Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Feedback: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

Notes: ROTS AU.

random: Oh, I know. Blame school. Sorry. I actually had the last part ready to go last night, but I was really tired and just decided to upload it today.

Corni378: Fight scenes are, I find, some of the hardest to write, but they often come out the best since they're amped with emotion. I'm glad you liked it. :) Haha, I am in a college writing class this semester. However, when I wrote this story (and everything else except the really current one-shots) I was not. Writing is just sort of something that I became passable at by doing it a lot, by getting feedback on sites like this and livejournal, and by just looking at what good authors did and trying to emulate their best points while mixing it with my own style. I never really had instruction.

mtfrosty: Aww, well I don't want to make you cry! (Or, maybe I do, since that means the story is getting a reaction… but, still, I'm glad you're laughing after!) And, yes, this story will have to end eventually. Not quite yet, though.

Dannielle: If you want to reach me, just send me a Private Message. Thanks for reading.

Liah Cauthon: Ahaha! That's a perfect way to describe it! :) Love it!

IBG: Personally, if I were Padme, I wouldn't want to see Anakin's command tactics up close. The poor woman would probably have a heart-attack. With Dooku, it really does all come down to arrogance. He severely underestimated Anakin because he disliked him. And about Anakin's isolation? I agree 100%! I'm of the opinion that, if he hadn't been a moron and had instead done as Padme suggested and talked to Obi-Wan, it would have been a lot harder for Palpatine to twist his mind. Even if he'd told Padme what he was planning to do—that might have helped as well.

Booknerd101: Haha, yes, Anakin can rock things when he gets control long enough to do so.

charliebrown1234: Yes, Obi-Wan tears himself apart in a way no one else can really do. Physical torture might be easier.

Star the Foxhound: Thanks! And, yes, Anakin is learning what the dark side does, isn't he?

onesmartgoalie: Mmm, Anakin definitely has benefited, hasn't he? Actually, in a lot of ways Dooku has benefited also.

yellow 14: That's the fun of an AU! So much can be changed.

pronker: I think the fact that he's actually considering emotional motivations shows that he's grown. And I was rather pleased with the bit about Typho as well. I always have fun playing with characters who don't usually get too much attention.

MobiObi: Aww, thanks! And you basically perfectly described everything I was trying to do with this chapter.

Mirror and Image: Haha, Qui-Gon also believed that Anakin was in no way dangerous… But, yes, Anakin would probably find a way to kill Obi-Wan if he died. I have no idea how that's possible, but he'd do it. And, yes, there will be an Anakin/Dooku talk—and you're right, he is Obi-Wan's student.

whimperling: :)

random: Nah, he's not going to die.

AndrossKenobi: I find it so interesting how, in an AU, so much can change.

Torli: Yes, Anakin has changed. For better, hopefully. As for Obi-Wan, I can't tell you that—it would ruin the story. But I'll suffice to say that he's having some trouble… and is going to keep having trouble.

Random Under the Sun: Bishop Bousset is a very important topic. ;) And the clip? Hahaha, oh yes.

So, I think I have fixed the "Things Get Damaged" video. It now has sound. Thanks for being patient.

Also, I've got another vid up: it's to "Secrets" by One Republic and is an Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Padme vid.

It takes Obi-Wan a two weeks to realize with certainty that Dooku isn't on planet… whatever "on planet" means. Frankly, he has not even the faintest notion of where he is, nor does he know what has happened in the world beyond the confines of his room. Last he knew, some sort of offensive had been launched, presumably by Anakin.

And that is all.

Now, he is here alone, and has been for two weeks.

Obi-Wan isn't a particularly social man. He is an introvert by nature, and he enjoys his time alone… but not now. Not like this. Here, all he can consider are his failures, most prominently his recent brush with the dark side. It was like this when Qui-Gon first died, when all he could think about was what he could have done differently. But then there had been Anakin, and meals to make, and clothes to buy, lessons to plan, and training to attend to. Anakin had taken up so much of his time, and he'd found that when he was throwing himself into what someone else needed, he didn't have to think so much about what he was feeling.

