Someone had turned on the sun and taken away his blankets.

Anakin rolled over and groaned loudly, more for show than anything else, and wondered where he was. He cracked open one eye and glanced around. He was in his own room, in the apartment he shared with Obi-Wan at the Jedi Temple. The window shades had been opened, and his blankets had been yanked off of him and thrown into a heap at the foot of the bed – Obi-Wan's doing, no doubt.

Rolling out of bed and onto the floor with a resounding thud, Anakin tried to get his head around what had happened the night before. No more of the blue crystalline powder, although he had bought five vials of it for later use, but plenty more of that purple medicine-like liquor. No wonder he felt like he had gone head-to-head with a rancor and lost. He could only remember returning to the apartment in flashes, and even then he wasn't sure what had really happened and what his brain was simply filling in on its own.

He just hoped he wasn't not-remembering something important.

"Anakin! Breakfast!" Obi-Wan's voice filtered in from the main living area, along with what Anakin deemed was far too much noise to constitute normal breakfast preparations.

"Guh!" Anakin responded, finding himself incapable of any other form of speech. He lay on the floor for a long moment, then rolled to his feet, nearly toppling over as his foot hit the pile of bedding. He didn't bother with a shower – he was too tired for that, and doubted his ability to stand up under his own power for any length of time – and instead pulled on the same clothing he had worn the day before.

Reaching into one of the pouches on his belt, Anakin withdrew the vials he'd purchased, hiding all but one safely away under his mattress. With a sudden clarity, Anakin realized that he didn't feel nearly as guilty as he should. Here he was, getting ready to take an illicit drug right in the presence of his master – in the Jedi temple, no less. It was one thing to restrict such activities to the lower city and the shadows there, but to bring it back with him to his real life, his real world… He knew he should feel much, much guiltier about tainting the purity of this aspect of his life.

And that thought in and of itself brought his guilty feelings up to acceptable levels.

Anakin wrapped his robe around himself and went into the kitchen, shame and desperation coiling around his stomach upon seeing Obi-Wan. His master would be so angry, so… disappointed, if he were to know the truth. But then, he always seemed disappointed and angry, even when Anakin was trying his hardest.

Anakin sighed softly, and drew his hands up into the sleeves of his robe. He just couldn't win. But at least with this new discovery, he would have a fighting chance. "Good morning, Master," he breathed, not wanting to look too eager to sit down, but at the same time certain he was going to fall over if he wasn't able to sit very soon.

"Good morning, Padawan," Obi-Wan replied, his back to Anakin – which, really, was preferable for the moment. Anakin dropped into a chair and laid his head down on the table – not very good etiquette, but it was that or pass out, and he had a feeling passing out before breakfast would only make Obi-Wan start asking questions.

"Don't forget, we have a meeting with the Council about Jenna Zan Arbor after breakfast," Obi-Wan said, sounding far too cheerful for this hour of the morning. Then again, Anakin thought, Obi-Wan wasn't the one with a hangover of galactic proportions.

"Muh," Anakin responded. He didn't want to have to talk about Jenna Zan Arbor, or what she had done to him. He didn't want to explain, yet again, the Zone of Self-Containment, and see the collective Council peering into his soul to discover precisely what Ferus Olin had said – that Anakin had enjoyed feeling nothing. And he didn't want to face the Council without that wonderful numbness, that glorious, penetrating not-feeling.

Obi-Wan placed a glass of juice in front of Anakin's head, and turned back to his breakfast preparations. "Your vocabulary is improving by leaps and bounds, Padawan," he observed dryly.

Anakin rolled his eyes and raised his head, withdrawing the vial of Crash and Burn from the folds of his robe. He wasn't sure it would work in a non-alcoholic beverage, but it was worth a try. And if it didn't, there were… other ways. He was not going to deal with a Council meeting feeling such guilt and shame. With Obi-Wan's back still turned, and trying to hold his shields in place as much as his headache would allow, Anakin stirred the contents of the vial into his juice and took a long draught.

There it was.

Peace.

--

Obi-Wan Kenobi had wanted to do anything besides talk about how he had nearly lost Anakin to Jenna Zan Arbor. Although he struggled to bring himself into the present, it was difficult to talk about the plans to hunt down Zan Arbor without thinking about what could have been.

He had gotten Anakin back – he should rejoice for that. But sometimes it seemed like he hadn't gotten all of Anakin back. Something had been left behind in that medical facility, and Obi-Wan couldn't put his finger on what it was. Something was different about his Padawan, and Obi-Wan felt like he was failing as a master for not being able to sense what was wrong.

Today, for instance. Anakin's normally tumultuous Force signature was muted, subdued, and Obi-Wan wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. Anakin himself seemed rather subdued, not to mention exhausted. Exhausted seemed to be how Anakin looked more often than not, lately, although his Force signature had begun to vary wildly. Although Obi-Wan wanted to attribute it to Anakin trying to master the new meditation and self-calming techniques he was learning, something told him that wasn't all.

Obi-Wan often wondered if worrying to the point of frustration was a normal state of being for a master. Did Qui-Gon ever feel this way about him?

Doubtful. As difficult as Obi-Wan's training had been at times, he hadn't had to deal with the stigma of being the Chosen One, nor had he had a life outside the Temple, as Anakin once did. Obi-Wan had no attachments; he didn't know his parents, nor did the question of who they were ever cross his mind. The Jedi were his family, and always had been. Anakin, on the other hand, had a mother who he knew and loved. He attached himself to people easily, much to Obi-Wan's chagrin, and he had not been conditioned from a young age to control his emotions.

Anakin and Obi-Wan were worlds apart, and never did Obi-Wan feel the divide more clearly than on mornings like this, when he could barely recognize his Padawan.

The meeting had gone by in a blur. Anakin had done most of the talking, in a calm, even tone of voice that chilled Obi-Wan to the core. Finally, the Council determined to further research Zan Arbor's holdings in the Outer Rim, and they had been dismissed.

"Are you alright?" Obi-Wan asked gently, putting a hand on Anakin's shoulder. Surely it couldn't be easy for his apprentice to keep recalling the details of his imprisonment, especially when Obi-Wan himself could barely think about it without feeling sick to his stomach.

"I'm fine," Anakin said, and walked away.

Obi-Wan was beginning to hate watching his apprentice walk away.