Chapter Text
Ahsoka’s not stupid. Young? Yes. Out of her depth? Probably. Stupid? Absolutely not.
It’s not the Jedi way to be prideful, but Ahsoka knows her value. She knows she’s clever, highly adaptable, and at the top of her classes as an Initiate. Master Yoda wouldn’t have assigned her as a padawan so early if she wasn’t capable.
Of course, there’s ‘not stupid' and there’s ‘knowledgeable’. And Ahsoka isn’t stupid, but after so many months she admits that she’s not... fully knowledgeable either.
She keeps this thought in mind as she trails behind her Master, barely shoulder height and skipping to keep up. The Jedi pair weave their way through the mess, past hundreds of identical faces, grabbing their rations and sitting tensely across from each other.
At least, Ahsoka thinks he’s tense. She’s certainly tense. The noise of the ship is an almost constant drone in her montrals, different from the buzz of the temple. She’s only just now learning to tune out the constant hum of the lights, clicks of gears, and faint electrical screech of the high power technology. She’s never been in a place so consistently loud, with orders yelled at top volume in every corridor and people laughing, joking or talking in every room. The Force, too, is loud here— hundreds of beings unaccustomed to holding their signatures inside, unable to politely mute their auras.
Not to mention the bottled torrent of power that is her new Master, although he at least is careful to keep his presence as withdrawn as possible. His power is like a domesticated rancor on a leash—tame for now but impossible to ignore.
A Jedi should not lie, but since no one has asked if she’d broken down once or twice (or several times) from how totally overwhelmed she is by the comparably amplified sounds and sensations, she doesn’t think it’s a lie to not mention it.
Master Skywalker’s face does...something, and he hums at her in what she’s pretty sure is a question.
And here, here is the problem.
Ahsoka had been at the top of her clan despite her young age and impulsive nature. She’d studied attentively, and struggled yes, but she’d overcome. She'd done exceptionally well in all of her classes.
Including her class on Species-Specific Markers.
But here in the wild, where the faces are moving organically and noises are made without intent, it’s so much harder.
Master Skywalker’s face doesn’t move the way the hologram of the human face did in class. And none of the clones' faces move like the hologram OR her Master! The same is true of their voices, their gestures and...
Her Master makes the same noise again, raising one eyebrow and pointing his spoon at her uneaten food. That’s when she realizes that she’s been staring at him for who knows how long, probably projecting uncertainty into the thin, scrappy threads they call a training bond.
“Everything alright Snips?” he asks, and she only knows it’s a question because he tilts his head to the side, and that is something that she knows humans do.
Her lekku darken and flick in answer, and it would give away her embarrassment/shame if any of her human companions could understand what the gestures meant. As it is, she meets Master Skywalker’s eyes confidently and pulls her mouth into a smirk.
“Just peachy, Skyguy!”
The man across from her makes another face, one she almost recognizes, but then returns the smirk.
It’s either good-natured or condescending, but Ahsoka chooses to believe the former.
Droids are easy because it doesn’t matter that she has no way of knowing what they’re thinking or feeling. The only thing she has to worry about with a droid is whether or not it’s trying to kill her, which is fairly easy to understand.
....Actually, there are two things she has to worry about, the second of which is not getting killed.
And, for a fourteen-year-old who’s still new to war, Ahsoka thinks she does a decent job. She is still alive, after all. But some days—some battles—are easier than others.
Luckily her ankle isn’t too terrible, and she’s almost positive that she’s cleaned and bandaged it correctly. It’s stopped bleeding at any rate, and she’d figured out how to offset her limp with a clever Force trick.
(She knows it’s most likely not allowed, but Master Skywalker hadn’t seemed to notice. Or if he has, he hasn’t said anything. Probably because she’s avoiding him as much as possible, but that’s beside the point.)
Kix keeps shooting her looks that she can’t interpret, but when she smiles at him he turns away. No one can see the bandage inside her boot, and no one can interpret the way her left lek trembles. Really, it’s better this way. Or...that’s what she’s telling herself. Some of the men—her men—were hurt much worse, and they deserved the care more than she did. She brought it on herself— she should have moved faster.
