Chapter 6

Disclaimer: YoungW does not condone tearing holes in the fabric of the Force.

Escape was his only consideration. He had to flee. So he fled: from how he felt, from what he had seen, from what he had learnt… and worst of all, from what might be imputed to him, whether through malice or the remorselessness of deductive logic. It might take time to be discovered, but it would happen.

When he was too tired to drive anymore, he hid the Executor away and went to ground in the Naboo countryside. He could not bear to go home, to see Padmé after the traumas he had experienced. He needed to hide, to sleep, to meditate and recover. To let time do some short-term healing.

He came across a poor stone hut that must have been recently abandoned by farmers. Suppressing the memory of similar structures on Tatooine, he took refuge inside. Planetary day and night blended together in his mind, broken only by the pangs of a hunger he could not control with the Force. He slaked his thirst in a running stream, and cooked a wild waterpigeon on a campfire to stay alive. And so the great Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker felt reduced to the condition of an animal, for he knew not for how many hours, or days. The time blurred into a single moment, not even punctuated by daylight and darkness on account of his trance-like state.

Eventually he could not stand it any longer. The fear, the memories, the imbalance within himself, and worst of all, the solitude. He only hoped she would answer her 'link when he commed.

"Paddy."

"Ani! Where have you been?! You've been missing for three days!"

It was a shock, for he did not feel it had been so long. And also felt it had been longer.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, overcome by a wave of emotion. "I need you,"

"I know," she replied with succinctness. The pause allowed him to slow his breathing, and soothe his tears, rendering him more capable of speech.

"Something's happened. Can you meet me… at the Plasma Springs, in three hours. Okay?"

"Where exactly? It's a big park. Where shall I come to?"

"The River Boathouse," he decided. "It's closed at this time of year, but there's a covered porch to wait in. I'll be there."

"Of course, Ani. I'll be there. I'll always be there for you, all right? No matter what."

"All right."

After disconning, he sat on a rock with his head in his hands. She didn't mention Uncle Sheev's death, he thought. Maybe she doesn't know. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it didn't happen. Maybe he died in a different timeline, and he's actually okay, watering his gardens in peace…

Whatever the case might prove, he had to see Padmé. The Plasma Springs were not far away, hence the choice of meeting point. He could reach them by back roads, lightly frequented in the low season and offering greater security against being spotted. He would be reunited with his wife, and somehow, it would be all right. Perhaps they could escape offworld and hide. Go someplace no one would expect to find him… his hated home planet of Tatooine, for example.

No one would ever think of searching there, not even the Jedi Council, not even Obi-Wan. They all knew how he avoided the world after his mother's death, due to its many painful associations with slavery and loss. He even snubbed the Boonta Eve Classic, sending his pod racers to compete without him, supervised only by the annoying Rodian mechanic.

That was the plan. That was the solution. He only needed Amidala's agreement to put it into practice. She would understand.

The pitch was not going well. Naboo's former Queen and Senator was not very amenable to leaving her home for a secret sand-filled sabbatical on a backrocket world. She was more rooted in the present than his sloppily-envisioned future.

"No, honey. We can't fly to Coruscant, kidnap Shmila from the Temple, and go into hiding on Tatooine. That's ridiculous. That's-" Padmé struggled for another adjective before giving up. "-going down a path I can't follow."

"I can do it. We can do it. The Jedi can't stop me; I have the power to protect you, and reshape our lives. We can do whatever we want, in this galaxy I brought peace to."

She evaded his flights of fancy by switching to a different line of questioning. "What's behind this idea? You haven't been yourself, have you? That silly accident in the gym. Thinking you were being followed by an empty 'speeder. The emotional explosion at the restaurant with Master Fisto. Then you vanished for three days. Are you having another crisis?"

He reddened. "I- I haven't been well, yes. But no. The fabric of space-time is in flux: we think, after I hit my head trying to make a hole in the Force. Snips theorized it's been out of whack in a multiverse timeslip problem, but now she's vanished too…"

Amidala's face told a story. She was baffled, worried, horrified, all in one. Every eye muscle, every cheek muscle was like a letter of the Aurebesh expressing her turmoil. Her husband had lost his hold on reality, babbling about time anomalies and rips in the Force.

"I see," she lied. "I was so worried about you. They told me terrible things about you."

"What things?"

"That you… killed younglings."

"What?!"

"A- A Neimoidian youth choir," she stammered. "They found some bodies in the Wexend Woods, and the rest dead in Theed. Slaughtered like animals, by a lightsaber."

