Chapter 3: Memory, Restlessness, Meditation (Makes Three)


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Breathe in and out. Slowly. Take your time. Count breaths with me; one…two…three…four. Now back to one…

Two…

Three…

Focus. Center yourself. Don't stop thinking; control your thoughts. Hold your head up. Shoulders back. Slumping over like that will cause your mind to drift. Keep your eyes open, you'll be more present that way. Don't be so anxious, you're letting your emotions distract you. Focus. Focus. Focus. Not so hard!

"Ani, stop! You're hurting yourself!"

Anakin jerked up to see Padmé frowning down at him, her arms crossed just above her baby bump with what looked to be a package of frozen berries held in one of her hands. He was just about to ask her what those were for when a sharp twinge in his left middle finger made him glance down at his lap. Sure enough, the extremity in question was bent far back enough to break. He released it, and brought his flesh hand up to his face. Cringing at the angry red marks and blue-green bruises that were already forming around his knuckles.

"I was just trying to meditate," he said lamely, wincing at the stabbing pain in his joints. Padmé looked even more bewildered for a moment, before slowly lowering herself to the ground to sit across from him.

"Here, let me…" she trailed off, taking his hand in hers' and laying the compress on top. He hissed in relief as the cold hit his bruised skin.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," he reminded her.

At thirty-two weeks, Padmé had been put on bed rest by Em-Dee. The droid had spent a considerable amount of time lecturing the both of them on how imperative it was that she not exert herself during this, the most critical stage of her pregnancy. Needless to say, Anakin hadn't needed telling twice. But this hadn't gone over well with Padmé, who, though she was loath to admit it, was already feeling chafed at having to hide out on Naboo instead of being in the Senate where she belonged.

"I wanted a glass of milk," she said. The burgeoning scowl in her lips not-so-subtly telling him to stuff it. The topic of her 'confinement' was still a touchy one, to say the least.

"Why didn't you just ask me," he said. "I was right here on the balcony."

"You were busy breaking your fingers," she smirked. "I didn't want to disturb you."

Anakin rolled his eyes. "Your concern is touching."

She laughed, and he started to join her before another jolt of stabbing pain shot through his hand at the sudden movement. Turning both of their attention back to his abused appendage.

"So," Padmé said, repositioning the package to place the cooler side over his middle finger. "Meditating?"

He gulped. "Yeah…"

It was no secret that this particular exercise had never been one of Anakin's favorite pastimes. But the nursery was finished and he was all out of projects to keep him distracted. With nothing to do to keep his mind occupied and body exhausted, his thoughts been going to some rather…er, dark places as of late. Hence, this last resort.

"And that somehow involves fracturing every bone in your hand?" Padmé said sarcastically. "Is this apart of some sort of mystical sado-masochistic Jedi ritual a lowly non-Force sensitive such as myself would know nothing about?"

Anakin rolled his eyes. Of course she couldn't just ice his hand and let the matter drop like a good wife.

"No," he said flatly, as a blush crept up his cheeks. "It's nothing. Just me being stupid."

She pinned him with a stern glare. "Ani…"

And with a heavy sigh, he relented.

"When I was young…" he began, grinning sheepishly at the memory. "Well, you know, I've never been very good at keeping still. Especially not when I was a kid. So Obi-Wan used to hold my hands when we went through meditation exercises. To sort of…keep me grounded, I guess. Earlier, I was having trouble focusing. I must have been drawing on old habits without realizing it."

Padmé chewed her lip, but said nothing for a while. Her attention seemingly fixed on his hand. Then after a few moments she said, "It's alright for you to miss him, you know."

Anakin blanched. Was she sure she wasn't a Force sensitive? He shook his head stubbornly.

"It isn't. Not after what I did."

"Anakin," she protested. "Obi-Wan loves you so much. He—"

"Whatever he might have felt for me is irrelevant at this point. I'm worse than dead to him now."

It hurts to say in out loud, but it's the truth. There was no hope of reconciliation after what he'd done. He'd known that from the moment he made the decision to swear himself to Palpatine. Even if he had turned against his would-be Sith Master in the end, there was no chance of reclaiming what he'd thrown away. He's gone too far this time.

