Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The character of Ryn Orun belongs to DestructiveGlory; I am simply borrowing her for the purposes of this story.


(11)

falling apart

The last time Ferus had come to this bar, he'd been getting drunk for the first time in his life. The memory of it was admittedly hazy, but he remembered the highlight of it: throwing up on Anakin Skywalker's boots.

Since that night, he didn't go back, and the only reason he was here now was because of orders.

"Master Olin," Windu had said sternly with his trademark frown. "The Council is… concerned for Master Skywalker, and it appears he is no longer in the Temple. Would you be able to track him down and make sure he's… all right?"

The words were clearly an effort for Windu to say, what with his less-than-smooth-sailing history with Skywalker, but even Windu wasn't callous about everything that had happened to Anakin over the past month. Ferus sighed and made his way through the bar over to where he could feel Anakin's powerful but tumultuous Force signature swirling in a haziness and grief.

He didn't approach immediately. Anakin was sitting at the counter, nursing what looked like the empty glass of his sixth or seven drink, with a dark frown on his forehead. He made some incoherent gesture at the bartender.

"Another?" the bartender asked, clearly not sure how to take Anakin's ambiguous grunt.

"Mmph."

He filled another glass but didn't hand it to Anakin. "You're not planning on driving home yourself, are you?"

"What's it to you?" Anakin asked testily.

"I can't let you have another drink if you are."

Anakin lifted up his hand and waved his fingers around with an impressive lack of coordination. "You will give me another drink."

The attempt would have made a Youngling laugh – in fact, Ferus would have laughed, had he not known the circumstances. There was no Force behind the demand and even less subtlety. The bartender gave him a dubious look. "Who do you think you are, some kind of Jedi?"

"'Course I'm a bloody Jedi, you –"

"It's okay," Ferus interrupted before Anakin could get himself forcibly thrown out of the bar. "I'm giving him a lift back."

The bartender directed his dubious look at Ferus now, assessing him suspiciously before surrendering custody of Anakin's drink. Anakin grabbed it and turned his head to the left to glare at Ferus.

"What do you want?"

Ferus raised an eyebrow. "You sound surprisingly articulate for someone who's just had seven drinks."

"It's a talent of mine," Anakin spat bitterly, glaring at the drink as though its sheer existence insulted him. "I'm talented. I've always been talented. 'Cause I'm the fucking Chosen One, aren't I? 'Cause I'm the fucking Chancellor killer. Palpatine wasn't enough for the body count. And those assholes –" he raised his voice, looking around accusingly at the dreary company in the bar, "– think I'm a hero."

Thankfully, no-one was sober enough or cared enough to react. "Um."

Anakin looked back at him, noticing him again. "Oh. You." He blinked. "You didn't answer my question, y'know. What do you want?"

"Making sure you're okay."

"Do I look fucking okay to you, Olin? Fuck!" He drained nearly half his glass in one gulp. With his flesh hand, he rubbed his chest, brow buried in a frown. "I'm fine. Just spiffing."

"I trust you'll forgive me if I don't believe that…" Ferus said, watching Anakin drink some more. Then he bit his lip and hesitated before reaching out to touch his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

And he was. Barely four weeks after Kenobi's death, he'd been hit by news that spread around the Temple like a wild fire… It didn't seem fair.

"You're sorry?" Anakin repeated. "Yeah. Thanks. I guess. " He clutched his drink, face tensing with the unmistakeable look of someone about to cry. "That was the last thing he said to me, you know," he said softly. "That he was sorry. I – I thought he was apologising for – you know. The last few years. Things haven't been good. And he was, at first. But he just kept on saying he was sorry, and he was crying, and he was trying to tell me something about his office but I didn't know what he meant. Couldn't understand him. It's hard to talk when a lightsaber's gone through your gut, I guess."

Thankfully – or perhaps worryingly – Anakin didn't burst into tears like Ferus had expected him to. Instead, Anakin rubbed his chest again, and took another sip of the drink, tension in his face easing ever so slightly. "Probably shouldn't be drinking," Anakin said. "Healers said it might make it worse."

Ferus tentatively reached for the drink. "Then maybe you should –"

"Don't touch it," Anakin snarled, rounding on the beverage like a territorial kath hound, and Ferus snatched his hand back.

"Okay, okay…" He conceded, and slowly moved to sit in the chair next to Anakin. "Do you… know what will happen?"

"How I'll die, you mean?" Anakin said tactlessly. "Yeah, Healers told me all about it. Slow degeneration. Coughing up blood, losing control in the nerve endings, fever. Joint pain. Numbness in the limbs, before the end. It'll be like having a really long, really bad cold. With more pain." He paused, then thoughtfully added, "And certain death at the end."

There was an awkward pause. Ferus knew he should say something, but… just didn't know whatto say.

