Work Text:
“Careful now My Dearest, your wounds are still tender. You must take it easily.”
Plo exhaled roughly, leaning heavily into Shaak’s grasp as he was lowered into the soft grass, the blades gently brushing against his still healing skin like a greeting from an old friend. Even through the thick scar tissue, they made his nerves vaguely tingle, like a faded memory of what a ticklish sensation was like.
It brought a distant form of melancholy to his heart, that he couldn’t even feel the grass properly now. Another sense he could not utilise, this one stolen, rendered useless by fire and ship fuel.
“I-” Plo wheezed, inhaling deeply, his lungs protesting underneath his still fragile ribcage. “Will endeavour to do so, Master Ti.”
Shaak settled into the grass in front of him, her skirts spreading around her like a halo of brown and gold, hands clasped in her lap. “Plo, please.” She smiled, her dark eyes glimmering like two perfect spheres of onyx. “It’s Shaak, when we are like this.”
Beneath his mask, Plo smiled and briefly inclined his head. A conceding to a well-worn argument.
“Are you sure neither of you wanted food or a drink. You’ve been pretty preoccupied…”
Their heads turned in sync, meeting the uncertain eyes of Ahsoka Tano. Despite having grown into a formidable young woman, her uncertainty was clear in the hunch of her shoulders, how her Lekku twitched against her clearly borrowed cloak. Likely Obi-Wan’s. Whether he took her on or remained her Grandmaster was yet to be decided, but that could wait. They both had wounds they weren’t quite healed from yet.
None of them did.
Shaak smiled, petting the grass invitingly. “We are quite alright Ahsoka. Thank you for joining us today. I know you probably would rather spend your time with those your own age, rather than two old Masters’ like us.” Her voice was light and joking, washing over them like the strum of a harp.
Clearly, Shaak’s joke had eased Ahsoka’s discomfort, her shoulders slumping into a more eased position.
“I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else.” She replied, her voice surprisingly tender and quiet. Like the young girl couldn’t quite fathom that they were Infront of her. Plo didn’t blame her. He didn’t believe that they were alive some days, convinced that this was merely some form of dream to help him cope with the shock of his near death. Well- His death. His heart had stopped. He had nearly returned to the Force.
But here he was. Alive, mostly whole. His family was still breathing, their hearts cracked and bleeding but still beating. The Temple still bore the marks of betrayal, scorch marks carved into the bones of their beloved refuge still being scrubbed away but still standing. They had not lost. The Dark had not won.
That was enough.
Ahsoka collapsed into the grass beside them, stretchling like a cat as she did so. Plo couldn’t contain his chuckle fully. Years later, and she was still the same. Ahsoka tentatively smiled back.
“How-” She cut herself off, eyes lowering.
“Ahsoka.”
Plo shakily placed his hand over hers, so much smaller yet bearing the same scars of war they all carried. “You may have left the Order, but this is still your home. We are still your family.”
He carefully curled his fingers around her hand.
“Speak your mind.”
“….How is he?”
Shaak inhaled slightly, and Plo couldn’t help the minute flinch that rippled across his body.
There was no mistaking who he was.
There was a soft silence, broken up by the bubbling of water, giggles of younglings as they ran through the Gardens many plants and flowers. The buzzing of small creatures that made up the Room of a Thousand Fountains. But a mere mention of him had his nerves on end, turning that beautiful ambience to faraway noise.
Shaak remained quiet for a moment, before sighing deeply.
“I..will not lie to you Ahsoka. Your former Master is very troubled. He mas many wounds, many fears and issues to work on. Ones that will takes years to deal with.”
Ahsoka, for all of her maturity, still trembled under his touch as Shaak spoke.
“So Maul-”
“Unfortunately- he was correct. about everything.”
Ahsoka shook, her free hand clenching into a fist.
“Little ‘Soka.” Plo leaned closer, as far as he dared. “I am going to assume you have not spoken to Master Kenobi about this?”
Ahsoka shook her head silently, eyes watery with tears. “It felt- too cruel- to ask him.”
Plo brushed against her shields. A caress of comfort.
“As much as Skywalker was his Padawan, he was also your Master. You are entitled to ask after him.”
Ahsoka shrugged, teeth worrying at her lips.
“Was he- was he always like that? And none of us ever noticed? Did he- was my training even real?”
Ahsoka choked on the last work, like she had to spit it out.
Plo shared a look with Shaak. Her beautiful face was creased with concern, and Plo could only sigh.
“Anakin was, deep down, a good man. He was scared, manipulated. Yes, he made his own choices, but they do not reflect on you or your merit as a Jedi.”
“But-”
“No buts.” Plo said firmly. “You were his apprentice, but you are not an extension of who he is. If we have to tell you this a million times we will.” Plo reached up and gently cupped her cheek. “Please. never doubt that you are perfect, just the way you are.”
Ahsoka smiled softly, a single tear dripping down her face.
“Thank you.” She sniffled. “It’s stupid-”
“Your feelings are never stupid young one.” Plo lay a gentle hand on her knee. "We are living beings, not droids. What you feel is understandable."
Ahsoka shuddered under his touch, but she relaxed, the jagged edges of her emotions smoothing out in the Force. Relief bloomed in his chest, Plo never enjoyed seeing his loved ones in distress, and being able to soothe it away was the best feeling for him.
For a long moment, the three of them merely existed in one another's presence, floating within the Force's gentle grasp, warm and safe, echoing the sensations of home and light and life that permeated the very soil beneath them. Ahsoka slowly relaxed and stretched out into the grass, running a finger through its emeralds blades and giggling when ants and little beetles would scuttle merrily over her fingers. Plo let himself drift, exhaling through his mask, not fighting when Shaak eased him into laying down, his head tenderly pillowed on his lap, one hand gently resting on his head. Her fingers, lithe and gentle yet ever so strong, traced over the scared and healing skin, her touch cool and soothing. When exhaustion tugged at his eyelids, for the first time in years, he didn't fight it. He let them slip shut, let Shaak and Ahsoka's voices wash over him like a gentle wave.
At some point, three familiar presences made themselves known, familiar grunts and laughter making their way to their little sanctuary. Plo didn't listen, only catching snippets of voices; identical yet so distinct.
"Comfortable there are you General?"
Plo merely waved a hand dismissively. "I... am merely resting my eyes in the place of optimal comfort."
Wolffe barked out a laugh, his amusement a small sun that mingled with his brothers.
Shaak laughed gently and stroked his brow. "I am honoured to be a place of comfort and relaxation for you Dear."
Plo mumbled out an agreement and nuzzled into her skirts. He could endure their teasing, their joy was simply too precious to him. Comet and Sinker continued to rib each other over some bet they had made, his and Shaak's names thrown around, Wolfee's groans and Ahsoka's shrieks of laughter.
This was perfect. He nearly lost this, but they didn't. They won.
Plo drifted to sleep in his loves arms, and his heart rested easy.