Vacuum

by alchemy dream

No words. No sound. No movement. Sometimes, there's just...nothing. AniXObi implied slash.

Vacuum:Alchemy Dream

A/N: Thank you to anyone who has reviewed my stories. I'm trying to get better at this, guys. I'm also setting up a live journal (because I'm so emo and all) to host my fandom work.

This piece is very very long. It's terrible. Why are you reading it? I'm just feeling really...sad lately. I don't know why, this is very uncharacteristic of me. But if you still want to read, please leave me a review. Reviews are love. And I love all of you! Thank you Temple Mistress for your faith in my writing. After reading this you'll probably never read me again, haha. I'm really insecure tonight.

Thanks, guys. XOXO

Timeline: Pre-ROTS, after the Clone Wars.

Pairing: AnixObi slash, hints at Ani/Padmè

Warnings: Very AU, character death

Summary: No words. No sound. No movement. Sometimes, there's just...nothing. AnixObi.

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'Alone' was never a word that he had considered a threat. At times, Obi-Wan had felt betrayed, abandoned, and discarded. Sometimes, even lonely. He had been betrayed by friends who gracelessly shifted into enemies. Abandoned by his Master, his first love, Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan had sunk into an internal hurricane of loss. Discarded and responsible for a life he had never wanted to feel responsible for. Anakin Skywalker. Lonely and blind, he carried on in the enormous halls with the small, powerful, though unwanted boy at his side. Of course, those feelings hadn't lasted.

Pulling his heavy brown hood over his head, Obi-Wan Kenobi palmed his quarters shut and stalked down the hall, casting a sad glance at a pair of younglings. The two siblings held hands, the elder brother lagging slightly behind the younger sister. She grinned in ignorance of the circumstances as she moved forward to hold Obi-Wan's hand. Her dark hazel eyes were wide with wonder at standing next to the Jedi Master, even more so at holding his hand! Obi-Wan stared into the face of the little girl, and squeezed three fingers around her tiny hand before moving ahead of the children. It was a long walk to the funeral temple.

He was surrounded by Jedi, Jedi who understood, or pretended to understand his loss. Jedi who lived by a Code. A Code that stated: There is no death; there is the Force.

The more he mulled over the words, words meant to put his soul at peace, the more they became only words. Words that existed in a temple, on paper, on marble, in the cardiovascular tissue that aided his own heart in beating, but their meaning was lost to him.

A selected group of a hundred or so had been called to witness the incineration of the "Hero With No Fear." Obi-Wan, the former Master of the dead young...

Wait.

There was that word.

Dead.

What did that mean? Certainly Anakin Skywalker was not moving anymore, his heart was silenced, his lungs devoid of breath. His eyes no longer sparkled, covered for all eternity by pallid eyelids with beautifully long lashes. His peaceful expression was forever caught between the duality of manhood, and the still rosy flush in his desert tawny cheeks. The visible veins in his large hands no longer pulsed, folded gently over his chest. Obi-Wan sucked his breath in as he viewed for the first time the body resting, waiting, on the funeral pyre. But surely he was not dead. Surely that voice would speak again.

Delusion had become a powerful ally in the whole process of falling apart.

Standing nearest his head was Anakin's wife, the beautiful Senator. Pregnant. Padmé raised her warm brown eyes to watch Obi-Wan cross the space between them, taking his rightful place, his equally important spot beside her. Padmé's cheeks were pink and traced with tears. She wore a simple black gown, her brown hair falling in humidity-ravaged rivulets down to her waist. Around her neck hung the japor carving. She finally spoke, grief clinging to every syllable. They hadn't spoken at all since they had heard.

"Why weren't you with him?" Her voice was shaky.

"It was to be his first solo mission."

"I always believed that if he were ever in trouble, you would be there," Padmé said, quietly. Obi-Wan felt his hands tremble a little in his frustration, no, his rage. Anakin had been his responsibility, and he had failed.

Let it go.

"Now is not the time for this, Padmé," he said just as quietly. Obi-Wan turned his attention back to the pyre and the four gentlemen with the torches. Each ceremoniously lit the woods and materials from beneath, and the crowd watched the flames begin to lap at Anakin's tunics, fraying, then consuming the fabric. The fire crackled a little, popping on the woods and creating a light smoke. Artoo whined and twittered a little in sorrow. Turning slowly, Obi-Wan looked into the eyes of Mace Windu, who, for the first time he could remember, seemed genuinely sorrowful. Words didn't need to be said. Mace had never liked Anakin from the moment he set foot in the Jedi Temple, but even he knew that the loss of the irreplaceable team of Kenobi and Skywalker was a waste. Mace tightened his grip on his friend's shoulder when it began to shake. A young padawan, draped from head to toe in black, suspended a black pot with incense above the burning body, the smoke that carried the stench of death intermingling with the fragrance of medeis blossoms and lifting up into the night.

