So there they sat, awaiting the inevitable entrance of the Jedi on the loose. Petrified yet eager, Satine waited. Nevertheless, she knew that even if her friend lived, he would not be able to rescue her or himself. Almost the entire guard was on alert and in the courtroom with her.

The terrible trio of Maul, Savage, and Drack scrunched in next to her. The possibility of escape had never been lower. She very much doubted that even a Master like Yoda could spring her from the Sith's grasp. At this point it would take an army, right?

The ember of hope that had sparked within began to ebb into despair as the minutes passed. Maul remained tense, coiled on the edge. His hand would switch back and forth between her neck and his lightsaber. She could see him forming plans, judging, assessing as the cogs churned in his mind. If the Jedi came in through the doors, or maybe through the roof, how would he respond?

His sensible side rationalized that Obi-wan would be the most foolish man in existence if he waltzed right in. But that would be exactly what he would do, wouldn't it? Obviously, Kenobi would have a second phase, maybe he had contacted his worthless Padawan, but the odds were still stacked against him.

Allowing himself a smile, Maul fantasized about having not one but two Jedi imprisoned. If the boy did come to his Master's rescue, there would be no escape for either of them.

Another piece to add to my collection, he mused.

Quickly, his eyes shifted to the Duchess and then back to the door.

The Padawan will not be as fun to break.

Indeed, it would take a concerted effort to snap the boy. Perhaps there would be no point in trying.

He gave a subtle shrug.

Then I'll just have to kill him.

A thought struck him. His smirk became a wolf grin.

No, I'll kill Kenobi! Right before the boy's eyes. Like Master like Padawan…

From Satine's memories he recalled the change in Obi-wan after his precious Qui-Gon was slain. The sickening bright glimmer on Obi's face faded into a stone-cold seriousness. His arrogant posture sunk with an unseen burden. His sky-blue eyes dimmed into a stormy navy, swirling ink. The only other time when the boy regained his youthful sparkle was around…

He took another gander at the Duchess.

Yes, and now he had taken even that away. Happily, he played with the thought of being defeated. Even if the Jedi stood proudly over his corpse, there was never going to be a happy ending. Every time Kenobi looked at his beloved, he would see Sith.

The marks on her face were holding well, they looked just like he wanted them to—black lightning strikes that tore across her pale, soft features.

Reluctantly, he snapped his gaze away from the slumped, scarred woman. He had to remain on the alert.

But, there was no defeating him now. He had made it an ironclad impossibility. There was no point in contemplating about impracticalities now.

He skewered the chamber doors with his demonic stare.

Luckily, he had managed to slip in and out of notice before the influx of guards. Moments after scrambling back into the vent that led to the gardens, a horde of Death Watch stomped into the area. The signal had been weak, but he was sure that Anakin or another Jedi at the temple would understand. They had to.

Now Obi-wan saw the intent of Maul, saw his desire to catch the elusive Jedi. The place was littered, swarming with sentries. There was no going back.

He could wait until tomorrow, could wait for the heat to cool, but that would only make his hiding place all the more obvious. The Sith probably already knew how Kenobi had managed to avoid the guards, but he was waiting for Obi-wan to make the first move.

There was no doubt in the Jedi's mind—this was a move he had to make.

If he waited a few days, he would certainly be found, caught, and killed. If he struck, however weakly, he at least had an element of surprise. Nonetheless, it was imperative that Anakin, or anyone, came. He was the first to admit that he needed serious help.

So, as he pondered over how long it would take Anakin to plan, slip the Council's notice, and fly his way to Mandalore, Obi settled for reconnaissance. Like a skulking cat, he noiselessly crawled above the frantic Death Watch heads, searching the Force subtly.

The noise below him grew quiet, but there was electricity pumping in the air. Peeking out through a grill, he noted that he was close to the throne room. It was just down the hall and around the corner from where he hid. Soldiers were nowhere to be seen.

The sand-colored, muddied marble glimmered faintly in the quiet. It looked like Amidala's palace during the Trade Federation invasion after it had been evacuated—opulent, but eerily silent, the calm before a hurricane.

He nodded sagely. The time had come. It did not matter if it was ripe or not, it was becoming the sovereign will of the Force. There was no escaping, only submission.

The dread that had been festering in his chest since first coming here began to ease. The choice had been made; the course of history was set.

He only had to pull the trigger.

A resigned part of him wanted to face his demon right now. He could see himself plopping out of the ceiling, walking calmly into the belly of the beast, a thousand targets centered on his head. He would see Satine again.

"Satine…" he whispered in a sigh, and leaned against the metal, closing his eyes.

The hazy image of the farm and the children bubbled in his head. The more he gave into the dream, the more he desperately wanted it. More than anything he had wanted in his existence, he wanted to be with her, wanted to see her smile again.

He wanted to leave the Order. He wanted to start a family, far away from the war. He wanted to forget this nightmare ever happened. He wanted to sleep soundly at night. He wanted to put Qui-Gon to rest, and begin a new life with the woman he loved.

But he also wanted to be a Jedi. He did not want to abandon Anakin. Which meant that he could never have the one thing he truly desired with heart, soul, and mind—Satine.

With poignant sorrow, the dream began to wilt. The sun that shimmered upon her golden, corn silk hair dimmed; the children, the fields, the house, the smell of grass and unpolluted air vanished; and all that remained was her tender countenance that beamed down on him like spring daylight, until that, too, faded into black.

It was replaced by the machine that had repaired his heart after he lost Qui-Gon. He let the cold steel of a soldier's soul snuff out his humanity, until there was only one purpose, one resolve.

His eyes darkened into midnight.

As they did, his senses sharpened and he noted a subtle tremor in the Force. A flickering candle, he perceived that it was slowly burning its way toward him. He recognized the sensation, but he did not react or smile or breathe a sigh of relief.

Anakin.