Disclaimer: All is owned by GL and his dynasty. Special acknowlegement to Terry Brooks for the quotes from The Phantom Menace novelization, p. 154.

TempleMistress says: Finally! I truly apologize for the severe lag in chapters--the holidays were extrememly disruptive and I lost my muse for a while, but never fear, she returned! Thank you so much for sticking with me, and for all the words of encouragement.

I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 6: The Archive of Our Failure

"I am the archive of our failure… I'm wound up small and tight
and I don't know who I am."
--S. McLachlan, Black and White

Anakin felt the cool breeze blowing through his hair, drying the tears that still remained on his cheeks. His only movement was that of his chest, rising and falling with each breath. He still lay on his side, his back to the door that separated him from his Master. The door through which, in a screaming rage, he had forced Obi-Wan to leave.

That had been hours ago, and Obi-Wan had not returned.

Anakin was alone.

He was alone and he knew that it was his fault, knew that what had happened to him was all his own doing. His capture at Geonosis, the rescue that resulted in so many dead Jedi, his audacity in rushing in to take on Dooku, the loss of his arm, and the loss of his life as a Jedi. All of itwas his fault.

All of it, save one thing.

Since Obi-Wan had left, Anakin had turned over his Master's words every way that he could, but in the end, it was still the same to him. Obi-Wan had broken his promise. It was a promise Anakin had never had to ask him to make, for Obi-Wan had given it freely. It had been a sacred pledge of trust between them, but now, like so many things in Anakin's life, it had been destroyed.

Anakin stood nearby as his Master argued, loudly, with Master Windu. He knew Master Windu's Padawan, Depa Billaba, was having some problems, but he did not understand why his Master was so concerned.

Although shorter than Master Windu, Anakin noted that his Master was no less imposing. Obi-Wan's eyes were narrowed into darkened blue-green slivers, his chin lifted defiantly as his cultured voice lowered into an icy whisper. Anakin stood transfixed, having never seen his Master so…impassioned. It was as exciting as it was unnerving.

"Mace, you know this is not the only way. You have many alternatives; trust in the Force to bring Depa back to you. Acting in haste is never the Jedi—"

Master Windu raised his hand and shook a finger in Obi-Wan's face. "Do not presume to lecture me, Obi-Wan. I will do what I think is best for my Padawan; it is no affair of yours," Master Windu said dismissively. "Mark my words; someday, with that Padawan of yours, you will do the same." The Master Jedi's dark eyes flicked over to Anakin as he approached them. "Perhaps you should have done it already," he said, glaring at Anakin with such distaste, as though he was still a dirty little slave boy rather than a Padawan Learner. Master Windu stalked off in a huff.

"Master?" Anakin said tentatively, looking up to search Obi-Wan's now-impassive face for answers. "What's wrong?"

"It is nothing, young one," he said absently, his focus on Master Windu's retreating back. But Anakin could feel his Master's anger and frustration. It wasn't nothing.

"He's going to do it, isn't he? He's going to break Depa's shields?" he asked timidly, his blue eyes wide with anxiety, afraid of the answer. Anakin had heard the older Padawans' whispers of such a thing, how every Master did it to their Padawan at some point; how it was an invasion of privacy at best, a violation of their mind at worst. It scared him that a Master could wield such power over a Padawan.

"You should not concern yourself with this, Anakin." His Master blew out a frustrated breath through pursed lips. "But yes, he is."

In the three years Anakin had been Obi-Wan's apprentice, Anakin had certainly given his Master enough reasons to be angry with him, but never like this. So…emotional and full of disgust. And at Master Windu, who was a respected Council Member and a good friend of Obi-Wan's.

"I don't understand. Why would Master Windu do that? I've heard—I've heard that it hurts a lot." Anakin's mouth twisted into a scowl, thinking of the pain Depa would suffer because of Master Windu's actions. "Master, why would any Master want to hurt their Padawan?"

"No Master wants to inflict pain on their Padawan, Anakin. But often a Padawan strays so far from the Jedi path that a Master feels that to breach their shields is the only way to correct their behaviour." He turned to Anakin and put his hands on his young Padawan's shoulders, his kind eyes finding Anakin's troubled ones.

"I want you to know, Anakin, that I do not share this philosophy. Many Masters, I believe, use this measure in haste, as a shortcut, as a way to 'break' their Padawan. As Jedi we are taught to trust in the Force, to let it guide is, rather than to act in impatience and haste." He paused, his mouth twisting into the disapproving scowl Anakin knew only too well. "I find it…appalling…that this barbaric practice is still endorsed by the Council. It does more harm than good, and does nothing but weaken the Master-Padawan bond."