Obi-Wan remained, his eyes pleading with the dead, with the Force, until the flames consumed the body, and until the facts seemed real.

Anakin was dead.

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'Empty' was never a state that he had applied to a being. Empty was a glass, a basin, only something able to be filled could logically be empty. But now, his hands fallen to his sides, his eyes glancing around at the lack of meaning of the curves, the architecture, the plushness of sofas and rugs and pillows and beds...everything was empty. Including himself.

Anakin had always insisted on remaining in Obi-Wan's quarters, never opting for his own room on the grounds of the lack of a large living room in the private quarters. But Obi-Wan always knew. He knew that behind the playful excuse, Anakin loved the quiet access to Obi-Wan's bedroom. How many nights had they spent, arguing in the common room, over things both trivial and malignant? How many moments had Obi-Wan's heart fallen when Anakin shouted at him, denouncing his worth with venomous conviction, only to creep shamefully to his door in the wee hours of the morning, wishing to smooth over the lovers' spat with words of apology and affection. His dark blue eyes would reflect the city lights as he crawled into bed with reprieve, settling his head into the crook of Obi-Wan's neck. He would whisper reluctant apologies, letting his loose, wavy blonde hair drape his partner's chest.

The Jedi Master blinked away from his dream, bringing himself back into his reality. He shrugged off the dark robe, his thoughts drifting back to what Padmé had said.

I always believed that if he were ever in trouble, you would be there.

Obi-Wan and Padmé had always gotten on pretty well in a formal manner, but never in a personal, friendly way. Most of their interaction had been formed around the subject of Anakin. She had always referred to him as Jedi Master Kenobi, Master Jedi. Very rarely did the words "Obi-Wan" escape her mouth. It was a tense situation between them, as Obi-Wan had long been the only one, the sole bearer of the forbidden marriage which produced the secret pregnancy. All was forgotten upon Anakin's death, of course. No need to punish the dead. All concern was immediately directed toward Padmé's health, her mental state, how she was dealing with the loss of her husband. Obi-Wan shamefully felt left out, neglected. He felt like the 'other woman'.

Why had he been unable to save Anakin? How had he slipped away so quietly? They had a bond, did they not? A powerful bond that would allow the two to sense danger in the other. It had been used dozens of times to save each other, mostly Obi-Wan. Why had it not worked this time? He hesitated to think that maybe the bond had been broken. Granted, the two men had not been quite as close in the last several months, what with the pending birth of the child, and his new status as Jedi Knight, who could blame him? Things in Anakin's world were changing rapidly! He was becoming a true, official Jedi, that which he had longed to be since childhood! He was now a husband to a beautiful woman, and soon to be a father to his own child. He had more (albeit illegally) than Obi-Wan could have ever dreamed of.

A rapping at the door forced Obi-Wan, once again, back to reality. Wearily, he opened it.

"Master Kenobi, are you prepared to depart to Theed? We're set to leave in under half an hour," Bail Organa asked. Obi-Wan looked thoughtful for a moment, and nodded.

"Yes, I'll meet you in the west hangar then."

Bail placed a hand on the younger man's cheek, ruffling slightly through the soft beard.

"Obi-Wan," he said, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Obi-Wan, I know you loved him. Please...if there's anything, anything at all." Obi-Wan remained silent, empty.

"Yes, I love him."

"There's something else...we found something. About the death," Bail stated, removing himself and straightening his clothes.

"Show me."

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Bail, Obi-Wan and a couple of security guards made their way onto the starship. It had been Padmé's wish to have Anakin's ashes scattered over the lake by her home. She wanted to raise her child close to their father, and she saw this as being the best way of doing so. She had invited a handful of Jedi, the Supreme Chancellor, and several other members of the Senate to view the final sending.

"We knew that the death was caused by a blaster shot, but this holo makes it much clearer," Bail stated, seating himself in front of the holovision console. He popped in a small, clear data stick and pressed a few buttons, first a red one, then a pink one.

"It just doesn't seem right. A blaster shot? Anakin's smarter than that." Bail looked solemnly at him and switched the blinking blue button. For a moment, it was only static.

