Peter Parker should have turned to dust on Titan. But when the Snap tore the universe apart, Peter was ripped to somewhere far worse - a galaxy far far away.
Pairings: Peter Parker x Padmé Amidala x Ahsoka Tano Genre: Multiverse Crossover, War, Smut!
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Interlude 2 — Unfiltered
Private Log Entry — CT-5597 "Jesse"
Encrypted. Unofficial.
Date: [Redacted]
Location: Coruscant Barracks, Republic Military Sector
Status: Post-patrol. Rations cold. Feet killing me.
You ever feel like the war isn't just wearing you down, but scraping you hollow from the inside?
Not the usual fatigue. We're clones, exhaustion's baked into the bone. This is something else. A slow rot that sets behind the eyes. You look in the mirror and think, Is this still me?
Everything's on edge. The Senate's louder. Jedi move like they're walking on glass. Even civvies walk faster, eyes darting like they feel a storm building but don't know which direction it's coming from.
And then there's him.
The men call him Spider. I don't know his real name. Not officially, anyway. No files. No rank. He just showed up one day, and now he's in the field more than some of the Jedi. That alone should raise alarms.
First time I saw him, I thought maybe he was some rogue Padawan who never learned how to sit still. But the way he moved… it wasn't Jedi. It wasn't a soldier either. He moved like someone who had already survived three wars we never even heard about.
He doesn't float. He doesn't glow. He doesn't carry himself like he's above us. When he talks, it's not orders. It's a conversation. Real voice. Real weight. Like what we say might actually matter.
And that hits harder than any inspirational speech from the Temple.
I've seen Hardcase joke with him like they were brothers back on Kamino. Fives laughs more when he's around. That's a sentence I didn't think I'd write this year. And Rex? Rex respects him. I don't say that lightly.
We ran an op yesterday, lower levels. Spice smugglers armed with Separatist-grade mines. Tight corners. No fallback. A trap waiting to happen.
Spider looked at the schematic once, muttered something about "tight crawlspaces," and rerouted us through a bypass vent. Saved three squads from getting slagged. Didn't act like a hero. Just gave a half-smile and said, "Seemed like a better idea."
Later, I heard him call himself Peter. He didn't think I heard him.
Strange name. But it fits him.
He doesn't use a lightsaber. Doesn't even use the Force. Or if he does, it's not like anything I've seen. I watched him web-launch up a support column during a firefight, yank a sniper out of a vent, and vanish before the second shot was fired.
That's not Jedi. That's something else. Something so old we have no data on it. Or maybe something brand new. I can't tell.
He doesn't posture. Doesn't command respect. He just earns it.
One of the newer shinies said Spider reminds him of a wraith from the Kamino myth. Silent, clever, invisible until he strikes. I laughed it off, but now I'm not so sure.
And then there's Ahsoka.
Or... Ahsoka, when she's with him. Not Commander. Not the rigid front. Just... her.
She softens. Not weak, not even close. But her armor sits lighter. Her smile lasts longer. The way she looks at him, you'd think for a moment the galaxy wasn't coming apart. I've caught her lingering when he walks away, just for a second too long.
I don't ask questions. Not my place. But I know trust when I see it. And she trusts him.
And that... that might be what makes me nervous.
Because Jedi don't trust fast. They don't let outsiders get that close. And yet here she is, letting down walls I've never seen lowered before.
I've fought alongside Jedi who could turn tanks into scrap with a thought. I've followed commanders into hellfire without blinking.
But this guy? He sticks to the ceiling and talks like someone who's already lost too much. And when he fights, it's not to prove anything. It's just to keep people breathing.
Fives asked me if I think he's Force-sensitive. I told him I don't know. He just shrugged. "Whatever he is, he doesn't act like one of them."
No. He doesn't.
And maybe that's why the men trust him.
Because he sees us. Not just our armor or rank codes. Us. The people underneath.
That matters. More than I thought.
But here's the thing.
Trust is easy when you feel safe. Right now, the men feel safe around him. He jokes. He saves lives. He eats with us like we're not manufactured. But I've seen those eyes when he thinks no one's looking.
Haunted. Angry. Focused in an almost surgical way.
And I keep wondering.
What happens if that focus turns?