Anakin bit his lip. He didn't want to ask, but he blurted out the question anyway. "Master, about what Master Windu said to you about me— are you going to— have you wanted— ?"

Obi-Wan smiled warmly, but his eyes were serious. "No, my Padawan. Master Windu is… misguided, and he is no more your Master than I am Depa's. Anakin, you have my word that I will never breach your shields. Should the day come when that seems to be the only alternative, I will find another way. I promise you that." He put his arm around Anakin's shoulders, pulling him close. "You are my Padawan and I am your Master; I want you to be able to trust me. I value our relationship too much to harm it so needlessly."

Then why, Master, why did you do it? Anakin wondered with a disconsolate sigh.

Anakin had been so angry with him before Obi-Wan left, but the anger had since subsided. Now it was a deep, persistent ache that swelled in intensity each time his mind, out of long habit, unconsciously brushed against the bond he shared with his Master. But he just could not bring himself to open the link and allow Obi-Wan access. It still hurt him too much that Obi-Wan had violated his mind. When Obi-Wan had made that promise to his Padawan, Anakin had truly felt for the first time that his Master was different from all the other Masters. Obi-Wan was more than his Master; he was Anakin's best friend, his brother, his…everything.

Anakin swallowed hard. Sometime during the last year, as the Republic moved closer to war and they were sent on longer and more dangerous missions, Anakin realized that not only was Obi-Wan the only one he had to count on, he was the only one Anakin wanted to count on.

Anakin had always wanted to please Obi-Wan, which had never been easy, but it became almost an obsession to Anakin that Obi-Wan say it. Say that he was proud of Anakin, say that Anakin had done well, say that he cared about Anakin. He had worked hard in the last year to prove himself to Obi-Wan, prove that he was worthy of Obi-Wan's care—Sith knew he'd complained enough to Padme about it. She tried to understand, but in the end she simply couldn't. She wasn't a Jedi. And Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn't the center of her life, her very existence. Wanting to hear Obi-Wan say he cared about Anakin was what had led Anakin to foolishly rush in to face Dooku.

But admitting that he cared about Anakin would be admitting to an attachment. Jedi did not have attachments, and Obi-Wan was a Jedi. He was, to Anakin, the Jedi. Always.

The ache swelled again, for unlike his Master, Anakin did have an attachment to the older Jedi. He knew it was wrong; it had been a constant struggle over the years to keep his feelings, the attachment, hidden from Obi-Wan and the Council. But now, he realized, it didn't matter anymore. He had been betrayed by his best friend and had lost his constant companion of the past ten years. It was a deep wound to his soul that hurt more than the slash of the sabre that had removed his arm.

Further proof that you're not cut out to be a Jedi, Skywalker.

He closed his eyes, willing his mind to relax. Anakin's mind was exhausted, but peaceful sleep, as always, eluded him. Sleeping would only bring nightmares, and he'd had enough nightmares now to last a lifetime.

The sun had set long ago, and Anakin opened his eyes to watch the slivers of two of Naboo's moons rise past the purple peaks of the mountains on the far side of the lake. He gazed upward, past the moons, to the countless stars in the Nubian sky. Stars he'd once believed he would visit, each and every one of them.

"There are so many! Do they all have a system of planets?" Anakin asked Qui-Gon.

"Most of them," Qui-Gon answered.

"Has anyone been to all of them?"

Qui-Gon laughed. "Not likely."

Anakin nodded, still looking up. "I want to be the first one, then, the first to see them all!"

Anakin felt fresh tears begin to fall as the memory faded away. He had been only nine then, when Qui-Gon had appeared and turned his life upside down, pulling him out of slavery and setting him on the path the Jedi Master was so sure was Anakin's destiny. For as long as he could remember, Anakin had had vivid dreams, premonitions that he would be a Jedi and carry a lightsabre. His mother had let him go willingly, wanting a better life for him than that of a slave. Anakin had watched her die in his arms, his Jedi abilities not nearly good enough to save her in time. Qui-Gon had forsaken his reputation and died believing Anakin was the "Chosen One" of Jedi prophecy. Obi-Wan, forced into being Anakin's Master, had spent his entire adult life in the service of training Anakin to be a Jedi.

With one swift strike of a deadly crimson lightsabre, it had all abruptly ended, and Anakin had become the archive of their failures.

