So, the 4 episode arc is concluded, a bit confusingly, I thought. I may have fun with it when I get to that point and I'll go more into the Obi-Wan - Anakin dynamic than the episode did - after all that WAS the meats and potatoes of the arc, sadly diminished in the actual episodes.

Although this chapter is just the beginning of the action to come, it'll still be character-based rather than action-based.

And a big THANKS to all your reviews - it's helping the muse come out of hiding, just a bit. Maybe I haven't totally lost my touch after all.

Chapter 4.

One can survive everything nowadays, except death, and live down anything, except a good reputation. ~~ Oscar Wilde

Into a seedy bar in the dingy underskirts of Coruscant strode Rako Hardeen, full of self congratulation and expectant of a big payout. Jedi weren't easy to kill, even in ambush or from a distance. The murder of Obi-Wan Kenobi was a bounty that would spread his reputation far and wide, give him the bargaining power to raise his rates, to indulge in a better class of alcohol and feminine companionship.

His helmet under his arm, he gazed around, wary of danger before settling himself at the bar. He was not surprised to see a woman a stool or two away eye him appreciatively before leaning over to get a better look. He was a well built man, if not particularly tall; his body promised and delivered strength and endurance. After his business was concluded, he might well let her discover just what Rako Hardeen could deliver, well, that is, if he didn't find someone a bit more classy.

Classy, yeah, that was it. He wasn't fussy about companionship, a female was pretty much a female under the sheets, but classy would be nice, a great way to celebrate his elevation in the bounty hunter rankings. Rako Hardeen had scored a Jedi and he was a real somebody now.

The Anacondan bartender uncoiled its upper body and lowered its head to a polite distance to ask his choice of drink.

"A shot of your finest."

He swiveled to the room, oh, how he would enjoy this moment. With a sweep of his arm he announced, "I'm celebratin'. The death of a Jedi…," he paused, to savor the news, "I killed Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Oohs and aahs of appreciation and delight spread throughout the room. Down on this level, Jedi were the scum; meddlesome busybodies trying to convert dishonest business to honest and interfering with the dictates of evolution by protecting the weak from the strong. Government fops, bullies and thugs in their own way, relying on hocus pocus and magic rather than hard work and skill. Strip a Jedi of his Force and he wouldn't last long down here.

Hardeen had become an instant hero and he intended to make the most of it.

He tipped his drink to the crowd, downed it in one gulp and ordered another as the patrons lifted their glasses in salute.

This indeed was going to be just the start of his celebration.

Anakin finally roused from where he was sunk deep within himself. The room was empty, now. Obi-Wan was gone and so too were his mourners.

Gone. His lips trembled and his hands shook as it finally, irrevocably hit him. Obi-Wan was dead – gone – and he had been brooding instead of grieving, thinking of his pain rather than mourning his best friend.

He reached out a hand, his flesh hand and laid it over the crypt. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," he whispered, the words raspy coming from a throat dry from lack of use. "It's not all me, not all wishing to avenge you. It's not about me, truly, but it's the only way to deal with the pain of losing you. I miss you, so much. I – I loved you and I never told you, did I? Jedi don't speak those words, but it is true and I think you knew it. I knew you loved me, so you must have known I loved you. You did, didn't you?"

"Oh, Ani, I'm sure he knew; I knew." His wife knelt beside him in the shadows as her hand reached out to take his.

"Padmé!" His heart leaped; he was not alone, never alone with Padmé at his side.

"Shhh. We're alone now. It's safe to cry now, Ani; I'm here to hold you."

And the wife wrapped her arms around her husband as Anakin fell into her embrace, finally letting go some of the choked up pain. But where pain had been, anger and fury crept in to fill the hole that grief and pain left behind.

Summoned to meet his employer in a back room, Rako threw down some credits with a "Drinks for the house," and with a roar of approval propelling him down the dark hallway, pushed open a door and stepped into shadows.

His mysterious employer spoke from the darkness. "Well done, Mr. Hardeen. You have done precisely the job we hired you for. We have your credits right here," a hand gestured to his credits, "but first, one more thing…" his employer stood and take a few steps forward, out of the shadows. "…your clothes."

"What the –" Hardeen took an involuntary step back as another Rako Hardeen stood before him, hand extended in a soft request that was anything but: it was a demand cloaked in the velvet of a soft and cultured voice. Alarms flared within Rako. That voice…he knew that voice and it wasn't the voice of the man who had hired him. It was the voice, he swore it was, of the man he had murdered. Dressed like a Jedi, looking like Rako himself, wanting the clothes off his back - and the pieces clicked. This was the man he had killed. A stinking Jedi. He backpedaled, thinking furiously until a hand slapped onto his shoulder and pinned him in place.

Another stinking Jedi.

