Qui-gon!Lives AU - Part 3
WELP, it looks like I’m continuing my Qui-gon!lives AU here on tumblr. One of these days I’ll get this all cleaned up and on Ao3.
This was an interesting exercise in balancing light-heartedness and angst. Plus, getting Ahsoka’s voice right as she is still a teenager and prone to lapses in judgment. Obi-wan just kind of...gurgles in the background as Ahsoka and Qui-gon talk.
For those of you who missed the first two installments:
Part 1 || Part 2
Summary: A routine sweep of Coruscant's underlevels goes sideways when Obi-wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka encounter a specter of the past.
I guess this officially a “thing” now.
Long post. Intro here, rest under the cut.
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Part 3
Buildings zipped by in thick streaks of silver, grey, and neon light. The wail of a CSF siren rose, culminating in an eardrum-shattering shriek before dropping downwards, bending in pitch until it disappeared into the mellow, constant din that was Coruscant’s street life.
The aroma of fried crispic and sticky sweetmallow squares wafted through the small side alleys, their tendrils overcoming the dank pollution, weaving through beings clustered near crammed cafes, climbing tall steel walls, sneaking past half-open windows until finally settling on the stoplight at the bustling intersection that led to the upper levels.
Ahsoka’s stomach growled.
Clear blue eyes met hers, corners crinkling in amusement.
“I take it you haven’t managed to get to the cafeteria lately,” Qui-gon observed, the side of his mouth quirking upwards.
Ahsoka reasserted her grip on the steering mechanism, leather gloves squeaking against plastic in an echo of her own body’s protests of hunger.
“Erm…”
The bleat of a horn saved Ahsoka from trying to cobble together a more coherent response.
“Green means go! I don’t got all day here!”
The word moron hung over the two Jedi in the Force, like a Roonan lemon gone bad - tart, with a foul aftertaste, and likely to fall on one’s head. Behind them, an irate Iktochi was half-hanging out of his speeder, fists flailing in impatience.
“Perhaps we should recruit him into the Order, given the alacrity with which he was able to react to a green light,” Qui-gon murmured, just loud enough for Ahsoka to hear.
Ahsoka bit down on her lip, suppressing a laugh as she urged the speeder forward. I can see where Master Obi-wan got his sense of humor from. Although Ahsoka was certain Obi-wan had been born with a sarcastic quip on his tongue.
A pained groan from the backseat seemed to serve as a response to her thoughts. Ahsoka glanced over to Master Qui-gon, who had turned to lay a large hand on Obi-wan’s head, murmuring something she couldn’t quite decipher over the rush of traffic. She could feel the change in energy, however, the cool tendrils that extended from Qui-gon’s pale, blue Force presence. They reached out to Obi-wan, caressing the outer, spiky edges of his pain, dulling his senses until he fell still.
“How is he?” Ahsoka asked, once Qui-gon had situated himself in his seat again.
The older man sighed, rubbing his forehead with one free hand.
“He is in no immediate danger,” Qui-gon replied, voice cracking with fatigue. “Although I am afraid that he has a most unpleasant morning ahead of him.”
Ahsoka nodded in response, unsure of what else to say. Despite Qui-gon’s claims that Obi-wan was fine, she was still concerned. Dark circles ran round the man’s sunken eyes, and his face was nearly the color of Kaminoan laboratory, which was to say he had no color at all. And it certainly wasn’t every day you saw a member of the high Jedi Council drooling on themselves. For not the first time that evening, Ahsoka wondered why Qui-gon had called her and not Anakin for this somewhat delicate situation.
The whole day had been - well, she didn’t know what to make of it. Dead Jedi Masters come back to life. It wasn’t supposed to be possible, it went against every tenet she had learned, everything she knew about the Force and how it worked. The dead were one with the Force, scattered through the universe, an inseparable part of the light energy that ran through everything and everyone.
And to return from that, after 10 years? It was impossible.
Mostly impossible.
It depended if you believed the stories.
There had rumors among her classmates, whispers of vessels of dark knowledge - of books and holocrons that held the sinister and vile secrets of the Dark Side. Including ways to cheat death.
A shiver ran up her spine, and she stole a glance at Qui-gon, who was watching the city whiz by out the side of the speeder, long hair flying in the wind, a wild mane of grey and brown.
No, Qui-gon wouldn’t have done anything like that.
Right?
Ahsoka's gut twisted.