The last thing Ahsoka wants is to be even more of a burden than she already is, so she can work around the pain until it heals naturally. All she has to do is keep up her little trick, smile at Kix and keep avoiding her master. He’s always busy anyway, with the war and all.
Totally doable.
She fakes it for three days.
Master Skywalker fixes her with A Look, and she smiles at him. Whatever expression he’s wearing doesn’t change, so she doesn’t change her smile.
They stay at the impasse for almost a minute, neither face changing. Ahsoka thinks she’s narrowed down his expression to either disappointment, anger, apathy, concern or teasing. Or some unholy combination of them. Or maybe he's just tired? It is late, and they’d just finished meditating...
“So,” says the human sitting across from her, “how are you”
(Lack of nickname, probably not teasing her then.)
“Um...fine?” she responds, carefully keeping her voice light. Her left lek is still trembling, but she doesn’t move to stop it.
“Ahsoka”
His expression changes minimally, but nothing gives him away. She waits for him to continue, and realizes belatedly that whatever else he’s communicating is in his tone. Which she can’t interpret, not when it’s this subtle.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out Skyguy.”
(Eyebrows down, that’s...humans do that when they’re angry, she thinks. Or...or was that questioning? Sometimes Master Skywalker does that when he thinks, so maybe concern? Or maybe he is teasing her, and she’s just not understanding.)
“You need to be direct with me,” he says, and she hopes it’s kindly.
“Okay,” Ahsoka smiles, moving to get up. She knocks into her injured ankle accidentally, but she’s had enough practice keeping her face neutral. Only the way both lekku curl into themselves indicates she’s in pain, but she already knows most beings without lekku just think that’s how they move with gravity.
Master Skywalker grabs her hand, tugging her carefully to the ground. His expression is different now, eyebrows close together and mouth turned downwards.
(Almost certainly disappointment then, or anger. Maybe confusion? Whatever it is is...not good.)
“Ahsoka” he begins again, and he doesn’t sound disappointed or angry... she doesn’t think, “may I ask you a question?”
She nods carefully, doing her best to keep her face neutral.
“Where are you hurt, and why haven’t you mentioned it before”
“...What?”
The human exhales—sighs, she thinks— and closes his eyes. Tired , then.
“How,” she swallows, scrunches her shoulders up to try and hide the darkening stripes of her lekku, “did you find out?”
Her master opens one eye, and points to her still trembling lek. “You haven’t exactly been subtle about it.”
Everything stops, the entire galaxy grinds to a halt at that moment. Except for Ahsoka’s heart which decides to go at four times its normal speed. She grabs at her traitor lek self-consciously, running her hand down it to try and smooth her deepening blush away.
Master Skywalker hums but doesn’t say anything else. Ahsoka opens her mouth to say...something. To deny it, or call him crazy, or ask what he’s talking about, or...something! But her brain refuses to form the words in Basic, and whatever stuttered exclamation she’s trying to make comes out in Togruti instead. Her hands move from her lekku to her face, humiliation/embarrassment/horror causing her to hide desperately.
“It’s okay,” Master Skywalker whispers, and Ahsoka chooses to believe that he’s being comforting and not patronizing, “I still end up using Huttese when my emotions get the better of me.”
She hears him shift and peeks through her fingers as he moves to be beside her. His smile is lopsided, which she knows is good. He’d given her a lopsided smile when he’d agreed to take her on as his apprentice, so she’s pretty sure it means something like “ acceptance ”. It’s not enough to shake the Basic from her tongue though, and so her question comes out high pitched, her lekku flicking to accentuate the point.
“I speak ‘lekku’,” her Master explains, answering her signed question, “well...understand it. The same way I ‘speak’ binary. I couldn’t, for example, do the signs myself but...”
“How long have you—” interrupts Ahsoka, recovering her words as her heart decreases its pace. She cringes instantly, berating herself internally for interrupting her Master.