"No! I haven't been to Theed," objected Skywalker. "I defended myself against the ones in the woods, because they were Rebel commandos! They chased me with military-grade weapons, plasma launchers, concussion grenades. Some were Force-sensitive, and they blocked my access to the Force to trap me under a landslide. But Ahsoka came along to save me, like when we were Jedi."

She was scared to fill the silence his bizarre explanation left. There was only one conclusion the woman could draw after what she heard.

"They're saying you've gone crazy."

"I'm not crazy," he yelled. "It's time and the Force and the galaxy that are going crazy around me!" He grabbed hold of her hand too tightly. "Who's saying these things?"

"I used my position to stick my nose into the investigation, which I shouldn't have done. Republic Security. The Naboo Police…"

I can appeal to the Commander of the Police, thought Anakin in a frenzy. He's a good man, believes in all that progressive policing stuff. He'll listen. He'll be willing to help. He'll give me a chance to explain-

"Wait!" his mouth interrupted his brain. "You didn't finish that sentence, Paddy. Who else is involved in the investigation?"

Amidala hesitated over whether to finish the rhetorical tricolon she had interrupted. "…and the Jedi."

He saw himself reflected in her eyes, her anguished eyes. She believed he was a monster, that he was beyond saving after what he had done, after committing the senseless murder of innocents. Because though she loved him, she had not, would not ever share his full life experience. She had not been a child slave, just as she had not seen the Neimoidians, and been the target of their attack. Not even his beloved Padmé could understand his point of view after the years they had been together.

"They've got to you," he roared to mask his despair, unsure even as he uttered the word who 'they' truly entailed in that moment. "You believe their lies."

"Obi-Wan wouldn't lie to me. He cares about us."

Something felt off in the Force as she uttered the name. That was when he realised what was happening behind the scenes.

"He's here?!" Anakin cried. Releasing her hand, he spun around to check their surroundings for threats. All around him were enemies. Not just Rebels. The entire galaxy was the enemy at that moment, prodding him, mocking him, challenging him with its pulsating incomprehensibility.

And in the distance, emerging from Padmé's vehicle, he saw the one he sought. A bearded figure, beginning to go grey, but still impressive in his brown robes. Calm and unhurried, he began to walk toward the married couple he had known for so long, whom he considered amongst his closest friends, if not the very closest.

"How could you?!" screamed Skywalker. "You led him here!"

"I- I had to," pleaded Amidala. "He was on Naboo for a Security briefing. When he heard about what happened at the Peacemaker's Retreat, he convinced me to let him help you."

"I don't need the Order's help! I'm more powerful than any Jedi has ever dreamed of!"

"I don't believe what I'm hearing. Obi-Wan was right. You've changed…"

"I don't want to hear any more about Obi-Wan. The Jedi turned against me; don't you turn against me too."

The young man observed his body in slow motion, as he was carried away by the pent-up frustration of nearly two decades. His hand constricted in a Force Choke gesture, of its own volition, and his wife began to splutter from the pressure on her trachea.

"Let her go, Anakin!" yelled Kenobi, breaking into a trot. "In your anger, you're killing her!"

It was not possible. He did not mean to hurt Padmé. He would never. It was merely a kneejerk reaction born of rage, exasperation, fatigue, jealousy, and ego, a cocktail of forbidden emotions let loose by recent events. A brief few moments of misdirected anger, channelled through a Force Choke, would not, could not kill her. Indeed, when he let go, he sensed her still breathing, still alive. He saw her on the grass, holding her throat and gasping. Physically, she would be fine. She would live.

He directed his emotions toward the newcomer. "You turned her against me!"

Kenobi answered with a pained shake of the head. "You have done that yourself."

"You will not take her from me!"

"Your anger and your madness have already done that. You've lost your hold on reality, Anakin. But we can help you."

"I don't need help. Especially not yours!"

"Oh, your old Master begs to differ. As would your former unofficial mentor. Unfortunately, he can't make any observations on the matter, save through the indirect means of crime-scene forensics."

Skywalker's blood froze. Obi-Wan thinks I killed Uncle Sheev. Of course he would, he assumes the worst of me.

"I didn't do it, Master. I was there, at the Retreat. With Ahsoka Tano. She works for an obscure Republic agency in charge of counterterrorism, called the Inquisitorius. Snips claimed Palpatine was a Sith Lord, named Darth Sidious as Dooku once told you. He was in league with the Trade Federation since twenty years ago, and they started the Clone Wars on purpose to cause the Jedi pain and suffering-"

He had almost run out of breath when the other man helpfully stopped him.