For the first time, he has lost the diversion provided by the needs of others, and all that is left to focus on is himself.

Himself. Sometimes, he wonders. He has been told he is a great Jedi, a trustworthy man, and… and what? Everything others praise him for, he cannot seem to truly bring himself to believe to be a solid attribute of his own character. He knows his thoughts—the things that linger behind the actions others see and praise—and he knows all too well how often he feels drawn to following those thoughts rather than the actions he knows to be right. Would people still consider him the same person if they knew his mind and how often he wavers in things he seems to believe wholeheartedly? And is it the thoughts or the actions that matter? For so long, he has been the man he needs to be because there have been people depending on him. But here, there is no one. There is only himself. And what is he now that no one is guiding him or looking to him to be an example?

Two weeks after being left here alone, he still can't find an answer. Not really… but, maybe. He—the things that he clings to when no one is forcing him to—that is, perhaps, what makes him. Not necessarily the things that haunt him, but the things that he wants to remember and believe.

He is not a man who breaks. He is not. Not even though he wants to. Every blasted time that he closes his eyes and sees Utapau all over again—when all he can think of is how he almost slipped into the darkness—he wants to let himself believe that is who he is. No expectations, no failures. If he doesn't expect to be anything better, he doesn't have to feel guilty for failing.

But that would be cowardice… and that is not who he wants to be. There is no one here to expect him to be anything else, but he finds that, oddly, that isn't what is really most important.

He is what he believes in, and even if he doubts sometimes, those beliefs translate into actions. He is a Jedi because he believes their codes to be something worth living by. He is loyal to the Republic because he believes in their cause. He refuses the dark because he sees where it will lead him, and he knows it is a path that brings destruction, both to himself and to others. He believes in those things, and for that, he will not give them up, no matter how much easier it might seem to simply let himself stop trying to live up to the standards those things bring. Again, no expectations, no disappointment. That, he thinks, is what makes the dark side most seductive. You aren't held by any standards. Whatever gets you what you want—that is what is acceptable. It's quicker. Easier. Less arduous. It promises no guilt.

And it will destroy you, because by not trying to be anything, you will become nothing. You may evolve into the greatest, most powerful person in the galaxy, and still be nothing. Nothing but darkness. There will be no one with you, because the dark side holds no morals. You would kill a friend without a second thought, because that is what is easiest. And there is no guilt in it, because there was never anything to tell you it was wrong at all. No loyalty. No love. Nothing but yourself and the freedom from expectation that any sort of moral code restrains you with. How lonely. How useless.

And for Obi-Wan, that freedom cannot be worth the price he will pay. He wants the scenes to stop replaying in his head. The slaughter during the war. Qui-Gon's death. Utapau. Every single mistake he has ever made. To think that those mistakes would no longer be mistakes—it's so, so enticing.

But to take that freedom in darkness would be to lose everything that makes him want freedom in the first place. He killed on Utapau because he loved Anakin. He regrets Qui-Gon's death because he loved his master. He regrets the mistakes he made as a Jedi because he willingly serves the light of the Force and takes joy in what he finds there. To no longer regret the failures in his life would mean, most importantly, scorning the light and the joy it brings… and it would mean forgetting his motive for killing the first place. He cannot love if he embraces the darkness, because love, by its very definition, is light.

He might save those he loves by going to the darkness, but he will no longer love them if he does, and he will betray the light of the Force that he loves above all. By saving what he loves, he will lose it all anyway, lose himself, lose everything.

He will be nothing.

And, yet, still the darkness pulls at him.