I don't know what Spider really is. Maybe he's some ghost from another war. Maybe he's something that fell out of the stars. Maybe he's both.
But when the blaster bolts start flying and you're pinned in a vent, choking on smoke, you don't ask for explanations.
You pray the right shadow shows up.
And lately, that's him.
End log.
Encrypted. Locked.
If I don't make it, let someone find this.
Maybe it'll help them understand.
– Jesse
Chapter 3 — Jealousy of a Chosen One
Blasterfire lanced through the haze, red bolts slashing the smoke-draped skyline. Towers of scorched duracrete leaned at impossible angles, their broken skeletons lit in the flickering strobe of combat. Below, the street was a hell of debris and crossfire, clone troopers pinned behind shattered barriers, civilians huddled in collapsed shelters, and the steady advance of battle droids pressing in with mechanical indifference.
Perched on the crumbling edge of a rooftop, Peter crouched low. Dust clung to his shoulders, his lenses flickering as he scanned the chaos. One tank, a Separatist crawler, pushed over the wreckage with disturbing ease. Its cannon slowly pivoted toward a shelter where the cries of trapped civilians bled through the comm static.
Ahsoka's voice crackled in his ear. "Third unit's stuck. Civvies under the rubble. That tank's powering up."
Peter didn't hesitate. "I see it. Give me thirty seconds."
He reloaded his gauntlet with a metallic click, snapping a new cartridge into place, a fusion of his web formula and clone-rigged pressure filament. Years of experience on one wrist. He stood, balanced at the edge of the drop, then launched forward.
A webline hissed from his hand, catching the broken mast of a tower. Peter swung down through the chaos, blaster bolts whipping past him as his silhouette carved through the smoke. He landed feet-first on the tank's hull, another webline already firing.
The adhesive net latched onto the repulsor lift ports, sealing them shut with reinforced tension. The tank lurched, groaning under its own weight. With another shot, Peter anchored a support beam above the tank's side chassis.
The upper structure buckled.
The beam snapped and collapsed, crashing down onto the crawler with a grinding boom. The tank sagged, tilted, and crumpled into the rubble. Civilians scrambled free beneath it, coughing and covered in dust but alive.
Peter was gone before the echoes faded.
From above, he launched upward, bouncing off the scorched stone and slinging himself to a vantage point. As he rose, his lenses caught movement, flankers. A squad of B2 super battle droids snaking through the alleys, heading straight for the clone line.
He dropped fast.
Boots hit steel. Droids turned, confused for half a second.
That was all he needed.
He fired a spread shot, five globs of web erupting mid-air, each snapping to a separate target. One sealed a blaster mid-fire. Two yanked droids off their feet. Another staggered as Peter vaulted over it, driving a knee into its chassis and webbing its legs around its chest. A final droid tried to sound the alarm but caught a glob to the face and fell twitching into a crate.
Six seconds. All neutralized.
Peter climbed again, this time slower. Not out of fatigue, but caution. He landed on a rooftop beside Rex and Ahsoka, both watching the smoke swirl below.
Rex gave him a sideways glance. "Not bad for a ghost."
Peter's tone stayed dry. "I aim to confuse."
Ahsoka's expression softened as she studied him. "Graceful work. For someone who says he can't fly."
Peter flashed a crooked smile. "Falling with style's my specialty."
Below them, clone troopers began regrouping, eyes flicking upward.
"Sir Spider's at it again," one muttered.
"Web-Commander," another chuckled. "Bet he's got eight arms under that suit."
Peter groaned. "That's it. I'm going back to civilian life."
Ahsoka's quiet laugh lingered longer than the joke deserved, and Peter noticed. The way she looked at him had changed. War had little room for softness, but for a moment, something unspoken passed between them.
The rooftops quieted as the battle wound down. Distant explosions still echoed across the skyline, muffled through concrete and smoke, but they were fewer now. Another gunship broke the clouds in the distance. Below, the fighting had slowed. Survivors moved. Orders were called out in short, clipped tones.
Rex dropped down first, signaling toward the evac zone. Peter followed, his suit scuffed and one web cartridge empty. The smell of scorched durasteel still clung to his gloves.
