Tahiri knew he was awake. Or, that he had gained consciousness. She'd felt Anakin's presence flicker into alertness, felt awareness and true emotion replace the deep slumber that his presence in the Force had previously consisted of.
She had awoken with him. Her eyes snapped open to her dark quarters, breaths coming desperately like it was being filtered through an old air unit. She hadn't gotten out of bed since that moment, and perhaps she should fear psychosis from her own self-issued exile, but not one of her thoughts came through in a comprehensible format. She felt like a droid with a shot circuit breaker trying to form a single sentence; the thoughts, the feelings she had were racing too fast, too overwhelming to make any sense of. She'd tried to fall back asleep, to ignore the beacon she felt, but her entire being was tethered too severely with him from a childhood spent together to just shove it aside.
Still in her bunk, the homing beacon calling for her had twisted up her insides, squeezing her stomach until she gave up on sleeping or even moving. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore it anyway. The nausea it gave her eased when he fell asleep, and Tahiri felt minor relief as Anakin's own frenzied mind surrendered to that temporary peace.
Of course, hours later, he awoke again. And the rush of emotion she caught from their estranged bond swept over her and took her down with it. The nausea she felt from feeling his heartbeat returned with a vengeance, and she practically threw herself out of bed the moment they both woke, gasping and sputtering like she'd gone overboard in the middle of a Mon Cal ocean. She found herself stumbling for the refresher, landing at the base of the toilet and retching over the rim.
"Kriff!" She screamed just to shout over the silent noise of Anakin in her head. Her stomach was empty, and her retching turned to dry heaving, a desperate attempt to empty herself. "Kest! Kriffing damnit!"
She felt so damn empty. She had no soul, no heart. The only thing filling her was a churning, steaming black abyss. It was heavy like tar, but flowed and spilled over like blood. And she was just a vessel, a great tremendous pot that was still too small and too weak to keep the horrible concoction from spilling over and incinerating everything in its path. All the pain she had spent years burying, all the painful memories and the wounds inflicted upon her, it all started to bubble over with the flow.
Old memories she'd thought long-suppressed came to the surface— memories that didn't really belong to her, but a body, a mind she'd been forced into so long ago. "Kriff, no, no, no," she muttered to herself, clawing at her ears, trying to make it stop. "Hu-carjen tok! Fas!" She creamed, spending all her will power to push back the memories implanted in her from her Shaping. She cursed Riina Kwaad, the Yuuzhan Vong half of her personality. Years ago, the Riina personality and Tahiri's own had battled for dominance, rendering Tahiri helpless until she'd accepted that the only solution was to merge the two. She had accepted that then, so long ago, and she knew it was a part of her she would never be able to force out. But she hadn't lost control since then, hadn't felt such a hint of battle brewing within until now.
She fell back to her knees, screaming throaty pleas to Yun-Yuuzhan until relief came, swift and suddenly. It let go of her, that bottomless pool of despair. Finally. And she fell, muscles and limbs sore from tension. She didn't realize until then how hard she'd been clenching her jaw, grinding her teeth. She gasped for air, gulped in lungful after lungful until her body at least had the strength to cry. She felt something like a hand reaching for her, approaching her, fingertips nearly touching, but then it breezed over her without stopping, and Tahiri whimpered in relief as she realized she'd blocked herself in the Force before her moment of hysteria. Anakin's reach passed over her, clueless, and Tahiri cried in relief.
She crawled across the room back to her bed, clawing at carpet and sheets, whimpering. Stars, oh, stars, she was broken. This, she already knew. But, gods, imagine Anakin seeing. She could imagine Han and Leia propping her up like a doll before Anakin, moving her hands and making her smile. Would Anakin see right through?
Ha! Fierfek, he wasn't stupid. He would see right through her porcelain skin, see her shattered and empty soul, see the black liquid of abyss spilling around her like a whirlpool. He would see the empty shell she was, see that there was nothing of value left.
Oh, Anakin. Anakin, she wanted to see and touch, wanted to feel his heart beating beneath her hand, wanted to see his mouth split in a crooked grin and wanted to let it pass on to her and infect her with its joy. Anakin whom she could never let go of. Anakin didn't deserve any of this. With any luck, he wouldn't recognize her. Or, he'd recognize that she was dead.
She made it as far as her bed, but not back into it. Tahiri sat there, clinging to the bedpost, waiting for the last of the abyss to spill over, that blissful moment when she was finally empty, finally numb. It always came. But it wouldn't this time.
It hurt.
"Kriff."
