A/N: Update, no? It's a bit late, but nowhere near a three month wait…of which I still feel badly about, by the way. Thank you all for your reviews!

Second A/N: Oh, it's late because the freaking computer that I work on broke and I had to get it FIXED. Props to RandomAngel22, though, for reminding me to update :). Thanks! Anyway, FLUFF AHOY! And this chapter is quite long to make up for the wait.

Disclaimer: No.

PART TWO: BLOOM

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

She was getting extremely irritated. Shortly after Anakin's arrival, rumors had started that Obi-Wan had asked the Council if his Padawan could take the test to be a Knight. And for once, it seemed, the rumors were true. She had overheard Obi-Wan telling Lyra that his Padawan was ready, and that she should start taking into consideration Ali's future. Lyra hadn't responded.

Ali only knew all these things through evasive eavesdropping techniques, which she had mastered over time. It was quite annoying that Lyra hadn't consulted her about the Knighthood tests at all. But even more annoying was the group of females who now insisted on congratulating one Anakin Skywalker what seemed like every moment of every day.

She was generally a tolerant person, however. These things—Lyra's silence, the girls rabid worship of Anakin—she could handle. But what just threw her over the edge?

Anakin himself. He had been steadfastly ignoring her for the better part of a week now; and this was by no means a coincidence. Being stupidly careless, the two of them had agreed earlier (before this whole romantic mess had happened) to sign up for the same classes at the same time, so they could sit together or just talk to each other throughout the day. It is very difficult to ignore someone on accident when one is placed next to them for a good seven hours of the day.

He took to avoiding her as well, carefully placing himself inside circles of admiring females, simply so she would find it impossible to talk to him, one on one (or so she was convinced). And they needed exactly that—a talk, one on one. She would've contacted him through their mind-speak connection, but he had blockaded that, shutting it down so he could not receive her desperate demands.

And so, drastic times called for drastic measures.

She followed him, hiding in shadows until he had excused himself to use the restroom, when all the girls were milling about waiting for him. She waited for a few moments (just to make sure she didn't see anything she really, really didn't want to). Then she slipped quietly (and hopefully very inconspicuously) into the men's restroom. He was just washing his hands when she entered (and let it be said—male restrooms reeked far more than those of the female variety).

Of all the things Anakin had been expecting in life, being attacked by the love of his life inside the men's restroom after carefully avoiding her for a good week was not at the top of his list. And so, it was quite excusable that he jumped a good foot when, while washing his hands, she came, grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around to face her, and shoved him against the wall.

"What the hell is your problem?" She hissed at him. He blinked—he hadn't thought it possible, but she was definitely more beautiful up close than far away. Plus he loved it when she was angry, for everything just seemed so much more…alive. Fiery, passionate. And it just made things hurt more.

"Hello to you, too, Padawan Tyri," he said calmly. "What seems to be the matter?"

"You!" She cried in frustration. Why was he being like this? "Why aren't you talking to me?"

He blinked at her (gods, she was lovely) coolly before replying: "But I am talking. What do you call this?"

"No, you're not," she snapped, still livid. "Stop being so…so…"

"So what?" He prompted.

"So cold." She whispered. "Stop being so cold."

"Sorry, but I won't change," he replied in that same tone. He quickly pushed past her, to the door, and strode purposefully out of it, well aware that the pain in his chest meant his heart was shattering again.

She gave him his space, since that was so clearly what he wanted. She threw herself into studies (gradually, her lackluster grades that had developed over his absence began to improve), into practice, into meditation, and into friendships again. People were relieved that the "old Alianne" was back—many commented on how much they had missed her during her absence from social life.

And yet—yet—she couldn't help but think, as Ryan smiled hugely at her and welcomed her to sit next to him at lunch—why didn't they try to help? If they all noticed she was upset and different, why had no actions been taken?

One day Lyra approached her and said that they needed to talk.

"Padawan," Lyra began, smiling, sitting next to the redhead on her bed. Ali felt herself relax slightly. "It's so good to see you back again."

"It's good to be back, Master," Ali murmured. Neither of them had to specify exactly what she had been gone from—both knew implicitly.

"I wanted to talk to you about two things," Lyra continued. "First off, I believe you are ready for the Knighthood trials. I have been observing your grades and training sessions of late, and find them satisfactory. You have also matured over time, Padawan. If you are in agreement, we'll have you taking the trials by the end of next month."

Ali nodded eagerly—of course she wanted to take the next step in her Jedi training! And if Lyra thought she was ready, she must be. The older woman smiled in satisfaction, but that quickly faded.

"The next subject," Lyra said, her tone now serious. Ali felt her elation fade. "Is about Padawan Skywalker."

It was like someone had dumped a bucket of cold dread over her body. Ali felt herself tense, and worry flooded her mind.

"What about him?" She asked, voice casual (or so she hoped).

Lyra sighed. "I know something happened between you two, because you're both avoiding each other and ruining your friendship. Now—"

"Nothing happened between us," Ali interjected hastily. "Absolutely nothing. We've just…gotten into a few arguments, that's all. Common stuff."

Lyra quirked an eyebrow at her Padawan, who flushed slightly. Wisely, however, Lyra decided not to press it.

"As I was saying," she continued, eyeing Ali beadily. "I noticed that you have been drifting further and further apart from Anakin—for whatever reason. Am I correct?"

Here Ali nodded, keeping her mouth shut.

"I just wanted to tell you—no, warn you—that this is for the best. I was worried before that you and Padawan Skywalker were becoming too…close." The awkwardness was apparent in Lyra's tone.