He winced, feeling pain tickling down his arm to the fingers of his right hand; fingers that were no longer there. He'd had twinges of feeling— enough to make him look down a couple of times— that deluded him each time into thinking that it was all some terrible nightmare, a mistake. Instead, he found that it was indeed a nightmare, but there had been no mistake.

He didn't look this time; he'd stopped looking hours ago. His arm was gone, and along with it the dreams and hopes of so many; his mother, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, but most of all, himself. A life as a Jedi was the only life he'd known for the past ten years, and the only one he had ever wanted.

Scrunching his eyes shut, he drew in a deep breath, summoning the Force to calm himself, willing the tears to stop. He felt the Force enter him, wrapping around him like a familiar comforting blanket. As he released the breath, he opened his now tearless eyes. Crying like a youngling is not the Jedi way. I am a Jedi.

The errant thought made his heart ache with loss.

"Well, I was a Jedi," he said desolately to the air, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling.

"And you still are, young one."

Anakin startled at the melodious, soothing voice that could only be Master Luminara Unduli's, but he did not roll on to his back to face her.

"Hello, Anakin. It is good to see you awake, and in this world, I might add." Luminara approached the edge of the bed, hearing him sigh deeply.

"Master, please. With all respect, I'd like to be left alone." He flinched as she reached out and touched his right shoulder, gently rolling him on to his back to face her.

Anakin refused to meet her eyes, his mouth twisting into a scowl, his upper body taut with tension. He pulled away from the touch, reaching up with his left hand to pull the blankets higher over the white sleeve that covered what remained of his arm.

He is about what I expected—angry, afraid, ashamed. Luminara pressed her lips together firmly, trying to decide on the best way to approach Anakin, the best way to help begin the trial of his healing process. Oh young one, it may not seem like it now, but you will be whole again. She suspected that, like his Master, Anakin would respond best if she was direct with him.

"Anakin, I'm here as your Healer, and as your Healer, I will need to check your wounds to be sure they are healing properly." She laid a hand on his right arm. "All of your wounds," she said, looking into his turbulent blue eyes.

Mustering up what little bravado he had left, Anakin removed her hand from his arm. "I'm fine, Master. Nothing a little bacta can't fix, right?" he tried to quip, but his voice broke near the end and he looked away, his eyes glistening.

Luminara walked over to a small table next to the bed and turned on the lamp. "Anakin, please. Let me examine you. You have been healing well, and yes, the bacta has helped, but I want to ensure that there is no lasting damage."

Lasting damage? Anakin thought bitterly. "No. Not right now, Master. I- I can't. Please, just leave me alone," he said, the anger in his voice masking any other emotion.

But Luminara was a Master Healer. It was not difficult to sense the anguish and shame Anakin was feeling, even as he tried to hide it from her. It was a common reaction among injured Jedi— particularly Padawans, who were stunned by their first brush with mortality. With Anakin, there was more than just the pain from the injuries and the shame from his failure. There was… a sense of abandonment, of deep loneliness, and…regret. More than anything, there was regret. She sighed inwardly, recognizing the emotion, for it was much the same feeling that she'd sensed from Obi-Wan.

"All right, Anakin. I will respect your wishes, but I will return later this evening." She had decided to leave, understanding that Anakin needed more time to process his emotions if she were to have any impact as his Healer.

Anakin's voice was ragged when he spoke. "Master Luminara, what happened to me?"

Surprised by the question, she turned to face him, her head tilting just a bit. "What do you remember, young one?" It would be better for Anakin's healing if he recovered the memories on his own.

Anakin had a far-away look on his face, his eyes focused out the double doors towards the mountains. "Bits and pieces—stuff that only seems to come in nightmares, and now I'm not sure what is a bad dream and what really happened." He closed his eyes briefly. In a small voice he continued, "I know I lost my arm to Dooku, but only because of my nightmare and because…" he swallowed hard, "Obi- my Master- told me so. But I don't remember much that happened before and after that." He turned his face to Luminara. "Please Master, why do I need all this bacta? What happened?"

Luminara couldn't help but feel her heart clench when the young Jedi looked at her with such sadness. The young man had always had a special place in her heart, simply for his carefree attitude and the emotions that, try as he might, he wore on his sleeve, much to the chagrin of the stuffy and unfeeling Jedi Council. Perhaps most importantly, she could see how happy and alive Anakin had made her dear friend Obi-Wan feel in the time since Qui-Gon's death. They were good for each other. If only they can move beyond this—together.