And then it was torture. Anakin lay doubled over, naked and shivering on the marble floor of the room. From what Obi-Wan could make out, blood pooled from the side of his lips, and ran down the back of his legs. Obi-Wan began to shake in despair. Anakin had been repeatedly raped. He knew this from the report. But to see it now, here on the screen was too much. A small whining noise crept from his chapped lips. Bail turned to look at him and hold him in his arms. Obi-Wan's face contorted, and his lips quivered, tears pulsing down his cheeks. The mere thought of anyone else taking Anakin was enough to drive Obi-Wan to madness. And the knowledge that they had done so to hurt him, to reduce his dignity, leaving him naked and cold, with dried blood...

On screen Anakin coughed, banging his head against the floor. Clearly he was trying to put himself out of his misery. Obi-Wan had never seen Anakin so low. But as he lowered his head, over and over to the floor, cracking his forehead against the stone, something seemed strange. It was as if he was moving in slow motion.

"Bail..why is he moving like that."

"That's what I wanted to show you. They drugged him, Obi-Wan. They put an inhibitor on him. See the collar?" Bail pointed a finger at the barely visible black band around Anakin's neck. "It creates noise in his conscious. We think he's banging his head to try and stop the voices. Once they creep in, they feed off of his doubts, his insecurities."

"Yes, I know," Obi-Wan said, touching the face on the screen.

"No, this one is special. It also inhibits his movement. It slows his reaction time, physical and mental. Chances are, when they killed him, he didn't even realize it. He probably didn't even feel it."

"Uncivilised bastards. They drugged him and killed him. They couldn't even fight him fairly, honourably. He could have easily killed them!" Obi-Wan stood and began pacing nervously. "Turn that fucking thing off!" he shouted, full of despair.

"Obi-Wan...master...please."

Just as Bail went to flip the switch, a familiar voice came from the holo.

"Wait." Obi-Wan walked back to the console, allowing the light to cover his face.

"Obi-Wan, please!" It was more desperate this time. "I've failed! I can't do it. Please,I need you. I need you!" Obi-Wan swallowed deeply. A few men crept into the room, faceless and voiceless. Anakin turned slowly to see that they had blasters. He turned again to look at the floor in front of him, his chained hands shaking a little.

"Obi-Wan...I...I know I'm weak. But I'm happy...I can't handle this anymore. I hope you'll forgive me, for everything. And for leaving the 'fresher on and flooding the downstairs training room," he added with a pained laugh. His scarred, handsome face went serious again. "No. That isn't important. Obi-Wan, you know how I feel. You do. Do I have to say it? You've always known it. I..I l.."

But he never got the chance. Obi-Wan covered the screen with his hand as he heard the blaster shots ring out. Anakin was silent through his slaughter, never crying out. All that could be heard was the lifeless slump of the chains against the floor, the sound of his soul leaving his body.

"No," Obi-Wan whispered. "No, I've seen enough. Please," he pleaded, and Bail shut off the console.

"We are set for Theed, Senator Organa. Shall we take off?" an impatient guard stated. "Senator Skywalker has requested that we leave."

Bail waved his hand at the guard, nodding. The guard left the corridor, and Obi-Wan slumped in his seat, swirling to face away from Bail and the guards. Bail moved to open the corridor, gesturing down the hallway of the starship to the chambers..

"Sleep, Obi-Wan. I will wake you when we reach Naboo."

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'Nightmare' was a word that Obi-Wan was largely unfamiliar with. His life had been mostly dreamless, his sleep being pleasantly aloof. After his Master had died, of course, he had dreamt ritually of the red dual-sided lightsaber piercing Qui-Gon over and over, forever. The moment he had known Qui-Gon would win the match, the moment, the minuscule millisecond in time where Qui-Gon faltered, and the saber penetrated his torso. The moment where he had comprehended what it meant that he could see the lightsaber through the other side of Qui-Gon's body. He would awaken, his eyes misty, his mind disoriented. He would look around, sensing another being in his chamber, and directing his eyes to the cracked door, would see a young boy holding a pillow, his eyes full of questions.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, "What are you doing up? It's half past midnight." Anakin hugged his pillow tighter to his chest, his mind racing.

"Obi-...Master, I felt it. Trembling. Sadness," Anakin said, inching into the room. "You're sad because of me, aren't you, Master." Obi-Wan's eyes fixed themselves into a tender gaze at the wonder of a ten year old mind.

"Come here, little one," Obi-Wan said, patting the bed. Anakin stepped forward, crawling up onto the piles of blankets. He pulled one from under himself, and wrapped it around his shoulders.

