Now You Bring Him Down 'Cause I Want Him

by patientalien

Anakin Skywalker is the Hero With No Fear. He doesn't have panic attacks - except when he does - but it doesn't matter when there's a mission to complete and a new Separatist threat to overcome. Right?

"Nahama Marcene is an original character created by and belonging to the lovely MsEstora, and is used with her kind permission. The fic itself is a prequel to an RP 'verse we collaborated on via tumblr, though no knowledge of that is really needed at all.

Thanks to citizenjess for her beta, and for the title - which is from "All the Young Dudes" by Mott the Hoople.

Written for LiveJournal's hurt/comfort bingo for the Wild Card (Panic Attacks) prompt.

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It's well past midnight, Galactic Standard Time, going by the glowing numbers on the wall chrono across the room from him. If he turns his head at an angle he can see it, mocking him. Instead, Anakin Skywalker closes his eyes and tries to use the rumbling of the Resolute's hyperdrive engines as white noise to lull himself to sleep. Each time he tries, his thoughts start tumbling over and over each other, one leading to another leading to another. In the morning he needs to finalize the strategy for the assault. Planning the strategy involves making sure as few of his men as possible are killed, it's making sure he doesn't get Ahsoka killed. Hundreds of Clones had died under his command by now, it's a wonder anyone willingly signs up for the 501st. The 501st, his family, moreso even than the Jedi Order. These men are soldiers, like him. He respects them, they respect him. And he's risking all of their lives. He can't be fast enough to save all of them. He'll lose them, like he lost his mother, and there's nothing he can do. She'd be disappointed in him. It seemed like her husband and step son had loved her. It seemed like she'd had a loving family. Would he ever have a loving family? He has Padmé, but it is a secret. He keeps so many secrets, and he can never tell, not even Obi-Wan, and if Obi-Wan were here what would HIS battle strategy be?

Around and around in circles, different each time, but the same general sentiment. People are counting on him, and he needs to perform at all times. Even a minor slip-up could cause disaster. It gels into a burning in the pit of his stomach, an ache in his chest, heart pounding hard against his ribcage. He tries to deliberately think of other things: starship schematics, pod racing statistics, lightsaber katas, words to songs he hasn't heard in a while, but each thought and each word springs an association until he's back in the feedback loop of fear again.

Hero With No Fear, what a joke. He considers comming Padmé, but she wouldn't appreciate being woken up at this hour. Obi-Wan is similarly out of the question, on a mission of his own. He's certainly not going to wake Ahsoka over the fact he can't sleep. Instead, he springs out of bed and slides on an undertunic and his boots, snatching up his lightsaber from under his pillow. He'll work this out the way he works out everything: target practice.

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The Resolute is equipped with state of the art training facilities; with longer and longer tours of duty and newer and newer Clones on the front lines, it had become imperative. Anakin normally uses the vast expanses of space in the hanger bay for sparring, but right now he's got no one to spar with, and he needs to get the tension out. A wave of his hand raises the lights, and another gesture powers up the remotes, setting them on high power, and the most advanced difficulty level.

It's normal at first; he bats the bolts away easily, sending them crackling into the dissipation field. Anakin finds very few of the pre-programmed exercises to be all that challenging, but he's more interested in the mindless repetition, the chance to turn his higher brain functions off for just a little while. And it helps, it helps to stop thinking about getting his men killed, in a ground assault, if he allows even just one blaster bolt through his defenses, it could hit Rex, could hit Ahsoka - if he deflects one wrong, he could kill one of his men. It would be all his fault, and he can't let that happen. He just needs to not think about it, not thinking about it will keep him from choking when it's really important because if he chokes, if he hesitates for a single moment, things would go terribly wrong.

A sudden pain lances through Anakin's chest; it's not one of the stun bolts, it's nothing he can see on the surface, but it distracts him, making him wince. A vise is tightening around his heart and lungs, sending them plummeting into his stomach, and dark spots start to pepper his vision. He waves the remotes off and they fall to the floor, scattering. The pain stabs at him again and the young Jedi grunts, lowering himself to the floor. He hasn't been working out long enough to work up a sweat, but he's sweating anyway, a cold clammy sensation that makes him feel decidedly ill. The fact it's the middle of the night is a boon - there's no one around to see him sit against the wall, legs crossed, bent forward at the waist until his forehead touches the deck in an attempt to ease some of the pain, hands fisted in his hair. Maybe he's having a heart attack, despite his age and otherwise good health. Maybe it's a blood clot in his lungs. Maybe his body has just decided it's had enough of being put through the ringer of war. And if he's going to die here in the training room, who will train his Padawan? Who will lead his men to victory? Who will protect Obi-Wan? What will become of Padmé? Anakin's breathing is becoming erratic now; he squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to breathe slowly, deliberately, trying to put himself into a Force trance. He can't stay focused enough to do it, can't stop thinking he's going to pass out.

