Adrift - PART III

The sound turned into static and the blue image flickered, disappearing for a long second, until finally the connection stabilized enough that Obi-Wan could see and hear Master Yoda relatively well. The Refuge had dropped momentarily from hyperspace and Obi-Wan had taken the opportunity to try to establish a connection to the Jedi Temple. Despite it being in the middle of the night on Coruscant, he had quickly managed to get hold of Master Yoda. Anakin, on the other hand, had been unavailable.

"Discharged you are already, hmm…"

"Yes, Master Yoda." Obi-Wan tried to control the urge to fidget like a guilty youngling; after all, he had nothing to feel guilty about – at least not on that score – for he was fine. There was no reason to keep him inactive. "I'm leaving for Coruscant as soon as I can arrange for transport."

"Why in such a hurry?" Yoda asked, and even through the wavering hologram, his eyes were discerning, seeing into Obi-Wan. "Rest you should, before war calls again…hmmm…unless something wrong here you think is?"

"No, Master, it's just a…a feeling," Obi-Wan said, knowing full well how vague and evasive he was being. But he could hardly say, actually I'm worried about my former Padawan who confessed to me that he slaughtered innocents and secretly married an important Senator, now could he?

"A feeling, hmm…or a warning?"

"Just a feeling of unease, Master," Obi-Wan sighed. "Nothing definite."

"Safe the holocron in the Vault is. Few there are who know about its existence." Master Yoda's face seemed to tighten in apprehension; the image flickered again and Obi-Wan almost thought he had merely imagined it.

"Has the Council decided what is to be done with it?" Obi-Wan asked, anxiety pooling in his gut. In the wrong hands – no, even in the right hands, the holocron could be a terrible weapon.

"Nothing yet decided is," Yoda said, mouth suddenly turning into an impish smile. "Time there is for that. Your input want we to hear first. Member of the Council are you not?"

"Yes, Master." He inclined his head, suppressing a wince. What a loyal and upstanding Council member he was, omitting information, evading questions, pretending that everything was fine.

"And missing the holocron a piece is, young Skywalker discovered." At Anakin's name, Obi-Wan's insides clenched painfully. Yoda's eyes narrowed. "Important it is, that found the piece is."

Obi-Wan breathed deep. Please don't send Anakin to find it, not on his own. He couldn't explain the terror that thought raised in him, so he pushed it aside as best he could. "I can investigate it," Obi-Wan offered, hoping his voice sounded suitably calm.

"Discuss we – not bef – arrived on –" The sound was breaking up, the blue image of the Jedi Master flickering madly.

"Master Yoda, the connection is failing, I can hardly hear you –"

The solemn image of Master Yoda quivered and then suddenly vanished, leaving Obi-Wan alone in the communications chamber. For a long moment, Obi-Wan stood there, lost in thought, until the communications technician hesitantly made his way in, obviously not wanting to disturb the Jedi. Obi-Wan gave the technician a brief nod, and then he trudged back to the small cabin he had been given.

With a narrow bunk and a simple trunk, the cabin was only a little bigger than a maintenance closet, but Obi-Wan appreciated the gesture nonetheless. Discharged from the medical ward, he didn't belong among the twenty or so patients, but neither did the ship have any free berths readily available on such short notice. Obi-Wan wondered which officer had drawn the short straw and had had to vacate their cabin just so General Kenobi could have a private place to sleep in – or as the case was, not to sleep in.

Obi-Wan settled on the hard floor, between the bunk and the grey-steel wall, arranging himself into a meditation pose. Closing his eyes, he did the simple breathing exercises all younglings in the Temple were taught at an early age. Breathing in, breathing out, in out in out, mind emptying of all thought. Again and again he stilled his mind with every breath, until Obi-Wan had retreated into a trance, into that place deep inside of him that knew no physical pain or sensation.

