This is a long overdue prompt fill for Guild of Scribes (sorry!) inspired by events from both Season 7 of Clone Wars and parts of Rebels. The short, somewhat choppy scenes are that way for a reason... enjoy!

She isn't expecting him to be completely gray or to look as sandpapered as he does.

He doesn't expect her to even be there. Let alone glaring at him. Well… he supposes he maybe deserves it. In fact, it's the least he deserves.

"What. Happened."

She does expect the eyebrow twitch.

Neither of them expect him to be speechless. But he is.

***oo***

He doesn't tell her, but it certainly isn't for lack of her trying.

"It's eating at you, I can tell."

"Just spit it out, old man."

"I deserve to know."

"Did you do that to him? The suit? You know he can't breathe without it, right?"

He's in the middle of making them what he likes to call 'Dune Sea Hash' when she throws that one at him. Ben tenses, forcing his body to remain still and his rising frustration to settle down to an even simmer.

My stepbrother died because of you, I know it. Stay away from here. No need to harm the boy too.

Is it truly all his fault?

"It was a joint effort," he quips, glaring daggers straight through the makings of their hash.

The silence that follows lands like an ion blast shot from the bowels of the Hels themselves. He's almost sorry for it. Almost, but not quite. It shuts her up.

***oo***

"You look out of practice."

"Very astute… and also rude."

"Actually, that was the polite version." She levels a very Anakin look at him. "What I meant was 'you look old.'" The words are barely a graze, but that look is a near-fatal hit. He can't look away and she seems to recognize this. Her expression morphs into something torn between pity and disappointment. "Come on. Let's go spar, or do some katas or something. For old times' sake."

His gaze drops to her hips where two mismatched hilts rest within easy reach. "You have new weapons."

"Very astute," she retorts.

To both of their surprise he smiles, and it's neither sad nor worn. "I have a dreadful feeling that you'd beat me. Soundly." She smirks and he chuckles. Casually, he opens the fingers of his right hand as he continues to speak. "I'm afraid I'm not much into sparring anymore, but perhaps you can explain something to me…" One of her weapons slips through the empty air between them and into his waiting hand with hardly a sound. She'd barely felt a whisper in the Force. "These crystals."

Now she's watching him with barely disguised wonder. "You hear them too," she breathes.

He nods. "They sing."

***oo***

"Why don't you join the Rebellion?"

They're seated at his table with her deconstructed sabers lying between them. She eyes him as he examines the kyber hovering above the table's surface. "Not interested," he murmurs, only half paying attention.

"They need good help."

"They have good help."

"Look. Obi-wan. I get it. Everything that's happened… it hurts and it's hard, but there's still hope that the Empire can be defeated! You can't hide here for the rest of your life!"

Ash-blue eyes flick to hers momentarily, the image of her light-infused kyber reflected in his gaze. She gets the impression that she's just been struck by lightning even though there's no pain and no ion-heavy aftertaste. "Is that what I'm doing?" he asks, eyes flicking back to the crystal.

"Sure seems like it," she grunts. "Why else would you be here?"

"You found me easily enough."

"I looked. What makes you think he isn't looking?"

"Anakin doesn't like sand. Detests the stuff. Hates Tatooine even more. He won't come here."

"You're banking on that?"

"I'm sure of that. That man is entirely emotional, dictated by likes and dislikes, pains and pleasures. Experiences. Sand makes him uncomfortable."

She's hard-pressed to argue with him, so she shrugs instead. "Some of us don't think so much."

He looks at her again. "So I've noticed."

Oddly enough, it doesn't sound like an insult.

***oo***

She only stays for two days. The morning of the third, she pours herself some tea and joins him outside. The suns have yet to rise and, as always, the sky is mostly clear.

"He might hate sand, but he loves stars."

He glances at her, but doesn't say anything.

I HATE YOU!

It's a brief surge over a frail bond that stretches thinly between them. It's enough. She flinches. Closes her eyes. Tries to remember when her master had been happy.

Not angry. Violent. Broken.

Then you will die.

That memory she can manage just fine. Her conscience is clear… she wonders – no, she knows – Obi-wan's isn't. It's weird seeing him like this, constantly jumping from hope to despair to grief to joy, rotating through a cycle of shifting emotions. Perhaps he's only just now feeling them for the first time… or he's always felt them and is only now losing control.

"Now who's thinking too much?"

She glares at him.

He laughs, once more sidestepping off of memory lane into the present moment where he can laugh. "Stop worrying about me."

"No one else is here, so someone has to."

"I have help. Good help. You're needed elsewhere." He gestures vaguely to the nothingness in front of them: the jagged rock, the ever-changing dunes, the billions of stars. "Be gone with you."

"What help? I haven't seen anyone else."

He smiles, sips his tea, and nods to himself. "He comes when he wants."

She glares at him again. "Who?"

"A friend. You remind me of him…" Obi-wan sighs and she's reminded once more of how old and worn he is. "I thank you for your visit, Ahsoka. Now go."

Ahsoka watches him for a good two minutes before she gives up with a smile and a little huff of frustration. "Both of you were always too stubborn for your own good."

"Pot and kettle, my dear… though we'll have to add a third object to the analogy. For old times' sake."

She smiles, sets her tea down beside him and snatches her cloak from just inside the door. "Bye, master," she murmurs.

"Obi-wan," he replies, pulling her up short. When she glances over her shoulder, he winks. "Or Ben, if you prefer. May the Force be with you."

"And you… Ben."

***oo***

He watches her leave until he can no longer see her. Then he shuts his eyes and continues to stand where he's at. "She's just like you, master," he mutters, grinning despite himself.

"She's got you all wrong, though," the ghost retorts. "You don't think too much, you brood too much. There's a difference."

"And you talk too much. Shut up and listen."

The taller man smirks, but does as he's told. They both fall silent and take in the last remaining notes of the Light-drenched melody left in Ahsoka's wake. When it ends with something that feels a bit snippy, Obi-wan smiles and sips his tea.

A/N: I hope no one took any of this as romantic in any way, because it wasn't meant to be. Two old friends meeting one more time to sort out their... issues.