He pushes it away and rejects it, but it is there, lurking, licking at the corners of his mind in the memories, and too many times in the last week, he has found himself bent over the toilet, vomiting, as he sees glazed eyes and slaughtered corpses on the dry, arid ground, glowing in the blue glow of his saber, and the smell of death, and—

And he wakes up, propped against the wall of the refresher, chest heaving, and stomach rolling. This time, there's nothing to throw up, but he heaves anyway, falling forward to clutch the toilet as tears roll down his face. He is not dark. He is not, but it would be so easy to be. Just to get rid of those memories. All of them.

But he is not a weak man. He will remember that, will repeat it to himself as many times as he has to. He will not select what is easy simply to alleviate his own personal suffering, which was brought on from straying into the darkness to begin with. He will not give in, though it hurts not to.

He will not give in.

The sound of a plate sliding through the slot in the door catches his attention and provides a welcome break for his mind. It's also a reminder that, someone, at least, is still here. They never open the door—not surprising, considering that to do so might allow Obi-Wan to employ the use of some well-placed Force manipulation—but it proves that there's at least someone on planet with him. It could even be a droid for all he knows, but that is still relevant.

It means someone is watching him.

If someone is watching him, that means they won't allow him to die.

It's not that he fears dying. Not at all, really. It might even be a welcome escape from the memories that haunt him. Sleep is a near impossibility, and meditation is difficult, because in order to release something to the Force, he has to face that something, and…

No, death would certainly not be the worst that could happen to him.

That doesn't mean he seeks it.

He has never learned to give up, and so much comes back to that, doesn't it? More importantly, if Anakin is going to be foolish enough to attempt to rescue him—and he will, because he always does—Obi-Wan does not intend to be so cruel as to let his padawan find nothing more than a dead body. Not if he can help it.

Of course, he's altogether rather tired of his padawan having to rescue him at all.

He is a Jedi Master in his own right, and to suffer the indignity of having to be saved by the boy he trained is more than slightly irritating. He can look after himself—and did so for long enough to successfully get Anakin through to adulthood. It's hardly good for Anakin to get the idea that Obi-Wan needs to be saved, and he does have to admit that he hates that satisfied smirk Anakin always gives him after another rescue (almost as much as he enjoys the sour scowl he gets when he rescues Anakin).

No, he'd much rather rescue himself.

Which is why it's so important to know that there is another presence in this place—a presence that is continually feeding him, indicating it has orders to make sure he lives.

Wiping a hand roughly across his mouth, Obi-Wan pushes himself to his feet and trudges over to where the tray of food sits. As always, it's a quality meal. Nothing but the best for Dooku's prisoners… or at least the ones that he's oddly fond of. Such a lovely reminder of how the dark side twists affection. If he fell to the dark side, would he ever treat Anakin's child like this? Be willing to kill him if it came to that—and he has no delusions that Dooku would pick his own life over Obi-Wan's—but have enough warped, residual affection for Anakin that he would prefer not to? It's… not a pleasant thought.

Forcefully smashing down those notions, Obi-Wan carefully picks up the food and carries it over to the table, where he sits down and begins to pick at it.

Again, food indicates they don't want him to die. Dooku is an intelligent man: surely he must have planned for any contingency involving Obi-Wan's demise… including the outside chance that Obi-Wan would decide he wouldn't want to live. In planning for that possibility, however, Obi-Wan would almost guarantee that he factored in staged suicide attempts. Attempting to hang himself with his bed sheets in hopes of getting someone to come in and stop him—thus creating the prospect of an opportunity for escape—would more likely earn him a shot from a blaster on stun than anything else, and if that happened, he certainly wouldn't be going anywhere.

No, any sort of staged suicide would be far too obvious. It won't gain him anything. Something else—something more subtle—is called for. Something that will seem like an accident, one where shooting him would do more harm than good.

Too far lost in his thoughts, Obi-Wan neglects to bother with the menial task of chewing completely. Irritatingly, his line of thinking is thrown off when he swallows too large a bite and ends up coughing, sipping at water until his hacking subsides.