"Master, why is it so cold...?"

"Coruscant is very different from Tatooine, padawan." Obi-Wan said, relaxing back against the pillows. He often wound up having short midnight chats with his homesick padawan to ease his mind. Strangely, the communication eased Obi-Wan's mind as well. "You miss Tatooine?" Obi-Wan asked, guiltily disguising scrutiny with tenderness, looking for signs of weakness in the young boy. Anakin yawned, and looked thoughtful, his sapphire eyes shimmering.

"I miss my mother. I miss...I miss the warm weather." Obi-Wan put a hand on the boy's head.

"Well, wearing Jedi garb should be enough to make you not miss the heat. You would fry if you wore this on Tatooine! I've heard there are several monsters out there that consider Tatooine Fried Padawan a delicacy!" Obi-Wan joked, his eyes twinkling, the light lines on the sides of his eyes giving character to his youthful, smooth face. Anakin, still young and naive, swallowed a little, before realizing his Master was only joking. He then smiled and giggled.

"That's better. Now, get some sleep, padawan." Obi-Wan gestured at the door.

"You miss Master Qui-Gon. I felt it." Obi-Wan swallowed. How to broach this subject?

"I...yes, I do miss Qui-Gon. It is only natural to miss the departed. But I cannot dwell on it."

"You dream about him. You dream that he is killed, over and over," Anakin said, getting closer to the man.

"How do you know this, Anakin?"

"I feel it at night, when I'm asleep. It wakes me up."

Guilt surged through Obi-Wan. So that's why Anakin always woke up in the middle of the night! From his dreams of Qui-Gon's murder. But how could a bond be so strong? So strong as to allow emotions felt even in dreams to be shared between a master and padawan! Obi-Wan opened his arms to the boy, wrapping them around his small body.

"I'm so sorry, Anakin. I will try to have better control." Anakin wrapped his small, short arms around Obi-Wan's neck, relishing in feeling important, in feeling warmth from his Master rather than formality and coldness. He climbed beneath one of the blankets, setting his pillow next to his master's head.

"I'll sleep here tonight, and you won't dream anymore," Anakin said, matter of factly. Soon, his tired little eyes were shut, and his tired little body rose and fell in sleep. Obi-Wan smiled tenderly, and pulled a few more blankets over Anakin, rubbing a hand over the soft, warm cheek. He then relaxed, the only sound in his head being the light, calm breathing of himself and the boy.

"Goodnight, Anakin."

And he did not, in fact, dream.

But tonight, resting in the cold leather hammock in the sleeping chamber, nightmares plagued him, images not of Qui-Gon, but of Anakin. Images of Anakin's rape, of his torture, of the blaster shots that tore through his body in three places, the shoulder, the back of the neck, severing the top of the spinal cord, and the chest, finally stopping his heart. It didn't seem real, except in the dream. On the outside, it was easy to pretend that it had not happened, at least until sleep came, and only then reality would creep in.

He had loved Anakin, not only as a brother, but as a lover. He had long feared and relished in the fact that their relationship, though secret, was stronger than the one between Anakin and Padmé.

The cycle of betrayal was endless, it seemed. Anakin had betrayed Padmé by sleeping with Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan had betrayed Padmé by keeping it all a secret. He had betrayed the Order by not turning Anakin in, and Anakin had betrayed Obi-Wan by being determined to keep both he and Padmé at the same time. He didn't want to be equal to her. He'd rather Anakin had never come into his life than have to share a platform with the young Senator.

"What are you saying, Obi-Wan Kenobi? Surely you can see that you never will."

Obi-Wan stirred in his sleep, as a misty figure crept into the plane of his dreams.

"Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan looked around the room, the empty chamber he had shared with his former master. He was suddenly taken aback with shame. "I'm sorry, Master. I did not train him well enough...I let him fall away. I have failed you." Qui-Gon's long, peppered hair swayed a little as he sat on their bed, drawing Obi-Wan closer. He pulled his former padawan close enough to hear the beat of his heart.

"Obi-Wan...you know that isn't true. Young Skywalker was trained well. He has done well with his life, and now, in death, he can be one with the Living Force. It's all a cycle, Obi-Wan, after all. I can be here with you now, can't I?"

"In a dream, Master! You aren't...tangible! He isn't flesh, only spirit. He is lost!" Obi-Wan cringed as he noted how formal his speech got when he spoke to Qui-Gon. He buried his face into Qui-Gon's tunic, sobbing.

