The aurebesh words came as mere uncategorised scribbles that left his hand at the kind of state he found himself in, the physical damage both inside and out making it hard to keep the pencil upright and the words in his mind stay coherent. Warm blood still coated his chest and arm, almost comfortingly, in a way that offered the option of peaceful sleep. He knew better, of course, to not trust the nagging voice inside that whispered 'rest' – he had a feeling if he fell asleep, these moments of consciousness wouldn't last.

So Anakin fought. Fought to keep his hand steady, to not let his eyes droop too much, to 'make it' and believe 'it will be okay', like Rex, Kix and Ahsoka have always desperately repeated to him in these situations – so frequentlyused words they had become basically their mantra.

But he didn't want to hear the same pointless things anymore. He couldn't. It was suffocating listening to all their voices, and the medics, and his own pained gasps and... everything that wasn't her. And the thing that overweighted all physical hurt was the knowing dread that his idealism of seeing his wife was never going to happen – not right now, not on the front lines, the medbay, not anywhere that wasn't home.

But that didn't mean connection was impossible, only if it meant talking to her through paper – practically a non-existent form of communication – was the only way.

In something more desperate than longing – need – Anakin wrote to an Angel.

Padmé,

I'm so sorry. I'm not with you, and it's all I can think about. I miss you, Padmé... I feel tired, and alone, and I need you here.

Something happened, but I'm not sure what went wrong. We were winning, I thought. The Separatists – they were retreating. It look liked that, at least... I don't know. It must have been their reinforcements. There were minimal casualties, lesser injured during the beginning, I thought everything was okay.

But the first of the bombs hit, and I couldn't think. I don't know what happened, I remember a scream... Was it mine? Now the remaining 501st soldiers and I are all waiting for Obi-Wan to get here with the evac. The Separatists are coming, though. I can feel it, their armies' ominous and ill-tasting in the air.

Rex doesn't want me in the battle, fighting back. He's just worried, I know. I am fine, I think, or will be in a little while. I need Rex to look after Ahsoka, not me. She wasn't hurt in the explosions, but I sense fear, anxiety and a mixture of other things I should have taught her not to feel. I know she feels tired, too, just like the rest of us.

Yet, I'll sleep later, when it's safe. When I'm home. When you will be there.

Sometimes I wish it wasn't like this... I want to keep fighting for the Republic and for the end of the Clone War, but I realize more and more lately that the sacrifices are greater and greater than what they were the day before. Sometimes I question is it all right to sacrifice these things? I never truly am the greatest Jedi that ever lives up to the code, but... the code and out values has morphed into something unrecognisable. I've changed, and I don't always see it, but when I do, it's terrifying. Yet, I'm not scared for me. It's just... I lose myself in fear of losing you.

I need you.

And – despite it being months since we've seen each other, and us being millions of light years away, across the galaxy... I know you are there, my Angel.

- Anakin Sky—

His hand collapsed against the paper as the last few letters were written.

A/N

I've never written anything like this, so it was kind of an experiment. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Hope you liked :)

P.S I know in that universe they don't have paper, so something... but just pretend they do now xD

May the Force be with you

-CyanGalaxy