Down in the plaza, the final line of defense held firm. Clones guarded the battered square, now a makeshift triage zone. The open maw of a gunship waited, its engines idling with restrained power. Medics moved briskly between the wounded, lifting stretchers and calling for supplies.
"Hold position," Rex ordered, gesturing toward the southern perimeter. "We sweep once more, then pull out."
Peter was already moving. His eyes had caught the figure of a downed trooper at the edge of the rubble, armor scorched, leg twisted at a brutal angle, helmet off. The clone's face was bloodied, but he was conscious.
Peter dropped beside him with a grunt. "Hey. Still with me?"
The trooper blinked. "Hurts like hell."
"Good," Peter muttered, pulling the medpack from his hip. "Means you're still in the game."
He popped the cap on a web-seal canister and sprayed it clean across the wound. The foam hissed as it activated. With practiced hands, Peter wrapped the leg with what was left of a gauze roll, his gloves trembling faintly from the fading surge of adrenaline.
"You're not a medic," the trooper said through clenched teeth.
"Nope," Peter replied. "Just someone who doesn't like watching people bleed."
"Could've fooled me. Thought you were commanded by now."
Peter helped him up slowly, slinging the man's arm over his shoulder. "Stick to your jokes, trooper. I've already got a nickname I can't live down."
A few meters away, another clone gave a low whistle. "Look sharp, it's Sir Spider and his field clinic."
"Should put in a requisition," another added, smirking. "Web him to a chair in the war room."
Peter shot a look over his shoulder. "Careful. I bite."
That earned a few laughs, light and raw and well-earned, the kind of laughter that only came after surviving something bloody. Peter felt it deeply, not as admiration or glory, but as acceptance. Like he'd finally become part of something genuine.
Across the square, he caught Ahsoka's gaze.
She hadn't spoken yet, but her eyes had followed him intently, tracking every step back toward her, not as a commander evaluating an ally, but as something softer, warmer.
When Peter reached her, she stayed quiet for a long moment. Together, they walked slowly toward the waiting gunship, boots crunching softly over scorched rubble and ash-covered debris. Heat still radiated from the smoldering buildings around them, mingling with the acrid smell of charred metal in the heavy air.
"You didn't have to do that," she finally said, voice low, barely audible over the distant hum of engines.
He glanced sideways. "Wasn't gonna leave him there."
Ahsoka hesitated, searching his face. "That's not what I meant."
Peter didn't respond immediately, instead continuing beside her, steady and silent.
Their hands brushed briefly, unintentionally, a gentle collision of bare skin and glove in the aftermath of battle.
Neither pulled away.
Behind them, the gunship's engines grew louder, the wind stirring dust and ash through the broken street. The battlefield was fading into blurred smoke and heatwaves, yet something lingered in the air between them, unspoken, uncertain, yet undeniably present.
They stepped side by side into the brightness of the evac ramp, neither acknowledging nor dismissing what had passed quietly between them.
Minutes later, the quiet of the medbay enveloped them, starkly contrasting the battlefield they'd left behind. Here, the usual hum of medical droids and quiet chatter was reduced to muted murmurs. Peter sat on the edge of a cot, stripped down to his undersuit, as a med droid methodically dabbed antiseptic onto minor abrasions. His muscles were still tense, adrenaline lingering in every small sting, a quiet echo of the chaos.
Ahsoka sat across from him, her eyes thoughtful and distant, fingers absently tracing the edges of a folded bandage resting in her lap.
"You're thinking too loudly," Peter remarked gently, breaking the silence.
Ahsoka smiled faintly, exhaling a soft breath as her eyes refocused. "Sorry," she murmured. "It's just... days like today, they make me wonder what we're even fighting for."
Peter nodded, understanding etched softly into his features. "Hard to fight a war when you don't believe in its leaders?"
Ahsoka's eyes flickered up sharply, momentarily startled by how easily he had voiced her thoughts. But she didn't retreat. Instead, she gave a slow, acknowledging nod.
"Ever since the bombing at the Temple," she began softly, eyes darkening at the memory, "the Council's felt different to me. Like something cracked. I trusted them once... fully, but now it's like I'm walking on shards. They didn't trust me then, not when it mattered most."
