Another Route

Part 23

Padmé sprinted out of the Millennium Falcon's lounge, paying no heed to Han's startled cry or Chewie's roar. They had watched it all, locked inside the ship, as Palpatine slowly killed her husband and stole her son. The instant Anakin had hit the crates, the Falcon had slipped, somehow, in the air, and Han had retaken the controls and brought the ship to the landing pad.

Now, Padmé ran down the boarding ramp and thrust past the squadron of storm troopers headed towards her husband. Despite her limited Force-sensitivity, she couldn't tell if Anakin was alive. Ignoring the surprised shouts at her sudden appearance, Padmé finally reached her husband's broken body.

His lips were tinged blue and he was unconscious. Padmé let out a cry and buried her face in his shoulder. "Anakin! Ani, can you hear me?"

Several cuts on his face were bleeding. Padmé hastily wiped away the blood and listened for a heartbeat. It was the same—steady and strong. Padmé's lip curled. A pacemaker.

"Excuse me, ma'am—"

Padmé looked up to see a very pale officer staring at her. Padmé wiped away her tears. "He needs help."

"The Emperor has decreed—"

"I DON'T CARE!" Padmé screamed. "THAT BASTARD HAS TAKEN EVERYTHING FROM ME! HE TOOK MY SON! I WON'T ALLOW HIM TO TAKE MY HUSBAND AWAY!"

Piett—as his identification indicated, took a step back. "Husband?" he asked dumbly, staring at Padmé's tear-streaked face and then at Vader's unmoving form.

"Yes," Padmé said quietly, her energy spent. "Please help him. You must." She glanced down at Anakin and quickly took his lightsaber—deactivated—from his clenched fist and hooked it to her own belt.

Piett stared at her for a moment. "Sir?" A stormtrooper asked him warily.

Admiral Firmus Piett had served under Darth Vader since his graduation from the Imperial Military Academy. He had grown to appreciate the man—his efficiency, his sense of honor, duty, and self, and his bravery in the field, regardless of his ruthless methods.

And here, Vader lay in front of him, a human man with a wife begging Piett to help her husband. Her husband. A father. The man that lay in front of him could have been a simple soldier. And with that realization, Piett made a decision.

"Pick him up," he ordered sharply. "Gently. He probably has multiple fractures. "Take him to the medbay."

"No!" Padmé said quickly. "To the Falcon!"

Piett glanced at her. "Of course. I will lower the shields and give you five minutes to enter hyperspace before sending TIEs after you." Padmé stared at him and nodded, just as the storm troopers did as they were told and lifted up Anakin's body. "Quickly," Piett added, feeling oddly calm despite the fact that he was consciously and fully disobeying the orders that came from the Emperor himself.

"And Luke? Can you help him?" Padmé asked him desperately. "Luke, my son, Palpatine took him!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but this is all I can do," said Piett, and he was truly sorry as he accompanied Padmé to the boarding ramp. He turned to her. "Tell him," he began hesitantly, "That I was proud to serve under him. That I hope I died a death that would make him proud as one of his soldiers, and that I did all I could to help his family."

Padmé stared at him and what she had asked this Imperial officer to do finally sank in. "Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded. "My pleasure, Lady Vader."

She flinched. "Skywalker," she corrected quietly. "My husband's name is Anakin Skywalker. He is a Jedi Knight of the Old Republic."

If she registered the faint surprise in his eyes she said nothing. "Move quickly, Madam Skywalker," he told her a second later. "Farewell."

She bit her lip. "Thank you," she repeated at last, climbing the boarding ramp and watching Piett straighten his shoulders and call a calm mask over his features. Once onboard, she whipped around to see Chewie bending carefully over Anakin's limp body, pressing an oxygen mask to his face. "Chewie, what do you know about…?" Padmé asked hopefully. The wookiee roared mournfully and gently lifted the Jedi's gloved hands to lay at his side. His chest rose and fell shallowly. "I don't know that much about medicine, either," Padmé admitted. "My skills lay in politics, but it seems that Palpatine was far more skillful than I…" she trailed off and closed her eyes tightly.

Palpatine had Luke.