She was nearly startled when the doorbell to her quarters rang, but she recognized the presence as that of Han. She cursed herself, haphazardly wiping at her face with her palms. "It's open!" It was only decent to meet a guest at the door, but she still lacked the strength to get up and pretend.
Han didn't seem to mind, didn't seem unimpressed. He met her where she remained, slouched on the plain bunk, face a mess from her tears and loss of faith. When he stopped in the doorway, his body seemed to give a silent sigh, like he was losing faith just looking at her. Tahiri wouldn't blame him. He stood with somewhat sloped shoulders, heavy with the weight of decades of sorrow, and Tahiri once again wondered how it was that Leia always stood so tall.
Han braced his arms against the doorway, idly tapping his fingers. "Hey, kid," was his way of greeting.
Tahiri looked at him.
"He's, uh— Anakin is conscious."
She nodded, already losing the will to keep up her gaze. "I know."
"Well, I came to … I came to check on you, I guess. If you wanted me to come with you to see him. Or, not. You know, you might just want a minute alone. I mean, Leia figured." Han struggled with his words. Like he was afraid of offending Tahiri, or setting off the sensitive detonator she had a tendency to be. Even Han knew he wasn't much good with his words, and Tahiri would have found it humorous at any other time. "But I just thought … I'd make sure you knew."
"I can sense him."
She didn't make any move to stand up let alone leave this room.
"He's— been asking about you. He wants to see you."
Tahiri didn't respond.
"Tahiri. Look, kid. It's crazy. Crazy to see him again. I still don't know what to say to him. But he's scared, too. He wants to know we're okay."
"I'm not."
"Well, maybe not, but we have Anakin back now. And he wants to see you."
"Not me."
"Hm?"
"Have you thought about that? He doesn't want to see me. He wants to see someone he remembers. Someone who no longer exists. If I go see him, he'll just be disappointed."
"Disappointed …"
"I can't see him, Han. I can't go to him. If you and Leia are planning to break things lightly, then I ought to be a big shock."
"Hey, kid, come on, now! It's— it's been rough without him. A lot's happened in the last decade, decade and a half. He doesn't know what's happened to us. But that doesn't change … anything with him. I'm still his father. You're still …"
Tahiri scrunched her nose, finally meeting his eyes. "What am I? He was sixteen on Myrkr. When he died, I played his widow. Anakin didn't ask me for that, never gave me his consent. I was young. He was young." She laughed, humorlessly. "He died. Somehow, I doubt the status of our relationship is at the top of his mind right now."
"Maybe not. 'Cause it doesn't matter what we call you, whether you were his widow or not. He just wants to see Tahiri."
Tahiri nodded in agreement. "He wants to see Tahiri, his old childhood friend who still has her mind and is innocent and must be protected. He wants to see someone he cared about, maybe even loved. And I'm not her. I've— changed. I'm hardly recognizable."
"So, you'll deny Anakin answers because you're assuming he can't handle seeing you right now."
"Do you know what he can handle? He's been conscious for a day. Have you told him half the truth of everything that's happened since the Myrkr mission? That Jacen and Mara are both dead. The Order he believed in is falling apart. His sister is almost a completely different person. And me? Whatever I am or was to Anakin … I'm not anymore. I spit on his memory, killed for a Sith lord, attacked his family."
"Caedus deceived you."
"Of course, he did. And I let him. Don't you remember what happened after Anakin died? When we came back from Myrkr? I lost myself, and then I realized that I could never be who I was again. I'm not that Tahiri, but some twisted, shell version of her. You want me to show that to Anakin? You think that will make him happy?"
"I think it will comfort him to know you're alive."
"'Alive' only means so much."
Without missing a beat, Han challenged, "More than we can say about Jacen or Mara."
He had her there. A powerful argument it was, but it only meant so much, Tahiri knew. She could hold herself together just long enough, put on a show, paint makeup over the dark bags under her eyes, stand up straight, dazzle a whole crowd with a performance of the old Tahiri Veila who died so long ago on Yavin. But how would that be helping Anakin? Feeding him false hope until they were ready to tell him the truth.
Your death destroyed our world. We all crumbled apart when we lost you. And some of us fell off the precipice, and we aren't who we were on the other side.
Kriff the Force for doing this! Kriff whatever in the Force had decided that this was a good idea. Tahiri had learned how to mourn long ago, and she'd gotten kriffing good at it, too. But the wounds she'd received were permanent. There was no healing, no magic reverse button to return from what Anakin's death had done to her.
"He needs to see you, Tahiri."