He trembles, and tries to keep breathing.

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ARC Trooper Fives isn't overly thrilled to be on overnight duty, but fair is fair, and it's his turn on the roster. The ship is quiet this time of night - well, what passes for night in the dark expanse of space, not many troopers milling around, the Commander and General asleep in their own quarters. His task is to patrol the ship and keep alert for any potential threats. It always seems like a pointless exercise, but it's not as though sabotage is unheard of. And it's with this thought in mind that Fives runs to the training room upon hearing the discharge of dozens of blast remotes.

When he gets the door open, deece at the ready, bucket on, he's not exactly sure what he expects to find. Certainly not those dozens of remotes scattered haphazardly across the floor, nor General Skywalker hunched over in the corner, shaking terribly. "General?" Fives calls out, lowering his blaster. There's clearly no threat, not really, but something feels off. "Everything all right, General?" He eases closer, pulling off his helmet, frowning when Skywalker doesn't immediately respond. "General Skywalker?"

He's got some medic training, and it looks like Skywalker might be sick, so Fives crouches beside him, managing to wrap his fingers around Skywalker's flesh wrist - it's easy to forget he's got the mechno sometimes; he keeps it covered and it never seems to slow him down, but remembering things like that makes a difference in how quickly Fives can assess the situation. Skywalker's pulse is racing, skipping beats all over the place. His breathing is tight, raspy, unsteady. "I'm fine," Fives hears Skywalker mutter. "You're dismissed." His voice, normally so confidently authoritative, is shaking.

"With all due respect, General," Fives replies firmly, "I'd prefer it if you'd let a medic take a look at you." After all, it's the job of all of them to not only serve and protect the Republic, but also see to the well-being of their Jedi leaders. And Skywalker isn't the typical Jedi leader, either; he inspires a kind of devotion that very few others could claim, and every man in the 501st knows that their General puts his life on the line the same as the rest of them, leading from the front, his gleaming weapon a beacon to light the way. So though the clones of any legion would do what Fives is currently doing, there's a different sense of urgency - especially since he's never seen Skywalker like this. The man is practically part machine when it comes to his health and stamina; though injured often, he heals faster than even other Jedi, he's never been sick that Fives knows about. He can go for days without sleeping or eating, and still manage to bring down full 'droid battalions seemingly with a single thought. To see him bent over, obviously in pain, unable to move despite Fives' prompting, is disconcerting.

Skywalker doesn't respond, just takes another deep, desperate breath, so Fives takes it upon himself to comm the medic team. One of them is always awake, in case of emergencies. He can't remember who is on the roster tonight, but the minor question is answered when Kix appears, medkit in hand. "What's goin' on?" Kix asks, kneeling on Skywalker's other side, casting a glance up at Fives.

"Not sure," Fives replies softly. "Won't say anything besides he's fine." He's not sure how much the General is aware of the conversation going on around him, but if Skywalker won't help himself, that's where Fives and Kix come in.

Kix nods, takes the young General's pulse, counts breaths, runs his scanner over him best he can given Skywalker's position, curled up in on himself. Digging through the medkit, Kix pulls out a hypospray and presses it against the side of Skywalker's neck. "Sedative," Kix explains when Fives raises an eyebrow. "Not enough to knock him out, just to get his heart rate down." The medic tilts Skywalker's face up to meet his gaze. "You tell me when you start feeling better, General, and we'll get you down to medbay."

"Don't need medbay, men," Skywalker replies with a grimace, uncurling himself and stretching. "Just a... I don't know, but I'm fine." Using the wall behind him as a support, the General drags himself to his feet. "Thanks." He claps them each on the shoulder in turn. "I'll be heading back to bed now."

Fives steps in front of him, putting a restraining hand out at Kix's nod. "General, I must respectfully request you come with us. Sir." Whatever it had been, it was enough to incapacitate Skywalker for a considerable amount of time - something that, were it to happen in battle, could be disastrous. Skywalker seems to sense the concern, because he grimaces but ultimately nods.