The Force surrounded him, filled him, enveloped him with vitality and strength. Obi-Wan let himself bask in its light for a moment, and then he carefully turned his attention to the bond he shared with Anakin. The bond's strands looked frayed, their brilliant glimmer muted and still. Hesitantly, Obi-Wan touched the strands and everything in him ached in response. Anakin was too far away to be contacted this way – even if he were closer, Obi-Wan suddenly doubted that he could have reached his former apprentice. Anakin had retreated from their bond so completely – no, they both had. Fearful of more hurt, they had taken shelter behind strong shields, letting the bond wilt with neglect and misgivings.

And Obi-Wan was hurt, there was no denying that, not within his own mind. He was hurt by Anakin's actions, by his lies, and that was problematic. To judge Anakin fairly, Obi-Wan would have to examine Anakin's deeds objectively, he would have to separate his own deep feelings of betrayal from the general disappointment any teacher would feel for a failed student. Any decision Obi-Wan came to, would have to be based on facts, not on his feelings.

So then, how would he act, if the subject was any other than Anakin? If some other Jedi had done that horrible crime? There was no question – he would report them to the Jedi Council. But nothing happened in a vacuum; Obi-Wan was pragmatic enough that he could also acknowledge the hard facts, the current circumstances. The war effort needed Anakin, his exceptional skills on the battlefield, his tactical mind, his boldness. But was that truly reason enough to stay silent? Equally troubling was the thought that perhaps no one save the Jedi would care about what Anakin had done. The general public had begun to distrust the Jedi, and Anakin was still the poster boy, the Chancellor's favorite. It was more than possible that if the Jedi Council wouldn't keep quiet about Anakin's transgressions for the good of the Order, Palpatine would certainly find a way to make most of the situation.

On the other hand, to do nothing, could certainly be equally – if not more – disastrous. It would validate Anakin's crimes and he would learn the worst possible lesson: that there were no consequences for any of his actions. The lesson he should learn instead was that there were always consequences – and that lesson Obi-Wan was honor-bound to give, for a Master's role didn't end when a Padawan was knighted. Every Jedi was a teacher, and every Jedi was a student. And more than that, Obi-Wan feared what Anakin would become, if the boy continued on the path of lies – would he be tempted towards more dark deeds? There had to be some accountability – but what and when?

Obi-Wan did not know. The answer, the right action to take, continued to elude him. It seemed that whatever he decided, it would somehow hurt Anakin, change irrevocably the relationship between them. Frustrated with himself, Obi-Wan felt the trance dissolving, until he could feel the hard floor once more under his aching legs. Acknowledging the futility of trying to continue the meditation, he clambered to his feet, stiff limbs protesting.

His body wasn't much happier in the bunk than on the floor, but Obi-Wan dutifully lay down on the thin mattress. He would get some sleep. In the morning, the Refuge would be that much closer to the Praadost system and Obi-Wan could prepare to leave for Coruscant. Force, he just hoped that Anakin didn't do anything stupid before he could get there.

-o-

Waking up with a startle, Anakin reached for his lightsaber, his eyes trying to find familiar shapes in the dark. Just for a moment, he didn't know where he was and the room was as unfamiliar to him as any strange space. The distinct hum of a starship was absent, and the stale air of his cabin was missing. Beneath him was not a hard bunk but a luxuriously soft bed. Padmé's bed – their bed.

With the realization of familiarity Anakin's heart settled into a slower pace. A grin sneaked onto his face as Anakin remembered their frenzied tumble into bed. When Padmé had finally come back from her meeting, no unnecessary words had been exchanged; instead, they had fallen upon each other like starving beasts. After a couple of bouts of passionate lovemaking, sleep had come easily, but according to the chrono on the bedside table, Anakin had only managed to sleep for a few hours.

He reached towards Padmé's side of the big bed, but his hand met only cool, crumbled sheets. Dispelling the last vestiges of lingering sleep, Anakin focused and extended his senses: he was alone in the room, and Padmé…Padmé was on the veranda. A whisper of concern slithered among his good mood, and Anakin rose swiftly, pulling on his trousers and putting on his undertunic. Not bothering with his boots, Anakin stepped out of the bedroom with bare feet.