He wanted her to put on a show. She couldn't do that. Stars, she knew they had to already be lying to him, feeding him carefully fabricated versions of the last fourteen years, and she couldn't handle telling him the biggest lie of all.
"Tahiri. You were important to him. He needs to know that you're alive."
Anakin didn't see much of his parents or sister on his second day of consciousness. Once his mother had helped him have his breakfast and his father had helped him wash his face, Cilghal and Tekli swept in with tests they wanted to run on him and small exercises they wanted him to do in bed. He needed another blood transfusion, and Tekli had evacuated the room to give him privacy.
He didn't get to ask about Tahiri again. Or Jacen, for that matter. He was worried about his brother, worried that he had been wounded and was afraid to let Anakin see. He was worried that maybe Jacen was afraid of seeing him. But mostly, Anakin feared his brother was dead. Jaina still hadn't given him a run-down of the rest of the mission after he had fallen on the Baanu Raas. Neither his sister nor parents had told him a thing, really.
That only left him to assume the worst, though Anakin was already getting the feeling that was the appropriate response.
He hadn't yet seen his uncle or aunt either. Neither of his parents had said anything about them.
Though, they hadn't had much chance to talk since he'd awoken besides the little time they'd had before Tekli and Cilghal had begun inspecting him like they were using a tiny microscope.
But if there was good news to be told, wouldn't they have told him right away? Made sure he knew so that he could rejoice with them?
Jacen was dead. He was beginning to believe it, and the thought was too much to bear. He'd dragged both of his siblings along with him for the mission of their lives and gotten his brother killed. Maybe, his parents were bitter.
No, if this whole nightmare was to be believed, he had died too. He had never felt that either of his parents had favorites, and he didn't believe they could be more distraught over losing one son versus the other. There was no good excuse in sight to explain away his brother's absence, and Anakin came to the conclusion that he would have to wonder over something else until he was given an explanation.
Tahiri.
Kriff.
He was almost certain she was still alive. Anakin didn't know how because he couldn't find her in the Force no matter how far he stretched his senses, but he knew … stars above, he wanted to see her most of all. According to his parents, fourteen years had passed since the Myrkr mission. He wanted to see Tahiri, see how she looked now, if she was as beautiful as he recalled her. Did she still refuse to wear shoes whenever she could get by with it? Was her smile still as bright and burning as Tatooine's twin suns?
Had she moved along from his memory, found healing and a new purpose …
Anakin remembered his adventures with Tahiri following the Yuuzhan Vong occupation of Yavin like it was yesterday. A childhood friendship grown so strong, exploring new boundaries until their feelings surpassed the simple friendship they'd always shared. They'd still been— figuring things out. They were young; why should they have had to put a label on it— whatever it was that had been developing between them. They kissed, still acted skittish around each other, still traded the small intimacy of a brief kiss in private. But what did any of that mean in the shadow of fourteen years lost? Who was to say they even would have made it this long in a relationship if they'd both survived Myrkr?
Anakin didn't want to think like that, but the more he wondered where Tahiri was, who she was now, he couldn't help it. He was consumed with thoughts of a lost past, of all the could-have-been futures they may have shared after Myrkr.
If he were being honest, all Anakin wanted to know was that nothing had changed.
His mother had left him a mirror before she and his father had left. Anakin raised it from his lap, stared back at the reflection he'd spent the last hour on and off studying, trying to recognize. It was a reminder that he'd lost those years of his own life too. He'd lost his own childhood prematurely, grown up incredibly fast alongside Tahiri amidst the invasion and consequent war with the Yuuzhan Vong. But when he looked in the mirror, he realized that every trace of his youth was forever gone.
His body, miraculously and to Cilghal's astonishment, resembled how anyone may have imagined fourteen years ago how he may look in fourteen years. He'd still been growing before he'd died, and his limbs now stretched longer than he was used to. Leia had gotten a good laugh when they'd discussed his physical therapy and how he would likely need to relearn how to walk on taller legs. His face had grown out just a little bit, thinning out his cheeks and jaw, though that was also in part to his need for food and nutrition. His hair hung in dark, sandy waves past his shoulders, complemented by an impressive beard that grew in well and covered his neck with fine hairs. The beard was, perhaps, the most startling, and Anakin had quickly realized it made it worse for his mom to look at him. On the other hand, she and Jaina both had assured him that it was a nice look if he wanted to try it again someday. For now, there were no questions about it. Which was fine. Anakin didn't mind. His own transformation was startling even to himself. Especially, perhaps. He wondered if it had occurred to his family how terrifying it had been to wake up and not recognize anyone around him including himself. Bless the Mon Cal medic whose species' signs of age were less familiar to Anakin, and, therefore, a welcome presence.