"Obi-Wan...look at me." Qui-Gon tipped Obi-Wan's face up, his eyes becoming tender toward the younger man as he noted the pained expression. Obi-Wan, though ten years older since Qui-Gon's death, would always be the sweet-faced teenager he had always known and loved.

"Strange as it may sound, flesh is overrated. A heartbeat is not necessary for love. He loves you, just as I love you now."

"He has a wife, Master. And a child on the way."

"You must not be selfish, Obi-Wan. She deserves care as well. But do no beat yourself up over this. There was nothing you could do," Qui-Gon stated, running a hand through Obi-Wan's coppery hair. "Just as you cannot stop the sun from rising, you cannot stop death."

"Well I should be able to, Master!" Obi-Wan shouted. Qui-Gon was taken aback at the passion in his voice.

"Be mindful of your thoughts, Obi-Wan. To wish yourself all-powerful is...you know," he said. Obi-Wan blinked the wild look from his eyes, casting them down in shame. "I sense a lot of pain in you, Obi-Wan. Grieve, and let it go. I'm always with you, as he is."

With that, Qui-Gon exited his dream, waking Obi-Wan with a start. He shot up from the hammock, instinctually examining his surroundings. All was silent. Bail slept above him in the high hammock, snoring lightly. Obi-Wan sighed shakily, and fell back into the makeshift bed, wiping his eyes. He pulled the canvas throw closer to his body, shivering with cold and remembrance. Sleep would not come easily.

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"We're here. Obi? Obi-Wan."

In the faintest corridor of his subconscious, he vaguely registered that a voice was calling to him. Turning his body to face the wall in the hammock, Obi-Wan groaned, pulling the blankets over his head. Again, the voice penetrated his aching skull, and a hand reached down and pulled the cover back.

"Obi. We've arrived on Naboo." Bail Organa's voice blanketed him, and he could detect the caution. Obi-Wan found words.

"Give me a moment," he said groggily, shuffling about, finally sitting up. He coughed a little, rubbing his eyes. He then looked out the little window. "It's still night."

"Yes, it's night here, Obi. The ceremony will begin in nine hours." Bail sat down next to Obi-Wan, causing the younger man to lose balance. "Obi...you look like hell. Did you not get any rest?" Obi-Wan snorted a little.

"What do you think, Bail," he said, standing and wrapping the coarse blanket around his body. Bail just patted his knee.

"The beds are more comfortable in the Senator's home...she requested you to have a nice room for the night." Obi-Wan laughed a little.

"How considerate of her."

"Obi-Wan, what's the matter?" Bail inquired, genuine concern crossing his tan face. "I know you're in pain, but is it fair to lash out at Padmé?"

Obi-Wan blushed a little, suddenly ashamed. He stood and offered as professional a smile as he could, which only ended up coming out as fake and contrived.

"You're right, Bail. She deserves our concern. If you'll excuse me." He moved past Bail, grabbing his cloak. Bail's dark eyes followed Obi-Wan tenderly.

A guard helped him from the ship, leading him to the villa style home, surrounded by lush, shadowed vegetation and fragrant, near tropical blossoms.

Hardly fit for a funeral Obi-Wan thought.

Thin, billowy creeper vines ascended the stone villa, small enough to only accommodate fifteen or so occupants. The masonry was pale and irregular, its natural shape conforming to the curves of the landscape. The long, sculptural staircase that led to what he assumed would be his room overlooked the lake. In the moonlight, he could barely see the rippling water caused by a light, chilly breeze. A night bird sang a light tune, so as not to wake a soul.

Finally, after reaching the top, the guard unlocked the door to Obi-Wan's room.

It was a charming, though painfully empty chamber full of curtains, and moonlight, and fragrant incense. It had a small balcony which connected on the outside to the adjoining room, with only a potted flower stalk as decoration. A stained glass door in the corner of the room, illustrating scenes of an unfamiliar creation myth, covered a small private shower. In the center of the room was a large plush bed, with a polished curvy wooden frame. Obi-Wan nodded his thanks to the guard, and shut the door. He dropped his belongings to the floor, looking around at what he could see in the moonlight.

It was all very plush, soft. It would have been a perfect vacation spot.

Anakin would have loved this room.

Everything was sensual and begged to be touched. Obi-Wan collapsed onto the bed, his body aching upon contact with the soft linens and pillows. The mattresses immediately conformed to his body, and he rolled to the center, sprawling about, his gaze fixed on the ceiling until it became a blur.

