I wake up in a new cell, much nicer than the last. I am on a real bed this time, head in pillows and soft blankets over my body.

I push the covers away from my face, and, still sitting, move my eyes from one side of the room to the next.

There is a window, overlooking a dirty skyway, but a window nonetheless. The sun that manages to push through the haze and smog pours itself in, casting a grayish glow over everything.

'Everything' in this case is a small sink, a shower, a toilet, and a short oak dresser. The bottom drawer, carelessly hanging open, reveals crisply folded clothes.

Exhausted and aching, so horribly, I allow my lids to fall shut. Light filters through my eyelids, allowing me to see every pulsating vein. Briefly entertained, I stare at it, before sighing and turning my face into the pillow. My body follows reluctantly, wincing, so that I am stretched out on my stomach. I inhale deeply, tasting the cleanness of the freshly laundered pillowcase. I feel my thin shoulder blades rise and fall, pressing empty ribs—

Ribs—the suit is gone. I wonder briefly how—but Palpatine, he would have known how, and I am in his kingdom now, and he makes the rules.

So everyone knows who I am. Of course they'll have run a DNA scan—and of course they will have matched it to mine, which was sitting innocently with all the others.

Curious, I prop myself onto my elbows, cringing as the metal joints rub the thin layer of skin, scraping it painfully. I am cautious, almost fearful, as I bring my hand up to feel my face.

My hands are surprisingly cold. I move my head back slightly, an involuntary motion, before submitting.

Flesh that has felt nothing for months is suddenly stunned as hands feel every crack, the sagging bags under heavy eyes, the dry, chapped eyebrows. And hollow cheekbones are touched by hands sensitive to the way small strips of skin are ready to fall away.

Satisfied, I allow myself to flop back onto the pillows.

"Anakin Skywalker, Death Row Inmate 001, this is prisoner communication team Gontal and Pleauyon. Is there anything you require?"

My tongue is dry and swollen from lack of water. My throat screams with pain as I force my mouth open and move it to say, "No."

One syllable, easy to say, to remember. My mornings—or wakings, whenever they are—have been going like this since I saw the vision of Padme as an executioner. However long ago that was.

"Are you certain? We are required by law to inform you that your execution, in the form of lethal injection, is scheduled in 7 hours from now, at eleven pm local time."

"No," I say again, more quietly, not sure what I'm protesting to.

I hear the familiar buzz of static that means the other end has left.

I want to be angry. But find I can't. I do not have the energy to force myself to get worked up over this. I consider allowing myself to get depressed, but even if I wanted to be upset—I just don't care anymore, if I die.

Yes. I'll have failed everyone. Padme will be alone. I'm sorry, Padme. I'm sorry I'm leaving you a widow. I'm sorry I won't be there in the mornings when you wake up, and at the dinner table, and in the evenings to talk. Or ever.

And my children—Luke and Leia. My babies, my daughter, my son. I'm sorry. What's it like not to have a father? Or, I suppose, to have one who left you, like me?

And—Obi-Wan. This one causes shame to fall across my face, the first thing I've felt in eons. He was counting on me. The prophecy. I was supposed to fulfill it.

It was said you would destroy the Sith, not join them.

I'm sorry.

Scraping noise, from the window.

Judging from the amount of light filtering through my eyes, it's almost dark. Just a few hours left, then.

I struggle to pull a pillow over my face and finally succeed, panting. This effectively blocks out the noise and I sit in comforting silence.

The pillow is suddenly thrown away, and I moan at the sudden cold.

Something warm on my shoulder—a hand. So different from my own skeletal palm. Soft flesh gently shakes my shoulder.

"Anakin—Anakin, wake up." A low, urgent voice.

I crack my eyelids and see a face see a face swimming above me. It is too dark to make out distinct features, but I think I glimpse the familiar reddish blur of Obi-Wan's beard.

Angry tears slide down my cheeks. I'm stupid…so stupid. It's just a dream, a dream. I'm such an idiot for thinking anyone would come. For hoping…

But then I a slight pressure on my mind, tugging gently at a fraying bond—

Obi-Wan.