Almost like a reassurance. Like a promise that not everything had changed.
He took one last look at himself in the reflective glass, idly wondering what Tahiri would think about the beard. Would she appreciate the look? Maybe even prefer to have his whiskers tickle her mouth when they kissed.
If she ever kissed him again …
He could have thanked Cilghal aloud for coming to interrupt his thoughts as she entered his room, pushing along a tray of food. "I have a surprise," she announced. "For enduring our probing all morning. I don't suppose Kobber's Fink-Tops would still interest you?"
Anakin split a grin, admiring the hefty sweet delicacy adorning the tray. "Did my mom tell you I have a wicked sweet tooth?"
"I may have asked her if there's anything special you might want."
Cilghal brought the tray around to hover over his lap, and Anakin went straight for the sweet. "Mom used to bribe me with these when she was 'fresher-training me. Until I taught myself how to get them down from the cabinets with the Force."
"Typical Solo shenanigans, it sounds like. I must admit, Anakin, I am not surprised."
He beamed at the healer. "Thank you, Master."
"Don't get too used to it. You need to regain your strength, rebuild muscle. This is a gift."
Mouth already stuffed full of the cream- and fruit-filled cake, Anakin happily responded, "Much appreciated!" over a full mouth. He saved half of his cake for the end of his meal, forcing himself to break out the utensils and fill up on the greens.
"Master, do you know if my parents will be coming back today?"
"Certainly. I apologize, Anakin, but Han and Leia have kept themselves up all week, worrying over you. I must confess to finding any excuse I could to send them home and let them sleep in."
"They've always had to worry a lot about me and my siblings," Anakin tested the waters, keeping one eye on Cilghal while he mixed up his salad. The Mon Cal didn't betray a thing. "I suppose it would help the sooner I get out of this medbunk."
"I want you to go through at least one more healing trance, first. Then, we'll see how that takes care of your amphistaff wound, and if you can start moving on your own. However, that also requires regaining your strength."
Anakin made a mental note to bribe Jaina to bring him weights next time she visited.
He fiddled with his fork, mindlessly cutting through the dry nerf steak on his plate. Cilghal appeared content to stand at his side, checking over his vitals for the fiftieth time that day. "Master, I was wondering if I could ask you something."
The Jedi Healer was silent a moment, pausing her work, and Anakin thought it was the first time he'd seen her falter. "I am sure there is much you have questions about, Anakin, and I will alert your parents that—"
"No, Cilghal. That's not what I need. You've been here with them. You've seen them talk to me. They won't tell me anything. Apparently, I've been dead for fourteen years; I'm sure a lot has happened, and they won't tell me anything."
"A lot has happened, and now your parents' youngest child has inexplicably been resurrected from the dead. They require some time to process as well."
"That's a very strong argument, Master."
"Is that what you call it?"
"I died, Master. Fourteen years ago. I think that merits an explanation for all the time I've missed. And they've told me nothing."
Cilghal managed to suppress a sigh. She set down the clipboard she was taking notes on and pulled her stool over to sit beside Anakin. "You're right, Anakin. I agree that you deserve to know what has happened in your absence. You deserve to know what's become of your friends, of your family. But, perhaps, you should consider that this is as confusing and daunting for your family as it is for you.
"You are right in assuming that a lot has happened. The events that you deserve to know about are things that only your family is able to tell you. It is not my place to 'break' anything to you. As much as you deserve an explanation, your family deserves to be able to talk to you when they are ready, when they know what to say. Perhaps, only when they think that you are ready."
"When I'm ready? I have a new life and I don't know anything about it."
"I imagined that was not the answer you were hoping for, but you ought to trust me when I tell you that your parents only have your best interests in mind. You just told me that you know nothing about your life. Are you positive that you want to learn so much about it so fast? Fourteen years is a long time. You need time to prepare and adjust as much as they do."
"I need to know what I'm dealing with so that I can start moving on."
"I hope you will forgive me for saying so, but you are just as impatient as I recall you being before you left. Your mind may have been preserved, but, unfortunately, your body has not. You might want to keep that in mind."
It wasn't often that Cilghal was the one to call out students, but she sure was great at it. Somehow, Anakin understood that Cilghal wasn't calling him foolish or even naive; she was simply pointing out that he still had some maturing to do. If he were being completely honest, it humbled him. He'd thought all of his childhood innocence gone with the things he'd witnessed and done during the Yuuzhan Vong War. Apparently not.
He nodded to himself, taking it in. "I admire that I can always come to you for unbiased wisdom."