"Fine," he huffs, "but don't let it take too long. We've still got a battle to fight."

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Ahsoka Tano wakes earlier than usual, for reasons she can't quite put her finger on. Though she doubts he is, she decides to see if her Master is up yet, but when she goes to his quarters, they're void of his presence. Similarly too are the hanger bay and training room, as well as the Bridge. She's so caught up in her search that she barely notices when she runs nose-first into one of the troopers. "Sorry, Commander." The clone - Fives, she recognizes - puts his hands on her shoulders to steady her. "Long shift, wasn't watching where I was going."

She waves off his apology. "It's fine, I wasn't paying attention either." She cocks her head; Fives was on patrol the previous night, so maybe he knew something of her Master's whereabouts. "You haven't happened to see Master Skywalker around, have you?"

Fives grimaces slightly, but nods. "Medbay, Ma'am," he replies, and Ahsoka frowns in response. Anakin being in medbay means one of two things: something has happened to one of the men, or something has happened to him. She can't quite tell from Fives' demeanor which it is.

"Oh, I... I guess I'll look there, then," she says, returning the ARC Trooper's salute as she walks away, towards the medbay. Sure enough, when she arrives, Kix and Coric are doing a shift change, but Kix takes a moment to lead her to a cordoned off area where she sees Anakin asleep in a bed, an IV attached to his flesh arm.

"What happened?" she asks, frowning deeply now. Normally she's fairly attuned to Anakin's well-being, so the fact he ended up here without her knowledge is disconcerting.

Kix adjusts the IV and checks one of the monitors. "From what we were able to tell, General Skywalker suffered from an acute panic attack, which required some light sedation and observation."

Ahsoka blinks, surprised. She's never, EVER, seen Anakin Skywalker panic. Not once, even when things got really bad, when their losses were catastrophic, when he's manic and being reckless... Never a moment of fear, never a glimmer of anxiety. He's the Hero With No Fear! The Chosen One! Jedi didn't have panic attacks, did they? "Will he be all right?" she queries, edging to the side of the bed and laying a hand over Anakin's.

The clone medic nods. "Should be just fine once he's gotten some sleep," he replies. "I'm going to get some rack time, but if you need anything, just give me a shout, Commander." She nods, staring down at Anakin's face while Kix makes one more adjustment to the monitors. "He can go soon as he wakes up, just touch base with Coric on your way out."

Ahsoka nods again, absently. "Thanks, Kix," she murmurs as he leaves the room. "Oh, Master, what am I going to do with you?" she asks the sleeping man with a sigh, pulling up a chair and settling in to wait for Anakin to open his eyes.

88888

The Revanchist and her accompanying Separatist fleet loom large in the Resolute's view wall. Anakin Skywalker stands on the bridge, hands clasped tightly behind his back, trying to swallow the hard pressure settling in his chest. This is no normal Seppie blockade; Nahama Marcene and her Stewjonian Rangers are the galaxy's newest menace, rivaling any of Grievous or Ventress' brutality. Anakin has never gone up against her before - no one has and lived to tell about it. According to the very few survivors of her attacks, she uses some ancient tactics, difficult, if not impossible to counter.

Still, "difficult, if not impossible" is Anakin's speciality, and he is determined to win the day here, if only to quell the surging fear that has taken up residence in his mind and body. If he does this wrong, Marcene will wipe out his entire fleet. If he does this wrong, yet another system will fall into Separatist hands. He's hesitant to reach into his utility belt for the anxiolytics Kix had prescribed after that little scene in the training room; he needs his head as clear as possible for this. He keeps staring, waiting for her move, but she's not moving, not advancing. "What is your angle?" he murmurs aloud.

"General Skywalker, if I may," chimes in Admiral Yularen, "but it might be wise to split the fleet at this point, try to get around her flank." Yularen is veteran Navy, knows tactics, knows war, and most importantly, he knows how to work with Anakin. It's a rare officer who can stomach Anakin's all-encompassing need for control within the his fleet, and though Yularen certainly doesn't hesitate to disagree when the situation calls for it, he also has learned to work within Anakin's... unique command style. It's something of a comfort most of the time, but not now.

Anakin shakes his head. "She'll see that coming from light years away," he replies, waving a hand dismissively. Suddenly, the Resolute rocks from incoming fire - but it's not coming from Marcene's fleet. The general quarters alarm sounds and armored troopers run to their battle stations. Anakin curses violently - a plant, she used a KRIFFING PLANT right in the middle of his own ships and he DIDN'T NOTICE. "FIND THAT SHIP!" he bellows, whirling around on his sensor ops crew. "And when you do, all ships OPEN FIRE!"

