Notes: For now, this is finished. I'm thinking about continuing it, but for the moment, it's done. :)
Faking Fine
Anakin Skywalker peered blindly across the vast cityscape outside his window. Wrapping his blanket around himself, he moved closer and pressed his forehead against the cool glass. Closing his eyes, Anakin struggled to center himself, struggled to simply breathe.
There was something sitting on his chest, making his movements sluggish and awkward, making it difficult to move at all, in fact. When he turned away from the window, the crushing sensation worsened, leaving him gasping for air, tears prickling the corners of his eyes.
He'd been feeling like this since Geonosis. Or maybe he'd always felt like this and just had never noticed before. The war had begun, and Anakin felt drained and defeated, even during his victories. The most joyous moments of his life had occurred since the first battle of the Clone Wars – his wedding, his Knighting – and throughout both of them, he had been a million light-years away, watching events unfold as though they were happening to someone else.
Even now, at this moment, he felt disconnected. An observer of his own life. Had it always been like this? He'd been told time and time again to live in the moment, to experience the now. He thought that, perhaps, he had once been able to do that. Pod-racing, flying, fighting… that was living in the moment, wasn't it? Even as he did though things, though, it seemed like the Force was showing him something else, rather than what truly was.
The blankets settled around his shoulders, and he caught a glimpse of his right arm, glinting in the artificial light of Coruscant's night-cycle. A sigh ripped itself from his mouth and he lowered himself to the floor, cocooning himself in the blankets, trying to disappear into the bland beige carpeting.
Foolishly, he wished Obi-Wan would wake up, would realize that something was wrong, terribly wrong, and come see him. He projected his misery towards Obi-Wan, unwilling and unable to get up and fetch his former Master for himself.
It was as though the Force itself had entered his body and disabled him entirely. Anakin sat in a crumpled heap on the floor, reminding himself that he had to keep breathing. Even that simple task seemed impossibly difficult, and he thought, fleetingly, that it would just be much easier to let… everything… stop.
Being powerless stung, and the realization that he was completely and utterly so made Anakin let out a shuddery breath. He cried out in the Force, and waited.
And waited.
Night turned to dawn, and still Anakin sat and waited.
When he finally heard Obi-Wan rustling around on the other side of the door, Anakin was able to find the strength to pull himself to his feet. Slowly and painstakingly, he got ready for the day, already feeling tired from the simple effort it took to pretend to feel normal.
"How did you sleep?" Obi-Wan asked, handing him a steaming mug of tea.
Anakin blinked slowly and tried to melt into his cloak. "Fine."
With resignation, Anakin realized that this was the best he could ask for.
Faking fine for the sake of the galaxy.
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