Chapter Text
In hindsight, Obi-Wan should have invested in an electric kettle. He should have bought one the first day after Melida/Daan, but he didn’t know then he’d be hiding under tables when all he wanted was a cup of chamomile. And when he did realize it, he saw his reaction as a weakness to overcome. So he bore the flashbacks, the jumpscares, and heart stutters until the sound drew nothing more out of him than a slight wince. It had taken years, but he was young; foolish enough to endure unnecessary pain, and optimistic enough to think he’d never need his battle trained senses to such an extent again. He was wrong.
So no, it wasn’t the noise that had startled him, or at least not that noise. What had pulled him back to his lightning-quick response times were the words “ get down ” shouted at just the right cadence and just the right high pitch of a child.
He doesn’t really remember pulling them both under the table. He doesn’t know how long he spent waiting in the same anticipation as Ahsoka, forgetting she was Ahsoka at all and not Cerasi or Deila. He doesn’t know what exactly brought him back to the present. An old leaf from the Troiken ivy plant lying still and brown on the floor. The initials carved on the underside of the table of rebellious padawans who’d come before him. A cold shift in the air, perhaps from a window he’d opened after he burnt the tea biscuits. It was one, any, or all of these things, or perhaps something else entirely, but it was certainly the mercy of the force.
After a brief moment of getting his bearings he reached towards the stove and used the force to turn off the burner. The whistle died down and Obi-Wan felt himself breathe again.
Until he turned around.
Ahsoka wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing–arms over her head, crouched down into the smallest possible ball of lanky teen-aged togruta she could manage.
“Ahsoka?” he called, hopeful she was not as lost as she looked. He reached over to shake her into awareness.
She didn’t move.
“Ahsoka breathe,” he told her, scooting over to her. She radiated fear and distress into the force. Obi-Wan could feel it in the air around him like a smothering blanket, but, oddly, also pulsing inside him. Glancing at its source he found a flimsy tie of strings–the makings of a bond.
Well, that was going to be a different conversation, but not an entirely unwelcome one.
Rubbing circles into Ahsoka’s back he focused on releasing all of his negative emotions into the force and away from this fledgling bond. He spared a brief pulse of safety to Anakin who was, from what Obi-wan felt, speeding down the temple halls to their quarters. Hopefully, this reassurance would calm Anakin enough to give them some space. Busting into the room, lightsaber lit, wasn’t going to help the situation. That done, Obi-Wan tried his best to stay calm and solid as he smoothed out the messy reaching tendrils and entwined them with his own presence to solidify the connection.
“It’s just the kettle, Ahsoka,” his voice fell flat, but he couldn’t find any emotion to fill it with that would settle her, “Just the kettle.”
The words seemed to sink in and Ahsoka unraveled from her ball. He could feel the release of all the tension she had been holding inside her. The sorrow would come next. Overwhelming, heart wrenching sorrow. He wished he didn’t know from experience. He wished even more that Ahsoka could have been spared it. In this moment, there wasn’t a thing he wanted more in the galaxy than to take her pain away.
But he couldn’t.
So he gathered her close to him, to hide her from it all in the shelter of his jedi robes, much like Qui-Gon had done for him.
“I’m so sorry, little one,” he whispered, knowing that her montrals would pick it up clear as day, “It’s alright,” he told her, “You’re safe here.” And he meant it. Nothing in the galaxy could pry her from his arms right now.
She was still in his grasp a moment.
Then she wailed.
He was buying an electric kettle.
_____
Obi-Wan had done his best to center himself while Ahsoka cried. It wasn’t easy. He constantly needed to make sure he was a steady presence for Ahsoka, but her need for him helped draw him from his many regrets. He had always dealt with his own problems more efficiently when someone else depended on him. Anakin was case in point.
After a while, Ahsoka’s tears petered out. She had wrung herself out, lying limp on his chest breathing easily, but not really present. She could’ve been asleep, but Obi-Wan felt her awareness through their bond. He tried speaking reassurances, rubbing her arms in an attempt to ground her, he even tried to sing whatever songs he could remember from the crèche, but she didn’t stir.
Obi-Wan was starting to regret sending Anakin away. He had gotten more and more panicked, so Obi-Wan had sent him to pick up food from Dex’s. He thought it would be for the best for them all to have something warm and slightly indulgent to eat after all this. But if Anakin were here, he could have found a way to pull Ahsoka out of herself.
Instead, she had Obi-Wan.
“Come on, little one,” he stroked her montrals gently, “Focus on the here and now.”
That had been one of Qui-Gon’s mantras for him. He had found it rather annoying at first since his master had less trouble doing just that. But after time, he realized Qui-Gon was equipping him to battle his weaknesses. It was a kindness not easily spotted, but Qui-Gon was like that–doing the good things, teaching the hard lessons that no one would truly thank him for until after ten or so years. Now, with the war, Obi-Wan used that mantra almost daily. He had thanked his master for it in his heart many times, hoping the force would pardon his unorthodoxy and let Qui-Gon know his padawan was grateful to him.
“Here and now,” Obi-Wan muttered again, this time to both of them.