You don’t know the man at all. Dooku - Dooku of all people was his Master! And now he’s alive, after being dead and you have no idea what he wants, no idea what he is even capable of.
Her hand strayed near her lightsaber as she looked at the older Jedi again, trying to feel for his Force presence without being noticed. Ahsoka caught the same sense as before - a river, flowing and placid, if a little weak. Maybe more like a stream, but still deep enough to get lost in.
It wasn’t exactly against the Code to prod at a Jedi Master’s Force signature. Not really. But it was bad form, to be certain. A kind of insult, that in under normal circumstances, could be considered quite grievous.
But this was a time of war - of betrayal and bloodshed. And with the shock of Qui-gon’s sudden appearance now dimming, Anakin back at the Temple, and Obi-wan incapacitated, she needed all the information she could get in order to defend herself.
Just in case.
And so Ahsoka extended her own Force senses and dove in.
The stream she had felt on Qui-gon’s surface gave way to a nearly endless expanse of blue and grey. Ahsoka bobbed up and down with the different currents, some cold, some warm, pushing and pulling her in a multitude of directions. Eddies of light swirled around her in frenzied patterns.
Ahsoka swam on. To her side was a forest of kelp and algae, of aquatic plants she couldn’t place a name to, which swayed and danced to a silent song. Again, she swam on, the light dimming with each stroke downwards. A series of thuds caught her attention. Short, long, short, long, the hypnotic rhythm drew her forward, until she came to a mound of pebbles. Ahsoka stuck an arm out, entranced by this heartbeat, this lifebeat she felt coming from the stones. But just as her fingers curled around one, she noticed an eerie red light, just beyond the mound, coming from a cave she had not noticed before.
Wrong. Something about it was deeply wrong. Ahsoka dropped the stone as instinct drove her to flee. Dark murmurs followed her like a swarm of insects, buzzing, nipping at her feet. She dove deeper, away from the red light. Sound faded to silence, light to darkness, thick and opaque as a Mustafaran porridge.
A total vacuum, as if she were stranded in open space.
Just when Ahsoka thought it might be time to worry, she noticed a flash, the smallest glint. It came from deep inside what she now realized was a brown riverbed - a silver thread, half-buried in mud. She reached out. The thread sparkled at her touch, its energy familiar, like she had known it all along.
Gently, Ahsoka was pulled back to the present.
The rush of life - of the here and now, as Obi-wan would say - flowed back into her senses, the bright neon lights of Coruscant, the stench of pollution, the almost-overwhelming energy of millions of beings going about their daily business in the capital.
Ahsoka’s eyes widened in panic. She tried to get a sense of Qui-gon’s expression without actually looking at him, not daring to go near the man’s Force signature again. She had gone deeper than she had intended to, had walked over what she felt was an invisible line, had prodded into the man’s very essence and not even the excuse of protecting herself and others against the Sith could justify that.
A million excuses formed in her mind, sweat beginning to bead on her forehead. Slowly, almost painfully, she turned her head to the man. Qui-gon hadn’t moved a muscle, gave no indication that he was bothered, that anyone had been snooping around his Force presence. He was still staring out the side of the speeder, hair still flowing, elbow perched on the side.
Ahsoka swallowed the large sigh of relief that begged to escape her chest. Thank the Force. She reasserted her grip on the steering wheel. And next time maybe don’t go so far. Anakin had always said she had a tendency to take things to extremes.
Like she hadn’t learned that from him.
Besides, despite the questionable nature of her actions, she had discovered worthwhile information.
Qui-gon Jinn was no Sith.
Which, should have been obvious, from the start. Anakin and Obi-wan wouldn’t have engaged in conversation, Obi-wan wouldn’t have ignored his COuncil meeting if they thought Qui-gon was some kind of dark Jedi. Ahsoka bit the inside of her cheek. Should have thought of that earlier.
And just because Dooku had been his teacher, didn’t mean Qui-gon was corrupted. Yoda had been Dooku’s teacher, after all, and he certainly couldn’t have instructed the Count to be a kriffing Sith Lord. The image of an evil Yoda with a Padawan Dooku in tow alone was enough to make her want to burst out laughing.
She should know better. She did know better, but...the war was playing tricks on everyone, and Ahsoka had seen too many good men fall, had watched betrayal unfold again and again to not be at least a little wary when something as extraordinary as a resurrected Jedi Master happened.
With the issue of Qui-gon’s allegiances settled in her mind, she turned to the one other question burning at her curiosity.