Padmé was standing near the edge of the open veranda, at the base of one of the statues of Shiraya, looking at the city that never slept. The large silhouettes of buildings rose from the dark like forgotten behemoths, millions of small lights dotting their feet like fallen stars. Dressed in a flowing nightgown, long hair loose, Padmé looked like a twin of the moon goddess. For a fleeting moment, she seemed as untouchable, as distant as the bronzium statues that flanked her.

"Can´t sleep?" Anakin asked, his voice making Padmé flinch. She hadn´t heard him come in. "I thought I managed to tire you out pretty thoroughly."

Padmé half-turned towards Anakin, her face covered by shadows. "You did…but I have much on my mind." It bothered Anakin that he couldn't see her eyes, so he strode closer, until his gaze met hers. She looked composed and a little melancholy.

"I know you have a lot on your plate…important duties and responsibilities. I'm sorry about how I acted earlier…I just felt disappointed – I had waited so long to be with you." They had argued about Padmé's work many times before, and would probably do so again, but Anakin knew he had been in the wrong earlier that evening.

"Are you sorry? Truly?" Padmé asked, gazing intently at Anakin's face.

Anakin frowned. "Of course."

Padmé's eyes shifted back to the view of the city, dismissing the topic. "Alright. Then that's over and done with."

Silence fell over them. Anakin looked at his wife's profile, and for the first time since their initial awkward meeting as adults, he didn't know what to say to her. It made his insides tighten painfully. It was the bloody war, he was sure of it; it tried its hardest to make them into strangers. Anakin thought about all the things he didn't know about Padmé's life in Coruscant and all the things she didn't know about his life in the front lines. There should be no secrets between them.

"I have something to tell you…It could change everything," Anakin began, and when Padmé had turned towards him fully, he proceeded to give her a full account of what he and Obi-Wan had gone through with the holocron. He saw Padmé's eyes widen with wonder at the depiction of time-travel, watched as her lips pursed when she heard how Obi-Wan had learned of their marriage, and how her face softened when Anakin described the meeting with Shmi. He relived the horror of Zigoola with her, the agony of watching Obi-Wan succumb deeper into illness with each jump. It was almost easy to tell the rest of it too: the failed attempt at joint meditation and the resulting confession. At the mention of the Tuskens Padmé winced, but she listened quietly until Anakin had come to the tale's end.

"Traveling through time…that's – Anakin, that's incredible. And terrifying it seems," Padmé said, looking still amazed. "I´m so glad you both managed to get back."

"Yes, but everything is a mess now because of it. I don't know what to do with Obi-Wan," Anakin admitted, hoping she would have some insight, some advice he could follow.

"Well, have you apologized to him?"

"I…" Anakin paused, suddenly uncertain. He had said to Obi-Wan that he was sorry, hadn't he?

"Oh Anakin," Padmé sighed, sounding sad and remorseful. "Obi-Wan must be so hurt – we both lied to him so many times."

Anakin couldn't help the sharp, bitter laugh. "Hurt? More likely deeply disappointed, regretting having raised such a lousy Jedi as me."

Padmé shook her head, and in her voice was a hint of reprimand. "It has always baffled me how you have lived over ten years with him, and still know him so little."

"I don't want to talk about Obi-Wan!" Anakin snapped, suddenly incensed. He knew Obi-Wan – knew him certainly better than Padmé did or ever would. But as fast as the anger had risen, it depleted, leaving Anakin empty and aching. Of course he had hurt Obi-Wan, he could admit that to himself, even if it was difficult to acknowledge it aloud.

"He can't stand to be in the same room with me," Anakin muttered. Padmé said nothing, so he continued, "He´s probably going to tell the Council everything I did."

"What we did," Padmé corrected him quietly. "These lies and wrongdoings are not only yours, Anakin. I'm equally complicit. I have lied to so many people. I lie about our marriage every day, every hour, with my every breath. And the Tuskens…" Padmé's face hardened; she sounded pained. "I brushed it aside. I was so in love that I was willing to let it go, that I actively wished it into nothingness…and that was not only wrong, but an impossibility. I think however hard I tried, it has always been at the back of my mind, this guilt and unease and fear."