Despite her efforts to hold back her sobs, one escaped her and immediately Chewbacca enveloped her in a comforting hug. "He's my baby," Padmé whispered. "What if… What if Palpatine turns him? What if he turns into something horrible like Anakin did? I couldn't bear it, Chewie, I couldn't!"

The ship lurched as they rose into the air and Han emerged in the room, looking pale as he took Chewie's place. "How's he doin?'" he questioned Padmé uncomfortably as the older woman wiped away her tears.

"Not good," Padmé whispered. "He's still unconscious."

"He's not one for staying out of trouble, is he?" Han said quietly, moving past the former queen of Naboo to examine Anakin's motionless frame. "What do we do?"

"I don't know," Padmé said heavily. "Should we go back to Home One?"

"Without the fleet that he promised and short a Jedi?" Han asked quietly. "I dunno if they'd be so glad to help him out then. And plus, we don't know how long his body can hold out. Mustafar's a long way from Bain," he told Padmé.

"How do you know that it's that bad?" Padmé asked, horrified.

"I'm guessin' that those crates weren't exactly soft," said Han. "And he fell a long way."

Padmé went very pale. "Where can we go? The Falcon is recognizable, Han. Plus, you two both have bounties on your heads. What place do we know that is remote enough to hide from the Emperor and has what we need to heal him?"

Han sank into a chair. "I dunno," he admitted. "He had a lot of medical equipment on Bain," he offered.

"But the officer told us to go into hyperspace," said Padmé unhappily.

"That's our only option for now, your ladyship," said Han firmly. "I checked the coordinates. His fortress or whatever is located on the other side of the planet that's visible."

"But if they decide to do a planetary bombardment…"

Han slumped. "We've got to take that chance. "An oxygen mask isn't probably what he needs," he said, motioning to Anakin, who still lay limp on the cot.

Padmé bit her lip. "Then let's go. You know how to get in?"

Han nodded. "Luke told the Jedi droids last time not to hurt me, so…"

Padmé's eyes turned to her husband and she reached out for his hand, uncaring that it was cybernetic. She touched it to her cheek and released a shuddering breath. "Ani… Come back to me, Ani…"

--------

"Felt a great disturbance in the Force, I have," said Yoda as he sat in a tree, seemingly to no one. "In the hands of Sidious, young Skywalker now is."

"It's my fault," and anguished voice said, and the glowing form of Obi-Wan Kenobi glimmered brightly as he appeared over a branch. "Anakin could not fight him. He was trying so hard, but he couldn't breathe. It's all my fault."

"For despair and guilt, no place there is," Yoda chastised the dead Jedi. "Hope, we must, that young Skywalker does not Fall."

"But Anakin is the Chosen One," Obi-Wan said quietly. "And he almost died because of me today. Our hope for the Balance to be restored to the Force almost died with him, all because of me. He would have died if I hadn't helped him. If I hadn't left him to burn... Surely you can see this, Master Yoda!"

"See that Anakin has returned, I do," Yoda acknowledged, ignoring Obi-Wan's self-guilt. "Much fear in him still, but control it, he does now. No hate in him, no anger. Purpose."

"Does the rest of the Council see it that way?" Obi-Wan asked doubtfully. "Mace Windu seemed quite happy to condemn him."

"The first victim of Vader, Master Windu was," Yoda reminded Obi-Wan. "Told you, has he not?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan admitted.

"Meditate, I must," Yoda said at last.

"Very well, Master Yoda," he said, fading back into the Force. "I will do all I can."

------

"Chewie, get him," Han told the wookiee as they touched down. As promised, the Executor had done nothing, and as soon as they left sight, they had assumed that they had gone into hyperspace rather than their intended destination to begin with.

"Gently," Padmé instructed brokenly as the enormous alien bent down and lifted Anakin's body.

"Quick," Han said impatiently as he went down the boarding ramp into the pouring rain. Padmé followed him and Threepio and Artoo came down after her, leaving Chewie last. They all moved as fast as they could after Han, who easily remembered where the entrance had been. As the sheer cliff face rose up in front of him, ebony black, Padmé hissed in surprise.

They all broke into a jog once in the hallway, Threepio calling out shouts of protest. "Oh, no…" Han murmured as they drew to the silver durasteel door that had no keypad. "Luke opened this with the Force," he muttered. "How do we get in?"

