When it counts

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When Ahsoka reaches her limits, Anakin drops everything to make sure she's okay.

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Four weeks.

That's how long they had been gone.

It wasn't the longest campaign Anakin and Ahsoka had been on. Hell, only a month before, they'd got back from a campaign that lasted nearly two months, except that was on a lavish Republic base where the citizens actually wanted them there. They were treated like royalty.

This time, they had been in trenches.

Muddy, wet, disease-infested trenches on a Separatist planet. The citizens didn't want them there by any means, but the Senate thought the resources were too valuable to miss out on. It was colonialism at its finest.

Additionally, it had been a complete waste of time and one of the only failures of the undefeatable General Skywalker's career. The 501st hadn't seen this number of casualties since Teth, and the two companies that reinforced them were depleted as well.

In the end, after four weeks of utter hell, the only thing they could be proud of was how many men they managed to evacuate before it was too late.

Ahsoka was exhausted. It wasn't just muscle aches and general fatigue; it was mental burnout. She had buried more soldiers than any teenager should ever have to, relied on the Force so much that even meditating hurt her head, and simply couldn't wash the smell of burning flesh and plastoid off her skin.

Once she returned to her quarters in the Temple, it took all of her strength to not collapse into bed immediately. She and Anakin both spent an hour and a half in the medbay for the standard battle wear and tear before being discharged, and then Obi-Wan had given them both strict orders to get some rest.

Ahsoka couldn't allow herself to do that.

Padawans who served on the front lines were not simply exempt from their studies, and Ahsoka had a deadline that night.

Eight thousand words.

About what, Ahsoka didn't care. She hadn't given the essay an ounce of thought during the past four weeks, and she'd only remembered upon boarding the Resolute that the deadline had creeped up on her.

Really, she had no excuse for leaving it to the last minute. It was set the morning before they left, so she had a solid twenty hours of transit time (including the journey back) to have written the essay, but her Commander duties had been rather pressing.

Between her Galactic History teacher and Admiral Yuleran, Ahsoka had to admit she was more afraid of the latter.

Except now, she had two hours until the deadline, and not a single word typed onto her datapad. If she didn't get a good grade on this essay, she would most definitely fail the class and have to retake it. Galactic History 101 was bad enough the first time around.

So, instead of crawling under her duvet and sleeping the past four weeks off, Ahsoka dragged her sore and blistered feet to the kitchen counter and got her books out.

She was only about eight hundred words in when Anakin's door opened, and her Master hurried out. She hadn't bothered to ask questions she already knew the answers to when he said he was going to spend the night with a friend.

He was just as tired as she was. No doubt, the Council would already whine at him for the failed campaign, she didn't want to give him any crap for wanting to spend some time with his secret (although horribly kept) wife.

A clatter of credits on the counter had her lifting her head, and Anakin gave her a tired smile. "There's enough there to order some food. Make sure you eat before you go to bed."

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