"But you understand – you know why I had to do it," Anakin protested, Padmé's words threatening to shake the foundations of justification and validity he had built around the act.

"I know why you did it – I was there, I saw your grief and I can´t blame you for it any of it." Padmé tugged at her hair restlessly, face a mask of anguish. "But I am sickened by my own inaction, my compliance, my cowardice. How could I let love change who I am? What I hold most important?"

"Just what are you saying?" Anakin's throat was suddenly so dry it was hard to swallow. His heart hammered against his rib cage, every painful thud heralding doom. This is not happening, he thought, desperate.

"I don´t know!" Padme cried. "I just know that I can´t live like this anymore. I won't."

"This again? I thought we resolved this – that it was just poison fed by that traitor Clovis." The mere thought of the hated man made Anakin clench his hands into fists – that snake had nearly ruined everything. Anakin remembered the words Padmé had spoken in distress after the altercation with Clovis, they rang as clearly as if they had been said only seconds ago: Other people who are married have everything that we don't, everything we won't. We live in secret…our relationship is built on lies and deception. No relationship can survive that…Anakin could see her standing before him as she had been then, mercilessly frank, every emotion raw on her face as she had looked at him and said, I don't know who's in there sometimes. I just know that I'm not happy anymore. I don't feel safe. She had broken his heart, until later, after the whole business with Clovis had come to its tragic end, she had put his heart back together again. They had not spoken about it, and Anakin had hoped that they had moved past the incident entirely.

"Clovis was just the effect, not the cause. What happened with him only raised to the surface the feelings that I already had – that I still have." Padmé's eyes looked black in the dim lighting, like a pool of dark, unfathomable water. She took a deep breath and confessed, "I still feel unhappy."

"So you don´t love me anymore, that´s it?"

"I wish it was that simple," Padmé murmured. "Anakin, you know I love you, that hasn´t changed. But there are some things that are bigger – perhaps even more important – than my love for you. Who I am as a person, living my life faithfully and happily and true to all the convictions I hold dear. Without that, my love for you has no basis, it is just a…just a pile of sand that will crumble eventually."

"I will go to the Council right now, I will tell them of our marriage and leave the Order. You won´t have to lie then, everyone can know, I don´t care," Anakin proclaimed heatedly.

"Would you?" Padmé asked, a little wistfully. Then her eyes sharpened. "But what would you be then? Without the Jedi? Have you truly thought about the future?"

"I would be with you," Anakin said defiantly. He would give up everything for her, prove his love undeniably –

"But that´s just it. You can´t define yourself solely through me, Anakin. Just as I can´t solely define myself through you. Do you understand? I won´t bear that burden. You have to be you for yourself –"

"So you don´t want to lie, but you don´t want me to leave the Order either. It seems you just don´t want to be with me," Anakin exclaimed bitterly.

Padmé shook her head, looking crushed. "It seems so," she finally admitted quietly.

"I don´t understand," Anakin said helplessly, feeling a dark pit of despair opening up inside of him, starting to swallow him whole.

"I know you don´t." Padmé raised her hand, as if to reach for him, but then let it slowly come to a rest at her side. Anakin was already longing for her touch, missing her with a fierce ache – like they had already parted and the long days and months stretched before him lonely and endless.

"Is this the end?" Anakin made himself ask.

"I don´t know." One tear was finding its way across Padmé´s cheekbone. "Just…think about what I have said. Think about what kind of future you want – what you want to be, if you weren´t with me. Let´s just…think about this…"

"You can think all you want, I have a war to win," Anakin said, hopped into his speeder and drove away with reckless speed. Padmé didn't call out after him.

Author's note: The Clovis incident that Anakin alludes to is told in a Clone Wars episodes 605-607. The words Anakin remembers Padmé saying are from the episode 606, The Rise of Clovis.