanded his vocabulary and not in a good way. I think maybe that's where Leia learned that thing she called the stormtroop—Eep! You're—squishing—me—" he protested as Ahsoka, who wanted to laugh and cry and scream all at once, settled for just the first two while pulling Luke into an impromptu hug. But she eased up immediately at his plaint.

"Sorry! I just—"

She leaned back, scanning his face, comparing every line against two templates from her memory. "I can't believe it. I mean… I can, I'm not really surprised…."

"What aren't you s'prised about?" asked the bewildered Luke.

"Your parents."

"You know them?"

"Oh, yeah, I…."

Then it really sank in.

Anakin's son. And daughter.

Ahsoka shook her head, which did absolutely nothing to clear it, then stood up, pacing a step or two as realisation grew.

Kids. Whose mother was alive, and must be Padmé Amidala (time to add a new category to the fake death scoreboard). And their uncle, who could be none other than Master Obi-Wan. Her uncle-grandfather-eldest brother-grandmaster, alive! And Anakin— Actually, she wasn't going there. After all, people around her obviously had a tendency toward faking their own deaths: first Obi-Wan, now Padmé—hells, she'd done it herself. Why not Anakin, too?

She shoved the thought from her mind and turned back to Luke.

"I knew them, during the war. Anakin—your dad—was my Master."

And it was no wonder, then, he had thought she looked like his aunt! Wait—his aunt? Padmé had told her children that Ahsoka was their aunt? A fluttery warmth spread through her, and the world went a little blurry before her eyes. She swiped at them impatiently, loath to lose clear sight of Anakin's son, her nephew, for a single moment.

"Aunt 'Soka?"

This time she was the one who yelped in surprise, as Luke flung his arms around her waist in a tight hug. She bent down and hoisted him up.

"Yes, I guess I am, Luke-boy." She spun around in a circle, the elation too much to bear standing still, and then she laughed. "Skykid."

"What's a skykid?" Luke asked.

"A new addition to an old joke of your dad's and mine. Luke, will you take me to see your mom and uncle?"

"Uncle Ben's busy, but Mama might be in our 'partment. I can take you there if you want!"

"Please. I want."

The walk from the hangar to the corridor that housed Padmé's apartment seemed to take forever, each step seeming whole minutes in the taking when Ahsoka wanted to jump through hyperspace and be there within a second. Luke, trotting by her side, chattered of the stories that Mama and Uncle Ben (and how in the worlds had Obi-Wan ended up with a name like that?) had told about her and his father, punctuating his sentences with, "Is that true?" and "Did you actually?" and "Was that really how it happened?" She responded absently now and again, for it was impossible to concentrate on the stream of queries while her heart raced from anticipation and a million questions of her own jostled on her tongue. How had they survived? Where had they been? What was Leia like? Was anyone else with them?

Eventually, Luke stopped at a door in a long corridor of apartments and entered a passcode. Ahsoka's excitement faded more to uncertainty with every tap of his finger on the display. Maybe she wasn't ready for this. Maybe she needed a bit more time to get used to the idea before meeting again with friends she hadn't seen for at least… kark, was it really six years?

But before she had time to tell Luke that perhaps she should come back another day, the door whished open, and her small escort entered the apartment, turning back to her expectantly.

"Coming, Aunt 'Soka?"

She couldn't bring herself to disappoint him, and so she walked into the apartment, and stepped back in time—into a room that smelled of Obi-Wan's tea and Padmé's perfume. There was a pile of datapads on the coffee table, a heap of metal and wiring and tools on the floor beside the chair. Jedi cloak draped over the arm of the couch. Artoo asleep at the charging station, lights flashing the pattern that indicated major system updates. Home had never been all of these things at once, but they had each had a little bit of home about them.

"Just wait here," Luke said, adding, "You can sit down, I guess?" before he darted off to enter one of the other rooms. Even through the door, she could faintly hear his excited cry.

"Mama, Mama! Guess what! I brought my friend Ashla, but she's really Aunt 'Soka! She isn't dead, and she's gonna teach me to fly!"

There was a murmur in reply, and then, "No, I'm sure! She has blue stripes on her lek-thingies, and two lightsabers, and she was Dad's padawan!"

Another murmur, and the door opened to reveal Luke, tugging eagerly on the hand of a familiar, petite, brown-haired woman, whose resigned expression was quickly replaced by flat incredulity, and then by something that simultaneously encompassed joy and sadness and relief.

"Ahsoka!"

Ahsoka held up her hand, fingers fluttering uncertainly in an awkward wave. "Hi, Padmé. It's been awhile."