Her voice quieted, a note of vulnerability Peter had rarely heard from the fierce commander. "They saw what they wanted to see, not who I really was. They doubted me."
Peter's gaze softened, empathy clear in his eyes. "Sometimes I feel like people don't see the real me either," he admitted quietly. "They see the mask, the name, the webs, everything except who's underneath."
Their eyes met a raw honesty stretching between them. Neither spoke for a heartbeat, the gentle whirring of the droid filling the silence as it bandaged Peter's wrist. Ahsoka looked down again, voice soft as she continued.
"You know what hurts most?" she whispered. "It's not the doubt. It's the expectations. They want you to be something perfect, something unbreakable."
Peter watched her carefully, his voice a quiet echo of her thoughts. "But we're all just barely holding it together."
Ahsoka's lips twitched in a gentle, understanding smile. "Exactly."
For a moment, tension hung thick and fragile between them. Peter leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering as if sharing something deeply guarded.
"Back home, I wore a mask to protect the people I loved. But eventually, the mask became me. I forgot who was underneath it."
Ahsoka's expression softened even further, her gaze searching his face as she asked quietly, "Did you ever find yourself again?"
He gave her a faint, bittersweet smile. "Still trying."
They shared quiet laughter, gentle and fleeting, as if surprised they could find any warmth amidst the shadows of their confessions. Peter met her eyes again, their gaze lingering just a moment longer than it should have. He could see clearly now the depth of the uncertainty, the exhaustion, the desire for something simpler.
And something more.
Ahsoka's breath seemed to hitch slightly, as though words balanced precariously on the edge of expression. Her eyes brightened with quiet intensity, and for an instant, they hovered dangerously close to something unspoken, something delicate that neither was fully ready to confront.
Then the medbay door slid open with a soft hiss.
Both turned quickly, their moment scattering like fragile mist. Jesse stood in the doorway, his eyes darting between the two, sensing but wisely ignoring the quiet interruption.
"Sorry to interrupt," he offered politely, though his expression hinted at subtle amusement. "Rex needs you both for the debrief."
Peter straightened, nodding curtly. "Right. We're coming."
Ahsoka rose slowly, regaining her composure with practiced ease. But as Jesse disappeared down the corridor, she turned once more to Peter. Her voice was gentle, reassuring, and still held a trace of intimacy from their shared honesty.
"Thanks, Peter," she said quietly, warmth coloring her words. "For listening."
"Anytime," he promised softly.
They stood silently for another heartbeat, the unspoken confession still shimmering faintly between them, not yet ready to solidify. Then Ahsoka broke their gaze, moving toward the door. Peter followed, feeling lighter somehow, even beneath the weight of secrets shared and truths still waiting patiently in the shadows.
…
Anakin strode swiftly down the corridor toward the war room, his heavy boots echoing quietly against polished durasteel floors. The mission briefing had ended early, leaving him restless and edgy from a lingering tension he couldn't quite place. The recent battles had taken their toll, and something unfamiliar was gnawing at him, a hollow ache in his chest that refused to settle.
As he approached the doorway, the muffled voices from inside grew clearer, merging into something warm and inviting. His pace slowed instinctively as a familiar laugh reached him, soft and vibrant. Padmé.
He paused at the threshold, the door open just enough for him to glimpse inside. Padmé stood gracefully beside the central holo-table, her smile radiant and unguarded. Beside her, Peter gestured animatedly at the glowing tactical display, fingers tracing arcs through holographic formations of enemy ships. Ahsoka leaned casually against the console opposite, her expression bright with amusement.
"—and then Rex just stares at me, dead serious, and says, 'If we keep following your plans, we'll run out of bacta in a week,'" Peter concluded, his voice lively, eyes crinkling with genuine mirth.
Padmé's laughter filled the room again, resonant and clear, drawing Anakin's attention sharply to her face. He had seen her laugh countless times before, but now, something about it twisted inside him. His jaw tightened reflexively.
Something was off.
In the shadowed upper corner of the war room, unnoticed by anyone present, a tiny, red-eyed monitoring device quietly recorded every word and gesture.
He stepped quietly into the room, announcing himself only by the weight of his presence. The conversation faltered as three sets of eyes turned toward him.