"Anakin, I- I think this is a conversation you should have with your Master. Obi-Wan was there, while I was not. He would know best—"

Anakin's eyes flashed with anger. "Know best? He does not know what best is! Certainly not for me. Master, please, just tell me!"

She held up her hand to quiet his protests. "All right, all right. Prior to the loss of your arm, you were hit with a burst of Force-lightning, enough to knock you unconscious for an indeterminate amount of time. This caused an overload in the electrical impulses of your muscles and when you eventually regained consciousness, you were momentarily able to continue in your duel. Once the adrenaline was spent, I can only assume you tired quickly and your muscles soon gave out." Her voice became softer, sympathetic. "You would have been unable to defend yourself for long against an attack, Anakin. The amputation of your arm resulted in a catastrophic failure of your entire system, knocking you immediately unconscious."

Luminara watched Anakin's reaction carefully. It was obvious the Padawan had little memory of the circumstances of his injuries.

Anakin had turned to stare at her, not really believing a word. Force-lightning, losing consciousness in the middle of a duel? "How-how long was I unconscious the second time?"

"Two weeks. Senator Amidala brought you here immediately from Geonosis. You spent the first week in bacta."

"Why here? Why not the Temple?"

Luminara eyes shifted away for a moment. "That is something you'll need to discuss with the Senator and your Master. But be assured, Anakin, that the healers here did all that they could for you. Your body was healing adequately, but for some reason you remained in the Force-coma and I was called in. "

Anakin mulled this over, trying to reconcile her words with the snippets of memory he had along with the nightmares. He shook his head slightly. Things still did not add up.

"Force-coma?"

"Yes. Between the Force-lightning, the strain of the duel, and the sudden amputation, the shock effectively shut down your body. Anakin, a series of severe traumas like this would likely have killed an ordinary man, and most Jedi. I believe the phenomenal number of midichlorians you have took you into the Force to heal. I've seen this happen with other Jedi, but not to the depth and degree of your Force-coma."

"I-I remember parts of that, but I thought it was a dream. I was…swimming," he smiled at the memory, looking out the window, "in that lake. My mom was there…and…" he paused, shaking his head slightly. "Qui-Gon! Master Jinn was there, too. I really talked to them? It wasn't just a dream?" He sat up slightly, his eyes wide with surprise and bewilderment.

Luminara smiled warmly. This was a good sign, that Anakin was remembering, rather than blocking it out.

"Yes, young one, I know. I was there, too." She watched his expression closely.

"You were? I- I don't remember that part." He looked at her puzzled.

"I am not surprised. The Force is very strong in you, Anakin, and it was wrapped about you tightly, protecting you from any further injury or pain, apparently viewing me as a threat in that moment. I could see you, but you could not or would not hear me. You were determined to stay there."

"So how…?" But instantly Anakin knew the answer and wished he had never asked the question, wished he didn't know the answer.

Luminara's eyes were full of empathy. "I think you know, young one," she said softly.

His eyes narrowed into icy slivers, his mouth turned down into a scowl. "No…."

"Anakin, I was there. He had no choice, no alternative—"

"There is always a choice! Always an alternative!" Anakin roared, his rage pounding at Luminara's shields. As a Healer, she was prepared for such outbursts, but Anakin's sheer strength, his anger, caught her off-guard.

"Padawan! I know you are angry, but you must control yourself—let me help you, Anakin." Luminara reached out with the Force to Anakin, attempting to soothe his anger, to temper his hurt. Her efforts were pushed aside by the young Jedi's impressive anger and strong shields. Undaunted, she did not back down. "Anakin, you must learn to let it go, to accept that what has happened is now in the past. He did what he had to do—"

"He promised me!" Anakin's voice thundered, his entire body shaking with his hurt and anger. "You don't understand! He said he would never do that…he promised…he said he would find another way…" His hand struck the bed in frustration, punctuating his words. "He lied to me," Anakin hissed, angry tears shining in his eyes.

And suddenly, Luminara felt Anakin just…shut down. He lay still, tears no longer evident, his breathing calm. He blocked every attempt she made to sense his emotions, to send him healing touches to his mind, even to check over his wounds.

She laid a hand on his shoulder again as he looked away. "I know, young one, I know. It wasn't easy for him, I can tell you that."

"Apparently it was easy enough," he said with a petulant huff. He rolled over to his side, his back to the Healer. "Master, please, I don't want to talk about this. I just want to be left alone. Please, just go."