Padmé stared back at him expectantly. Waiting for the forthcoming diatribe. But there was no point in getting into this. She wouldn't understand. He loved Padmé for her special brand of compassion that allowed her to see the best in people and believe that anyone could change for the better. But it was that exact quality that made her incapable of fully comprehending what it meant for a Jedi to Fall.

But his wife was as stubborn as she was kind; Anakin knew she wasn't going to accept his silence on this one.

"I turned my back on everything he ever taught me," he told her quietly. "I severed our bond. I-I abandoned him, just like Ahsoka abandoned me."

"You don't hate Ahsoka for leaving the Order," Padmé reasoned. "She isn't anything close to being dead to you."

Now that was just unfair. The circumstances were entirely different. Not least of all the fact that he wasn't Snips. And she certainly wasn't him. She was better. And her leaving him had been partially his own fault, anyway. Of course he didn't hate her for it. He could never. But him and Obi-Wan were nothing like him and Ahsoka.

"Of course not!" he said hurriedly. "But it still hurt. It was devastating. And she had a good reason for it. I turned my back on Obi-Wan because of my own idiocy. Ahsoka left me because she'd been betrayed. With Obi-Wan I did the betraying. I took everything he ever gave me and used it to murder our own kind. I pledged myself to everything we swore our lives to destroying. I didn't just betray him, I disgraced him. The man practically raised me, and I disgraced him and his teachings in the worst possible way!"

Suddenly overcome with all of the shame he'd spent the past six weeks suppressing, Anakin took his hand back from her, dropping his head into it. His fingers were aching and numb, and protested the weight. But the discomfort felt deserved, in a way. Maybe that was why he'd nearly broken them in the first place.

Padmé's cool hands came up to gently pry his away, and then he was being pulled down toward her. His head coming to rest atop her rounded belly, as she began to stroke his hair.

"I don't think you're giving Obi-Wan enough credit," she said softly. "You're forgetting just how forgiving he is. If he knew…"

"But he doesn't," Anakin said heatedly. "And he can never, if we want to keep the baby safe and your career intact. And even if he did find out the truth one day and he did forgive me, I wouldn't deserve it. I don't deserve anything from him. I failed him. I failed Ahsoka. I failed everyone!"

Padmé stiffened. And then Anakin felt her pull back and her fingers tuck underneath his chin as she raised him up to look her right in the eyes. She placed his hand over her belly and covered it with her own.

"Not everyone," she said pointedly, her gaze adoring and fierce. Anakin shied away from it, guilty. But Padmé, not in the mood to indulge his avoidance, brings him back.

Sometimes—and especially as of late—it honestly does hurt to look at her. Padmé is as radiant and righteous as she was when he first met her in Watto's shop all those years ago. Even now after three years of marriage, under her loving gaze and tender touches, Anakin still sometimes felt every bit the lowly slave boy basking in the glow of some ethereal being. Unwashed and unworthy, and oh-so arrogant to try and see himself beside this woman who was obviously so much More than him. And yet she continues to look at him like he's placed every star in the galaxy himself.

After everything he's done, it just didn't make sense that he could deserve this kind of devotion from her.

"It feels like a cheat," he thinks aloud.

"What are you talking about?" Padmé demanded, the firm set to her jaw belying her confusion and hurt.

"It feels like I'm cheating," he repeated. He took his hand away from Padmé's stomach, but miraculously managed to hold her gaze. "Being here with you, it's wonderful. It's what I've always wanted. It's all I've ever wanted. Truly it is, Padmé—"

"But…?"

"But, I don't deserve any of it!" he exclaimed. Just barely reining in the urge to rip his arm away from her, and storm back into the house. "Not after what I've done. And I know that you've forgiven me, and you say that I can come back from it, but I don't know that that's true."

He took several deep, gasping breaths of relief at having finally voiced the truth that had been weighing on him for so many weeks. Padmé said nothing. Implicitly understanding that this was a confession he had to get out all in one go, without being interrupted.

"You don't understand," he said. "There's no renouncing the Dark Side. Once you've fully embraced it, you can never cleanse yourself of its taint. It becomes apart of you forever."