"No!" Padmé cried out. "We have to get in!" She looked to the corners of each door, searching for some kind of technology to open it, but there was nothing.

"Artoo says that he could plug into a jack," Threepio offered helpfully.

"There aren't any!" Padmé shouted, gesturing wildly to the corridor. She whipped around. "OBI-WAN!" she called out. "Open the door!"

There was nothing. "Lady Amidala…" Han began uncomfortably.

"OPEN THE DOOR!" she screamed.

It opened and she turned around, mouth agape. "I… How…?"

Han stared at her. "You can do it too?"

"No," said Padmé, bewildered. "I can't."

"Pad… Padmé…" It was the barest hint of a whisper.

She froze and then turned to Chewie. Anakin's arm was limp, having fallen from Chewie's grasp, but his eyes were half-open. "Opened it," he whispered.

Her eyes filled with tears. "Ani, are you okay?"

"Luke?" he rasped. "Where's Luke?"

Padmé choked back a sob. "Sidious."

Anakin closed his eyes. "No…"

"We should get inside," said Han. "The door did open."

Padmé grasped her husband's hand for a moment and then stepped aside to walk though the door. Her breath left her as she entered the grand room. "Where do we go?"

"Master Vader!"

They all looked up to see a protocol droid walking quickly towards him. "His medical facility has been prepared," the droid said. "We saw him on the security holo-cams."

"Then why didn't you open the door?" Padmé growled.

"It's not connected to any technology," the droid explained. "So that only Lord Vader or young Luke Vader can enter."

A muscle in Padmé's jaw twitched at the mention of her son's name, and at the fact that 'Vader' was tacked on the end. "Where is the medical facility?"

"Follow me," said the droid, turning and walked down the long hallway. Chewie strode past and Anakin, still only half-conscious, opened the door. "Place him on the table, please," said the droid as several others, including a 2-1B unit, emerged from the shadows. Padmé stared, horrified, at the hi-tech medcenter, at the Bacta tank and prosthetic station—the medical nightmare that was Anakin's life. No longer was he the handsome, healthy Jedi Knight of her memories. Chewie gently lowered Anakin's lengthy frame onto the operating table.

"Padmé…" he whispered, flinging out his arm. She clasped his hand and brought it to her chest.

"I'm here, my love," she told him quietly.

"Increasing oxygen pressurization in ten seconds," said a droid calmly.

"No," said Anakin firmly, wincing in pain as he adjusted his position on the table. "I want her to stay."

"Master Vader—"

"I'll leave, Ani," said Padmé. "I just want you to be taken care of."

"Cutie," he called hoarsely. "Adjust the doors to be opened manually."

"Yes, Master Vader," said the silver protocol droid at once.

"Padmé… Go to the third room on the right," he whispered. "Promise."

She nodded, mystified. "I will."

"I love you."

"I know," she returned with a small smile. She bent down and kissed his forehead. "I'll be back soon, Anakin."

He nodded and then relaxed, closing his eyes. Padmé, Han and Chewie stepped back and left the room, the silver door closing behind them. Padmé let out a heavy sigh and Chewie enveloped her in a hug. Han hung back uncomfortably. "I should comm Home One and let them know what happened," he said finally.

Padmé nodded wordlessly. "That's fine."

"Are you gonna be alright?" Han asked nervously.

Padmé shrugged. "I don't know."

"We can order some food from Cutie," Han told her. "Let's do that. When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't know," she repeated heavily, turning to go to the third door on the right. What was there that Anakin wanted her to see? What could possibly have any meaning for her from his life as Vader?

"Where are you goin'?"

Padmé palmed the door open and her mouth dropped open in shock.

Naboo.

She stepped inside the room as if entering a holy shrine. It was as though she was entering the Lake Country—Varykino, the place that she and Anakin had been married. On the floor, there were platforms that she supposed were for meditation, though what Luke had told her—that he spent nights in his meditation pod—indicated that he had never used the room. Tears sprung to her eyes and she sat down, staring at her beautiful home that Palpatine had ravaged. In the distance, though it was incorrect, Theed rose above waterfalls and mountains. On the furthest wall, grazing shaaks stood in a field and, so small she barely noticed, were two people painted lying in the grass.