I try to pull myself into a sitting position, but fall back onto the pillows, coughing. He grabs my hands and slowly pulls me to my feet. I smile blindly, the unfamiliar gesture coming almost easily.

I place my arm around his shoulder for support, and find I don't need it as he uses the Force to keep me standing. I let my limbs fall to my sides, swinging uselessly as I close my eyes.

"Anakin."

I open my eyes to see Obi-Wan standing in front of the thick fiberglass window, part of which was obviously melted away by his lightsaber.

"Hurry, Anakin, we haven't got much time. Padme's been able to sneak in and disable the security cameras, but it won't last long."

I do not say anything, but stand motionless as he propels me forward.

A ship is suspended out side the window. I tumble into it, prevented from dropping out only by Obi-Wan's grip on my hand—

But—Obi-Wan's still in the room, just getting in the ship, now turning to face past me, and I turn too, and see—

Me.

A mirror, but too real. And—the hair is too blonde, the skin too tan and healthy.

I turn my neck back to Obi-Wan, eyes full of question.

He looks past me as he speaks, to the figure seated to my left. "A clone," he says softly, "It was—created—just after your arrest. Padme has been checking up on your condition so that it could be replicated—and here it is."

"It?" I choke out.

"He, I suppose," he corrects himself, handing me a bottle of water that according to the label is absolutely teeming with vitamins and minerals. He looks at me sternly before I reluctantly twist the lid off and tilt it into my mouth.

The cool stream hits my tongue. It's almost painful. It slides down my throat, and before I know it the entire bottle is gone. Silently, he hands me another, and another. Eventually, content, I fall back into the seat and close my eyes, nodding to indicate he continue his explanation.

"We're replacing him with you," he says simply.

I meet the eyes of the clone. Fear—pain—betrayal—all of what I've felt.

"No," I whisper.

"I am pleased to carry out the orders of my Master," the clone says. "Master Kenobi has requested I replace you, and I am willing to do so." I note his bitter tone as he speaks Obi-Wan's name.

"Obi-Wan," I say hoarsely, turning to face my best friend, "Tell him he doesn't have to."

Obi-Wan's voice betrays none of the sadness in his eyes, nor the turmoil and overwhelming guilt I feel radiating from him. "I can't, Anakin."

I nod, accepting this, and turn to face the clone.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"I will do my duty," he says quietly, stepping out of the ship and pulling himself through the window. Obi-Wan turns on the engine.

The clone smiles briefly and waves.

As we pull away, as the top is curving up, Obi-Wan sticks his head out of the small opening still left. "Goodbye, Anakin," he calls, before quickly tugging his neck back in.

We are almost out of the atmosphere, cutting away from the skyways, when I am able to focus enough to see the tears leaking down my friend's face.

"He was a good friend," he tells me simply, brushing his eyes with the back of his palm. "A good friend."

"I'm sorry," I mutter, staring out the window as we pull away from the stars into hyperspace.

"No, I'm just being ridiculous. I didn't really have a choice you know, that's why we created him. Fastest grown clone in the galaxy—Yoda was able to speed it along considerably. Sometimes I forgot he wasn't you," he says, laughing slightly, "Though of course, there were some differences—made it rather obvious at times. It was just yesterday that I was able to bring myself to tell him what he had to do—and it wasn't the happiest scene in the world, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"I'm sorry," I repeat uselessly. I should have died.

"Where are we going?" I ask abruptly.

"Degobah, is the plan."

"Okay," I say, before falling into a restless sleep.

A/N

Okay, I know the clone thing is just kind of randomly stuck in there, but I was rereading one of my all time favorite books, The House of the Scorpion, by Nancy Farmer, which deals with that issue, and I just couldn't resist.

Constructive criticism appreciated. Like, tell me if people are OOC or if its badly paced or unrealistic dialogue. Please?

Thanks again to my reviewers.