Stupid. That would certainly put an end to things rather quickly. Choking to death on his dinner. Charming.

Scowling, he spears another bite on his fork… and pauses.

Choking on dinner. A purely accidental happening. One which, in order to be rectified, requires the victim to cough. He won't cough if he's unconscious. Thus, they can't stun him. However, if the coughing isn't enough, he will require assistance. Again, it is assistance that is ideally given before the victim loses consciousness. Revival is possible once unconscious, but, again, more difficult. No, coughing and conscious are much more desirable.

Suddenly, dinner seems far more interesting.

Four hours and three minutes after Anakin left, he sails back into the hangar in a small ship that he stole from the First Galactic Empire. Though it's just gone through a war zone, its sides are smoothed and undamaged, free of blaster marks, indicating that he wasn't fired upon when he left Dooku's ship, which, of course, means no one ordered for him to be fired upon. Logical, considering that, according to the transmission Anakin sent through, there's no one left to give an order like that.

Dooku left no second in command and, frankly, Padme isn't surprised. He would never have appointed one—to do so would have meant entertaining the possibility that he might fail, and thus need someone to take his place. Now that he has failed, it's awfully convenient for them, considering there's no one left to command his troops, but it will mean that someone—possibly Mace Windu—who is on Coruscant now, will have to go to the Chancellor's office and work through whatever barriers Dooku erected to stop the clones from standing down on any order other than his own. Given that he himself utilized the lack of precautions regarding transfer of orders in order to secure his transition to power, he would have likely taken steps to bar someone from doing the same.

And Padme does have to admit, that was a huge oversight the first time around. The clones would, very literary, obey a direct order from anyone holding the position of Supreme Chancellor, which amounted to anyone who had all the security clearances of the Supreme Chancellor. Dooku, having successfully infiltrated the capital and removed all opposition, had been able to quite easily obtain the clearance information he'd needed, partially because Palpatine had given him bits of it, and partially because he'd had the time and clout to gather it. After all, people tend to be fairly forthcoming with information when faced with the business end of a lightsaber, and Dooku certainly had no qualms about using violence to obtain his goals.

Once Anakin's ship has landed, the ramp slides open with a soft hiss, slipping down to meet with the floor. The sight that follows… isn't entirely what Padme expected. Anakin had commed to tell them briefly—very briefly—what had happened, but when he had mentioned that he'd taken Dooku prisoner, he hadn't mentioned that he'd also managed to chop off his hands at some point in that process.

At least, that particular injury is what she assumes provided enough trauma to warrant Dooku's transportation in a medical capsule. Though, by now Anakin has probably sedated him as well. There is absolutely no reason to risk allowing him to wake before he has been properly secured, and her husband would know that, probably better than she would. He's no stranger to war.

Looking at him now, she'd never doubt that for a second. Though his eyes flick toward her quickly, confirming her presence, there is a solemnity to him that speaks of concentration and intentness. Clearly, his first concern remains with Dooku and with ensuring that he is being transferred to a secure location, one where he will be properly held. She watches him speak with Captain Typho, both of them occasionally nodding, and while she cannot hear what they're saying, she recognizes the intensity in their hand gestures and motions, and knows that, overall, they are in agreement.

She's proven right when, apparently satisfied, Anakin gives Typho one final nod before turning away, leaving Dooku under his supervision. Even then he can't seem to relax: he carries the stress heavily in his shoulders as he strides purposely forward toward her, tired and worn, but with a hint of a man who delights in no longer having to hide the fact that he's coming home to his wife.

"He owed me for mine," Anakin quips, flexing his mechanical hand when he sees how her eyes linger on Dooku. "And he cut it off twice, too, so I'd say we're even now."

Even? Oh, hardly. Dooku can't pay for the damage he's done that easily.

That thought must show on her face, because he laughs, a little darkly, more like he's trying to force humor than really feeling it, and nods. "Yeah, you're right. We'll try him, though. Bastard deserves to see how it feels to stand trial. And all of his crimes will be real."