Hardly daring to believe, she moved closer and saw that one of the figures was a blond-haired young man dressed in black Jedi robes and the other was a curly-haired woman in a dress, held in his arms. They both were smiling.

She sank back onto the platform. Things had progressed so quickly from that time… The Republic had begun to grow corrupt, yes, and the Jedi would soon start losing numbers once the Clone Wars began, but to see herself and Anakin, whole and unblemished and happy, was almost more than her heart could bear.

She didn't know how long she sat there, staring at the beautiful mural, but when the door opened behind her, she expected it to be Han, not the light caress of the Force that was her husband. "Anakin, you shouldn't be up," she scolded, turning to face her husband.

She froze. He wasn't wearing the helmet or mask, but the reality of seeing Anakin within the suit, complete with the armor and life-support control panel, shocked her. "You have been here for almost three hours," he told her gently, and she saw that he carried an oxygen case instead of wearing the mask. She recognized the fleeting expression of slight hurt at her startled gasp at his appearance, and felt a stab of guilt.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly.

"I'm fine. No fractures, just bruising. Have you been here the entire time?"

"I hadn't realized that I was here for so long," she told him, moving over on the platform as indication for him to sit beside her. He did so, the robes gracefully falling about him in elegant folds. "It's beautiful, Ani. Did you come here often?"

"No," he told her quietly. "It pained me to remember. Anytime I even thought of Naboo… I remembered that it was my fault that you were dead. That I had killed you."

She frowned and leaned on his shoulder, reaching out to take his gloved hand. "Would it have changed things, if he hadn't lied to you?"

He sat silent for a moment. "You would have hated what I became," he said finally. "I would not have been able to face you."

"When did you heal?" she questioned, glancing up to his face.

"It was about eight months after the duel that I had healed fully," he told her softly. "Three weeks before Palpatine deemed that I was functional, and sent me out to hunt the Jedi."

"Three weeks?" she said in surprise.

He said nothing at her wince. "You should eat something," he said at last.

"All right," she said quietly, accepting his help to stand and feeling dwarfed by his impressive height. She didn't remember him being so tall.

"Palpatine added two inches to my legs," he told her, inferring her train of thought. "To make me more imposing."

"It worked," she told him weakly, her head coming to his chest plate. "I hate it, Ani," she told him firmly, staring at the control panel and the one flashing light. The others were dull. "I hate it."

"I know."

"Why must you wear it? Can't something be done?" she asked desperately. "Like Mothma said, you could receive cloned lungs!"

He frowned. "Padmé, you don't understand everything," he told her gently. "Trust me. It isn't just my lungs that are the problem."

She bit her lip. Then teach me this," she said, tapping her finger on the box.

"Padmé… I don't think…" he protested, moving away from her.

"Anakin," she said firmly, crossing her arms. "If something happens to you, I need to know how to fix it."

His eyes drooped. "All right," he told her, taking her hand. "I was going to put the mask on in my chambers, but I'll show you what to do." He led her out of the room and down the hallway once more. He sensed her discomfort as they entered the medical facilities that were his rooms but said nothing and just walked to the table where Vader's mask and helmet lay.

Padmé bit her lip. "I… isn't there something else you can wear?" she asked hopefully.

He glanced at her. "Not on such short notice." Her face fell. "Padmé, I'll do it," he said finally. "You don't have to. Don't worry."

"No," she said at once, reaching over and picking up the durasteel mask with trembling fingers. She stared at it for a moment, at the opaque eye lenses, the triangular intake vent. She swallowed, and he sat down.

"It has to be done quickly," he told her finally. "There are clasps on the rim of the mask that will seal to the suit," he told her, lifting a finger and running it along the edge to show her where the seals were. "The helmet completes the sealing process," he explained, lifting it and turning it around so that she could see the rounded portion that corresponded with the mask. "It sits low, just above the view-screens and covers the sides of the mask."