He needed to switch tactics. He tried to think through other ways to draw her out of herself. He could try to put on a holomovie. It helped with Anakin’s nightmares–drawing him into a different reality as a stepping stone to bring him back to the present. It was probably the best idea he’d had in the past five minutes, but to set it up he’d have to move Ahsoka and then clear space in the living room. He’d rather not do either of those things.
A suggestion, like an inaudible whisper, entered his mind. He sighed full of all different kinds of emotions swirling together into something he could not name.
“I suppose they might as well be good for something,” he remarked dryly as he pulled out the current flimsy book he’d been reading from a large inside robe pocket. Flipping open to the marked page, he found where he’d left off and began to read aloud.
____
After about a chapter, Ahsoka shifted in his arms. She moved from his lap to curl up against his side. She didn’t say anything, but with a quick glance, both at her and her force presence, Obi-Wan could tell she was more aware than before. He wrapped an arm around her and kept reading.
After another two chapters she spoke.
“This is terrible,” she told him, face scrunched in disgust.
Obi-Wan chuckled, half in amusement, half in relief.
“I’m not particularly fond of them myself,” he admitted
Strangely, Ahsoka perked up at that.
“Then why do you read them?” she asked earnestly.
Obi-Wan sighed deeply. He knew someone would ask eventually. He wished it wasn’t Ahsoka. Especially not in the midst of this.
“That might be best saved for another time,” he tried.
“No,” she protested, “Obi-Wan you don’t understand.”
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow waiting for her to continue.
“I’ve been wondering about those books for weeks ,” she explained, “You hate them. I can tell. If I don’t know why you keep reading them, I’m going to lose my mind.”
Obi-Wan was honestly a little surprised. He didn’t think most people would bat an eye over what he read, let alone that these books were not his preferred genre. Plo had mentioned in passing that Ahsoka showed promise in empathic capabilities. So perhaps that’s why she had noticed.
“Are you sure?” he asked, hoping she would say no, “I really don’t know if-”
“Please!” She looked up at him.
Force help him, she had tooka eyes. He was going to go extra hard on Anakin next sparring if he had been the one to teach her that.
“They were a gift,” he explained, taking out the note he’d been using as a bookmark and handing it to Ahsoka, “From a clanmate.”
“‘ Happy Birthday Obi,’” Ahsoka read aloud, “‘ Sorry it’s a bit late. I wanted to give you these books because they made me think of you. I hope they can remind you that there are good things in the world and that I love you dearly. We’ll have to catch up soon so you can tell me what you think of them. Your Bantling.’” Ahsoka looked back up at him strangely. “Bantling?” she asked.
“A nickname from childhood,” Obi-Wan explained, “Her full name was Bant Eerin.”
“Oh…” Ahsoka looked down at the note with a new, solemn reverence, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, my dear,” he tried to release his emotions into the force quietly. Digging up his grief was not going to help Ahsoka. She must have noticed anyway because she wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed tightly.
“Can I ask what happened?” she said softly when she pulled away.
Obi-Wan let out a long breath.
“Her camp was attacked, she died in an explosion.”
“She died recently?” Ahsoka shuttered.
Obi-Wan nodded.
“She was stationed at a relief camp in the southern hemisphere of Christophsis, around the time we were there actually.”
“You mean we could have saved her?” Ahsoka asked, voice breaking.
“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan pulled her closer to his side, “I didn’t even know she was there. By the time I found out the camp was attacked, she was already gone. There was nothing anyone could have done, not even us.” It was a well prepared explanation. He had practiced it to himself repeatedly on sleepless nights.
Ahsoka was quiet, looking back down at the note. Obi-Wan watched her intently.
“My clanmates-” She looked back up at him a little teary eyed and oh- his heart broke for this girl. “Some of them are going to die in this war,” she realized.
Obi-Wan couldn’t deny that. He wished he could. He would do almost anything to protect her from that pain, but he couldn’t.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” his voice was wet and a tear splattered on the open page, “I’m so, so sorry that war has come to you.”
Ahsoka curled up closer next to him and he squeezed her tightly.
“I miss the way things used to be,” She confessed, sounding much younger than she was.
“So do I.” Obi-Wan admitted, looking up at the table above them, “I miss the days of being a youngling, of my padawanship, even of Anakin’s apprenticeship from time to time.” He sent a pulse of humor to her with those words and she smiled softly, “But change is one of the few constants in life.'' He continued, “Each season of life has value, even the seasons we wish we never had to travel. If you learn to befriend it, and not resist it, you will find peace. The force wills us into the right path if we let it. Which means you are meant to be exactly where you are right now. And so am I.”
“What about Bant?” Ahsoka muttered, quietly.
Obi-Wan sighed a deep and heavy sigh.
“What happened to Bant was wrong,” he replied, “but the force works in mysterious ways. It helps me to think that there was nothing more the force had for her to do on the mortal plane, so it called her home.”
He smiled down at her. It was true after all. Bant Eerin had done her best to do what the force willed. Even before the war she saved countless lives as a healer and in the quiet day-to-day moments she lived out kindness and compassion, a different kind of life saving. Obi-Wan was proud of her. Unspeakably sad, but proud.