"Target acquired, General," one of the sensor ops reports. "Right in the middle, using a Republic transponder code."

He doesn't have time to think about how Marcene had gotten her hands on THAT bit of intel. "Surround that ship," he orders. "And fire on my mark." He holds up a hand, waiting until he can sense all of his cruisers are in position, heart pounding hard against his ribs. "And... ALL BATTERIES FIRE! FIRE!"

By the time he realizes Marcene's plant has dropped below the line of fire and jumped into hyperspace, it's too late. His entire fleet is tearing itself apart. "Cease fire! NOW!" he shouts as the Resolute rocks again, a hull breach alarm blaring urgently. It takes a painfully long time - though really only a few seconds - for the order to be relayed, but by the time it has been, the damage has been done.

Anakin's chest feels tight, his head is swimming, it feels like the training room all over again but he CAN'T let that happen right now. What he needs right now is direct control, and he can only get that by going up against Marcene himself. He activates his comm, alerting the hanger bay. "Prep Gold Squadron," he commands. "Commander Tano and Admiral Yularen will oversee clean up. I'm going after HER."

Ahsoka is suddenly at his side. "Master, wait," she pleads, grabbing his sleeve. "Don't be hasty." The Resolute lurches violently to the side, and they both adjust to compensate. "What good is a fighter squadron going to be against an entire Separatist fleet?"

She has a point; she usually does, but this has just become very personal, and Anakin can't just sit still and allow his fleet to be cut to ribbons. This is EXACTLY what he'd been afraid would happen, and now he's going to make things right. He puts his hands on her shoulders and crouches slightly so he can look her directly in the eyes. "Don't worry, Snips," he assures her. His chest hurts enough for the both of them. "I'll be back before you know it. I NEED you to help the Admiral, got it?"

It takes her a long time, but she eventually nods, and Anakin sprints towards the hanger. Marcene is never even going to know what hit her.

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As it turns out, Marcene knew exactly what was going to hit her, because no sooner had Gold Squadron gotten in range of The Revanchist than two squads of vulture fighters swarmed from the hanger, surrounding Anakin's fighters. He had managed to break out of the formation, managed to snag a couple in his firing range, but then a tractor beam had taken hold of his fighter and pulled him into the hanger bay.

He may be Anakin Skywalker, but even he knows when he's horribly, horribly outnumbered. Besides, this will give him an opportunity to meet Marcene face to face - and get rid of the threat personally.

But instead of being brought before Nahama Marcene, as he might have been with Grievous, Anakin is stripped of his belt and lightsaber, has a pair of binders slapped on his wrists and is marched down to the detention block. They don't strip him of the Force, which seems somewhat foolish, but given the circumstances there's not a lot he can currently do that won't also cause himself considerable damage. And if he's honest with himself, he's awfully curious to meet the woman who was able to outwit him in a space battle.

His cell is bare, a metal cot against one wall, a durasteel sink and toilet bolted to the other wall, a repressor field preventing his escape. "Cozy," Anakin comments to one of his captors - a human , probably one of Marcene's Rangers. "There a number I should call for room service, or do I get my choice of dining options?" Anything to cover the hammering, stabbing pain in his chest, anything to make the cold sweat abate. Panic won't help a single thing.

A sharp backhand to the face is as close as he gets to an answer as he's shoved bodily into the cell, the binders still on his wrists. "Enjoy your stay, hero," the Ranger spits. "The Commander'll be down to see you shortly."

Anakin pastes on his best cocky smirk. "Tell her I'm looking forward to it," he replies at the Rangers' retreating backs.

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It's easy enough to slip his flesh hand out of the binders - tuck his thumb against his palm, a little uncomfortable maneuvering, and his hands are free. The binders still dangle from his mechno, but that hand is less flexible and it's not as though he might not be able to use the metal binders as a weapon in some capacity. Still, that's not going to get him free, so he spends the time waiting for Marcene to grace him with her presence scouring the cell for anything he might be able to make use of.

It's hard to keep his thoughts off his fleet, wondering and worrying about how many casualties there might be, how much damage has been done to his ships, whether Ahsoka is faring well in command. He starts to feel light-headed again, but there's nothing he can do about any of it. Moving meditation, that's always helped, so while he tries to put the welling sense of dread out of his mind, he keeps working to figure out the best weapon to fashion.