"Anakin, I understand, but you need to talk about—"

He pulled away from her touch roughly, his voice sharp and full of bitterness. "I said I don't want to talk about this. And I don't need a Healer. I am no longer a Jedi, Master. Haven't you noticed? I'm missing an essential component!"

Haja, Anakin. So much shame for someone so young, with so much promise. She reached over the bed, placing her hand on his cheek, sending what little comfort she could get through to him. "Anakin, you will always be a Jedi. What has happened to you is but a trial to be endured. Others have faired much worse and have gone on to be effective Jedi."

She pulled her hand back quickly as he rolled back to face her, a cloud of darkness descending on his normally angelic, boyish features. "A 'trial to be endured'? I wasn't supposed to be a fucking effective Jedi!" In spite of his rage, he felt the defiant, stinging tears start to run down his face. He swiped at them furiously, his voice beginning to crack with the emotions overtaking him. "I was supposed to be The Chosen One! The one to bring balance to the Force! Tell me, how does a one-armed freak who can't even use a lightsabre remain a Jedi and bring balance to anything? I don't think the prophecy called for a disfigured 'Chosen One'!"

Luminara realized that he had had enough for one day; Anakin was too upset now, and she cursed herself for pushing him. She knew she had nothing to fear from Anakin— he wouldn't harm her— but nothing in her career had prepared her for the depth of Anakin's anger, shame, and fear. As much as she cared for him, she knew she had helped him as much as she could, at least for the moment.

Qui-Gon, you were right about one thing—the one person Anakin needs in order to heal is the one person he fears to face. Obi-Wan.

She held up her hand in a placating gesture. "Shh, young one. No more anger, no more talk. I will go for now, and return later to check your dressings. Please, try to get some rest— your body, and your mind, need it to heal. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

He didn't answer. She nodded at him slightly and left the room, closing the door behind her.

He lay there for a while, completely embarrassed by his outbursts, at the disrespectful language he used in front of the Master. When Obi-Wan found out he would chastise Anakin, telling to him to—

No. No he wouldn't.

Obi-Wan would never again tell him he was being an impudent child, throwing tantrums and using vulgar language as a way to bully people. He wouldn't let out that tortured sigh of the long-suffering Master, saying that Anakin would be the death of him. Obi-Wan had never been impressed by his anger, preferring just to give Anakin that frustratingly bored "Are you done yet?" look, even rolling his eyes sometimes. Part of Anakin, the part he couldn't control, wished to see that look right now. It would mean nothing had changed, that he was still a Padawan to Obi-Wan Kenobi.

But he wasn't. He couldn't be. After what he had done, and what he had become, there would be no reason for him to be Obi-Wan's Padawan any longer. All Obi-Wan would feel for Anakin now would be disgust, or worse, pity.

Anakin rolled on to his side, and with considerable effort, pushed himself up into a sitting position. He pulled off all his bedcoverings and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his dark blue sleep pants a deep contrast to the white of the linens.

Force, what am I going to do? he thought, as he ran his hand through unfamiliar hair. The breeze blew in through the open doors, chilling his exposed skin and causing his Padawan braid to dance across his chest. He looked down at it as though it was completely foreign.

It's been recently braided, he noticed, not only because of its now considerable length, but its general tidy appearance. When Anakin fixed his braid, it was usually no better than when he'd started, his haste and lack of attention to detail readily apparent. Obi-Wan had long ago given up the fight, having muttered something about "picking his battles," whatever that meant. Padme, ever fussing about all things pertaining to hair, hated how messy Anakin let it get. She had even threatened to hold him down and do it herself, but they'd run out of time on the way to Geonosis.

Padme…of course. She would have been the one to do it, but where was she now? This was her house, on her world. She was likely back on Coruscant, doing her Senatorial duties. He missed talking with her; she had always been a good listener, and would undoubtedly take his side, even if she couldn't understand. He let out a half-laugh, thinking about what she must have thought of his "new" hair. She had never been fond of what she called the "Padawan Hack," insisting that her blind gardener could have come up with something better.

Anakin toyed absently with the braid as he stared out into the darkness at the mountains, his fingers pausing over every coloured band that marked his life as a Padawan.

But I'm not a Padawan anymore, he thought bitterly, I should just cut the damn thing off.

He slid off the edge of the bed with a grunt, his body awkward and unbalanced now without his arm. His legs, weak from inactivity, felt slow and stiff as he shuffled barefoot across the light blue carpet to the 'fresher room. He waved his hand casually, using the Force to flick on the lights. Like everything she touched, the room reflected Padme's class and cultured tastes. The room was white with ebony accents, the fixtures all carved from an expensive marble shipped all the way from Dantooine. Anakin didn't care, as long as the 'fresher worked.

