A/N: Oh dear. What to say, what to say, what to say...

You see this? This update? This really, really, really overdue update (which I'm sorry for, by the way)? Well, you have FilthyMushi to thank for it. Honestly…I was stuck, had the world's worst writer's block, forgot my train of thought, went on vacations, etc. etc…and I probably wouldn't have updated if she hadn't PMed me telling me to. So here it is. Late, but here. And I'm SO SORRY (like honestly…). Please read and review though? You guys keep me going :).

OH, and P.S. If the chapter sounds forced and rather stupid, please forgive. It was forced and rather stupid. I just…couldn't write it. But I forced myself through it, and here it is.

Disclaimer: No.

PART TWO: BLOOM

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Ali slowly faded from the real world into the grey shadows, where the line between sleep and wake was so blurred as to be indiscernible. To avoid contact with other people, she often hid in the meditation room, closed her eyes, and sat there, lost in thoughts. When others attempted to speak to her, she would simply pretend to be so deep in meditation that she couldn't hear them. Lyra disturbed her the most, calling her for meals or just for "talks." Her Master sensed something was very, very wrong—Ali continued to deny it, trying to assuage these fears. But the inevitable facts remained—Ali rarely ate, lost quite a bit of weight, and found sleep tiring.

She had a simple daily routine—awaken, shower. Eat when forced to, but she was rarely hungry anymore. Then she would sit down and mediate through the rest of the morning, and even parts of the afternoon. Occasionally she would attempt to practice alone with the lightsaber, but she found it draining when she had so little energy. Generally she would meditate until dinner, eating when forced again. Then she would lie back down in her bed and lie there, thinking.

At night, crazy ideas would come into her mind. Perhaps the walls contained another chance for her. That feeling deep inside her stomach—the hot, twisting mass of pain—that was regret. And if she ever could relive any moment again, she would choose to have Anakin die knowing she loved him—with all the passion and life and heart and soul and spirit that she had within her.

It was in this nightmare world of remorse and memories that she existed, exhausted and broken, for well over three months.

Sometime in the third month of this dim world, Lyra came in to see Ali, agitated beyond belief. The wind around her Master was fiercer, and a blaze was shining in her eyes. Reluctantly Ali opened her eyes, gazing at Lyra questioningly. What had gotten her Master so worked up?

"We've picked up contact," Lyra breathed, barely restraining her excitement.

What?" The redhead whispered, unable to believe her ears.

"We've picked up contact," Lyra repeated.

"Who?" She was biting her lip in anticipation.

"Them," Lyra said happily, smiling. "Anakin and Obi-Wan! I don't know how they did it, no one knows how they did it, not yet—but they're coming back!"

"When?" Ali asked weakly. She pinched herself on the arm, over and over, so hard that her skin began to bruise. Oh, how she would sob if this was all a dream! It would break her heart. But the action hurt her skin and she felt the pain, and she knew—knew—that this was real.

"They will be back tomorrow afternoon," Lyra said. "Both of them—they're both safe—they're both alive, they're coming back."

"They're…coming back." Ali repeated. The words warmed her heart, spreading like fire over her cold skin and dead spirit. "They're coming back!"

And then the Padawan leaped up, off the ground, and enveloped the other woman in a hug, smiling so hugely that her face hurt. It was the first smile Lyra had seen in a long time, and it almost made her weep with joy. Together, tangled in a multi-limbed hug, the two cried happily:

"They're coming back, they're coming back!"

It was a very different Alianne who waited for the return of her friend the next day. She was so scared, for some reason, of facing him. It was rather ironic; after all the wait, all the wishes that she could tell him how much she cared, she was tentative to see him now. Perhaps it was the fear of rejection? What if he didn't care for her anymore? What if he'd thought it over and decided that indeed, it would be better if they didn't do anything? What if he'd actually stopped caring for her? What if he just wanted to be friends now, too?

These doubts plagued her as she watched, in eager anticipation, standing at the back of the crowd. She was hiding behind a pillar, in the shadow of the great column, a Jedi robe on and the hood up, so her face was covered. She didn't quite know why—all she knew was that Sera, standing front row and blabbing about how happy she was, pissed the hell out of her, and that she hoped Ani hadn't changed.

