angstpril day 17
prompt: Out of Time
ao3
It wasn't Barriss, after all. And now Anakin is. . . lost. He knows it's not Ahsoka—he knows Ahsoka. He knows she's not guilty. And the "evidence" is circumstantial at best. Someone's framing her, and it's not Barriss, the only one she's contacted, so it must be someone else listening in to their calls—another Padawan? A Knight? Force forbid, a Master?
There are so many possibilities that his head is spinning from the weight and he still has no leads. None. And the trial is happening right now.
He's out of time.
He cannot let Ahsoka die.
Especially not for something she didn't do. He's her Master, her teacher, her—family. It's his job to protect her. He can't let this happen.
The only way he can stop the trial is by uncovering the true culprit and proving without a doubt that it can't be her.
And he doesn't have the culprit. Or any leads. All he has is—
Himself.
Suddenly he knows what he has to do.
*
He can make this work, he tells himself, as he rushes towards the Senate building. He can make this work. He knows enough about the case to provide details if they ask, and he's—in a position where it can be believable that he could have framed Ahsoka, at least. He's her Master, after all. He has the access.
What if they don't believe him?
They will. They have to. Besides, he's a much more likely culprit—Ahsoka's sixteen and a Padawan. He's a Knight who's been at the forefront of the war for years. The courts will eat it up.
What about the Jedi?
What if Obi-wan and the Council see right through him? What if they lay him bare then and there, condemning Ahsoka to certain death?
He's hit by a sudden wave of bitterness. If Obi-wan could believe that Ahsoka of all people could be guilty, then maybe he won't have such a problem believing Anakin is guilty after all.
And besides, whether they believe him or not, it's all politics, now. If they couldn't afford to spare a Padawan from the merciless Judicial System, they won't spare him. He's always been a bit of a wild card anyways; maybe it'll be a case of cutting their losses.
He rushes past the guards and slams open the doors. They had no chance of stopping him.
"By an overwhelming count of—"
If he had just been a little bit slower— "Chancellor!" he shouts, shoving that thought to the side. His voice echoes strangely throughout the room; all eyes are on him.
"I hope you have a reason for bursting into our proceedings, Master Skywalker," the Chancellor says with a slight scowl. Of course he has a reason—who does the Chancellor take him for?
"I am here because—because—" The gazes on him feel heavy, almost. Like duracrete weighing him down. The Chancellor raises an eyebrow.
"Because Ahsoka is not the true culprit." He swallows.
"I am."
Gasps and exclamations echo throughout the courtroom. One shocked "What?" sounds particularly like Padme. He keeps his eyes fixed between the Chancellor, Tarkin, and the prosecutors—he can't bear to see Padme or Ahsoka's reactions, or the other Jedi.
"Is that so, Knight Skywalker?"
"Yes," he says. Have to sound convincing, have to sound convincing— "I was behind the bombing on the Temple. And the attacks on the prison and the guards. All of it. I—" He glances at Ahsoka now, trying to project—It's not true, any of it, I'd never do this to you, I swear— "I should have never let my Padawan take the fall for it."
"So you decided, at the last second, to repent," Tarkin says coldly. "And your motivation for the original attack?"
Why—he hadn't thought this far ahead. Dammit. Why would someone bomb the Jedi Temple, anyways? "The—the war," he blurts out. But—dammit, the Jedi aren't responsible for the war, the Senate is. "I'm against the role of the Jedi in the war." No, he isn't. Not really. But it'll have to do. "I wanted to send a message."
Tarkin gives him a disgusted sneer. "Message received, Skywalker. Take him."
The guards rush forward. He doesn't resist as they take his saber nor as they clap his wrists in stun cuffs. The last thing he sees as they drag him out roughly are Ahsoka's lips parted in shock—
And the Chancellor's brow drawn in incandescent rage.