After the Storm

III: Anakin

~o~

The door banged shut behind the twins, and Anakin winced at the loud noise. He thought about closing his eyes, chasing sleep again, but instead he turned over on his right side and peered through the dimness to the other side of the bed. Obi-Wan was looking at him, mouth slanted into a wry smile.

"Morning." Obi-Wan's voice was scratchy from sleep.

"You're certain it's morning? It doesn't, uh, feel like it," Anakin griped without much heat, already resigned to having to get up soon. He could make out the familiar features of his former Master's face with ease, or perhaps his memory added what his eyes could not see, completing the image. The high cheekbones and the straight nose, the pointed chin covered by neat beard. The sharp eyes under sleep-tousled hair.

"Your children certainly think it's time to start the day," Obi-Wan retorted dryly as clattering sounds came from the main room, followed by Luke's clear voice saying, we're supposed to be quiet. Obi-Wan huffed a laugh, amused.

"Not just yet," Anakin muttered and shifted, kicking some of the covers off him. He sidled closer to Obi-Wan, until only a few inches remained between them. It was rare to have time alone together, for neither of them wanted the twins to be long out of their sight. Any adult conversations seemed to be few and far in between; serious topics were kept from being heard by small ears, plans only discussed without curious eavesdroppers nearby. The past was left for after dark.

"What is it?" Obi-Wan murmured, voice lowered to a soft, hushed whisper.

Anakin's answer was to inch his flesh hand underneath Obi-Wan's pile of blankets, and to twine it around his Master's wrist. Beneath his thumb, Obi-Wan's pulse was steady and strong. Outside, the rain was still tapping on the roof, pattering against the window, but the wind had stopped raging and screaming in its fury. The storm had finally blown over, only vestiges of its power, like aftershocks following an earthquake, left on its wake. Those too would soon pass.

They lay like that for a moment, quiet. Looking at each other, breaths mingling.

Obi-Wan's gaze was dark, hooded by shadows. He was not smiling anymore. Anakin closed the remaining distance between them and pressed his lips gently against the corner of Obi-Wan's mouth, willing him to hear all he could not say.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan breathed warningly. He moved back slightly, creating more room between them. The rain got heavier, beating in time with Anakin's heart. He let go of Obi-Wan's wrist, flung the blankets aside and scrambled out of bed. In his haste, he bumped his hip against the chest of drawers, the pain sudden and sharp.

"Anakin." Obi-Wan's voice was carefully even. He had sat up; a bunched-up robe still covered his legs, woollen-clad toes peeking out. "You have to be certain – that's all I meant."

He thought he had been sure, and yet Anakin could hear his own doubt and guilt behind Obi-Wan's words. Padmé had been in her grave hardly past a year. Anakin yanked his trousers and overtunic on, not bothering to find clean underwear. Wrenching the door open, he stepped to the main room, interrupting the twins playing rebels and pirates again. The old game did not make his mood any better. He told them to put their toys away and change out of their nightclothes.

Luke and Leia threw their things back inside the trunk without protest and then they dashed into the bedroom, leaving the door half open. Anakin could hear Obi-Wan and the twins talking as Obi-Wan helped them dress. As he listened, Anakin looked around himself. The light of the lone candle was enough to reveal the scuffed and old furniture, the small kitchen nook with its ancient equipment. The fireplace that had been cold for almost two days, because they had been too worried that they might run out of firewood. The dented pot that his children pretended was a pirate ship.

Everything Anakin cared about the most was inside the walls of the ramshackle cottage, and yet he couldn't stand to be there a moment longer.

~o~

The rain had tapered off into a drizzle, grey haze enveloping the surrounding landscape like a mourning veil. Far out, in the edges of the horizon, a bright line split the sky; the clouds were slowly breaking. Anakin sat down on a flat rock, stretching out his legs. He took off the rucksack, rummaging through its meagre contents. A flask of water and a slice of bread would have to do for breakfast. He wondered what Obi-Wan had made for the twins – porridge probably. They had enough ingredients for that, and having made it so many times, they could practically do it in their sleep.

