Padmé has been delivered into the hands of the medics and Anakin Skywalker is no more and now it is your time to rest; you're trying desperately to relax. It does no good, of course. The memory of his scream echoes over and over in your memory and you can't quite stop your lips from forming that phrase - I loved you. It shouldn't have been past tense but the realization of that comes too late. The last words Anakin would ever hear shouldn't have been of the loss of love and that is what troubles you the most, even more than the memory in your aching muscles of the lightsaber stroke that severed his body.

At the sound of footsteps you are flooded with adrenaline and shocked out of your reverie; you gasp and whirl and the lightsaber hums in your hands. Bail Organa pales and leans back against the wall, large empty hands raised in a gesture of supplication. Once you might have been embarrassed by the show of paranoia, but today you are too tired. You merely sigh and de-activate the weapon. It's curious because ever since leaving Mustafar the rest of the universe has seemed absurdly cold, as if your body is aching for a return to ash and fire like Anakin like Qui-Gon; perhaps this cold is why you can't stop shivering can't stop shaking can't take your eyes off of one of your trembling hands.

Once more Bail frees you from the trap of your useless cyclical thoughts; the sound of your name resonates in the empty hallway and you have no choice but to look up at him with a pathetic apologetic expression. He blinks down at you and murmurs your name, opens his arms, inviting offering.

You hesitate. Jedi are strong, Jedi do not fear loss. Jedi do not indulge in self-pity. With that thought, you move into his waiting arms; he gathers you close, you sigh against his chest. The sound of his heart beating is comforting, calming. For this moment you are safe, you are warm, you can let go of the coldness. He smiles and whispers your name again, bends his head to kiss your hair.