"I understand," she said, dry-mouthed. She held it up, halfway to his face, and then dropped her arms, tears stinging her eyes. "I don't want you to wear it," she whispered, biting her lip. She set the mask down on the table and turning back to face him. "I want to see your face," she told him, lifting up her hand to lovingly touch his cheek. He closed his eyes and let out a soft breath. "I love everything, Ani," she told him, tracing his scars. She leaned forward, and before he could react, pressed her lips to his, despite the breathing apparatus and vocoder at his chin. He gasped against her lips and his eyes flew open in surprise before he settled into the kiss. Reluctantly, she pulled away. "We should hurry," she told him sadly.

He nodded, still surprised, and took her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it. "For when I can't," he said softly.

She bit back tears and lifted the mask once more to his face. Taking a deep breath, she reached forward and removed the oxygen tubes from his nose and set them on the table. She lifted the mask upwards and set it over the vocoder and breathing apparatus, hearing the clicks and hiss of pressurized air as the mask became part of the suit. She reached for the helmet next, lifting it over his head. She hesitated, and then drew her fingers across his scalp as a last caress. He started, and she smiled before setting the helmet into place. She waited a second, and then the respirator drew in a breath. She frowned, recognizing the breathing as he exhaled. "Thank you," he said, and she jumped at the too-deep mechanized voice.

"You're welcome, Ani," she said in a troubled tone as she stared into the lenses, behind which, her beloved's eyes watched her.

"The control panel," he began. "The flashing white light is my heartbeat," he told her, and she directed her attention to it. "The two buttons beside it are for manual override. If something happens that it's too slow or too fast, you can speed it up or slow it down until the light flashes red. That's when it's dangerous," he told her.

She nodded to show that she understood. "The three other lights—green, red, and white—are for my respiration. They should always be solid," he told her. "If the green one starts flashing, then the respiration rate needs to be increased manually. If the red one starts flashing, then it needs to be slowed. If the white one flashes, then the system is failing and my body isn't getting enough oxygen."

"What do I do if that happens?" Padmé managed weakly.

"There is nothing that can be done, save to get the mask off," he told her seriously. "If any of the buttons are pressed accidentally, the system thinks that I've decided to handle it all manually and waits for commands. There are two switches on the side," he said, lifting his finger to touch the right-hand side of the control box. "The top one is to permanently—at least, until the system is shut down—control my respiration and pulse manually. The bottom one is what you switch if some buttons are pressed accidentally. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"The fourth light are my neural patterns," he continued. "But you don't need to know anything about that. The same with the belt attachments."

"And that's all?"

"Yes." And with that, they both stood and looked at each other for a moment, the mechanized breathing going all the while. "It's still me, Padmé," he told her finally, as reassuringly as his mechanically modulated voice could portray. "I'm still here."

"I know," she said, forcing a smile to look at him before her gaze clouded over. He looked at her, motionless, until she turned away. "I should get something to eat. You were right."

"Come with me," he commanded, taking her arm.

She flinched and he pulled away immediately. Even with the mask, she could tell that she had hurt him and her eyes filled with tears. "Anakin," she whispered, moving to him and placing her head on his shoulder and her arms around the small of his back. "I love you, I do."

He rested his arms around her waist. "I hate it when you cry," he said finally. "I love you, Padmé, and even though I don't understand it, I know that you love me. I'm just sorry that I became Vader, that I'm the reason you hate this suit." She didn't reply, just closed her eyes tightly. "We don't have much time, my love," he said at last, and she disentangled herself from him and he wiped her cheeks with the pad of his gloved thumb.

"You're right," she said. "What are we going to do?"

"You're going to get some food before we do anything," he said firmly. "And then we will go from there." He took her arm and led her out into the hallway.

"Where are Han and Chewie?" Padmé asked curiously. "They seem to know their way around."

The helmet tilted toward her. "They came here with Luke before traveling to Palpatine's palace to rescue me," he explained. "They're in Luke's room."

"Luke's room?" Padmé asked eagerly. "Where?"

Anakin lifted a finger and pointed towards one of the doors, which opened. Padmé flew inside and stared at her son's room that he had used only for a short time. She bit her lip, ignoring Han and Chewie, who sat at his table eating.

She walked to his bed and sat down, almost reverently. She reached out a hand and touched the pillow, on which there was still an indentation of his head.

Her beautiful boy, her darling son.

Taken from her once, when he was just an infant, and again now—taken from her by the same monster that had taken her husband and transformed him into the creature that she had loathed for the majority of her adult life.