Honestly, Padme wonders if Anakin realizes how bad a joke that is. Is it even a joke? She's a little too tired to tell if he's serious or not, and there is the possibility that he actually is.

Or not.

His mouth twists a little in a perfect display of repentance, and he lays his hands on her shoulders. No, he wasn't serious. He was only trying to make light of a very bad situation. "Look… all I'm trying to say is that we'll fix this. We will."

Of course. Just like that and… that cannot be how this ends. She—Force, she expects there to be some sort of fireworks, a celebration, something that would indicate that, though there's still a lot of work to do, they've managed to put themselves in a position to restore democracy. Shouldn't there be something more?

Anakin just laughs when she says that last sentence aloud and reaches out to pull her against him. She loves the way his chest rumbles when he laughs like that, and she lets the vibrations ripple through her, soothing her, as she buries her head in his shoulder and sighs.

"It doesn't always end with a lot of fanfare," he answers. "Sometimes, but not always. And sometimes the end isn't the end at all: there's always a lot of mopping up to do. Like now."

He sounds hopeful, though, and that's enough to take the pessimism out of his words. Mostly.

"Don't ever do something so foolish again," she mutters, snaking her arms around his back and holding on.

Against her, he stirs, his muscles tightening just enough to hint that he's not so pleased with what she's just said. Petulant would probably by an apt description, and if she looked, she suspects that she'd probably see a bit of a pout or a borderline scowl. "What? Like running off to an incredibly heavily guarded planet to deliver a message without telling your husband? Like that?"

"It was—"

"I was justified too!"

"I was going to say it was our only good option to get that message to Obi-Wan."

He pulls away then, leaning back and glancing over at the other people in the hangar. Other pilots, mainly, but some of Typho's men as well, and others who staff the hangar. They'll do their jobs well, but they're only human, and they can't resist sneaking a glance at the man of the hour, Anakin Skywalker. He's used to it, her husband. He's been a prominent figure in this war for a long time, but she can tell, just from looking at him, that this time isn't like any of the others.

"You don't know where he is, do you?" she asks.

No answer. Just a cold, hard silence, and a deep breath, like for the first time, he's noticing everyone who's staring at him. And that—that is her first sign that he is about to crumble. He likely isn't even conscious of it, but if he's noticing others, it's a sure sign that he wishes he wasn't around for them to notice, and the only reason she can think of for that is he wants to let himself down somewhere in private.

Gripping his arm and pulling him aside, she guides him toward the exit. Everyone's gazes follow them—she can feel them even if she doesn't meet any of them—but she still pulls him away. Later, he can been a solider. For now, he needs time to be just a human being. He is only human, despite how extraordinary he is, and he cannot escape the stress brought on from his worry for the only family, besides herself, that he has left.

"No," Anakin admits once they leave the hangar. "We didn't find him."

When the doors slide closed, hiding him from everyone who might think less of him for a perceived weakness, his shoulders immediately slope heavily, and he shakes his head, letting his hair fall messily down into his face. The weariness she sees in his gaze is like a curtain falling, and there's nothing gentle about it. "He's alive—Dooku said he was, but he moved him, and he won't say where."

"Ani… we'll find him."

Please, don't let that be a lie.

It could be. They might never find Obi-Wan, and while both of them know that, neither of them will rest believing it. Sometimes, hope is just the tenacity to keep believing, and Padme has found that often times that is more important than any set of odds or formal logic.

Anakin knows that too.

Nodding, he reaches out and catches the fabric of her jumpsuit. Or, at least, what he can catch. She hasn't changed since Coruscant, and she's still wearing the tight black monstrosity that is only really barely definable as clothing rather than a second skin. It makes him smile, though, and that's worth it, even if she knows he's using it to avoid his own worries.

"Nice outfit."

"It fits with where I was going."

