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The small table still had three chairs. Three . One for each member of their small family.
Anakin leaned into the wood construct, fingers wrapped about a rapidly-cooling mug of tea. He was a caf drinker, everyone knew that. But somehow making his favorite morning brew now felt… wrong.
Well, wrong , wasn’t exactly the correct word to describe it. There were just too many bittersweet memories there—too many moments that he should have been able to look back on with fondness, but could not see past the pain.
Three days.
Sighing heavily, Anakin set down the mug and rested his face in his hands. It was still too fresh, too soon… Everywhere he went, he could feel echoes of Ahsoka’s presence. The sharp regret which accompanied each memory cut into him like a knife, reopening the still-fresh wound that her departure had opened in his heart and mind.
And that wasn’t counting the void in the Force, the missing other half of the training bond which had been forged in the trials of Christophsis and Teth—and strengthened over time.
Gone. All gone .
Every fiber of Anakin’s being wanted to turn back time, to go back and reclaim the hours he’d taken for granted in a state of blissful ignorance… To just, for one more day, have his apprentice back at his side.
When he was a kid, his mother had told him that nothing lasted forever.
Anakin slowly brought the mug to his lips and took a small sip of tea. The slightly sweet taste of the herbal blend did little to help counter the bitterness of regret.
His eyes roved across the empty kitchen, taking in the unusually clean countertops and sink area. Even as a kid, he’d always been messy. But in the last few days, Anakin somehow couldn’t stop cleaning, scouring the unnaturally empty quarters until it was spotless.
Today, he’d gone through Ahsoka’s old room, but left all her stuff neatly folded on the shelf next to her bed. Her lightsabers were there as well, holding a silent vigil over the rest of her gear, the crystals still resonating warmth in the Force, singing a silent song to the heavens which their rightful owner would never hear…
The boxes he’d been given to ship out Ahsoka's things still sat near the entrance to his quarters, untouched.
In the far corner of the small living room, the chronometer let out a soft chime, indicating that it was nearly noon.
Anakin blinked are the holographic numbers in a daze. Whre had the time gone?
Three days ago, Ahsoka’s trial would’ve just begun…
Padme had called, but he hadn’t had the heart to go into detail. She was busy, and her schedule was blocked out until the following week. Anakin felt badly for his lack of communication, but didn’t have the heart to send anything more than a simple, written holomessage in return.
And Obi-Wan…
Anakin squeezed his eyes shut and let out a ragged breath. He’d lashed out at the man after Ahsoka left, unloading the hurt onto his former-Master—only to find out later how Obi-Wan and Master Plo had fought for the apprentice right until the bitter end.
Obi-wan didn’t deserve his blame or frustration, and yet when Anakin had confronted him, accusation blazing in his mind, the man had calmly accepted it all.
Guilt curled in the pit of Anakin’s stomach. He wanted to take back every word he’d said to his Master. The flicker of pain he’d sensed in Obi-Wan’s presence… that should have been his focus… Because in the days following—the two, terrible days—Anakin had come to realize that Ahsoka hadn’t just been his Padawan. They’d been a family—him, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka. They'd been close, all three of them.
Swallowing thickly, Anakin pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a lump rising in the back of his throat, slowly constricting his breathing.
The door chimed softly.
Anakin let his hand drop. He knew who was on the other side of the durasteel panels. For a moment, he hesitated, oddly compelled to just remain alone.
Clearing his throat, Anakin concentrated on forcing down his emotions.
“Come in.” He internally cursed the way his voice shook, and just how young he sounded.
Obi-Wan entered after a moment, staring at him, eyes warm.
Feeling slightly dizzy, Anakin looked back down at his tea, his chest tightening once more. He wanted to break down, to cry, to scream… He wasn’t ready to talk about these things, and even begin the much-needed conversation about Ahsoka that he knew Obi-Wan wanted to have.
He expected the older Jedi to speak, and braced himself for an entire array of different scenarios that were just waiting to happen.
Instead, he watched as Obi-Wan pulled the nearest available chair back from the table—the seat he always took when they were together—and gracefully lowered himself into it. His presence was warm.
Anakin’s eyes began to water. He felt like he was just a small boy again, standing by Qui-Gon Jinn’s funeral pyre—lost and alone.
Alone.
A hand gently covered his own, and he looked up to see his Master. Though Obi-Wan’s expression was kept neutral, Anakin could see a fraction of pain reflected there. The fact that it was visible, even through the mask, spoke volumes .
Anakin's eyes burned.
Obi-Wan’s presence reached out towards him, warm and bright in the Force. Slowly, he felt himself being pulled into its warm embrace. Closing his eyes tight, Anakin tried to let out a breath, to keep control on the emotion which threatened to spill from his eyes…
Instead, Anakin choked and sank his teeth into his bottom lip.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, fighting, but soon the dam broke, releasing nearly a week’s worth of anguish, stress, and guilt. Anakin silently fell forward, and sobbed into the crook of his arm.
Obi-Wan squeezed his hand comfortingly, before coming to kneel next to him and rubbing soothing circles into his shoulders.
It was over. Ahsoka was gone.
But at least Anakin knew he would not be alone.