The Mon Cal cracked an easy smile. "If you ever need anything, I am a Master of the Jedi Council; I am here to help, Anakin."
A commlink hanging on the Jedi Master's belt chirped, and she gave it a glance. "Speaking of your family, your parents are on their way back now."
"Just my parents?"
"I imagine your sister is just trying to give you space. If you want her to come, she would be happy to."
Anakin didn't ask about Jacen.
"Master, what year is it, again?"
She hesitated only a moment before supplying his answer, "It is 41 ABY."
41. Sith spit! He thought he had started to understand what Cilghal was talking about when she said he needed time to adjust because he really didn't want to think about how old that made him let alone how old his siblings, parents, or uncle and aunt were.
Or Ben for that matter …
He didn't have to distract his own thoughts for long before his mother and father knocked on the door to his room and entered. His mother looked much better rested, eyes a bit brighter, gait a little stronger. She smiled when they met eyes, and she greeted him with a gentle hug. "How are you feeling? Cilghal told us you had another healing trance this morning."
He kissed her cheek before she backed away, sharing the strongest smile he had in him just for her. "I'm feeling just fine, Mom. I could make the run through Lando's Folly cleaner than the Falcon and longer than Jaina."
His father chuckled, coming up from behind his wife to hug Anakin. "No, you couldn't. But I'm glad to hear you're feeling that tough."
"Wait, which part can't I do? Make the run smoother than the Falcon? Or, longer than Jaina?"
"Either. But way to aim high."
Leia rolled her eyes, a truly carefree smile adorning her lips, and Anakin was glad to see her so unburdened.
He was about to ask where Jaina was, but then considered that he should ask about his brother if he asked for Jaina, and he decided against it. "Still the fastest hunk of junk in the galaxy, Dad?"
Han grinned, expression full of pride. Though, for the Falcon or Anakin was the question. "She's still a timeless beauty, son. Though, we put her through the wringer again just before we found you. Maybe, you could get yourself out of here real soon and help me take a look at her.
Anakin got the feeling that he could have not been dead for fourteen years and he'd still be thrilled beyond measure to reunite with his father's ship. "I'm working on it," he promised his father.
"Yes," Leia patted his arm. "You just focus on that."
Jaina, Jacen, the rest of his family. Those were questions he decided he could be patient with. Really, all morning, he'd preferred pondering over those things than worry about someone else. Tahiri was the subject he knew he couldn't wait for answers on.
"Hey, Mom. Dad. I know fourteen years is a long time. A lot's probably happened. So, I thought maybe if I just ask about one thing today you can tell me what I've missed."
There was no glance or long look exchanged between his parents, but Anakin didn't miss their hands reaching for each other's, no eye contact needed. They both found what they were looking for, and his father comfortingly squeezed his mother's fingers in his. "Yeah, of course, kid. What's the first thing you wanna' know?"
"Mom, I asked you about Tahiri yesterday, and you never said anything about her. I just want to know … I just want to know that she's okay."
Leia nodded sympathetically. "I wouldn't expect anything less. But she's alive, Anakin. She made it off Myrkr."
Stars, bless Yun-Yuuzhan and the Alderaanian mountainous tribal goddesses and whoever that 'Maker' was that C-3PO always thanked! If he prayed to any of them, that was the one thing he would have had to ask for. Tahiri had survived. Tahiri was alive.
He nodded, trying to contain his excitement, but a single tear may have found its way free. "And— she's okay?" He himself wasn't even sure what he meant by that, but he felt like it was an important question.
"Anakin, she had a hard time after we lost you. It really hurt her to lose you. It was as painful for her as it was for us."
Painful, terrible. Anakin supposed these were the kinds of things someone who had died wanted to hear their loved ones felt about losing them, but he remembered the pain and suffering Tahiri had endured prior to the Myrkr mission, the emotional and mental toll her Shaping had taken on her. He had hated seeing her like that, hated seeing her in so much pain, so lost, and he couldn't stomach the idea of what it may have been like for her to lose him.
Not that he had such a great opinion of himself, but he'd been left with the impression that Tahiri had cared about him, at the very least. He didn't want her to have suffered and felt some great loss. Maybe, it was better if she hadn't felt such strong feelings for him like the ones he still had for her. He could live with that, he told himself.
"We are trying to get a hold of her," his mother started saying. She gripped Han's thigh, and he held her shoulder like a gesture of support. "She's just been busy. I am sure she will want to see you. She just might need some time."
Anakin was careful to hide away any thoughts he had about how he'd already lost plenty of time. But this was Tahiri. He could wait for her. He could wait out the rest of his disoriented life for her.