Anakin drew his long coat more securely around himself; beneath its cover, his clothes were damp. The brisk hike across the hillside had kept him from feeling the cold, but now it crept into his bones. He shuddered and rubbed his hands together merely from habit, the electrostatic fingertips of his mechno-arm simulating a sense of feeling and warmth. The illusion was quickly shattered, when one of the fingers twitched, out of sync with the rest. Anakin clenched the hand into a fist. He would have to take a look at the synth-net neural interface, tweak the mechanism yet again.

A shrill screech pierced the air; Anakin tilted his head and looked up. High overhead, a black shadow glided effortlessly, sailing with the wind currents, massive wings spread out. The avian circled Anakin, screeching again, a lone sound echoing in the desolate terrain of rocks and flattened grass, stunted bushes and twisted trees. He watched its flight, followed the ease of the graceful movements. Once, he too had flown through the skies, had raced among the stars.

A second shadow joined the first, and the two birds wheeled around each other, wingtips almost touching. Swooping down in perfect tandem, they swept past Anakin without giving him any notice, majestic and powerful. Their shrieks sounded now excited, joyful, as they flew upwards, soaring together and disappearing into the clouds.

Anakin was alone again, the only living being as far as he could see. He had been certain it would be easier to breathe out there in the open, in the middle of nothing and close to no one. He had not counted himself though, the clamour of thoughts, the press of memories. As always, he was his own worst enemy.

After gulping down the bread, Anakin fastened the rucksack to his back and continued his trek. He did not have a specific destination in mind, more important was the action: the thud of boots against the ground, the stretch of muscle, the cool air filling his lungs. Moving at a fast pace, blood rushed quickly through his body, warming the chilled flesh. On cold nights, his men had always preferred to march if the alternative was to rest in the open at the mercy of the elements. Most of them, if not all of them, were dead now. Or at least Anakin hoped they were.

Eventually, he found himself at the lake. Oval-shaped, the water level lower than the steep rocks on either side, it resembled a big basin. Anakin stood on the bank, looking at the choppy surface. It was a heaving dark grey mass, except where the peeking sun touched the water, creating a kaleidoscope of dazzling colour. The lake stretched about ten miles from where Anakin was standing to the opposite shore. Obi-Wan had tried to catch fish there, sitting on the rock, a simple fishing rod cast on the water. He had never caught anything, the bait insufficient or the fishes too wily. Or perhaps the water was as empty as it was cold and deep.

When the season finally changed, growing warmer and milder, they could take the twins there, make a day of it. Luke and Leia could explore the shoreline, Obi-Wan could try his luck at fishing again. Anakin would offer him unhelpful advice as he played with the twins. They could all swim in the lake, fling water at each other.

On Dantooine, there was a lake near the rebel base. Between a small forest and a wide expanse of grassland, it was a splash of glittering blue amongst all the various shades of green. The twins had learned to swim there, Anakin hovering anxiously beside them, ready to support their weight, hold them up. He hadn't needed to; both had learned quickly, encouraged by their mother's happy cheers. Once, he and Padmé had sneaked there, just the two of them. Even in the pale moonlight, her face had glowed with warmth and colour. She had laughed so brightly, when he had tickled her beneath the water; sighed deeply, in peace, as they had finished making love, her heart beating against his own.

Her laugh echoed in their children's mirth, their clear eyes mirrors of her soul. If he let it, her peace soothed Anakin's heart, her steadfast belief for a better tomorrow. These were the only places where she could live now, the only way for him to have her.

~o~

Anakin travelled the last few miles to the cottage in the darkness of the night. Although his eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, the journey home was slow. He was carrying a heavy load, and it appeared as if every root and rock tried to trip him up. Finally, he saw a lone light fluttering in the distance, like a butterfly trapped in a glass jar. Obi-Wan had left the lantern outside, right next to the front door.

He set down the big wooden plank he had been carrying and rested it against the latrine wall. Luckily the door was still in one piece; tomorrow, he would try to put it back to its proper place. There was a lot of work to be done, tomorrow and every day after that. But for now, it could all wait. Anakin continued to stand there for a moment, at the edge of the yard, looking at the wide sky. All the clouds had scattered, leaving behind a black canvas dotted with silvery stars. The air was tangy and sharp; the night grew colder still. It was time to go inside.

