Disclaimer: Nope, none of this is mine. The title was inspired by an America song of the same name, but no familiarity with the song is necessary.

Just a little piece of Obi-Wan angst, inspired by the constant rain on my recent trip through Europe. Enjoy.

Horse with No Name

You see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can't remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain…

--America

Anakin always loved the rain.

You remember the first time he saw it. You were on Naboo, and he had been your apprentice only three short days. You remember being vaguely annoyed by the rain—it meant that you had to stay indoors, and you had nothing to do but think. You didn't want to think. Everything was still too fresh. And the rain brought too many memories. Qui-Gon, too, had always loved the rain…

You remember thinking that it was too quiet and turning to find Anakin staring out the window, a look of rapt wonder shining in his eyes. The rain was pattering on the window panes and falling in little rivulets to the street below, and you watched as his eyes followed each grey droplet. One small hand reached out to trace the path of a single drop, following it until it flowed off the window and splashed, a few moments later, in the growing puddle on the street below.

He asked you what it was, and you told him about clouds, about evaporation and condensation, about wind patterns and different forms of precipitation. He looked at you very strangely, and told you in no uncertain terms that your answer was too boring.

"It's magic," he said. "The sky is crying."

You almost laughed, but he looked so serious that you couldn't quite manage it. So instead, you asked him why the sky was crying. Was it sad?

"No," he said. "It's not sad. It's crying because it's happy."

And that was all.

You could never look at rain in quite the same way after that. It wasn't just rain anymore—it was something beautiful and mysterious, fresh and new every time it fell, and always just beyond human understanding.

Anakin taught you to love the rain.

You remember wishing, as you waited cold and wet in a Kaminoan cloning facility, that Anakin was there too. You could never really manage to be annoyed with the rain when he was there to remind you of the wonder of it.

Even Jabiim couldn't succeed in making him hate the rain. It only made him hate the mud.

You always wondered about that. How he could so easily separate the rain from the mud it created. You almost wish, now, that you knew his secret.

But you will never know now. There is no time left for him to teach you. Anakin is gone. And try as you may, you cannot quite manage to separate the man he was from the monster he has become.

You tell yourself that Anakin is dead, that he was dead even before you found him, that last time, when you fought the demon among the rivers of fire. Anakin was already dead, and you were fighting his murderer. You remind yourself of this so often that almost you begin to believe it yourself.

It's so much easier that way.

You look out your window now, and you can see nothing but sand and rocks, the landscape painted in shades of brown and bleached drab. You remember that Anakin always hated sand.

It doesn't rain here. It will never rain here.

You find that strangely comforting. Because you remember, now, why you always disliked the rain. It leaves you with nothing to do but think. And thinking hurts far too much.

And so you sit in the desert, and you meditate, and time passes. And you allow yourself to forget. And as you sit watching the suns set on another perfectly dry, sandy day, you are content. It is a numb sort of contentment, but it is all you have any more.

It feels good to be out of the rain.