The intricately designed tiles on the floor felt cool under his feet as he padded across the room. Passing the mirror, he was startled by the face that was reflected back at him, one he hardly recognized. His hair was overgrown, wild with blonde highlighted curls he didn't remember ever having. Moving his face from side to side, his hand went to his chin, noting the soft, fine-coloured whiskers that had grown haphazardly on his chin into a soft fuzz. Even at 19, Anakin had hardly ever had much need to shave, so even this seemed like some kind of an improvement there. Dark circles under his eyes were the only colour on a decidedly pale face that was sprinkled with light pink scars in the last stages of healing.

His eyes traveled down to his chest, noting several large bacta patches that covered some kind of…burns? Probably from the Force-lightning, he guessed. Stars, you really did it this time, didn't you? he thought to himself, turning to the left to look at his back. Turning to his left, however, brought the right side of his body front and center on the mirror.

He stood there, stock still, for the longest moment, staring at the white fabric that covered his arm—or more precisely, what was left of his arm.

Just do it. Look at it. Look at it, you coward! See who you really are now!

Growling, he frowned and consciously looked away as he carefully pulled the while sleeve off of his right arm. His heart beat wildly, his hand shaking as he let the fabric fall to the floor. He closed his eyes, trying to center himself, trying to find the strength to look at what he so desperately did not want to acknowledge.

Forcing his eyes open, he slowly raised his head, looking at his new physique.

He choked on a half-laugh, feeling the nauseous hysteria he had felt earlier with Obi-Wan rising to the surface. It was the strangest thing, to see that half his arm, something that had been a part of him for his whole life, missing, like some kind of sick Jedi mind-trick.

If it is gone, why do I still feel it? he wondered, reaching over with his left hand to touch the healing skin tenderly. He winced, more from the oddity of feeling his arm end at the elbow, rather than any true physical pain. He gingerly moved the arm, relieved to find that the shoulder worked just fine, although there was no reason why it shouldn't. He felt the hysterical laughter beginning to bubble up in his throat as he thought of Luminara's comment about being an "effective" Jedi.

Anakin felt his eyes burn with unshed tears, his body shaking with the effort of containing both the laughter and the tears. He stared into the mirror. I don't know who I am anymore. Not a Padawan, not a Jedi, not whole

Sith, he was tired of crying, of feeling weak, helpless. As he ran his hand over his face to calm himself, a flicker of movement caught his eye. There was his Padawan braid again, long and strong, mocking him with its very presence. It was an irritating reminder of all that he had been and all that he could never be now.

His eyes narrowed, his anger now having a focus. Opening the cabinet, he rooted around for a scissors, clippers, anything to remove the offensive memento. The entire contents of each shelf were flung with abandon, bandages, toothpaste, and lotions strewn about the floor. Using the most vulgar Huttese curses that came to mind, he started in on the drawers next to the sink, finally rewarded with a small set of manicure scissors.

With a grim look, his jaw set stubbornly, yet with deep sadness in his eyes, he opened the scissors and let the braid fall between its jaws. Anakin closed his eyes, his hand beginning to tremble as he slowly squeezed the jaws together. It should have been my Master doing this. At my Knighting. Not here, not like this…

He hadn't counted on the fact that the scissors were for a right-handed person. He fumbled again with his left hand, trying to get the right angle, but the braid was too thick and the scissors too dull, leaving the braid firmly attached. "Fucking Sith Hell!" he swore, throwing them in frustration across the room. He closed his eyes, listening to the splintering crash of metal meeting ceramic.

Anakin took a deep breath. Wiping away the insolent tears with the back of his hand, he stumbled out of the refresher. The wind had picked up, blowing the curtains around his room, the moonlight catching the white lace sheers, as though they were some sort of dancing apparitions. Although cold, Anakin made no move towards his bed. He was entranced by the moon's reflection on the lake, how it rippled with the wind, like it, too, was crying for all he had lost. He leaned against the double doors and felt his knees give out as his back slid down the door. Wrapping his arms about himself, Anakin leaned his head against the door frame, cold, alone and lost.

He startled when he felt a warm hand run through his hair, then travel down and wrap itself around his chest.

"As long as I'm here, you'll never be alone, Anakin."

He sighed, leaning back into the warmth the hug provided.