Cejanr (A Rexsoka SWTCW Fanfic)

9

Two weeks. That was the time Ahsoka let herself wallow in grief and self pity. Two measly weeks. Ventress, for all her gruff and cold demeanor, was surprisingly kind to the togruta.  The jedi, having to cover for the assassin's forgiveness, released some fake story about Asajj Ventress being a double agent and spy for the republic, attributing several victories to her. 

She hadn't been happy about that. She also wasn't happy about the amount of attention Ahsoka was gathering either. Ahsoka had spent her fair share in the holonet, and it was beginning to show. She had been given several job offers already, from everything in acting on the clone wars holoseries to mechanic jobs to working in the senatorial building as a bodyguard. 

Thinking about the jobs brought her back to how she had come to stay with the ex-sith in the first place. Which inevitably brought her back to him. The person who had given up everything for her to make it out of that stupid trial. Who had turned her back on her when she had needed him the most. He didn't even try to get out of it. His words to Tarkin still rung in her mind.

"Guilty as charged, your honor." 

Just like that. He left her. Took her heart from her chest and wore it on the inside of his arm, the precious gift from Satine holding the highest honor armor could hold in his mind. Until he tossed it over his shoulder without a second glance. After the two weeks were up, Ahsoka forced herself to swallow her grief and pain. Not all of it emotional.

The bond had broken, and he wasn't around to deal with the backlash. He had left her, crippled and unable to touch the force. Her people had always had a close relationship with the force, and with even the natural connection severed, the pain was a constant. She swallowed her grief, but anger took its place easily enough.  

Anger at the jedi, and their blatant hypocrisy. Anger at the system, who had ripped him from her with glee. Anger at him, the person who meant everything to her, and knew it. Who let them take him without a fight. The great captain of Torrent company, surrendered. Not on the field of battle, he didn't die from a grenade or a blastershot. He died from a standard procedure for defective units.

He was defective alright. Defective in all the right ways. Everything from his blond hair to his abilities in the force to his love for her. Defective. And she had loved him all the more for it. Now, she was little more than a shell. Food curdled in her stomach, water burned her throat like acid. Sleep brought only pain, haunting memories of gentle kisses and broken promises. 

"Don't ever do that again."

"Do what? Almost die? I'm a soldier, Ahsoka."

"No. Don't ever ask me to just... let you go like that. It's almost as bad as me pulling the trigger myself." 

"You have my word, Cyare."

She was every bit as defective as he had been. Defective in ignoring the code. In being quick to love. Defective in every touch, every kiss, every false hope that everything would be ok in the end. Defective. That's what their love had been. 

But if you had the chance to go back to that first stolen kiss in the jungle, to push him away and change everything, would you? A niggling voice in the back of her head asked. Like she had every other time she heard that voice, she pushed it down. Down to the depths of her mind where she kept her grief. She left that question unanswered, just like every other time. 

She sighed and turned her attention back to the task spread out on the low coffee table before her. She had never really cared for mechanics, even though she had often spent hours listening to her master ramble on about something or another in the technical field while working on fixing up the Twilight. His enthusiasm was so infectious that it was hard not to. She had actually gained quite a lot from those hours, and mechanics was one of the skills that transferred more easily from the military life to the civilian one. 

The odd jobs was more for Asajj's sake than her own. The menial tasks of fixing the odd wares from various shop owners in an open air bazar (open air was a loose term, considering that this was Corascant) that her roommate had brought back. She always took the work with a smile and it earned her a few extra credits. It also seemed to give off the appearance that she was recovering from her... ordeal. In any case, the ex-sith had gone back to her bounty hunting profession readily enough once Ahsoka was up and moving again. 

She stared at the parts in front of her, hearing her master's voice in her head. The fan had been spitting out a good deal of the black filth of accumulated carbon and dirt for several weeks now, and the air had been so foul smelling and poisonous that he had been about to dump it in the trash and leave it when he took a gamble. Why buy a new one for twenty thousand credits when the young war veteran a level or so down could fix it for a couple hundred. 

Really, it was a simple fix. Just a good cleaning and a filter change, really, but work had been slow coming. Why not go above and beyond? She could have it running like new if not better with little effort, and it would do good for her reputation. 

She had learned that there were three kinds of currency on the lower levels of Corascant. Credits, spice, and reputation. She was already recognized as the great Anakin Skywalker's protege, but that only did so much. 

Mechanics was good for now. This small job was good for now. She could do this small thing. As much as anger fueled her, it was exhausting in the long term. But this little bit? This two hours of work for semi decent pay? She could do that. 

Black from the carbon build up covered her hands and forearms from the elbows down. It was no doubt streaked across her face and neck as well, despite her best efforts. A small projector in the corner of the room, one of the first things she had gotten upon moving in to Asajj's apartment with her, was playing the local news as background noise. There was a familiar chime as an emergency report came on.  

Ahsoka stopped what she was doing to turn her attention to the device. It could be anything from a broken turbolift to a oxyrecycler going offline. If the latter was the case, then whole levels would have to be evacuated due to air poisoning unless the occupants didn't need oxygen to breathe. She was surprised to see Anakin's face on the screen, along with two other jedi. Tiplee and Tiplar. She had been taught under them a little at the temple. Funnily enough, they taught on attachments and how to avoid them. 

Intrigued, because this was the first bit of news on the war effort since she left the order and he had gone, she turned up the volume. 

"-Rindo Vinda, there apparently seems to be some bad blood between one of the clone troopers of General Skywalker's battalion and mikkian jedi Tiplar. Bad enough that the trooper, CT 5385, apparently shot her in the head. Not much is known about the trooper's motives, and the Kaminoans are looking into it now.  We have the prime minister of Kamino, hoping to give us some insight on this tragedy."

The screen cut to the kaminoan, who blathered on about not knowing the exact cause, as the trooper had not been brought in for study yet. Ahsoka dropped the parts she had been cleaning back to the table. 

Tup. The trooper was Tup. Sweet, nervous Tup, always pushing the regulations for hair length and even out right ignoring them in favor to let his curls tumble down below his shoulder. Had shot a jedi. Ahsoka heald no love in her heart for much anymore, but certainly not for the order. But being betrayed like that? For no reason?

The familiar rage built up in her chest. Her first instinct was to blame him. He was a good captain, best in the GAR. If he'd been there, he could have done something. The blame turned to herself not long after. If she'd been there, she could have stopped him. Her vision blazed red with fury and guilt as all the unwanted pain bubbled up inside her. The longing to sink into the force and let the emotions wash over her with no effect grew with every second. But touching that power only brought more pain. Only brought more memories. 

Only reminded her more of him. She staggered back and slumped on the couch, turning off the holoprojector. She clenched her jaw, her lekku flexing with emotion. Her blood boiled with a fury at everything. Every injustice that had been done to her. Every pain. Every broken promise and shattered trust. 

Her heart sang with pain, and the force around her sang in harmony, whether she could feel it or not.