In the front room of the cottage, a fire was burning in the hearth. Obi-Wan was sitting at the table, finishing cleaning his lightsaber. As Anakin shut the door behind himself, stepping further into the tingling warmth, Obi-Wan watched him, inscrutable. Ravenous, Anakin wasted no time gulping down the dregs of the supper straight from the pot. While he ate, Obi-Wan started mending socks, and Anakin followed the dexterous movement of his fingers. Obi-Wan's hands were adorned with small nicks and scars, the imprint of his weapon a permanent mark on the skin. His hands were that of a warrior.

After fetching out their last bottle of spotchka from its hiding place, Anakin took a seat right next to Obi-Wan, so close that as he sat down, their shoulders brushed lightly. Obi-Wan raised the bottle, toasting perseverance. Anakin watched as he tipped his head back and drank, throat rippling as he swallowed. Despite all it had cost, after everything they had been through, it truly felt like a miracle that they were there, sitting side by side with their own peculiar, fragile peace.

Anakin finally gathered enough courage to ask if Obi-Wan regretted it – regretted leaving the fight and what remained of the Jedi, so much of what mattered to him, to help a broken man and two grief-stricken children.

"I don't regret a thing," Obi-Wan answered, definite and honest. His piercing eyes were fixed on Anakin as he handed the bottle back to him.

The weight of Obi-Wan's gaze was too heavy, and Anakin turned his face away from him, looking at the dented pot on the shelf. He took a long drink, the alcohol pleasantly heating his insides. "Do you think it was right, to come here, to leave the Rebellion and try to raise children in a place like this? We have so little to offer them here. I wanted – she wanted – so much more for them."

Obi-Wan leaned slightly towards him, just enough for his shoulder to press against Anakin's. He took his time answering. "They have a place here to heal, to grow up without being hunted, without having to be afraid that their father won't come back from a mission. They have each other and people who love them. That's more than many have."

"I know." Anakin drank the last of the spotchka, placing the empty bottle on the table. The glass gleamed in the firelight. "But sometimes I feel like we are here more for me than for them." He thought about the all-consuming anger, the revenge that hollowed out his soul. Out there, among their allies and enemies, it was so easy to stop at nothing, to lose himself in the fight and never come back again.

"Perhaps," Obi-Wan said softly, "but someday that won't be the case anymore."

Anakin turned his gaze back to Obi-Wan, meeting his Master's solemn grey-blue eyes. "There is one thing I am certain about – this." He took Obi-Wan's hand in his own. There was a small smudge of blood on one of the fingertips. He drew it gently to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. Then he kissed the joints, the knuckles, the back of the hand. All the while Obi-Wan continued to watch him intently, silent and hardly breathing.

"Let me," Anakin whispered, "let us."

Obi-Wan's answer was to close the distance between them and seal his lips against Anakin's own, tease his way inside Anakin's mouth, licking and tasting. The unwavering kiss wrenched an inarticulate sound from Anakin, from somewhere deep in him, a place that trembled like a wounded thing.

After, Anakin rested his forehead against Obi-Wan's, sighing deeply. "I'm sorry." For today. For everything.

Obi-Wan's hand stroke the back of Anakin's neck, his fingers drawing soothing patterns against the skin. "It's late. Let's go to bed." And just like that Anakin was forgiven. Again.

Anakin made sure the front door was secure, while Obi-Wan cleared the table. Only a few small flames were still quivering in the fireplace, and they left the fire to burn itself out. When Anakin opened the door to the bedroom, the faint light from the hearth spilled inside the dark space, revealing two small lumps on the bed, covered by blankets.

Leia was laying on her stomach, messy hair fanned out across her pillow. She was snuffling, deep in sleep, her snub nose turned to Obi-Wan's side of the bed. Luke was on his side, curled up. As quietly as he could, Anakin slipped under the covers, carefully moving Luke, so Anakin had more room and wasn't hanging half out of the bed.

"Daddy?" Luke murmured, eyes closed tightly, still mostly asleep. Anakin kissed his brow and promised, "Yeah, I'm here."

~o~

"All the gods, all the heavens, all the hells, are within you."

Joseph Campell