"The clothing maybe. But not you. Please don't do something like that again."

If he'd said it like an order, she might have argued, protested that she can care for herself quite well, has been doing it long before he came along, in fact… but the way the words trip off his tongue, soft and a little desperate—she can't ignore that. She forgets sometimes, that as brave as her husband is, his fear is also one of his greatest weaknesses.

"I'm sorry," she says instead, leaning back into him and pulling him into her embrace. She's not entirely surprised when he presses his face into her neck, breathing hard, and he's not crying, but she knows he's close. "Ani, we'll get him back," she whispers, beginning to rock him gently, one hand going to his hair and stroking. Its soft to her touch, even with all the grime in it, and though he smells of metal and ship exhaust, there's something warm about him too.

"I know," he murmurs.

Maybe he does. Maybe he knows better than she does, but both of them are doubting, and right now, the only thing they can do is doubt—and believe—together. This, she supposes, is the side of marriage that isn't romantic and is the furthest thing from the fairytales little girls hear. But this is what makes it real, and she can't imagine not wanting to help her Ani in this time as much as any.

Getting married might have been a logically foolish decision, but right now most of all, she doesn't regret it.

Eventually, Anakin pulls back, one hand going to her stomach and stroking. His eyes are wet, but there are no tears falling. He just… looks so tired. "Are you all right? The baby?"

"We're both fine." He's not, but she knows when not to push, and instead she lets him take her hand and pull her down the corridor, off toward their shared quarters. "Anakin, we'll need to report—"

"They can wait. I—Padme, I just need to—I can't right now."

And he really can't. She can see that in every action, every word, and every glance. And, Force, why should he have to? He's done his job today. He's put himself on the line for everyone else, and they can't just expect him to give until he has nothing left. They can wait. They can all wait, and she'll take it up with anyone who thinks otherwise. Maybe suggest that they spend some time on the front lines.

No, his report can wait. She'll make his excuses for him.

"All right," she agrees, and then falls silent until they reach their quarters.

As soon as they're inside, he slumps down on the bed, head in his hands, and just sighs, long and hard. He doesn't do anything more, and, honestly, she can't blame him. He's stalled out at this, and it seems like the most natural thing in the world to help him, reaching forward and undoing his belt, pulling off the outer layers of his tunic, then his undershirt also until he's down to his pants. He lets her, eyes fluttering closed, and she just barely manages to get a pillow under his head before he lies down completely.

"Thank you," he whispers, kneading his forehead with his palm before he turns over and presses his face into the pillow.

Carefully, she folds his clothing, putting it beside the bed where he'll be able to get at it easily when he wakes up. Then, she moves down further and undoes his boots, slipping them off and placing them next to the clothing. He doesn't move for any of it, and now, finally, she can hear the soft chokes of breath that she knows are the closest to sobs that he's going to reach.

He doesn't cry very much at all. Force knows he has the right after everything he's seen, all the people he's seen die, all the destruction, but he almost never does. It's only when he reaches a wall that he feels like he can't, even with all his astounding abilities, find a way to climb or circumvent or just pass that he hits this point. Of all the things in the world, Anakin hates feeling helpless. Powerless. For a little boy from Tatooine who once had no ability to change his circumstances, it is the worst feeling in the world to be in that place once again.

She remembers when his mother died. It had been like that then, and he'd blamed himself for being just a little too late. He couldn't change it, though, and that had shattered him.

"We'll fix this, Ani," she murmurs, sitting down next to him, her side pressed to his back. He's rolled away from her, but she doesn't make any move to turn him.

He'd done this after Jabiim too. His master had been gone, and every time he'd heard the words "orphaned padawan" she'd watched his eyes darken. She remembers wondering how the Jedi Order could possibly claim, especially when using terminology like that, that a master was not a parent.

At times, she'd really despised the Order that her husband was a part of.