The rest of his day went by slowly. Jaina visited for a few hours as soon as their parents left, and she told him about the end of the war. She told him about Shimrra's deception, how she and Uncle Luke had defeated the Yuuzhan Vong's true leader Onimi, and how the New Republic had fallen to nothing but dust, soon replaced with the Galactic Alliance. The last Chief of State had just finished their term, Jaina had explained to him, so there was another election coming up. But Anakin sensed something deceptive about her explanation. Really, her whole story seemed quite real, but like it was only a small part of a grander puzzle. And, maybe, a couple pieces within the image given to him were also missing.
In short, Anakin felt like he didn't know much more than he had before Jaina had visited, but the stories were enough to keep him entertained until Jaina's comm rang and she jumped from her seat. "Kriff," she muttered, though she didn't seem too disappointed. "I have to go babysit. I'll see you tomorrow. Get some rest and get better!"
"Wait, babysit?" he asked, quite astonished at the idea of his sister taking care of someone's baby. But Jaina was already out the door and gone. He looked to Cilghal. "Babysitting? My sister babysits now?"
Cilghal herself was staring at the door through which Jaina had raced out, and she appeared about as perplexed as Anakin was, which wasn't much of a reassurance. She merely shrugged.
Anakin was restless through the night. Despite the protesting pain flaring in his side, he tossed and turned trying to find a comfortable position to grant him some sleep. But his Force senses— the feelings and hints the Force gave him like a sixth sense, nipped at his mind, seemingly intent to draw Anakin's attention to anything but rest. Dark voices whispered in his ear, soft, taunting echoes like the kind that spoke in Force visions. He thought he felt cold hands settle on his shoulders, gloved hands with a merciless grip, and Anakin shook them off, finally having had enough. He struggled into an upright position, arching his back and pitting his elbows against the medbunk to sit up. He threw off the thin covers along with the blanket his mother had dropped off earlier— a relic from his family's original Coruscant home, a warm and fuzzy throw he and his siblings had often shared when they were little.
Groaning with the effort, Anakin swung both of his legs over the edge of the bed, one at a time, until both of his feet touched the cool floor. He studied the tile beneath his feet for a moment, getting a feel for a surface other than the threadbare medcenter covers. He planted his feet firmly and eased himself into standing. The world spun for a moment, but Anakin took a breath and let the Force control his muscles. The first step was daunting, the second unsure, but he kept a hand on the wall and slowly made his way to the door without falling. The electronics in the door worked silently for him, and rose smoothly to admit him.
It wasn't until this moment— when Anakin realized he was crossing the threshold of his room— that he realized he was leaving his room. His every step was filled with purpose, guiding him like a beacon, a small freighter suspended in space, defenseless to deny another ship's pull.
Yes, something was calling to him. Calling for him. And not a whisper of darkness or temptation, but rather the light side of the Force who wore the face of an angel of Iego and only wished the best for Anakin.
Though, there was something about it that Anakin feared. It didn't dare taunt him or whisper sweet nothing promises about a brighter tomorrow if he just followed its dark call.
But it offered answers in a motherly tone, chasing away the cold that had occupied his room with a warm arm across his shoulders. You want answers, yes? It spoke, innocently yet boldly. You want to know where you are. Who the ghosts are that surround you. There is so much more that you do not know. Just open your eyes.
He turned down a hallway flooded in day lights, a harsh comparison to the dimmed night lights of the rest of the floor, and he blocked his eyes for a moment. When his eyes adjusted, he looked to the end of the hallway where a shadowed figure stood. Just taller than his sister Jaina with a slouched stance and shattered demeanor, her Force presence was somehow shrouded, but leaked with waves of distress. The figure wasn't missing from the Force like a Vong, but something was concealing their presence, and Anakin got the impression that the person themself was doing it— and that they could hide their own presence entirely if they so desired. Anakin had never witnessed or heard of anything like it outside the context of Yuuzhan Vong, but as mystical as that was, it was a minor detail in the back of Anakin's mind.
The figure leaned against a counter like they were struggling to stay standing, like the galaxy was settled on their shoulders. The way they moved, the curves of their body suggested it was a female humanoid, but after half a moment more of observing, Anakin realized he didn't need any of those hints to identify the miserable person. He would recognize her anywhere.
"Tahiri."
She turned to glance at him, standing just a little bit taller, yet no friendlier or happier. She radiated pain, standing firm like a tree planted deep, just standing there while a storm blew through her leaves and shook up her branches.