There was nothing to do but comply with two stinking Jedi in the room. Rako stripped off his outer clothing sullenly before his hands were bound and it was strongly "suggested" he sit or be sat down.

"This is stupid, confessing to a murder I didn't even do," Rako spat to the bald Jedi interrogating him.

"Oh, but you did. For all intents and purposes, Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead and that certainly was your intention." The supposedly dead Jedi walked forward into the light, adjusting Rako's clothing with a combination of fastidious distaste and begrudging approval. "Do we have enough recording?"

The bald Jedi nodded and produced an object the size of a teazle ball, a vocal emulator. Rako knew enough about droid construction to recognize the object but he had never heard of one being used on sentient life forms. Was the Jedi supposed to wear it or eat it – surely the Jedi didn't stoop to field surgery to implant something like this, at least in a dingy dive like this.

"I believe so," he tossed the object to the other Jedi, who stared at it for a moment with what might have been a flicker of fear, or doubt or just plain old foreboding.

"How do I…?"

That was the same question in Rako's mind.

"You swallow it," the big Jedi said with a hint of dry humor in his words as he turned to Rako and passed a hand before his eyes. "You can go to sleep now."

He heard, as if from a distance, a softly voiced, "oh, dear."

For a moment Rako almost felt sorry for the Jedi.

A few hours with Padmé had soothed Anakin's jangled nerves. He had cried, stomped, and paced away much of his pain, but much still lingered beneath his skin and within his heart. It joined the pain from losing his mother, an itch that couldn't be scratched, a demand that those who so callously took life should pay the price.

Blood calls to blood. Obi-Wan would argue differently, than hate was best conquered with forgiveness, darkness overcome with light, injustice with justice.

But Obi-Wan had never loved enough to hate deeply; he had never known the thrumming call in his veins. He had touched – and recoiled – from the dark on Naboo; one moment in which only Qui-Gon had mattered and no Jedi code of conduct; where being a man had overtaken his being a Jedi.

Anakin knew both hate and love far more intimately. He had not recoiled from the dark on Tatooine, but embraced it; it was a part of him now, even if not a part he was proud of. Those who steal life should have life stolen from them in return. Palpatine had not exactly said that to him, but the very fact that he understood Anakin's actions that date and did not condemn them had in some way said that very thing. Where there was no justice, it was up to each to seek his own.

Obi-Wan's murderer could not be allowed to go free, to boast and celebrate his deed. Already word on the street said he was partying and drinking hard, probably how Yoda had discovered Hardeen's whereabouts. It was only right and only just that Yoda give the duty of arresting the scumbag to Obi-Wan's padawan. Now, with Ahsoka flying beside him, Anakin was going to find that bounty hunter and fling him into prison so fast and hard that with luck he might rebound off the walls and crack his head open.

He smiled grimly at the mental picture. He wasn't going to lay a hand on the man unless forced to, but dear Force, let Hardeen pull a weapon on him and he would do what he must. If the Force was merciful, it would nudge Hardeen into resistance and allow Anakin to thrust him into oblivion.

Ahsoka at his side, he strode into the bar, ignited his lightsaber and growled, "Hardeen?" The room was silent, but no one raised any objection. They weren't intimidated, they were drunk. Anakin was almost disappointed; a good fight would have worked out some of his pent up feelings before confronting Hardeen.

"Back room," the bartender hissed, its tongue slipping in and out.

With solid thwack to the entry panel, Anakin stood framed in the doorway ready for anything but the quiet that awaited. The Force hummed in disquiet but was strangely devoid of actual warning. Hardeen lay on his side, oblivious to the two Jedi who had so unceremoniously entered the room. Peering over his shoulder, Ahsoka asked, "Is he dead?"

"He will be," Anakin snarled. In two long strides, he reached the man's side and grasped a shoulder to roll Hardeen onto his back.

"Eh, a Jedi?" the man slurred, barely cranking open an eye. He rolled back, his eyes closing. "Already killed a Jedi today, lemme sleep."

"He's not dead, he's drunk," Anakin shot over his shoulder to Ahsoka, disgust coloring his words. Turning back to Hardeen, he yanked hard, "Get up, you filth." Slamming Hardeen against the wall, hard, he growled, "If it was up to me, I'd kill you right here."

Only Anakin's hands kept the bounty hunter on his feet, his head lolling from side to side. Stinking drunken murderer… he was so drunk he merely blinked, bleary-eyed. Anakin gritted his teeth. He wasn't losing control; he wasn't. He would not unless provoked, not in front of his padawan. He could feel Ahsoka's eyes on him; could almost see her blink and wonder if she should step forward and intervene. Because Ahsoka was there, because Obi-Wan was there as well if merely through his teachings, he merely snarled, "Lucky for you the man you murdered would rather see you rot in jail."

"Now let's go, you coward, before I change my mind."