Anakin saved him by talking again. "I'm not afraid," he mused, talking more to himself now than he was to Ferus. "It's funny – I guess I've never given too much thought for my own death before. I always figured I'd either go down during the war, maybe protecting someone I loved… a good way to die. When the war ended, there just wasn't… reasonto think about ways I might die. I just figured, when it happened, it'd be my time."

"And now?"

"Now?" Anakin snorted and swirled the liquid around in his glass. "I told you. M'not afraid. Not for myself. It's – I –"

He broke off and the look came onto his face again, and this time Ferus knew he wouldn't be able to hold back tears. "Skywalker?" he said, leaning forward.

Anakin choked and covered his eyes with a badly shaking hand. "I don't – it's just –" Anakin spluttered. Ferus watched his mechanical hand, usually so stable and elegant in a way no human hand could be, tremble, making the contents of the glass slosh around. "H-how am I going to tell her? She'll hate him, she already hates him, and I don't want her to because I don't b-blame him. How can I look Padmé in the eye and tell her that I'm – I'm –"

He dropped his head to the filthy counter, and started to weep. Hitching sobs that made his shoulders jerk and gasps of breath that made Ferus stand there in shock. Not knowing what else to do, he stood up and grasped Anakin's shoulders in a useless attempt at comfort.

How can I look Padmé in the eye and tell her that I'm – I'm –

Tell her that I am going to die.

He swallowed a painful lump in his throat, rubbing Anakin's back. It wasn't like they were close friends, or could be considered 'friends' at all, but he felt like there was something of an obscure connection between them. Because of Kenobi. Not that Anakin knew about… that. And hopefully never would.

Ferus sighed. Damn you, Obi-Wan…

He wouldn't say that out loud. The last person who said it near Anakin, only last week, was inches away from being landed in the Healer's Ward permanently. "Hey," he muttered when Anakin's sobs subsided. "Remember the last time we were here?"

"Yeah," Anakin sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. "You threw up on my boots."

Ferus stiffened. "Don't you dare do the same, Skywalker."

Anakin scowled through the haze of his inebriation. "Your boots aren't good enough for my vomit," he snarked, but the effect was lost when he swayed violently to the side and spilt half of his drink on the counter.

"…Now I'm not sure whether to be happy or insulted," Ferus said, raising an eyebrow and gently prying the glass from Anakin's hand and leaving it on the counter. Typical of Skywalker. "Come on. Let's get you out of here." Anakin nodded compliantly and let Ferus wrap his arm around his shoulders so he could lean on him. "Is your wife expecting you home tonight?"

Anakin shook his head uncoordinatedly, knocking it painfully into Ferus's shoulder. "No," he mumbled. "I… lied to her, earlier. Told her I was needed at the Temple. Still need to figure out… how to tell her… Doesn't know… and oh Force, Luke and Leia, they're only ten… what am I going to say to them?"

As Ferus helped him into the speeder, he started crying again. It wasn't a painful sobbing like before – this was far worse. He sat there in the passenger seat with silent tears streaming down his cheeks, occasionally taking a shuddering breath, and trembling. It was utterly heartbreaking to see, so Ferus kept his eyes on the traffic so he didn't have to watch. It seemed to take forever to reach the Temple, but when he did he somehow managed to half-drag Anakin through to his quarters and made him sit on the spare bed once inside.

Ryn wasn't here, in a coincidence of good timing – even though she had a job teaching down at the University and was now his wife, she still visited Loreth when she could. Ferus was glad she'd chosen this week to go, not, amazingly, because he had Anakin Skywalker in the house, but because it meant he didn't have to talk about it tonight.

Selfish bastard, you're not the one who's dying…

He took another look at Anakin's grief-stricken face, silent tears still dripping down his face. "Hey, look, don't worry about it tonight," Ferus said softly, pulling Anakin's boots off like the grown man was a child. "Okay? You can't do anything about it now. Why don't you just get some rest, and you can deal with it tomorrow."

Anakin nodded tiredly and fell back, head hitting the pillow. "Y'know… you're… not so bad, Olin. For an ass."

Ferus blinked, placing the boots neatly over to the side. "Oh. Uh, good to hear, Skywalker. Good to hear."

"You're supposed to say 'thank you'. S'a compliment."

Ferus quirked an amused eyebrow. "In that case, thank you, but I must say your complimentary skills leave a lot to be desired."

"Your face leaves a lot to be desired," Anakin mumbled.

"Mature."

"S'not too bad, I s'pose," Anakin slurred when Ferus dropped a blanket over his body. "Ten years. More, if m'lucky."

"Goodnight, Skywalker. You'll feel terrible tomorrow morning," he said softly, and switched off the lights. "Just letting you know."

As he walked out, he heard Anakin murmur before he fell asleep, "…I'll still be able to see my kids… grow up…"