"Anakin," Padmé greeted warmly, though surprise lingered in her eyes. She stepped toward him, her smile softening into something more intimate. "I wasn't expecting you until later."
"Clearly," Anakin replied, more curtly than he'd intended, eyes flickering to Peter before returning to Padmé. "What's going on here?"
Peter, sensing the sudden tension, straightened slightly, his expression respectful but wary. "We were discussing tactics for the upcoming offensive," he explained smoothly. "Senator Amidala was offering some insight on the political ramifications. It's important to understand all angles—"
"I'm aware of what's important," Anakin interrupted sharply, the edge in his voice unmistakable.
Ahsoka's gaze darted between them cautiously. She pushed off the console, subtly positioning herself closer to Peter as if sensing a storm brewing.
Padmé reached out gently, her hand brushing Anakin's arm. Her voice was calm, placating. "Peter's insights have been incredibly helpful. He's been nothing but supportive."
Anakin's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixing pointedly on Padmé's hand as if it burned. He withdrew a half-step, placing distance between them that hadn't existed a heartbeat before.
"I'm sure," he said quietly, though his voice was cold enough to send a ripple through the room.
Padmé hesitated, confusion shadowing her features. Her eyes searched his, unspoken questions gathering behind the careful composure she always maintained in public. "Ani... is something wrong?"
He shook his head stiffly, already turning toward the door. "Nothing," he murmured tightly. "Just tired from the battle."
Before anyone could respond, he stepped briskly into the corridor, leaving behind a heavy silence. Only once safely out of sight did he pause, his hand braced heavily against the wall, breathing unevenly.
His heart beat furiously, jealousy stirring dark and sudden inside him. He knew Peter was respected, admired even, by the clones and now evidently by Padmé. But something deeper, something ugly, was festering in Anakin's gut, making him uneasy and restless.
Padmé's laughter echoed in his ears again, and with it rose suspicion, sharp and bitter. The feeling lingered as he stalked away, deeper into the quiet of the temple, knowing he wouldn't find peace any time soon.
Hours passed in restless agitation, pacing corridors aimlessly, seeking calm but finding none, before Anakin found himself atop a narrow balcony overlooking one of the Temple's lower plazas. Darkness cloaked him, his figure obscured by shadows, his cloak wrapped tightly around him. From his vantage point, he watched Peter far below, moving casually through the courtyard, greeting passing clones with easy familiarity.
Peter stopped briefly, bending low to share a few quiet words with a young clone recruit. Anakin scowled at the easy camaraderie in the exchange, irritation burning hotter in his veins. Something about Peter's effortless charm grated against Anakin's nerves.
Then he heard it, a voice, smooth and sinister, rising gently from his memory like smoke.
"Be mindful of those who seek attention, Anakin," Palpatine's voice murmured softly, as vivid as if spoken moments ago. "They are not your allies."
Anakin's breath hitched slightly, a chill running through his spine. He remembered Palpatine's advice clearly, the carefully crafted guidance of a trusted mentor who had always seemed to understand him better than anyone else.
He stared down at Peter again, suspicion twisting deeper.
"You're not what you seem," Anakin whispered bitterly, echoing his own earlier accusation.
He tensed suddenly as Peter glanced up, his head turning toward Anakin's hidden perch. For a moment, Anakin froze, sure he'd been spotted. But Peter's gaze quickly shifted away, returning to the clones below as if he'd seen nothing unusual.
Frustration surged hotly through Anakin's veins. He had missed something vital. Peter's disappearance from sight further amplified his suspicion, feeding his paranoia. His fingers tightened on the railing, knuckles whitening beneath his gloves. He recognized the feelings stirring inside him now. Paranoia, suspicion, a burgeoning anger simmering beneath a carefully maintained façade.
He knew where they would lead him if left unchecked. But the truth was, he didn't want to check them. He needed answers, clarity, and certainty. Padmé was his life, his heart. And now he felt a threat, subtle yet unmistakable, encroaching upon the fragile stability they'd built.
As Peter began to move away, disappearing through a distant archway, Anakin made his decision. Without a second thought, he swung silently down from his perch, landing softly on the ledge below. His steps were quiet, fluid, and trained by years of stealth.