Her breath caught in a sob and she buried her face in her hands. Why had this happened? Why had Luke been taken from them? Could not Anakin have done something more? Could Han and Chewie and somehow overrode Anakin's Force control of the Falcon and saved him?

Anakin could have done something, she realized. HE could have stayed in the Light those years ago and he would have remained whole—he could have defeated Palpatine, if not for his own weaknesses.

The revelation caused her to sob anew. "Padmé?" The deep voice was Vader's, the menacing breathing was Vader's. Vader, the monster who had destroyed her husband for so long. Padmé looked up tearfully. "This is your fault!" she shouted at him, uncaring that her words were likely hurting him. "If you had just believed me and Obi-Wan, this wouldn't have happened! If you hadn't idolized that—that creature because he nurtured your ego, Luke would be with us, and Palpatine dead!"

It was completely silent in the room except for Vader's mechanized breaths. He stood stock-still, and Han and Chewie both stared, openmouthed, at the two figures. "Padmé, you're right, but—"

"I don't want to hear it, Vader," Padmé said, tears streaming down her face. "I don't want to hear excuses."

After a moment, Vader turned jerkily around and left the room and the tension slowly decreased. Padmé sunk onto the bed and stared at her feet. "What have I done?" she whispered, more to herself than to Han or Chewie.

"Lady," said Han uncomfortably, moving over to her. "You gotta eat something. Food'll make ya feel better."

Wearily, she accepted a glass of some beverage and a piece of bread. "Thank you, Han," she said quietly.

---------

Vader unthinkingly stalked to his training room, his lightsaber somehow finding its way into his hand. He was reeling from Padmé's accusations—They hurt, her words, but what hurt more is that they were true.

If not for his weakness, Luke would be here with them. He would not have seen his aunt and uncle murdered before his eyes, he would not have met the Emperor, and he would not have begun a path to the Dark Side the day that he killed a trainee in a fit of loyalty-provoked anger. If not for his weakness, Leia would not have seen her father killed and would not have been tortured. If not for his weakness, Padmé would be living like the queen she was with her family at her side, not running like a hunted fugitive. If not for his weakness, those he loved would be alive. His family would be whole and unhurt. The Jedi Order would be thriving. Obi-Wan would be with him, probably training Luke as his padawan.

Everything was his fault. Luke's soul was in jeopardy because he hadn't been strong enough.

With a cry of rage that was distorted through the mask, he activated all of the dueling droids in the corner of his room and let loose. His saber whirled in complicated patterns and his frustration and not being flexible enough to perform some of the more difficult forms fed his self-loathing.

If not for his stupidity, he wouldn't be an inhuman monster, a sickening blend of man and machine that went against all rules of nature. If not for his failures…

Behind his mask, he shut his eyes tightly, relying on the Force to show him what he needed to do. The energy flowed through him, giving him speed and almost precognition for where the droids would strike.

Padmé hated him.

The words echoed in his mind, taunting him. For all her claims to the contrary, she hated him. And she had good reason. He hated himself. The only person who didn't hate him was now in the clutches of his worst enemy, at the mercy of one who wanted to turn him into a soulless monster like Vader.

He wasn't sure how long it took, but finally there was no more threat from the droids and he stood still, saber still activated, his respirator working double-time to keep up with his body's oxygen demands. He stared at himself, the mask and helmet, the lights on the control panel blinking. With a growl, he threw his saber with all his might at the mirror in front of him and the metal hilt shattered one panel and fell to the ground. It wasn't enough. His reflection still looked back him from the rest of the mirrors. He lifted his arms and all the droid wreckage rose into the air. In an instant, the pieces of half-melted metal and destroyed circuitry crashed into the walls, smashing the mirrors and sending the fragments to the ground.

It wasn't enough. It never was.

"Anakin," said a reproving voice, gentle and admonishing at the same time.

He stiffened and turned slowly around to see the shimmering figure of Obi-Wan looking at him. He appeared just as he had the day on Mustafar. "Master," Anakin managed, dry-mouthed. "I…"

"You are allowing your anger to overcome you, Padawan," said Obi-Wan softly. "Do not let Padmé's words—which were said in anguish—crumble what you have already fought to create within yourself."

