I awoke to a quiet dawn, an unusual scene to a late riser. I stepped into the kitchen and made some caf; I could never do without the stuff. Garen was (apparently) still asleep. A good thing, because he had come back just before midnight. No amount of short naps can replace a good night's rest and stubborn as he was, I had managed to convince him to stay awhile.

I skipped breakfast – I hadn't eaten at this hour since I was a teenager – finished my caf and slipped into my shoes. I had no excuse for sitting around on such a gorgeous morning. A walk would do me good.

Outside I was quite alone, and things were calmer this way. Nothing obstructed my connection to the nature I had grown so enamored with. I reached a field of untamed grasses, lush with the little drops of dew sparkling atop the blades, like tears on emerald daggers. I could see a fine dusting of violet and yellow from some wildflowers I do not know the name of. Among the grass were rocks occurring at more and more frequent intervals; further away the grass was sparser, and dotted with crimson blooms.

I kicked off my shoes and spread my toes into the ground, feeling the blades tickle my soles. I was tempted to let myself fall and lie there in the green, staring drunkenly at the fresh, still golden sky. I would have, had I not realized that someone was there. Not next to me, but walking among the rocks and bloody flowers. It was a thin figure, clad darkly; with reddish hair…What was he doing here?

I crept closer, sneaking up to him. His ocean gaze was fixed emptily on everything and nothing, lightyears away. Perhaps in deep thought, he did not seem aware of my presence. His face was a mask of nonchalance, but I have come to know that face. It's the one he puts on when he can't afford to let the feelings bleed through. I silently wondered what tormented him so.

For the first time in what felt like ages, he blinked mournfully, irises raging like stormy seas. Very softly, vulnerably, he spoke.

"What made you do it? Why did you throw it all away?'

I felt like I was inside a dream. I opened my mouth and almost said something. Was he speaking to me? Do what? Throw what away? Perhaps he was the one dreaming. Must be the lack of sleep slowly driving him mad. I recoiled at the vile thoughtand felt the shame seethe inside me.

"I killed you. You killed me." He closed his eyes, tightly. A tiny silver orb sparkled on his lashes. When he opened his eyes, they gleamed with an agonizing brightness. Deep within me, an ache flared.

"You killed me, Anakin."

Anakin? Anakin Skywalker, the Hero With No Fear…Kenobi and Skywalker. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-kriffing-Wan Kenobi.

I'm a wanted criminal…Seems familiar…Because it's my duty…

Lani, running through flames and rubble, 'sabre alight, dodging a barrage of blaster bolts, leaping over debris…failing to block the next one, falling as they all pierce her slender torso, her death cry ringing out, echoing against the buildings…

Jedi. Traitor. Alone.

It made sense. It made terrible sense. The way he spoke, the way he walked…That weary look in his eyes…His periodic disappearances? – Could he be part of the fledgling rebellion my colleagues liked to talk about? What else would a Jedi Master be doing on Alderaan?

"What are you doing here?"

He turned and looked straight at me. I wondered if he had just realized that I was there.

"I can't sleep."

"Why? You haven't slept in days…"

He offered me a wan smile. I looked away, just so that I wouldn't have to see it.

"Every time I close my eyes, I see…things. And I wish I hadn't."

"You're not really Garen Muln, are you?"

Maybe he knew his cover was blown and made no effort to keep things from me. Maybe he trusted me enough to drop it – unlikely, but possible. Maybe he was beyond caring. He shook his head.

"No. He was an old friend of mine. He died when my best friend betrayed us all. He betrayed us because I failed him. Then I failed his wife and children."

His words were deadpan. He could have been saying anything. He did not need to say who "they" were. He was surprisingly calm about it – was it because he knew that I would not sell out one of her kind?

"You really are a wanted man…" I smirked in spite of it all. I am about as subtle as a fifteen year-old, and this shortcoming of mine comes out at the very worst of times. But why now? Why now?

"Your world is gone."

With all he'd done, it would have been difficult for him to be stupid. I was relieved when he knew that I was trying to voice my understanding.

"What are you going to do?"

His eyes misted over. I was sorry I'd asked.

"I don't know."

oOo

The Negotiator or not, he is still the same guy. He is not the flashy, unbreakable image we used to see on the HoloNet and now often see on those glossy, propaganda-reeking wanted posters – that is just an idea, a symbol. This is a real person with the ability to laugh and cry who likes strong alcoholic beverages and abhors anything bright purple. He is as human as I am.

But lately, this person has been fading. There is a void in his pupils, and it is spreading like some horrible disease. Diseases have a way of destroying all they touch. He's withdrawing into whatever barren hole his mind lives in. How ironic it is that there is nothing I would not give for an ounce of his dry, cynical humour.

He doesn't speak anymore. All he does is stare, infusing the air with the desolation on his face. He doesn't eat, even though he's thinner than when I met him. He doesn't sleep. Sometimes he lies awake, eyes fixed blindly on the ceiling, but he does not dare close them. I find myself wondering if he is still on this plane. I am chilled. I am no longer scared of him. I'm scared for him.