He's interrupted by the arrival of who he can only assume is Nahama Marcene. She's dressed in a black bodysuit, younger and, well, prettier, somehow, than he'd expected, his utility belt with lightsaber attached clutched in her hand. "Anakin Skywalker," she drawls, his name rolling off her tongue like an invocation. "I expected someone with your reputation to be a little... smarter."

Anakin scowls at her. "You fight dirty," he snaps. Most Separatists do, but what she'd done had seemed more so, though he's not entirely certain how. "There are rules of engagement, and what you did..."

"Is no different than anything you've ever done," she points out, smirking. "Hero With No Fear. Warrior of the Infinite. You think I don't know about you?" She shakes her head, her smirk dissolving. "I'd really hoped for more of a challenge, Boy Wonder." Her whole demeanor screams superiority, oozes smug satisfaction. "Well, there's always next time."

Scoffing, Anakin crosses his arms over his chest. "That implies you're going to let me go," he comments. "Dooku won't be thank you for that." Why does he care what Dooku will do to her, anyway? She's a menace, dangerous and without mercy - except that might not be true. Maybe. He's having a hard time getting a good read on her.

"Oh, no, I'm not just going to give you your ship back and send you on your way," she replies, waggling a scolding finger at him. "I just assume with your Jedi skills and supposedly amazing luck you'll find a way to escape on your own. I won't make it easy for you, but I'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself after that pathetic defense."

Anakin forces himself to take a deep, centering breath so he's not tempted to hurl himself at her and hit the ray shield holding him in here. "Just wait," he growls at her, "you'll pay for what you've done."

She laughs, lyrical and light. "I'm sure, Anakin Sky-walk-ah," she agrees, turning and walking down the detention block, away from him. "But it won't be because of you!" The metal hatch leading in and out of the detention block slams shut with a bone-rattling clang, and in the next moment the lights go out, plunging Anakin into solitary darkness.

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She doesn't come back the next day, nor the day after that. Anakin spends his time trying to stay calm and focus his attention on escape. There hasn't been a Separatist trap yet he's been unable to get out of, it's just a matter of time. Still, it's a challenge when he finds himself overcome by a sense of complete and utter hopelessness, thoughts circling around each other in a whirlwind, cutting off his air and making his heart feel like it's going to explode. He's vomited into the wall-mounted toilet more times than he can count, because at least that helps release some of the pressure. He's glad none of his men, or Force forbid, Ahsoka, are trapped with him to witness this.

It's during one of these moments, crouched on the cold metal floor of the cell, that he realizes that there must be some kind of piping in the wall assembly to allow water flow. Once he's sufficiently able to stand, he uses the Force to pry apart part of the encasement, peering into the guts of the simple mechanisms. Sure enough, durasteel pipes, thick and heavy enough to use as a weapon. It won't last long, not against the Rangers and an entire Separatist warship's worth of 'droids, but it's better than not having any weapon at all. He closes his eyes, reaches out his hands, and PULLS. The pipe separates with a squeal of metal upon metal, and deposits itself neatly in his hand as water begins to geyser out of the wall, quickly covering the floor of the cell and rising steadily. "Hey!" Anakin calls out, sliding the pipe up his sleeve and holding his wrists together to give the illusion he's still got the binders on. "A little help in here?"

Within a few minutes, two of Marcene's Rangers appear. "Oh, for the love of..." one of them moans, lowering the ray shield and entering the cell. Moving lightning-fast, Anakin hits the man across the face with the pipe, sending him down into the water. The other Ranger raises his slug thrower, but Anakin pulls it to himself with the Force, leveling it at him. "In there with him," he orders, gesturing to the cell as he crosses the threshold. The conscious Ranger raises his hands, does as he's told, and Anakin re-activates the ray shield. "All too easy," he murmurs, setting off towards the hatch.

His optimism is short-lived when Nahama Marcene appears from the hatch. His belt is around her waist and his lightsaber is in her hand. "Clever boy," she compliments, hefting the weapon. "You know, I've always wanted to try one of these things. You're a little outgunned, Anakin Sky-walk-ah." It's sensual, the way she says it, licking her lips as she activates the 'saber.

"Good luck using it without Jedi training," Anakin counters, then blanches as she moves seamlessly into the opening stance of Makashi.

She smirks. "You were saying?"