“Pretty much forever,” Master Skywalker responds, and for some reason, he waves his hand around as though swatting a bug, “I learned it as a kid. Although to be honest, I’m better at the signed aspect of the language, the spoken parts of either aren’t things I ever really learned.
“But anyway,” her Master continues, “you never answered my questions.”
Anxiety swells as he refocuses, blue-grey eyes staring unblinkingly at her. For a moment, Ahsoka considers hiding it, but...if he already knew...
She removes her boot with a hiss and turns away from him as he unwraps the bandage.
“Oh Snips...” he says, and she knows she’s not in trouble because he uses her nickname, “why didn’t you tell me? Or Kix, for that matter?”
Ahsoka shrugs noncommittally, trying to play it off like no big deal. Heavy silence meets her response, and she knows that he’s waiting for her to say more.
“It’s not that big a deal...”
More silence, heavier now.
“Honestly Master, Kix has better things to deal with and you were busy and I can take care of myself— I may be young but I’m fully capable,” she’s rambling now, which is very un-Jedi of her but she can’t seem to shut up, “It’s just a minor injury, and I didn’t want to burden you when you didn’t...”
She can't finish the sentence, can't force herself to speak her secret aloud. That would make it real, and it would mean she has to face it. And she's not ready yet, not strong enough to talk about how—
“I didn’t what, Snips?”
(Is he being harsh, or gentle? His face gives her no clues, but his voice is soft so maybe gentle? Unless he’s one of those people who get softer instead of louder when they’re truly upset...)
“When you didn’t choose me,” she whispers. Want me her lekku sign, the traitors.
All of the troublesome emotions she’s been ignoring rise to her awareness. Ahsoka is not stupid, she knows she hadn’t been asked for, knows she isn’t needed. Knows she has to earn her place as Apprentice to The Chosen One.
(And she hasn't yet, she knows that too. Kriff, after weeks of living and fighting together, She can’t even read his expression! She’s not worthy, and she knows if he ever realizes it he’ll send her away. A child, cast out in disgrace.)
The Force seems to reject the emotions she’s trying to release into it. Or...as Master Yoda would say, as she’s not releasing into it. The silence continues to press down on her, making the ‘background’ noises of the ship pound into her montrals like blaster-fire. She’s certain he’s preparing his dismissal speech.
And then, suddenly, there’s a human arm around her shoulders. A warm hand rests above her ankle, and she feels the last bit of soreness melt away as Master Skywalker heals her injury.
“You know, Obi-Wan didn’t choose me either.”
Ahsoka nods because the way it’s stated makes it seem like she was supposed to know already.
Master Skywalker blinks at her silently and his mouth purses for a moment.
All at once, like a light in the dark, there are...feelings. She can feel them float around him as he speaks, and what she thought was a stern lecture takes a sharp turn into comforting/reassurance.
“So I get it, I know the feeling. But... you never have to prove anything to me, alright? You’re allowed to struggle and make mistakes because you’re learning, and it won’t make you any less my Padawan. I’m here to guide you and teach you. And I don’t know if that’s...the greatest idea but... I may not have chosen you, but I do want you, and nothing you could say or do will change that.”
Another nod, because she understands it even if she isn’t quite ready to accept it.
She catches him as they leave their quarters the next morning before her impulsive courage wears off and she loses her nerve.
“Master?” she begins, shifting her weight between her feet silently, “You didn’t grow up in the temple, right?”
He stiffens visibly but makes a noise she’s almost positive means he wants her to continue talking.
“Well, I have to tell you something, because last night you said I didn’t have to prove anything, and you’re here to help but I wanted to know how to explain it. And if you did grow up in the temple then it would be redundant and I—”
“Yeah?”
Deep breath in, deep breath out. Ahsoka plants her feet, rolls her shoulders back, and does everything she can to project confidence. She hadn’t planned on revealing this...weakness, but it feels right to speak it.
Terrifying, but right.