He imagined sleeping with Anakin in this bed. It was large and welcomed two bodies. He imagined allowing a breeze to caress their skin as they lay, entangled and warm in an afterglow. They would jest with each other, ruffling feathers, only to smooth them over with forceful kisses and unspoken words. As usual. Anakin would fall asleep first, buried in soft, thin cotton sheets, warmed by the sensation of chest against cheek, breath on skin. Sweat would cool and dry on the smooth plane of his back, relaxation outlining the shapes of more prominent muscles.

Obi-Wan pounded his fist on the bed a few times, before directing his blows to his own body. He began pummeling himself with punches, causing his body to ache further.

He was calling for you. He needed you.

He relished in the cracking of knuckles against his chest, the sharp sensation of pain when he struck himself in the gut.

He died because you were not there. He was only twenty years old, and he died because you failed.

He twitched involuntarily in frustration, curling into a heaving ball in the bed. A cry of rage that had been buried from deep inside found its way out, echoing in the chamber. He silenced himself when he heard a latch pop, and hesitant footsteps on the balcony, heading to his door. And then, a soft rapping. Obi-Wan stayed perfectly still in his spot on the bed, feigning sleep like a child, caught awake in the middle of the night. But the knocking didn't cease. The figure only turned the latch, letting itself in. Concerned brown eyes bore into his back, their warmth mingling with a need for sleep.

"You can't sleep either, Obi-Wan," the soft voice declared. Obi-Wan smiled a bitter smile, not moving from his position.

"No, Padmé, I can't seem to get the biting sound of accusal out of my mind." Padmé's heart twitched a little. She held up her opalescent nightgown with one hand, and rested the other on her belly as she strode to his bedside. Her hand reached out, cool and soothing to his heated forehead, but he jerked away, an empty look in his eyes. Padmé sighed loudly, and looked out into the woods beyond the window.

"I loved him, Obi-Wan. More than anything in this world, surely you can understand my rash words. I apologize," Padmé said. Obi-Wan pushed his tired body from the bed, and moved to pace around. "But I don't understand why you weren't with him! Does the council not know that you two need each other? To send a single Jedi into the nest of the enemy, is that not forced suicide?" she cried. Growing braver, she stood and strode within a few feet of him. "And for that matter, if you knew that, Obi-Wan why didn't you do something about it? I always believed you were smarter, that you would protect my husb..." Obi-Wan broke suddenly, shouting at Padmé with conviction.

"Don't act as if Anakin was yours and yours alone! Don't be so selfish, Padmé! I loved him as a brother!"

"No you didn't! You loved him as more!"

Obi-Wan snorted, tears brimming behind his lids.

"You delusional, Padmé." Padmé stepped over and slapped Obi-Wan across the face, surprising him. He stepped back, holding his hand to his cheek.

"No, you're delusional, Obi-Wan. You're the selfish one," she said softly, patting her stomach for emphasis.

"Well, I believe I have earned my disillusionment," Obi-Wan cried, his brow furrowing in pain. Padmé looked thoughtful for a moment, and shook her head. She patted the bed as she sat heavily upon it.

"I will have twins," she said. "They're due soon. One is likely to be a boy." Obi-Wan smiled, knowing what she asked.
"The Force will be strong with them."

Padmé nodded a little. "Will you take the boy?"

"As a Padawan learner? You wish this?" Padmé shook her head.

"No, he did. He told me that when the boy was born, he wanted to present him to you. He wanted him to have the very best, just as he had as a child," she laughed a little. "Anakin said that probably, if the boy was turned over at a young age, he'd grow up studious and pleasant, unlike he had been. He wanted to have a 'little Obi-Wan' in our child."

Obi-Wan's mind drifted back to a conversation he and Anakin had had only a few weeks ago.

"Obi-Wan, to tell the truth, I'm really scared," Anakin said, shifting over onto his elbow in what was now 'their' bed. Obi-Wan pulled the blanket up over his cold body, wishing Anakin would just fall asleep, or at least share some of that boundless heat he seemed to generate. He yawned suggestively and groaned about his old age.

"Why, Anakin? Everything will be fine."

"It isn't just the dreams, it's just...I wonder what it will look like. I hope it looks like me," Anakin said, grinning. Obi-Wan laughed.

"Oh ho ho, passing your vanity on to another generation, are you?"

"Well, you have to admit he would be handsome. With my dark blue eyes..." Anakin let his lashes fall, pressing them against Obi-Wan's cheek.

"What makes you think it's a boy," Obi-Wan sighed pleasantly.