Why did Obi-wan punch Qui-gon?
Ahsoka had never seen Obi-wan lose control like that, not even when Anakin was at his most frustrating, not in the middle of battle, not even after the whole Rako Hardeen incident. Obi-wan was…well, he was Obi-wan. He released his emotions into the Force, was always there with a sage piece of advice, always kind, always adhering to the Code. He stayed up all night doing reports, was the Council’s darling, he even sat with younglings whenever he had time and opportunity at the Temple. He fought Ajass Ventress with a wink and a smile, goaded Grievous with alarming regularity, and time and again had been their rock during the Citadel mission.
And he was always - always in control.
Force, Ahsoka exhaled. That must be tiring. If that’s what it means to be a Jedi Master, I don’t think I’ll ever become one. I couldn’t do that.
“Most of us can’t, young one,” Qui-gon smiled, turning his head in her direction.
Oh. Fire rose up her neck, spreading to her cheeks. Ahsoka cringed with the realization that Qui-gon was not as distracted as she had thought. Oh no oh no oh no, he sensed my thoughts oh no he probably knows I tried to read his Force signature, kriff Tano, what were you thinking?
“Not even Obi-wan, although Force knows he would be the one to try,” Qui-gon carried on, as if he couldn’t sense, couldn’t kriffing well see the panic swirling around Ahsoka, his words and gestures breezy, despite the shadow of regret forming on his features.
Ahsoka tensed, waiting for the rebuke about how she shouldn’t overstep her boundaries like that, about how she dared to even entertain the thought that Qui-gon Jinn’s return was a product of dark and unspeakable acts. But Qui-gon said nothing, allowing the conversation to lapse as he occasionally stole glances at the sleeping occupant of the back seat.
Coruscant never met a silence it liked, and the din of the city rushed to fill the void. They were nearing the Capital district, back alleys and ramshackle business giving way to tall, gleaming structures, wide plazas adorned with fountains and vegetation, and, of course, the Senate building itself, rising in the distance as a monument to the Republic’s glory. A group of Sullustan tourists, all wearing yellow shirts, gathered near the entrance to the pedestrian mall, their leader speaking into an overgrown voice augmentator that looked as if it had been stolen from the nearby Antiquarian Museum. Ahsoka brought the speeder to a halt at the next corner, waiting for another light. A short, aquamarine-skinned Chagrian was standing on top a battered cargo box, pontificating to a small group of stragglers, who included a photographer and a very confused-looking Devaronian couple.
“The Jedi should not be allowed to run free! They are a danger to the Republic, a radical organization - no, not an organization - let’s call them what they truly are - a cult! A cult that wants to impose military law…”
Ahsoka slid down in her seat, willing the light to change. This wasn’t the first time she had heard such accusations, not by any means, but she certainly didn’t feel qualified to be the one to explain the state of Galactic politics and the Republic’s increasingly fraught relationship with the Jedi to someone who had been dead for ten years.
“I take it many things have changed in my absence,” Qui-gon commented as they passed the gathering.
Ahsoka grimaced. How much did Master Qui-gon know? About the war, about Dooku, oh Force, she did not want to be the one to have to relay that news.
“I can sense your anxiety, young one. Never fear, Obi-wan informed me of the worst of it while he was…” Master Qui-gon frowned, his gaze flitting to the sky. “In a mood to talk about such things. But let us speak of something less depressing.” Qui-gon turned his full attention on Ahsoka. “Tell me about your apprenticeship with Anakin. I admit, the last time I saw Ani he was a young boy - eager, kind and powerful in the Force. It is…it’s good to see him with such an accomplished and talented student.”
Heat rose again in Ahsoka’s face, this time from embarrassment. How could Master Qui-gon say that after only knowing her for barely a day? She’d done nothing aside from stare at the three of them, not offering any help when Obi-wan had punched - kriff Obi-wan had actually - Obi-wan had punched Qui-gon. And she then she had gone and all but accused Qui-gon of using dark rituals to achieve his resurrection, completely invading his privacy in the process.
Accomplished and talented in not doing anything right, Master Qui-gon.
The light changed green. Ahsoka kept her eyes fixed on the road as she grasped at what to tell Master Qui-gon about her amazing, yet unconventional Master.
Maybe that Skyguy always encouraged me to inspect Force signatures?
Ahsoka let out a heavy breath.