“But-” Ahsoka sat up to look at him better, “Isn’t it cruel? That the force would take her away?”
“Hmm,” Obi-Wan hummed, “It seems someone has not been paying attention in Interpretations and Philosophies?”
“Master Tivari was drafted, and they never replaced her, so they canceled the class.” Ahsoka told him.
Obi-Wan sighed. Honestly, he worked with the most short-sighted people in the galaxy.
“Then I will teach you something you would have learned in that class.” Obi-Wan told her, sitting up a little straighter and crossing his legs. Ahsoka crawled to sit across from him and did the same. It was a common position to take when an elder passed on wisdom to one younger. Obi-Wan was glad to pass on what little knowledge he had.
“What is the last line of the code?” He asked her.
“There is no death, there is the force” Ahsoka recited.
“This is true,” Obi-Wan affirmed. “Do you know what it means?”
“I-” she shook her head, “Master, there’s death all around us, how can there be no death?”
“Ah, but there is death,” Obi-Wan corrected, “The Jedi would be fools to deny it. What is meant is that in the force, death is without power.”
“Without power?” she echoed, incredulously.
“Death is separation.” He continued, “Spirit from body, a person from their loved ones, a soul from the force. But those who follow the will of the force are all connected by and in and through the force.”
“Then why do Jedi still die?” Ahsoka asked.
“We are luminous beings, but we dwell in mortal forms. We are subject to the laws of nature, that all things will die, but that separation is but a brief and passing moment.”
“What happens to us, then?” The words seemed to fall out of Ahsoka’s mouth in a mixture of pain and breathless wonder.
“According to the sacred texts,” Obi-wan began, “One day the force will call us all to itself and we shall all live together in forms that do not break, or wear down. And we shall live in and with and by the force, and there will be no more war, or sorrow, or death. And we shall all be one temple, one people, and the force will be with us. Always.”
The air settled between them and silence filled the space. Sunset shone in from the windows beside them casting them into the glow of evening. The dust floating around them sparkled like stars.
“So because we’re one in the force, we’re never separated?” Ahsoka asked, hope welling over into their bond.
Obi-Wan nodded with a smile.
“Though Bant is not with us physically, she is here with us in memory and one day, when my own task is done, the force will call me home, and I’ll see her again. Then I can ask her why she thought of me when she read these blasted books.”
Ahsoka laughed, a sad joyous laugh that seemed to chase away the heaviness around them.
Obi-Wan smiled.
Ahsoka looked down at the note one final time before handing it back to him.
“Was there a funeral?” she asked.
“Not yet.” Obi-Wan replied, tucking the note back in the book, “We’ve been having some difficulties with the logistics. It’s hard to get a hold of knights and masters who should be there. In addition, she died saving Jedi from a different temple so they’ve reached out asking if they can be involved in honoring her.”
“She saved another jedi?” Ahsoka’s eyes widened.
“Jedi from the Atlisian sect were doing relief work there.” Obi-wan explained, “They got trapped when the blockade started. Bant led three padawans away from the battle before they were caught in a stray explosion. Two of the padawans survived the blast with injuries and are recovering. The third is still missing, but likely survived.”
“She saved three padawans?”
“And many more civilians from the relief camp escaped because she led the way,” Obi-Wan said proudly.
Ahsoka looked down at the floor, thoughtful.
“If I die in this war, I hope I die like her,” she told him.
Never before had a sentence made Obi-Wan so very proud and so very terrified all at once. He paused to order his thoughts and emotions so he could respond well to her sentiment.
“It is not a bad thing to wish,” he told her, “but I hope you will never have to. I hope this war will be over before it’s truly begun, and that you,” he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, “will do many more kind acts than Bant, and see many more years long after I am gone. To sacrifice in death is noble, but to live sacrificially is more difficult, more needed. If given a choice between the two I urge you to choose the latter.”
Ahsoka nodded solemnly, considering his words.
“I will,” she told him with a strong finality.
Obi-wan smiled fondly.
“I know you will.”
Ahsoka smiled back brightly, before crawling back over to his side, once again. “Keep reading,” she told him. “Actually you should probably go back a bit, I don’t remember anything.”
“You want to hear the perilous trials of Tilli, Milli, and Rilli, and their outlandish dress shop?” Obi-Wan asked teasingly, even as he draped a warm arm around her.
“At least then you won’t have to bear this travesty alone,” Ahsoka replied, draping the side of his robe over her and looking up at him.
Obi-wan felt his heart pang a little.
“Indeed I won’t,” he murmured, before flipping back to the beginning and reading aloud again.
They never ended up drinking tea, or talking about any of the things Obi-Wan had planned to ask about, like her classes or how she was adjusting to Anakin as a master. But together, in the chaos and messiness of it all, they breathed, and found peace.
Somehow, everything was as it was supposed to be, and everyone was exactly where they were meant to be. But especially two particular souls, sitting on an unswept floor, under a dirty dining table, reading a mediocre book from a friend far away, and yet so near.