"'M tired, Padme," he murmurs, voice thick with tears. "I've—I've messed up so much. It's—it's not just Obi-Wan. It's everything that put him in this situation to start with. I—" he breaks off and takes a deep, shaky breath, "It's—if I'd just been a little better, recognized things a little sooner instead of listening to what I wanted to hear. Palpatine—he told me what I wanted to hear, Padme, and I listened to him instead of my master, because I liked what he was saying better. I—instead of listening to the person who actually cared, I—I played right into Sidious's hands."

What's she supposed to say to that? It's true—he did accept those things that he liked hearing more, but, then, what person doesn't? "He was good at what he did, Anakin. No one else saw it, either."

"Obi-Wan didn't like him. You were having concerns about him too. I—I should have listened."

"Anakin, you're a loyal person, and that's—it's not bad. But he befriended you as a child, and by the time you were old enough to notice anything strange, you already trusted him. You already considered him a friend. He—Anakin, you have to understand, he took advantage of an impressionable child and worked his way under your defenses before you could really even build them. You couldn't have known. No one did. Even Obi-Wan let you spend time with him. No one knew."

"Maybe," he mutters, calmer now, but almost a little angry. "Maybe that's true. But Obi-Wan raised me from the age of nine, and I still chose to listen to Palpatine instead of him. How could I—you can't possibly tell me that I owed more loyalty to him than to Obi-Wan."

She can't. That's true, but can't he see that it was just a mistake? Everyone struggles with pride, and Palpatine played on his. It was a mistake, but he can't possibly use it to blame himself for everything that's happened. "You let your pride blind you," she agrees. "It was wrong. It was. But, Anakin, you are not the only person in the world who should have realized something was out of place."

"Maybe not. But just because others are guilty doesn't make me any less guilty."

"No. But it means you aren't the only one who needs to change in order to make things right. It means you aren't solely responsible. It means you change what you can change, and you leave what you can't for those who can." She pauses then, hand tightening on his shoulder. "You were wrong. You were. But lay the blame where it belongs: Palpatine's intentions were corrupt. He started this. Dooku did this. You didn't do this. Recognize that you had faults that prevented you from stopping them, but, please, at least acknowledge that you didn't create the problem."

Anakin laugh sounds so brittle, and she is reminded of the noise of breaking glass: his shoulders are shaking a bit, and for a moment, she wonders if he'll shatter like his laugh. "You sound like Obi-Wan. He'd tell me to put the blame where it belongs. And then he'd probably tell me to meditate on the issue of pride to prevent it in the future. Use this as a learning experience. Something like that."

"And why won't you listen? Do you like blaming yourself?"

"I—it makes me—I feel like I deserve it, and it's the only way I'll ever feel right again."

"And when will you have punished yourself enough, Anakin? That blame—it can make you as dark as the faults themselves. Obi-Wan would probably also tell you that this can be a path to the dark side. If you become stagnant in your blame and self-loathing, that's all you'll be able to see. Hating yourself is still hate, and hate is still—"

"I get it."

She pauses, hand relaxing a little to rub up and down his arm. "Do you?"

"No, I… do." Finally, he turns over, meeting her gaze with exhausted eyes. Instinctively, she reaches out and brushes the hair back from his forehead, sighing as he stares at her. "I do get it. I just—I'm tired, Padme, and I'm worried, and—I'm working to correct those things I did wrong, but…"

"No one deserves forgiveness, Anakin. That's what makes it so wonderful."

Another sigh, but… maybe a little more accepting this time. "Yeah…"

"We're going to find him, Anakin. We are. And, even if we don't, it's Dooku's fault, not yours."

That at least earns her a tired smile, and he reaches up and takes her arms, pulling her down toward him. "You know that I love you, right?" he mutters as she sinks down onto the mattress.

Nodding, she slips into bed beside him, and even when he moves up against her, it's she who's holding him, and she lets him lean on her, loves him for it, and just wonders how the Jedi ever thought this could be wrong.