“Well, you know how all the younglings are separated into clans?” A nod. “So, the creche masters try to put similar species together when they can. Sometimes it doesn’t happen but mostly it does, when there are a lot of similar species. It makes it easier to cater to the dietary and language needs, as well as any specific environmental needs that younglings have. And the group you start with is the group you’re with, like... we don’t really change around? So typically we grow up with lots of similar beings—My group was about an 80/20 Twi’lek/Togruta split”
Ahsoka would describe her master’s face as ‘seriously curious ’. “Okay...”
She takes a deep breath.
“And we all take classes on learning other species’ expressions and communications, and I promise I did really well in the class! But—”
“But you haven’t grown up around humans, and you’re finding it hard to read us now that you’re surrounded?”
“Exactly!” she nods frantically, “At the temple, most of the people I talked with had lekku, or they were adults who were shielding their emotions. And Jedi emotions don’t really...matter so much at the Temple, I guess. But with you and the men it’s different, and I can tell that it’s different. Human expressions are so... different in real life, and I just...did you have the same problem? With other species?”
Master Skywalker stays quiet for a moment, breaking eye-contact and looking away from her.
“Not me specifically,” he states at length, and Ahsoka’s spirits plummet, “but only because I grew up surrounded by so many different species all the time. It was, however,” he shoots her a smile, “hard for me to get used to the Jedi at the Temple. So I kind of get it. But that’s not what you wanted to ask, is it?”
Ahsoka fidgets lightly under his knowing gaze. “Um...no. I wanted to know if you had any tips, because humans don’t have lekku to show their tone, and I think it would be good for my education and leadership if I could accurately communicate with the men—”
“And it would make you more comfortable”
“A Jedi doesn’t need comfort,” she recites automatically.
(It’s not totally clear if he’s rolling his eyes at her, or the statement.)
“Regardless, it would make you more comfortable, yes?”
“Well...yes.”
“Snips,” Master Skywalker says with a grin, his lopsided one again, “I have a perfect plan!”
Ahsoka isn’t stupid, and neither is her Master. Almost through determination alone, they figure things out.
Anakin teaches her his favourite meditation, a dual force-exercise/breathing technique where the user manipulates beads into larger and larger shapes, before shrinking them down again. Even for Ahsoka, who’s been meditating for as long as she could remember, it’s easier to release her tension, anxiety and insecurities when she’s focused on maintaining the pattern of ‘Inhale: triangle, square, pentagon, hexagon, heptagon, octagon. Exhale: reverse ’ than the feelings themselves. He has to move the beads at first, while she learns how it works, but it’s still one of her favourite exercises.
They meditate together, focusing on each other’s energy and learning to identify it. Their bond grows, no longer the tattered, frail thread but a woven braid connecting them.
(This, more than anything else, convinces Ahsoka that she is indeed wanted .)
It doesn’t take long, once they put their heads together. And once the bond is established, their plan goes into motion.
At first, she’d thought that Anakin would maybe give her a cheat-sheet, or a classroom-style run down of human emotions in action. Instead, her Master kept his side of the bond cracked open whenever they were close enough to converse, letting his tone and intention float through it.
And oh, Ahsoka hadn’t realized how...emotional her master was. How much emotion and passion he pours into every word he speaks or task he takes on. It's almost overwhelming at first, but...
It's comforting too, to know that he isn’t a robot. This window into his soul, his psyche. Anakin cares about everything , and now she’ll be able to finally Understand. To know when he’s teasing or serious, or both.
As homework (because Anakin is, first and foremost, her teacher) he has her practicing her awareness. Not on her physical surroundings, but the emotional ones. He shows her how to sense the emotions of those around her without invading their mind or privacy, and quizzes her at random.
“Kind of like giving everyone lekku. It’s not an exact science, but neither is reading facial expressions. It’ll give you an idea, at the very least.” Anakin had explained with a shrug.
The wave of feelings she receives when she hugs him gratefully speaks of his pride in her, and his care.
It’s the best lesson she’s ever received.