"You're rambling, Anakin. Worse, what you're saying is impossible."

"I'm telling you, I didn't kill the Chancellor. Ahsoka did."

"And I tell you again, it's not possible."

"The Council believed she committed murder when she was set up by Barriss Offee. Why won't you believe this when I tell you what I saw?"

"It's not a matter of what, or whom, I believe. I'm saying it's not possible, in the literal sense."

"What? Why's it impossible?"

"Because Ahsoka's dead."

"No. That's not true. That's impossible!" Skywalker's voice stuck in his throat. His head swam with confusion, with disbelief that the woman whom he had seen, heard, touched with his own hand, fought against with lightsabers, could have been… an illusion? A hallucination of his fragmenting mind? Another instance of something from another reality, crossing over into his own? But he had duelled with her in the reception hall of the Peacemaker's Retreat, watched with his own eyes as she killed Palpatine, felt his life energy vanish from the Force. It had been all too real.

"She can't be dead," he insisted. "She was here. She saved me from under a mound of rock the Neimoidian commandos dumped on me, and she stabbed the Chancellor with one of the lightsabers I gave her, on Mandalore. Except they've turned a horrible red color, like Dooku's was."

The bearded Jedi's hand drifted toward his own weapon, either unconsciously at the mention of laser swords, or out of mounting alarm at the nonsense his friend was speaking. Crazy talk had a way of spilling into crazy action, in his experience of both war and peacekeeping.

"Ahsoka died on a mission for Republic Intelligence, Anakin. We didn't tell you- I didn't tell you, because Yoda feared you were in a fragile emotional state since the end of the Wars. We all struggled, but you walked closest to the darkness: like when you tortured and killed Admiral Trench, or when you executed the Count. The attachment you felt toward Ahsoka, being unable to let her go… It was too dangerous to tell you the truth, that she was gone for good." Kenobi ran his hand over his mouth. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"When did she die?"

"It would have been about two years ago."

Two years ago, Skywalker thought. She said she joined the Inquisitorius two years ago. She faked her death, or RepIntel faked it, to allow her to become a shadowy Inquisitor! That's the only explanation.

It was an explanation he knew Obi-Wan would not believe. From his point of view, an emotionally unstable Anakin Skywalker had attacked Palpatine in his home and murdered him. And attributing the act to a dead former Jedi come back to life served no purpose, except to confirm his insanity.

"You haven't been right lately," resumed the elder Jedi. "Padmé told me about the blow-up with Fisto, that it was a sign you've been struggling with your emotions again. You're having another episode where you can't let go, of your daughter this time." Obi-Wan held up his palms in a conciliatory fashion. "I've known you since you were nine, Anakin. If anyone can understand what you've been through, I do. Surrender to me, and the Council will get you the help you need."

"Help? You keep talking about help. What does that even mean? Will you knit the torn fabric of time back together? Can the Grand Master do that, biiiiig Yoda? What's he ever done?"

A wave of irritation crossed Kenobi's features. "Be respectful, boy. You've committed terrible crimes, but you're still a Jedi. The Naboo Police and Republic Security are after you; but I have the authority to take you back to the Temple, outside the civilian justice system. Trust that the Council will do its best for you."

In his fragile state Skywalker was only angered by the offer, however reasonable or generous it was.

"The Council that withheld the rank of Master from me, as an insult? The Council that looked the other way while other Initiates bullied me for being a slave, and tried to sabotage me for being more powerful than them? The Council that never trusted me, even while I risked my life on the front lines, and performed the galaxy's greatest deeds?" He waved a clenched fist. "The Council that never wanted me to be trained as a Jedi at all, if you hadn't given Qui-Gon your word as he lay dying? That Council deserves my trust?"

"Alas, the Council is as fallible as any individual sentient. And your historical criticisms are valid, though I'd hoped you would have moved past them by now. It's just… if you won't trust the Council, you have to trust me. I'm your only hope."

He detached a pair of metallic binders from his belt. The act smacked of a civilian law enforcement officer more than a Jedi Knight, and underlined Skywalker's fate if he gave himself up. A cell in a detention centre… like Nute Gunray locked up in Fort Enkner.

"I'm not going to Coruscant in cuffs, Master."

"I can ensure they're a bit loose for your comfort, but I need to restrain you. For the optics, at least, when the holomedia get their imaging devices warmed up." He sighed painfully. "I will do what I must."

Anakin knew what he had to do in response. Flee, once again, in order to strike at a propitious moment.

"You will try."

He turned his back on his old friend and ran. The chase neither wanted to engage in, which they had both seen in their nightmares, was on.