"My fatherly intuition," Anakin said, letting his long waves tangle with Obi-Wan's shorter blondish red hair. "...my lips." He then descended a soft, warm kiss with his pillowy lips on Obi-Wan's, brushing their roughness slightly, before deepening the kiss with a deliciously wet tongue. Their mouths melded together, not fighting for control, just slowly, deeply passing over each other. Wonderful wet sounds emerged from the room, arousing them both a little. Anakin pulled away, knowing that to keep going would be to avoid sleep, and he knew that he and Obi-Wan needed the sleep more than the sex that would ensue. Rather, the love making. It was never just sex anymore. The word itself seemed vulgar and profane, unsuitable for the luscious act they shared.

The two men settled close to one another in the covers, both moving about trying to find the perfect spot. After a little while, Obi-Wan's light, sleepy breathing took over, and Anakin smiled, settling back against the pillow.

"You know," Anakin whispered, "I actually kind of wish he would have your eyes. He would look beautiful, with say, my lips and hair, and your grey eyes." Obi-Wan smiled, cupping his hand over Anakin's mouth.

"And maybe my ability to stop ruminating on things out of my control," he laughed. Anakin blinked a little.

"Obi-Wan, I don't even know what that word means!"

"Oh, and let's not forget my intelligence," Obi-Wan chuckled. He groaned as Anakin pushed him off the bed.

"And of course, your sharp Jedi reflexes," Anakin snorted. Obi-Wan just pulled himself up, harrumphed, and slid back into the bed. Obi-Wan smiled in sweet defeat, and fell in time with Anakin into a blissfully connected sleep.

"I watched him, Obi-Wan. I saw things he didn't think I could see," Padmé admitted softly, standing to leave. "He loved me, Obi-Wan. We have children. We shared wedding vows. But somehow," she swallowed, "he always needed you more." A few tears flowed down her face. "And if I had been in that position, your position, I would have made damned sure that his life was spared."

Obi-Wan stood, shaking in the center of the room, unsure of how to feel.

"Padmé, what the fuck do you want from me?" he cried, not caring how profane he was in front of her. Padmé walked to the balcony, and stopped.

"You can stop crying, Master Jedi. It is not suitable for the man who will train my son," she said, hatefully.

"You will not tell me my place, Senator," Obi-Wan said as he turned. "I thought, I believed that we were all friends here, but I was clearly wrong."

"Friend, Obi-Wan?" Padmé laughed. "No, not friends, Obi-Wan. You were his lover, weren't you?" After he did not answer, she shouted, "WEREN'T YOU!"

Obi-Wan sighed, emotionally exhausted.

"Padmé, please. Let it rest. Let Anakin rest, let the dead rest, let us rest!" He ushered her to the door. "Please, there is no point to this arguing. I'm too tired for it, and I imagine you are too." Padmé groaned as he pushed her onto the balcony, trying to be tender. She stepped in her room, and just as her door almost shut, he called to her.

"Padmé. Just so you know...I chose him. Do not blame Anakin. And yes, I loved him. More than anyone who ever has or ever will exist. Now tell me, is that selfish? Is that...delusion?"

"Goodnight, Obi-Wan,"

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'Vacant' was never a word that held much meaning. Vacant was a chamber, a hangar, something large that had a tendency to echo with sound. But as he woke from a light, restless sleep, Obi-Wan experienced vacancy in a whole new way. Instinctually, he reached to his left side for the familiar body to hold, but was met with a phantom hug. Upon realization, he stared for a few moments at the vacant spot, and hoisted himself from the warm Obi-Wan-shaped indention where he had spent the night. His arms held him up for a moment, before he slid reluctantly from between the soft blankets.

A light wind chime sounded, creating an ambient noise in the morning breeze outside. His feet moved, drawn to it. The delicate sound, the persistent decadent sound of motion, motion that couldn't exist without the coaxing of the wind. Something distant and far away. Like a satellite.

Like Anakin.

And he felt it. He felt him penetrate his pores, as the breeze moved his feet to a fixed location. He felt the soft, powerful presence of life, like a wind chime. Anakin echoed in his skull. It was a warm, dreamy sound, one that filled the vacancy. The Living Force entered his soul and showed him the way. It was four words, breathed into him from inside.

Let it go, Master.

And Obi-Wan did. He let go of all pretenses, all fears, all resolutions, all guilt, all the blame. They fled from his body in the form of heavy tears as he ran. He ran and ran and ran.

He ran until the world became a blur, until everything was a puzzle, moving so fast that pieces were lost.