“Skyguy is…well, he’s one of a kind. Powerful in the Force, passionate - he’s unlike any Jedi I’ve ever known.”
Qui-gon hummed, amusement playing at the edges of his Force presence.
“Yes, I imagine that might be the case given his unconventional initiation into the Jedi,” he commented, stroking his short beard in a gesture that was a mirror to Obi-wan’s habit of doing the same.
What did that mean? Sure, she knew that sometime after Qui-gon’s death - or, not-death, she supposed - Anakin had become Obi-wan’s student, but apparently there was more of a story there, as well. The return of this one man was inverting her entire world. Everything she thought she knew about Anakin, about Obi-wan - when did it all change?
Ahsoka squirmed in her seat. The Force pulled at her, tight and uncomfortable.
“So, uh, anyway,” she stammered, hoping to distract Qui-gon from her sudden unease, “Skyguy’s great. As a teacher, I mean. And a Jedi! First time I was assigned to him, I knew it.”
“And, you know, after that first mission - the Battle of Christophsis, well the first battle of Christophsis - “
Qui-gon whirled in his seat, mouth wide in open horror.
“Your first assignment as a Padawan was in an active war zone?” he yelped.
Ahsoka shrugged. “All of ours were. I mean, in our class. I know it was different when Anakin was a student but with the war…”
Qui-gon muttered something in a language Ahsoka didn’t understand, slumping in his seat, running his hand over his mouth, again and again. “Change, I can understand,” he spoke more to himself than at Ahsoka, “but this..” he trailed off, once again lost in his thoughts.
They turned left, following the green signs for the Temple District. Now away from the core of the government, the street life became more scattered, a few groups here and there, children on top of their parents’ shoulders, trying to get a glimpse a real Jedi coming from the Temple.
“Did Obi-wan ever take another student?” Qui-gon asked suddenly.
“No, he didn’t.” Ahsoka flashed her identification cards at the guards near the barricades that had only recently been erected around the Temple. “I mean, the war started while Anakin was still a Padawan, technically. The Council knighted him and a bunch of others out of necessity, right after the Battle of Geonosis. And then Obi-wan was made a General and that was it, really.”
Qui-gon frowned, disappointed at that piece of news. “So does no one take apprentices anymore because of the war?”
“No, no - not at all!” Ahsoka exclaimed. “I guess - I mean, Master Fisto had one, and Master Billaba. And Master Vos.”
A hearty guffaw sounded from Qui-gon, as he slapped his thigh. He looked as if he had just choked on a piece of bantha meat. “Quinlan Vos with a Padawan! Now that is something I would have liked to have seen.” The chortling dissipated to a small chuckle, and Qui-gon relaxed.
It was the first time she had seen the man laugh, and his hard gaze melted into something soft and kind. Ahsoka felt like she was starting to get the true picture of the man who had been Obi-wan’s Master.
And despite her initial hesitance, she was pretty sure she liked Qui-gon Jinn.
And maybe, just maybe, trying to sneak around her questions about his return wasn’t the best way of approaching this. There were already too many secrets between him, and Obi-wan and Anakin. Ahsoka didn’t want to be a part of that, it felt wrong.
So maybe she should just...ask.
Ahsoka took a deep breath. “Master Qui-gon?”
“Yes, Ahsoka?”
The spires of the Jedi Temple rose in front of them, growing larger and larger as they approached the side dock entrance.
“How did you - I mean, you came back. And, you know, I was worried that somehow - “
Qui-gon chuckled. “Somehow I had used the most despicable of Dark Force powers to accomplish to come back from the dead? Perhaps due to my association with Dooku?”
If it were possible to disappear into the seat of the speeder, Ahsoka would have. In fact, death might have been kinder in this circumstance.
Qui-gon gave her the gentlest of smiles. “I have to admit it took me a moment to realize you were prodding into my Force signature.” His expression turned stern. “The Council generally frowns on such behavior.”
Ahsoka cast her eyes downward, actively wishing for the Force to swallow her whole. “I’m really, really sorry Master - “
“But,” Qui-gon interjected, “it was a prudent action, especially when confronted with a set of extraordinary circumstances in the middle of a galactic conflict with the Sith.”
“Master?” Ahsoka’s head whipped around in surprise.
“What,” Qui-gon adopted the tone of one of her tutors, “do you know about Count Dooku?”
The speeder lurched to the left as Ahsoka wrenched the steering wheel. In the backseat, Obi-wan moaned, mumbling something that sounded distinctly like “Anakin.”