He followed silently in Peter's shadow, each step purposeful, deliberate. He wasn't sure yet what he hoped to find, only that he would find it. His heart pounded heavily, the distant echo of Palpatine's warning resonating still.
Anakin Skywalker had always been adept at following his instincts, trusting the whispers of the Force even when they led into darkness. Tonight, they guided him toward something unknown, something troubling.
He walked on, driven by suspicion, unaware of how dangerously close he stood at the edge of the precipice.
Across the plaza, far ahead, Peter quietly entered a secluded field hospital, slipping between rows of cots hidden behind carefully positioned medical screens, away from prying eyes.
Anakin paused, uncertain whether to follow immediately, his heart torn between caution and urgency. From his shadowed vantage, the tent's distant glow flickered, inviting yet forbidding, as though promising secrets he was desperate, yet fearful, to uncover.
He remained rooted in place, unresolved, oblivious to the tiny, blinking red eye of another probe droid hovering silently in the distant darkness above, observing everything, recording every hesitation, every step closer to the fall awaiting him.
…
The field hospital was quiet, bathed in a dim, soothing blue glow from emergency lanterns spaced evenly along its makeshift walls. Rows of cots stretched out, each occupied by clones who slept restlessly. Bandaged limbs and medicated breathing punctuated the silence, while occasional soft moans drifted gently through the air, mingling with the low, rhythmic hum of medical equipment.
At the far end of the tent, concealed carefully behind stacks of supply crates and partition screens hastily erected to provide privacy for critical treatments, Peter leaned heavily against a metal container, exhaustion etched clearly onto his features. His suit was torn in places, marked with burns and grime from the day's relentless combat. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the weight of the battle slowly ebb from his weary muscles.
Footsteps, careful and quiet, drew his attention. Ahsoka approached him softly, carefully unwrapping a fresh roll of bandage. Neither spoke at first; each found strange comfort in the shared silence, though the air between them felt charged and fragile.
Finally, Ahsoka exhaled softly, stepping closer. She reached out gently, beginning to wrap the bandage around Peter's forearm with practiced care. He watched her quietly, noticing how her usually steady hands trembled ever so slightly.
"You okay?" he asked softly, breaking their shared silence.
Ahsoka didn't answer immediately. She tied the bandage slowly, carefully securing the final knot before letting her fingers linger against his arm. Her voice was low and hesitant when she finally spoke.
"Being around you helps me breathe," she whispered, eyes cast downward, unwilling yet to meet his gaze. "It's like I can finally let go, just for a moment. Just enough to feel human again."
Peter swallowed hard, his heart suddenly loud in his ears. He knew exactly what she meant. He felt it too, that deep, soothing calm that settled over him whenever they were alone, as if the war paused briefly, giving them a fleeting chance at peace.
"Me too," he confessed quietly, voice raw. "I didn't expect to feel like this. Not here. Not now."
Ahsoka finally raised her eyes to meet his, a shadow of uncertainty flickering briefly through her gaze. Peter reached out instinctively, fingers brushing softly against her hand, tentative yet determined. She didn't pull away.
Their fingertips touched, lingered, and then gently intertwined. Peter felt her pulse quicken beneath his touch, mirroring the frantic rhythm in his own chest.
"Ahsoka," he breathed softly, voice barely audible above the faint hum of medical monitors, "are we sure about this?"
"No," she admitted quietly, but her grip tightened. Her eyes, luminous and vulnerable in the pale blue light, revealed every ounce of internal conflict. "But right now, I'm too tired to pretend."
Peter moved closer, closing the distance slowly, deliberately giving her every opportunity to step back, every chance to change her mind. Ahsoka stood her ground, trembling slightly but unwavering. Her eyes fluttered closed just as their lips touched.
At first, the kiss was delicate and cautious, a careful exploration of something forbidden yet undeniably real. Soon, restraint dissolved into longing. Their kiss deepened naturally, the tension and unspoken emotions they'd suppressed for weeks flooding out in a sudden, overwhelming wave.
Peter's hand rose to cup her face, thumb gently caressing her cheek as she leaned into his touch. Ahsoka's fingers tightened against the fabric of his suit, pulling him closer with an urgency that spoke of everything she'd denied herself: warmth, closeness, a brief freedom from the burdens threatening to crush them both.