He ran until he knew what he was running from.

He was running from truth. From absolution, from freedom, from the wrecking ball that was loss.

He ran until he realized he would never find Anakin by running away.

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'Love' had always been synonymous with 'wrong', as if it were a sin. And it was. It was forbidden, incorrect and unacceptable. But somehow, with his aching feet teetering on the edge of land that overlooked the lake, Obi-Wan knew it was all that existed. Everything was love. He was bombarded with all of the things in the world, from the blades of grass under his bare feet to the words that echoed in his veins. To the silence he longed to shatter. It vibrated in his heart, forcing the words from his wet lips.

I love you.

"I LOVE YOU!" he shouted, watching as a few startled birds took off from the trees on the sand bar. Satisfied, he shouted again.

"I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I've ALWAYS LOVED YOU!" Finally, tears sprang to his eyes. Finally, he was allowed release.

"How could you leave?" Obi-Wan shouted to the lake, the lake. But no one answered. There was no voice of comfort, no warm arms to crawl into. He had wasted his life, had failed the only thing that had ever mattered. It was too little, too late. It was only emptiness. Not even Qui-Gon came to him to deliver him from his fear, his pain. He was utterly alone.

Well, maybe not utterly.

Footsteps slowly padded away from him. He watched as Padmé walked slowly from his spot at the edge of the abyss. How had he missed her presence?

"Padmé," Obi-Wan said, allowing the tears to dry on his face. He moved towards her. "Padmé," he repeated. She stopped, and turned. Her face matched his, covered with drying tears. Her eyes drifted towards the small wooden box that was situated carefully in the grass. She looked back up at him, her face contorting in pain.

"He wanted you to have it." Obi-Wan looked at her for a moment, wondering what was so important that Anakin would keep as a possession. He reached down and handled the box. It was very light. Bringing it up to his nose, he inhaled the spicy scent. It smelled of their apartment. Tears crept back into his greenish-grey eyes, puddling on the box beneath his nose. He shook it, feeling nothing. Emptiness. His fingers fondled the opening, noting a lock.

"Have you opened it?" Obi-Wan asked, softly. Padmé shook her head.

"He never gave me the key," she said, referring to the box, and to something else. "I never had the key."

Obi-Wan studied it for a second, and closed his eyes. Using the Force, he concentrated on the small rickety lock. He dislodged the piece of metal on the inside that held the box locked just enough to pry it open. He had never needed a key.

Obi-Wan put his hand to his shaking lips. Coiled loosely in the box were two long braids, one very long, a brownish-auburn shade, with a simple, polished bead of jade at the end. Twined against its length, ceremoniously was a braid of warm blonde, a colour that ached of the sun, shorter, and finished with a bead of shiny onyx.

"Ani..." Obi-Wan cried. Padmé looked on, full of despair, but also of concern. Obi-Wan collapsed onto the ground, Indian style, and brought the hair to his cheek, soaking it immediately. Padmé crept up and sat behind him, putting her arms around his chest, pulling him backwards. Her heart ached as Obi-Wan heaved in her arms. She pressed her cheek against his back and cooed soothing words to her husband's lover.

After the fit subsided, Padmé stood to walk away. She stared at his back, and formed her words in her mind.

"Love is never delusion, Obi-Wan. It's...a vacuum. You get sucked in, and you can never find your way back. You're a selfish bastard, and I'll never forgive you. He loved you, and so will our son. Maybe someday, I will love you again," she said, defeated and crushed, and began the long trek back to the funeral.

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A funeral Obi-Wan never went to. He watched the ashes drift into the lake, watched the little mites consume them on the surface, and the bugs that consumed the mites, and the fish that consumed the bugs. It was never ending. It was all a lie, all pomp and circumstance. In actuality, Anakin didn't live in the lake, he lived in the continuity of life. He lived in the Force, sparkling and humming. But Obi-Wan couldn't reach him.

He sat until the sun rose the next day, using the night sky and the moons as a blanket. The stars sparkled in the clear sky, and he communicated with the universe. He spoke of love, of life, and of mistakes. He spoke until he cried, and he cried until he had more to say. He searched out Anakin's presence, but was met only with the coldness of the night, of the galaxy that held nothing for him.

It was a vacuum, after all. In the greater scheme of things, it held nothing. No words, no sound, no movement.

Do you cry yourself to sleep?

Is it peace you seek at night when your body's weak?

Did I leave with the scars of a war-torn, ravaged heart?

Do you cry yourself to sleep?

-BT "Force of Gravity"

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