Well, that was insulting.
Qui-gon sat, serene as ever, hands folded in his lap, half-smile plastered on his face as he waited for her response. The man was unflappable. It seemed very little could faze Qui-gon Jinn, including her own awful piloting. (Although in Ahsoka’s defense, this was a staggeringly bizarre array of questions).
“Well,” she began carefully, “he was your Master, right?”
Qui-gon’s eyebrows rose. “True enough,” he nodded. “Let me tell you a little bit about the man I knew. Yan Dooku was cold, calculating, and could be absolutely ruthless for a Jedi. As a Master he was unyielding and demanding, only accepting my best efforts.”
Ahsoka guided the speeder towards the furthest dock, not wanting to attract too much attention.
“But,” Qui-gon continued, “he had a human side, for all of his grumpiness, his elevated taste, his interest in classic dueling forms - he did care, in his own way. But Force only knew what the man was thinking, or feeling half the time. It could be like talking to a wall.”
Fingers flited over the control panel as Ahsoka parked the speeder, finishing inputting the landing sequence by muscle memory.
“Sounds a little bit like Obi-wan, to be honest,” she blurted.
Qui-gon chortled as his gaze traveled to the backseat. “It does, doesn’t it?” he whispered. “Tell me, Ahsoka, when something goes wrong on a mission, what do you do?”
Ahsoka shook her head. Why were all Jedi Masters like this, constantly asking abstruse questions in the middle of a semi-normal conversation?
“Well, I go over the reports with the clones and Skyguy, and then -“
Qui-gon held up a hand, and Ahsoka couldn’t help but feel she was back in her Initiate days, standing in front of the classroom, grasping for the right answer after she had spent the night sneaking into the Room of a Thousand Fountains instead of studying.
“What do you do, emotionally?” Qui-gon asked.
Deep lines of confusion formed on Ahsoka’s brow.
“Well, I meditate. Release my emotions into the Force, I guess. Talk with Skyguy. Or Barriss. Maybe do some sparring.” Ahsoka managed to not blurt out anything too incriminating, like the secret dance parties, card games with the clones, and the time she and Rex had tried to swap outfits.
In her defense, the battle that day had been really bad.
Qui-gon only nodded, placing two large arms under Obi-wan’s limp form, cradling the Jedi Master into his arms.
“Good,” he said over the bundle of wrinkled tunics that was Jedi Master and High Councillor Obi-wan Kenobi. Ahsoka didn’t miss the stench of alcohol and t’bac that wafted her way from one of the most vaunted members of the Council.
Qui-gon climbed out of the speeder, Jedi Master in tow, wrapping his long arms around Obi-wan’s torso, pulling him out in a tangle of limbs, hair, and tunics. The older Jedi looked at Obi-wan with consternation, his lips pursing.
“You know, I never did try dance parties in my youth. Perhaps I should now, given the circumstances,” he nodded at the unconscious man in his arms.
Ahsoka swore she didn’t let out a squeak. No, not at all.
“I am taking Obi-wan to his quarters,” Qui-gon announced, stopping short as his brows furrowed in puzzlement, then chagrin. “That is, the quarters Obi-wan has now. You wouldn’t want to accompany me and let me into his rooms, would you?”
“Not taking him to the Healers?” Ahsoka asked, smile playing on her face.
Qui-gon huffed. “Force, no. I don’t want him to hate me more than he does already.” His tone was light, but Ahsoka sensed pain in his words. It was enough to erase any of the levity she had been feeling a moment ago.
“I mean, sure, of course. But shouldn't we let the Council know...“ Ahsoka made a series of confused gestures at Obi-wan and Qui-gon.
“The Council, I hope, will have already been informed of this matter. Either by Obi-wan himself, or Anakin, who I tasked with delivering the news. Although I’m uncertain how they will take it.”
“Why? Wouldn’t they be happy to see you alive?”
The mess of tunics in his arms shifted, incoherent sounds now muffled by the fact Obi-wan’s face was smushed into Qui-gon’s abdomen.
Qui-gon looked down at his unruly charge. “Ah, I should get him to bed before he wakes up and tries to punch me again. Or before someone finds me with an unconscious Jedi Master in my arms. Wouldn’t look good, especially if the Council feels I am a Sith plot, or worse.”
“I’m sorry about that, Master Qui-gon.” The apology came tumbling from Ahsoka’s mouth.