Anakin sighs sharply, throwing out a hand to slam her against the wall with the Force, prying her fingers from around the lightsaber hilt, calling it to his own hand. "YOU were saying?" he echoes, mimicking her smirk. He tosses the pipe aside, pulling her towards him with a gesture of his now-free hand. Marcene doesn't seem surprised, but she must have learned Makashi from somewhere, so she's probably got some exposure to Force users.

He wraps a hand around her throat, shoving her up against the wall. "Oh, big man," she taunts as Anakin shoves the deactivated hilt against the side of her neck. "You've got spirit, even if it means you're a bit lacking in the brains department."

Anakin stares her down, gazing intensely into her dark eyes, flicking over the defiant tilt of her chin. She's not like anyone he's ever met, a soldier as determined as he is, a tactical genius. If she weren't a Separatist, he thinks they might have gotten along. He presses himself against her, sliding his hand off her throat and down to his belt, still wrapped around her waist. He slowly undoes the buckle and slips it off of her, pushing away and holding it up between them. "How about this?" he growls at her, "you get me back to my fighter, and you let me go back to my fleet, and I won't bring you up on war crime charges." For now.

Marcene gives him another smirk, as if she's not the one with the lightsaber pressed against her neck. "Only because I want to give you another chance to redeem yourself," she informs him, gesturing for him to follow her. "Don't stab me in the back with that thing, yeah?"

"No promises," Anakin mutters as she leads him back to his fighter, and to freedom.

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"You had her cornered and you didn't take her into custody?" Obi-Wan Kenobi demands, arms tucked into the sleeves of his robe. To his credit, Anakin looks highly uncomfortable with this particular conversation, shifting his weight from foot to foot, hunching in on himself slightly.

"There were extenuating circumstances," Anakin protests, but instead of his normal bravado, Obi-Wan can sense a hint of tremor in his voice. "Besides, I know how she works now. Next time... Next time, I'll bring her down." He sounds entirely certain, and yet not certain at all.

The Jedi Master sighs, runs a hand over his beard. "You realize how lucky you are that there's even going to BE a next time?" he asks, trying not to sound scolding. Anakin's a Knight now, a warrior in his own right, and most of the time he makes the right decisions. He's sure that letting Nahama Marcene go free was likely the best option his friend had at the time, trusts that because he trusts Anakin.

Anakin seems to fight a tremor. "I know, Master," he murmurs. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry." He bows his head, almost deferential, and Obi-Wan can't help but feel a sharp pang of pride. His apprentice has grown so much, and has become every bit the Jedi Qui-Gon had believed he could be, and even if Anakin makes mistakes, he learns from them, moves forward, and never gives up.

"You kept the damage to your fleet to a minimum, and you obtained vital intelligence on Marcene's tactics," Obi-Wan says after a moment, putting his hands on Anakin's shoulders. "I am proud of you, my friend." Anakin flushes slightly, but manages a ghost of a smile. "Now get some rest," Obi-Wan suggests. "The Council expects a debriefing in the morning, and Ahsoka will need some rest as well. She performed admirably in your absence, by all reports." Of course she had; the girl is practically an extension of Anakin himself.

"I'll make sure she hears that," Anakin promises, settling onto the edge of his bunk. "Thanks, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan simply nods, giving a slight bow, and lets himself out to allow Anakin the rest he must surely need.

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Once Obi-Wan is gone, Anakin allows his shields to crumble, breathing erratic, heart pounding. He'd been certain Obi-Wan would have sensed it, the chest-crushing panic that had set upon him the moment his former Master had entered the room with "we need to talk about your mission" on his lips. He'd been sure he'd be in trouble for letting Marcene go - and he still might be; the Council hasn't debriefed him yet. There's every chance he'll be labeled a traitor, a turncoat. And for what? Because she had intrigued him? Because he hadn't quite thought his plan through? And if that happens, then what? A Senate trial, Padmé's disappointment, her disdain. And who will train Ahsoka? Who will lead his men?

It's the same circular merry-go-round of torment that he'd felt for weeks now, always the same, but always with new twists to keep the terror fresh. Not wanting a repeat of the training room - because Obi-Wan surely would notice THAT (though it seems no one has said anything to him about it, for which Anakin is deeply grateful), Anakin pulls out the vial of anxiolytics Kix had given him, shakes a couple into his hand, and swallows them dry.

He lays on his bunk, hands behind his head, and waits for the gentle numbness to take over.

-end-