"Tahiri!" Anakin took a thrilled step forward, his foot landing too heavily, and he grunted, but kept pushing on. She stayed there, standing tall, watching him approach. She reached a hand out to him as if to reach for him, help guide him, make sure not another step failed him. He came close enough to make out her features, study her closer. What first caught his attention were her eyes, green orbs gone hard, consumed in unforgiving fire. There was no love or gentleness or mercy in those eyes. Her wild blonde hair was tamed, cut to her chin, not a strand retaining their usual curl. It parted above her forehead, putting on full display the scars she'd gained from her Shaping— two curved lines and a single vertical one forming a trident-shape between her eyes. When he looked back to her arm, her skin was covered in ritualistic Yuuzhan Vong tattoos and markings done in deep purple, blue, black, and silver paint.
He stretched out an arm to reach for her, anxious for his fingertips to even brush hers. Just before they could, however, Tahiri's face transformed to steel, and a single tear fell from her eye. "Anakin," the voice of a ghost spoke. Not quite Tahiri's. "Ask and you will be answered. But each answer will take something away from you. Seek the answers you desire, and you will be alone."
"Tahiri?" He exhaled through his mouth, panting somewhat. "Tahiri, I— stars, I miss you. I want you."
"You are alone, Anakin." Her eyes blazed, chasing away every spec of green innocence. "You are already alone."
Then, she drew her hand back, and Anakin fell.
His side was killing him, but Anakin pushed on. His father held him by one arm, half holding him, but letting Anakin take each step. His mother stood across the hallway, anxiously biting at her nails. "Han, careful!" She stuck a knuckle in her mouth and bit down. "He's leaning, Han!"
"He's got it, sweetheart. He's strong."
Anakin might have laughed goodnaturedly at his mother's persistent worrying if his mind wasn't a clutter of fears thanks to the vision of Tahiri he'd seen the night before. He couldn't shake the image from his mind: Tahiri, grown up, covered in Vong tattoos and dozens of mystery scars, the old light in her eyes extinguished, replaced with a cold fire that reminded Anakin of the Sith. But that cold, merciless look in her eyes, swallowing all the sweetness and playfulness that had encaptured her youth. It had scared him to even see a vision of Tahiri like that, but it couldn't scare him away, and he would have crawled for her if he hadn't lost consciousness.
Or, if she had been real.
She was gone. It wasn't his gut saying it, but his head because that was the worst Anakin could imagine. Tahiri was dead. His young love— yes, that was what he had felt for her. His best friend, his best partner, his love was gone.
Before he noticed he was even leaning, Anakin found himself crashing against his father, and Han stumbled to keep them both standing, but his weight was too much for Han to support, and both of them went down.
"Oh!" His mother gasped and caught their fall at the very last moment, cushioning it with the Force. Anakin was too mentally exhausted to be surprised this time by her impressive talent with the Force.
He sat while his father grunted his way back on two feet, gaze caught far and away even as his mother knelt to check on him. "Anakin. Anakin? Do you need another painkiller? Did you just trip?"
"I'm fine," he murmured, gently swatting her away and getting up himself. He turned over to push himself up with his hands, but struggled, and Leia returned to his side to help him up. He reached for her hand, but his strength failed him and he missed. On her own, Leia returned Anakin to two feet. "You're getting better," she assured him. "You're healing. It's just your strength you need to work on. It won't be long."
His parents walked him back to his room, holding him up between them. Anakin relished being held by his parents, and a large part of him wanted to use this vulnerable moment to ask them again.
Tahiri. Where is Tahiri?
Jacen?
Uncle Luke and Mara?
He managed the last steps to his bed on his own, Mom and Dad keeping their nervous gazes on him.
Cilghal performed another routine check on his injuries, recorded his vitals, then left him with his parents again. With them, he went through his daily routine; they helped him bathe— both commenting on how tall he was—, helped him dress, and returned him to bed while one of them brought him his lunch. Leia abstained from cutting up his food this time, and passed him the plasteel fork. He held it between two fingers and …
"Anakin?"
"I need to know."
"Pardon?"
"I need to know what I've missed." He looked up and met gazes with both his mother and father. "I need to know what's happened. Something bad happened. Something at some point … and it's driving me crazy that you won't tell me anything. I need to know who's still here, and who we lost. The less you tell me, the worse I'll assume."
"And what if the truth is worse than you imagined."
The next breath Anakin took didn't come easily. "That's what I need to know. I need to know so I can cut my losses and make peace with it."
"Anakin."
"You both faced losing me, didn't you? Look—" His stomach twisted. "I— I know everything can't be the same. I just need to know. You have to give me something."