But reality quickly intruded, sharp and painful. A muffled cough echoed softly from nearby, a clone stirring slightly in his sleep beyond the screens, reminding them exactly where they were. They broke apart sharply, breathless and dazed, gazing at each other with sudden, painful clarity.
Ahsoka stepped back abruptly, horror and guilt washing openly across her face. Her breathing grew rapid, panic-stricken as she fully realized what had just happened.
"We can't," she whispered, voice shaking. Her eyes were wide with sudden fear and regret. "Not like this."
Peter nodded quickly, heart pounding, dread pooling bitterly in his stomach. "I know," he rasped, his voice strained and tight. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"
"No," she interrupted, swallowing hard as tears of frustration gathered in her eyes. "It wasn't just you. I wanted this. That's the worst part."
She stepped away again, deliberately putting space between them. He felt the loss of her closeness like a physical ache, his chest tightening sharply, yet he made no move to close that distance again.
"Ahsoka," he began carefully, struggling to steady himself, "maybe someday—"
She shook her head slowly, gently silencing him. "Not here. Not now. We have responsibilities, Peter. To others. To ourselves."
He watched helplessly as she withdrew further, emotionally and physically retreating toward the tent's entrance. "I'll... see you at the briefing," she said softly, voice trembling with barely controlled emotion. Without another glance, she turned sharply, disappearing through the tent flap into the shadows beyond.
Peter remained where he was, alone in the quiet field hospital, listening to the soft breathing of wounded soldiers and feeling emptier than he ever had before. The taste of her lips still lingered on his own, bittersweet and painful. He shut his eyes tightly, forcing himself to breathe evenly despite the turmoil raging inside him.
He knew the consequences of this moment would haunt them both. Already, guilt gnawed fiercely at his heart, heavy and relentless. He could feel it mirrored in Ahsoka's hurried footsteps away from him, the harsh sting of regret following them both.
Neither noticed the subtle hum overhead, where a probe droid hovered silently far above the tent. Its tiny, blinking red eye stared steadily downward, peering easily through the partially open tent flap Ahsoka had left ajar. It recorded the shadowy figure slipping swiftly into the darkness, then shifted to focus precisely on Peter, still frozen inside.
Far below, Peter finally moved, turning away from the doorway through which Ahsoka had vanished, heading silently toward the opposite exit, lost deep in thought, unaware of the unseen witness lingering above.
The tiny red eye blinked once more before fading silently into the darkness, transmitting its carefully gathered footage directly toward the dark heart of Coruscant, where Emperor Palpatine waited patiently, hungry for secrets.
Across the plaza, concealed by shadows, Anakin Skywalker stared intensely at the distant field hospital tent. He hadn't seen what transpired inside, obscured by partitions and crates, but he'd clearly seen Ahsoka slip hurriedly away, and Peter emerge shortly after, visibly troubled.
He clenched his fists, feeling a storm of suspicion and anger boiling inside. He had missed crucial details, yet now the mere fragments he observed fanned his paranoia hotter still. Whatever was happening, Anakin vowed silently, it would not remain hidden from him for long.
He stepped back into deeper shadows, determined now more than ever to discover the truth, no matter how much darkness he had to embrace to find it.
…
Far beneath the shimmering spires of Coruscant, concealed deep within the shadowed heart of the Imperial Palace, Emperor Palpatine sat motionless in his hidden chamber. The darkness around him seemed almost alive, whispering secrets only he could hear. His hunched form was bathed solely in the eerie glow of a holoprojector, which cast shifting, spectral light across his lined and hollowed features.
With deliberate care, Palpatine reached forward, a pale finger delicately adjusting the holographic display hovering silently in the air before him. The images danced backward and forward, paused, rewound, replayed, capturing every subtle detail, every guarded expression, every whisper exchanged between two figures oblivious to their observer.
Peter and Ahsoka.
He watched again, focusing carefully on their hesitant intimacy, their quiet words, their fleeting kiss, all expertly captured by the probe droid's unblinking crimson eye. He studied the scene as if deciphering a newly uncovered artifact, eyes narrowing slightly as he scrutinized their faces, tracing each nuance and shadow.