All around her gossip was flying—each more ridiculous than the last. Some said that they had repaired the ship using nothing but vines and wooden branches to tie it together. Others whispered that Anakin had used the Force to transport him and Obi-Wan to the nearest city (Ali found this one particularly amusing, making note to share it with Ani later, seeing as how they very well knew the Force could not be used for transportation).

Finally, a sleek silver ship slowly descended upon the runway, and the people surrounding it shushed up considerably. It seemed as if everyone was waiting with baited breath for the two (now) heroes to arrive.

And they did. There was no trumpet fanfare, no fireworks—although many did cheer loudly. The ramp descended and—she took in a sharp breath—there he was.

It was as if someone pushed her into a bright, summer day after she had been inside a dark room for hours. She blinked once, twice—to rid the surprising wetness from her eyes—and simply stared at him. And then her lips stretched into a soft, sweet smile. He hadn't changed. He was still her Ani.

Granted, he was tanner now—presumably from more exposure to the sun. And his hair was longer; wilder, curlier, but still that familiar shade of golden sands. And his eyes—she chuckled gently and pressed her cheek to the cold stone of the pillar, hugging it and grateful for its solid comfort—they were just as blue as she remembered.

Obi-Wan was speaking now, thanking people for the welcome and talking about how good it was to be back. But Ali wasn't listening—her eyes were focused on Anakin, tall and beautiful, and her heart was emerging from its cocoon. She felt as if she could soar, fly— if only he would stay by her side eternally. He was smiling, and everyone was too.

But then he caught sight of her—she swore he did, they made eye contact, and his eyes seemed to light up, and she smiled at him—but suddenly he looked away, his expression distinctly cold. The grin faded from his face, and didn't return until Sera said something that Ali couldn't hear.

She frowned. This wasn't at all what she had in mind. She stayed for a few more minutes, eager to soak up as much of him as she could. But when he continued to ignore her presence and didn't even try to look for her, she slid into the shadows again, exiting the celebration quietly. This was so confusing.

He told himself that he absolutely would not look in her direction again. But that first glimpse of her hooded face—he had forgotten how bright her eyes were, how green. How captivating. One glance, and all his walls were down. He had spent forever building them, reminding himself that if he returned and became friends with her again, he would just hurt himself. She didn't care for him in that way, and he would simply have to get over it.

But it was all useless, for she had smiled once—just a slight tilt of the corner of her lips—and he had fallen again, so hard and so fast that it frightened him. He wasn't even twenty yet; he wasn't supposed to feel for someone—anyone—this strongly. The familiar ache that came with wanting her, but never having her, set in again. He felt slightly delirious with his desire for her; absence did, indeed, make the heart grow fonder.

In defiance, he trained his eyes instead on the voluptuous blonde in front of him, stretching his lips into a smile whenever she said something nice about him. He thanked her for her compliments, and patted her shoulder cordially for her welcome. He then passed on to the next person, and the next, and the next, and the next.

And then he couldn't help it—he lifted his gaze briefly, just to see her again. To his shock and displeasure, she was gone. There was no trace of her left, no proof that he existed. His first, gut reaction was to panic—to ask about frantically if anyone had seen a beautiful young woman with red hair and green eyes, standing just behind that pillar yonder. Or maybe he was just going crazy from missing her, from wanting her, from craving more of those forbidden kisses (he had dwelt on those entirely too long, speaking of, savoring the flavor of her and the softness of her lips and heat of her breath and feel beneath his fingers. She was addicting, intoxicating…unhealthy for him).

But then his logical side kicked in, and he thought: Perhaps this is for the best. Perhaps it would be better if she just didn't exist, if she disappeared without a trace from my life. And so he continued to accept welcomes and "I'm so happy you're back"s, trying with all his will to forget about the girl who haunted his thoughts and dreams.

A/N: I told you it was nasty. And short. All this writing and little action. I just got really, really stuck…but don't worry, the fluff will be coming in soon! And in great quantities! But then more action…and maybe even some sad parts.

Anyway, please please please read and review, you guys! You keep me writing, because otherwise I'd probably have stopped by now.

Again, thank FilthyMushi for this. You are amazing, by the way.