For a moment, Anakin was surprised when he met his parents' eyes and they didn't object. But the moment was still strained, and he realized they were waiting. Waiting on him, waiting to see if it was safe.
"Is Tahiri alive?"
His mother's chin fell, and Anakin's world began to crumble. It wasn't safe. "Anakin—"
"No," he gritted out. His chest locked up, and he felt that he could hardly breathe. "I need to know. Just give me one straight answer, please! At least this one! Is Tahiri really alive?"
Leia blinked. "I didn't lie about that."
That was all he needed.
He realized he'd been bracing himself, holding himself together, waiting for the killing blow. And he didn't have to wait for it anymore.
She's alive.
Stars, that reassurance sent him soaring. She was still alive. He didn't have to face this new life without her.
The relief he felt didn't flood him, but poured from him, let him go. What had it been— three days? Only a few days he'd had to live in doubt, but those days were enough, and the pressure, the pain from assuming that he would never get to see her again— His bonds were violently ripped free, slamming the flood gates open. It hurt, there was so much pain he'd been holding in. When it came pouring out, it hurt to let it free all at once.
He became aware that he was crying. Big ugly tears flowing freely down his face. He wiped at them in vain, just trying to take an even breath. He managed to blow one out, his entire body shuddering. He threw his head back, covering his eyes, too overwhelmed, too overjoyed to say anything more than, "That's what I would call the worst."
"What if being alive is worse than death?"
Leia looked up sharply, and Anakin caught her shooting daggers at his father.
"Hey, okay! Listen." Han sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Kid, I just mean that she's been through a lot. When you— died, it was hard on her. As hard on her as it was us."
"Honey," Leia took over the lead. "You were— are— important to her. It was as hard on her to lose you and who you were to her as it was on us to lose our son. It was hard for her to cope. She didn't want to accept that you were gone. It was hard for her to …"
"Move on?"
Leia offered him a sorrowful smile. "That's the problem, Anakin. She never could."
"So … what does that mean? Is she … she's what?"
She's not okay. Is that what Han was supposed to tell his son? Tahiri was by no means crazy, and she never had been, but she had been mentally unstable. The young girl had been in a precarious place prior to the mission to Myrkr; she had been tortured, had her mind scrambled and messed with until she nearly forgot who she was. The fallout had been hard enough on Tahiri, and Han knew his son had spent all their time together helping her cope and regain her sense of self.
No, enduring such torture wasn't enough for the teenaged Jedi Knight. Her resilience was once again tested— this time only to break her. The one person who had been able to help her, the one person who had understood her and helped her remember who she was …
Han tried to gather the words to explain, but how was he supposed to explain this to his son?
You broke us. Our whole family. We needed you, and this family couldn't survive without you.
Leia continued for him, explaining gently, "What we are trying to say is that Tahiri has been through a lot since you died. She has suffered tremendously, and she may need time before she can talk to you about those things."
"But— I need to see her."
An image of an anguished Tahiri flashed through Han's mind, and his chest clenched. His morning visit with her had disturbed him, and he hated that he agreed with the young woman. Han had already told Leia about it, about Tahiri's fears concerning seeing him, and him seeing her. It had troubled Leia too, but she hadn't offered any counterarguments to present Tahiri.
"We should have known it wouldn't be so easy," Leia had chided herself, heavy tears collecting in her eyes. "There's so much we'll have to explain to Anakin."
"It's not your fault," Han had assured her. "There's no way to know how he'll take it."
"I just thought … I thought life would be perfect. I thought that everything would change for the better."
It wrecked Han to hear his wife talk like that. She'd always held their family together, always been the one to deliver the encouraging talk and keep their family's spirits strong.
"Life will never be perfect, but it's going to get better."
"You ought to be careful making promises like that. Sounds like something that was in our vows."
Han shrugged. "And my life has consistently gotten better since we met. Sweetheart, we're at the bottom of a mountain right now. It's gonna' be an uphill climb, but this is only the beginning. We've got our son back, Lei; it's only going up from here."
"Ah, how reassuring it is to know we're that close to rock bottom yet again."
Yes, this was beginning to feel like rock bottom. Curse himself, Han knew he had no right to complain when he and his wife were getting their baby boy back, but there really was a curse hidden inside all of this. They got their son back. Now, all they had to do was tell him how their family had torn itself apart since he'd been gone.
Anakin's eyes were only redder when Han looked up, sockets puffy and dark with concern. "She doesn't have to talk if she can't yet. But I need to see her. There's so much I need to say. I need to see her."