A thin, cold smile slowly formed upon his pale, cracked lips.
"So," Palpatine murmured softly, his voice like sandpaper against stone, echoing faintly in the oppressive silence, "the web entangles far more than anticipated."
He manipulated the controls gently, zooming in on Peter's masked face, the subtle tension visible beneath the surface, and Ahsoka's conflicted vulnerability reflected sharply in her eyes.
"Curious indeed," Palpatine continued quietly to himself, his voice low, musing. "You have introduced an intriguing new variable, Spider. Useful… very useful."
He leaned back slowly, settling into his high-backed throne, steepling his fingers thoughtfully beneath his chin. The room descended briefly into utter silence, broken only by the distant mechanical whisper of the palace machinery hidden behind obsidian walls.
Then, with measured certainty, he reached out and pressed a single glowing control on his console. Moments later, the silence was disrupted by heavy footsteps echoing deliberately down the shadowed corridor beyond. The great doors swung open soundlessly, revealing Mas Amedda, who stepped respectfully into the dimly lit chamber, bowing deeply without lifting his gaze.
"You summoned me, my Lord?" Mas Amedda asked softly, voice deferential and carefully neutral.
Palpatine did not turn, his gaze still riveted on the frozen holographic image suspended before him. "An interesting development has occurred," he said slowly, savoring each carefully chosen word. "It appears that our new arrival, Spider, has begun weaving threads of discord within our carefully maintained alliances."
Mas Amedda straightened cautiously, though his head remained respectfully lowered. "What is your command, my Lord?"
"Deploy a covert surveillance detachment immediately," Palpatine instructed, his voice velvet and menacing. "They are to shadow both Ahsoka Tano and this… Spider. Permanently. Every movement, every conversation, every secret, record it. I want no surprises."
Mas Amedda inclined his head deeply once more. "It shall be done at once."
Palpatine paused, carefully weighing his next words. His thin, pale fingers traced invisible patterns in the air as he considered the intricate web now forming before him. The moment stretched, heavy with silent contemplation, until finally, he spoke again, this time quietly, almost intimately, though his voice echoed chillingly through the darkened chamber.
"Anakin Skywalker has performed admirably thus far, but his purpose is shifting rapidly," Palpatine mused thoughtfully, eyes glittering darkly beneath his hood. "The Chosen One's destiny has become irrelevant. A new piece has entered play, changing the very nature of the game."
He waved a pale hand dismissively, dissolving the holographic image and plunging the chamber back into near-total darkness. Only faint, ethereal blue lighting outlined his stark features as he continued softly:
"The game is no longer merely about the Chosen One. It is about who will survive the impending collapse."
Mas Amedda listened attentively, understanding fully the veiled implications in the Emperor's words. He bowed once more, silently acknowledging the gravity of his master's command.
Palpatine made a subtle gesture of dismissal, and the Chagrian retreated swiftly, his footsteps fading silently into the distant darkness beyond the door. Alone once more, Palpatine remained seated, perfectly still, his gaze distant yet penetrating, as though already visualizing the tangled strands of destiny woven intricately together.
His thin smile returned slowly, confident and cold, as he whispered softly to himself, savoring the chaos taking shape.
"The web grows tighter," he murmured darkly, eyes gleaming with a hunger for control. "And soon enough, it will ensnare them all."
High above the hidden chamber, Coruscant bustled onward, entirely unaware of the dark intentions now fully focused on two unsuspecting figures below. Peter and Ahsoka moved through their separate paths, hearts burdened by guilt and uncertainty, oblivious to the shadowy machinations gathering rapidly around them.
Across the plaza, Anakin Skywalker retreated deeper into the shadow, his suspicions feeding dark impulses that drew him closer to the edge he had unknowingly begun to cross.
The Emperor leaned back further, closing his eyes briefly in satisfaction. Above, the vast wheel of fate had spun again, altering destinies irrevocably.
And Emperor Palpatine watched it turn, patiently waiting, savoring the knowledge that soon enough, the tangled web would bring them all precisely where he intended.
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Thanks for reading. This fic will run for 11 to 12 chapters packed with tragedy, angst, and smut. Chapters 4 and 5 (Peter x Ashoka smut) are already live on P*treon.
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