"We weren't," Ali said again, hastily. "So rest assured."

"Well then, good," Lyra replied, relief evident in her voice. "Because then the Prophecy…oh, never mind. If that really is the case, you have nothing to worry about." She got up off the bed, smiled, and left before Ali could inquire further as to this Prophecy.

She let him have his space for the next two weeks, throughout his Knighthood trials (she resisted from joining the admiring masses and congratulating him on his success), before cracking. This was infuriating. What was going on? It would drive her insane, not knowing how he felt. And so she (for lack of a better word) stalked him, following his footsteps and waiting for a chance to speak to him privately.

It happened one lazy twilight during early autumn, when his gaggle of girls had turned in early for a good night's sleep. Dusk was setting in; the sun was fading in a brilliant pink sky. She followed him straight into the gardens, secretly in the shadows. Once out of sight, she grabbed him by his shoulders, spun him around, and shoved him (hard) into the wall dividing the lilies from the orchids.

He stumbled backwards, crashing into it, and righted himself quickly. A flash of anger passed through his eyes, and he opened his mouth (presumably to yell at her), but she quickly interrupted him.

"We need to talk, Anakin Skywalker," She said, her tone deadly cold. "And you are not leaving this place until we do."

"Talk about what?" He asked innocently. Then his eyes hardened. "Oh, I have an idea. Let's talk about why you just pushed me into the wall."

She tried to think of words to try to convey the fury inside her. She was livid and aching and furious and she just wanted him back.

"Because you're a fucking asshole, that's why," she hissed at long last. "I don't know why you've been avoiding me, why you've been ignoring me, why you aren't talking to me—but I do know that it's pissing me off. And…I do know that it hurts, Ani." She felt something behind her eyes burn, and she brushed at them angrily. The last thing she wanted to do was cry—show weakness.

"You're supposed to be my friend," she sniffled, and she felt a tear trace a path down her right cheek. Shit. "You're supposed to be my best friend, Ani. And it just hurts, now."

He looked horrified at seeing her cry, staring at her in blank shock. Swiping at the tears, she saw out of the corner of her eye a jerky movement; he had made as if to hug her or to hold her, but then stopped himself forcefully.

"Why do you hate me, Ani?" She asks quietly now. "What did I do?"

There's a pause, and she starts to chew on her bottom lip. He sucks in a breath, and wishes with all his heart that she wouldn't do that. It makes thinking (let alone talking) difficult.

"I don't hate you," he says at long last. "I just…I can't be just your friend anymore, Ali."

She opens her mouth to say something, and he stops her quickly, continuing.

"I know we can't," he says tiredly, staring at that beautiful, breathtaking person in front of him. "That's why I can't be with you anymore. Because I know it's illegal, because you're entirely too tempting for your own good, and because I know you don't care for me like I do for you. I can't just be your friend anymore, Ali. It hurts to be around you knowing that you'll never love me like I love you."

He closes his eyes, and sighs at how twisted this whole thing has become. He wants to hold her close to him, to wipe away her tears, but he doesn't trust himself this close to her for so long. He might do something stupid.

"You're wrong, you know," she says quietly, staring at the lilies on the floor. He quirks an eyebrow at her, but she refuses to meet his gaze. "I do. I do love you."

Suddenly he finds it hard to breathe, and some warm, burning feeling inside his chest region begins to spread, until he finds that his fingertips are burning. He blinks once, twice, three times from the shock.

"What?" He asks, choking. Is he dreaming?

"I love you," she repeats, and she lifts her eyes to his. "I figured out what an idiot I was being when I thought you were dead. And then I realized how much I love you, how much you mean to me, and how stupid I was to throw it all away."

She steps closer to him, and he can't move, can't think, can't breathe.

"We're both pretty stupid, aren't we?" She whispers, and then she stands on tiptoe and puts her arms around his neck. Her lips are inches from his, and all he can think is: Please let this be real.

Then she kisses him, short and sweet, and pulls back entirely too soon. She smiles at him, under the fading light of the sun, and he shivers at how beautiful she is.

His eyes are a darker shade of blue now, clouded with what? Lust, desire, want, need? She can't tell. His breathing is ragged and he's shaking slightly under her arms, and she presses hot, open mouthed kisses to his neck. She can feel his heart pounding, can hear him swallow. When she hits a particularly sensitive area, he groans aloud.

He grips her chin in between his thumb and forefinger and brings it back, level to his. Then he utters one word:

"Fuck."

And he's kissing her, far more passionate than the first one, and things are spinning wildly, out of control. Her world and his has slipped off their axes and neither of them can see straight. Comprehensive thought is lost to them, and he all but slams her into the wall behind them, pressing into her, his hands coming to rest at her waist.

He kisses her desperately, with all the pent up emotion inside him, as if she would disappear afterwards. His tongue begs for entrance, and she hesitates before allowing him. She's running her hands through his hair, pulling him closer, and he can't breathe anymore.

Finally he pulls back, resting his forehead on hers as he pants for breath.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he whispers.

She smiles at him, still playing with his hair. "I think I might."

A/N: Fluff much? Oh boy I can't write kissing scenes…ummm…I know this is late, but my labtop broke and the powers that be didn't fix it for FOREVER. So I'm back now! With an update! And I don't like it very much…so if you could please read and review, with constructive crit or compliments (I like those a lot), it'd make me feel better :). And I'd appreciate it.

So please read and review! And again, sorry for the delay.