Qui-gon didn’t respond right away, instead gently placing Obi-wan on his feet, where he immediately fell into Qui-gon’s chest. Ahsoka ran forward, taking one of Obi-wan’s arms around her shoulders, letting Qui-gon take the other. The pair half-carried, half-dragged the bedraggled Jedi through the less-traveled corridors of the Jedi Temple.
“It wasn’t an unfounded fear, Ahsoka, and I am certain the Council will at least entertain the possibility,” Qui-gon stated as soon as they had entered a smaller hallway. “But my return is no Sith contrivance, at least not to my knowledge. I woke up in the Works, Ahsoka, no memory of how I got there or who I even was at first. All I knew was the Living Force, stretching beyond measure, inside of me until it felt like every molecule of my body had been tethered to the ends of the universe.”
Qui-gon stopped for a moment, regarding Obi-wan with a scowl while feeling at the unconscious man’s ribs. “I see he’s been keeping up his habit of substituting caf for actual meals,” the older Jedi sighed before moving forward.
“Anyway, after I thought I could last no longer, having my matter scattered across galaxies, there was a…there was something. A disturbance, but more than that, something that disrupted the very foundations of existence. In an instant, I was small, so small that I could fit in that very crevice between the two flagstones you see.” He gestured with his head towards the hallway floor.
Ahsoka looked at it and cringed. It was a pretty narrow space.
“Everything, all of time, space - my life, the Force, the universe itself. It all flashed at that moment, all crammed itself into that container in a concussion of agony and terrible realization. And then there was darkness, oblivion. And the next thing I knew, I was in the warehouse, lying on my back on cold steel.”
Ahsoka frowned. The Works had been abandoned for ages, not even the Coruscant authorities would go there. Hundreds of years ago, it had been the site of a terrible accident, some kind of chemical explosion that had killed over three hundred thousand beings, and not all of them instantly, either. Not too long after, all the industries in the area packed up and fled, most likely so they wouldn’t be indicted in galactic court for criminal negligence. No one ever went back there after the incident, no one rebuilt, or even made any kind of memorial to honor the dead. All the factories, the warehouses remained abandoned, even up to the present day. It was said you could hear the screams of the dying in the walls, that their blood seeped from the pipes, poisonous, their ghosts intent on revenge on whoever entered that space. It became known as the Dacho District, the Dead Sector.
And Qui-gon woke up there.
“Ahsoka, is this it?”
A familiar grey door blocked her path. Ahsoka started, not realizing she had led them to Obi-wan’s quarters without even thinking.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”
She input the access codes and the door swung open with a series of beeps, revealing the familiar if spartan quarters of Obi-wan Kenobi.
Qui-gon led them into the bedroom, glancing around the room as he did. Every so often he would spot something, and raise his eyebrows. Or sigh. Or frown.
“We’ll just place him on the bed, like this,” Qui-gon said, arranging Obi-wan so he laid on his left side, top leg bent at the knee. Ahsoka knew it as the recovery position, and had placed more than a few clones (and Jedi) the same way. It was a safe bet in case something were to block Obi-wan’s airways.
Like vomit.
“Thank you, Ahsoka,” Qui-gon whispered, taking a moment to brush Obi-wan’s hair away from his face before turning to Ahsoka. “And now if you don’t mind, I am going to try and get five minutes’ rest before the Council comes beating down the door with lightsabers drawn.”
That didn’t sound good. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay, Master Qui-gon?” If the Council had made the same assumptions Ahsoka had...well, it was unlikely to end well for Qui-gon.
That, at least, elicited a small smile from the man. “No. It will be fine. As the Force wills it. Go find Anakin. I’m certain the Council will be calling on you two in short order.”
Ahsoka nodded. Yeah, she should find Skyguy, maybe even bring him back here in case the Council did something ridiculous. They wouldn’t listen to her, but maybe they would listen to Anakin.
She hoped.
Ahsoka gave one last glance over to the prone form of Obi-wan.
“Take care of him.”
“Oh, I will. If that stubborn-headed gundark of a man will let me, at least.”
Ahsoka bit back a laugh. She waved one last time at the older Jedi Master and walked away, letting the door shut behind her. Once Ahsoka was alone she closed her eyes, letting out the breath, the tension, the anxiety she had been holding for the past twenty minutes.
Find Anakin. Make sure the Council doesn’t do anything rash.
Then meditate.
And later on?
Definitely a very large, very sugary dessert.