He sank to the ground. "Master, I deserve it," he said miserably. "She's right. And she hates me."

"She doesn't, dear friend," said Obi-Wan. "But right now she is warring with herself. On one hand, she has her beloved Anakin and in the other she has Darth Vader. She wants, desperately, to think that they are two separate people. The physical reality will be a struggle for her."

"Yeah, and everyone else," said Anakin bitterly.

"I have been trying to convince the Council to heal you, Anakin, but thus far my success has been limited," said Obi-Wan hesitantly. "I am sorry."

"You helped me, didn't you?" he said in sudden understanding. "I'd almost forgotten. When I was fighting Palpatine."

"Yes," the man acknowledged sorrowfully. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Don't be. I killed you, remember?" Anakin managed in a weak attempt at humor. He turned serious. "Obi-Wan, I wish that I hadn't, more than anything. You were my father and my brother," he said. "And I hunted you like an animal." The self-disgust was evident even through the vocoder. "I'm so sorry, Master."

Obi-Wan said nothing for a few moments. "You need to focus on the here and now, Padawan," he said, smiling a little. "I will have plenty of time to berate you for your foolishness when you join me in the Force."

Behind the mask, Anakin smiled a little and knew that Obi-Wan could sense his amusement through the Force. "I love you, old man," he said quietly.

"I know," Obi-Wan said gently. "Release your anger and self-hate, Anakin. Those emotions will do nothing except tempt you with the Dark Side. Focus on the positive. Padmé is hurting and she will say things that will hurt you in return, but do not allow yourself to lose control of yourself. You must tread the path of the Light, my dear apprentice, and to do so you must let the Force take away your anger and pain. You must forgive yourself. You have done horrible things, yes, but this is your chance to right some of those wrongs. You can only do so if you are centered and calm. Do you understand me?"

Anakin nodded silently and slowly stood, calling his saber to his hand and hooking it to his belt. "Thank you, Master."

"Until next time, Anakin," said Obi-Wan, a smile on his face. He faded away and Anakin bowed his head. What he wouldn't give to have Obi-Wan at his side, fighting with him. A single tear blurred his vision before he harshly repressed his emotions. He had to focus on the here and now, he reminded himself. What's done is done. Losing himself in the regulated pattern of his breathing for a moment, he calmed himself, wrapping the Force around himself in a shroud of Light, pulling it to him as closely as he had the Dark. He reached inside himself for the core within him that was his love for Luke and Padmé, and Leia if she would ever allow him—for Obi-Wan, and his mother. He collected all his guilt and anger and let it pour out of him, the Force eagerly taking it away and leaving him in peace.

There is no emotion; only peace.

"Anakin?" The voice was hesitant and afraid.

He turned slowly to see his beloved wife standing at the entrance of the door, Han and Chewie behind her, both with aghast expressions. Padmé's face was pale and her mouth slightly open in disbelief at the destruction that he and wrought.

"Padmé," he greeted her, reaching out with the Force to brush lightly against her mind, to let her know how much he loved her. She gave a little gasp.

"Ani, I'm sorry," she managed finally, her eyes still wandering over the complete devastation that was the room.

"Don't be, Padmé," he told her calmly. "You were right. I only let my emotions get the better of me. It will not happen again."

"An' I thought wookiees had anger management problems," Han muttered as he stared at the room, earning a light cuff and growl from Chewie. "No wonder everybody was so scared at you back on Mustafar," he said, addressing Anakin. "If this is what you do if you get pissed off, remind me again not to get on your bad side."

"Funny, Solo," Anakin said dryly.

"Are you all right, Ani?" Padmé asked worriedly.

The helmet tilted towards her for a moment. "Yes," he said finally. "As usual, Obi-Wan had to knock some sense into me," he said, smiling ruefully before realizing that they couldn't see it. With a silent curse, he projected his emotions for Padmé to feel, and she smiled gently before moving forward to take his arm.

"What's the plan, then?"

"We are going to rendezvous with my destroyers," said Anakin. "And then…" he hesitated. "I'm not sure."

Sorry for the wait, but school, clubs, swim team, and work are keeping me busy. Actually, busy is kind of an understatement.

--Ar-Zimraphel