His body began to tremble as the memories of that night came flooding back to him. Weeks later, and he can still so clearly feel the thrill of the Dark Side pulsing through his veins. As if he were right back in Palpatine's office, slicing through Kit Fisto and Agen Kolar like they were little more than training droids. A harsh reminder of the darkness that still lay festering inside him. Patiently waiting for him to allow himself to get just a little too angry, too scared, too power hungry. Too stupid.

Anakin's head hung low as he released another shuddering breath, and continued.

"I've been trying so hard to put everything I did out of my mind and focus only on the good. But I can't because no matter how hard I try to ignore it, the truth is still there. I'm still a traitor to the Order. To Obi-Wan. To everything I passed on to Ahsoka. None of that's going away. Ever. I'll never have the chance to make it right. I'll never have the chance to explain. I don't deserve to—but—I can't just let it all go, either!"

He paused to look back at Padmé. Her face was completely unreadable save for her eyes, which were wide and round like saucers. He looked away again.

"I murdered them, Padmé. They trusted me, and I cut through them like they were weeds. I knew it was wrong, but I told myself that it didn't matter so long as it got me what I wanted in the end. Worse, I enjoyed it. I could feel their fear and anger and pain, and I reveled in it. And now, now you tell me to trust myself, trust the good man I've always been. But I'm not a good man! How could a good man take pleasure in doing such evil things?"

Anakin crossed his arms and hugged them tightly to his chest. His head remained pointed down at his lap.

"Your love," he whispered hoarsely. "Our baby. This chance to start over. I'm unworthy of all of it. I have no right to—"

"That's enough."

It's not Padmé's voice that hushes him, but Amidala's. The steely, no-nonsense timbre of his wife's political alter-ego kills the rest of whatever Anakin was going to say in his throat. And before he can react he's being clutched as tightly to Padmé's chest as her baby bump will allow, her grip hard and unyielding. Anakin sinks into her like a boulder into the sea.

"I don't know how to make you feel better about Obi-Wan," she began, her voice much gentler now. "I suppose you'll just have to resolve that matter on your own. Preferably without maiming yourself."

They both laugh shakily at that.

"But I refuse to believe he is as keen to cut you loose as you seem to think he would be," she said vehemently. "I may not be Force sensitive, but I know in my heart that the two of you will meet again someday, and when you do he will have the absolution you won't allow yourself to seek."

Anakin didn't think he'd ever heard anything more fundamentally wrong in his entire life. But Force did he love his naïve wife for trying. He opened his mouth to say just that, only for Padmé to smother his protests with a kiss. She lingered meaningfully against his lips for a few sweet seconds before slowly pulling away.

"Here's what else I know," she said, keeping her finger hooked under his jaw so that he couldn't turn away from her again. "An evil man wouldn't feel sickened with himself for having murdered innocent beings. A cheater wouldn't be burdened with the guilt of betraying his best friend. And an unworthy man wouldn't be doing everything in his power to try and redeem himself. Now granted, I don't know very much about the Dark Side, or whether or not one can fully rid oneself of it. But I do know this, my husband is a good man. And that's enough for me."

And with those words, Anakin is undone, and unable to do anything but sink bonelessly back into Padmé's soft kisses and sweet promises. Wanting with all his heart to believe in them. To discard the weight of the oaths he'd taken and broken, and accept his wife's assertion that he was still Good despite them. But there was a voice inside his head; the most spiteful incarnation of Obi-Wan, the High Council, and Palpatine all rolled into one, reminding him that Padmé was oftentimes just a little too generous with her optimism. Especially when it came to him.


0x0x0x0


They were liars. All of them. Every single one. They ought to be prosecuted for disseminating false information. No legal counsel. No leniency. Lock them all up and let them rot in prison for the rest of their days, for all she cared. Nothing less than they deserved for their treachery.

Because there was not a single ounce of joy to be found in being pregnant. Absolutely none. The holomovies and holobooks and stay-at-home mommy blogs had all been wrong. Or maybe they were in on this conspiracy. This pyramid scheme orchestrated by doctors and nurses and mothers and mother-in-laws and pharmaceutical companies and whoever else saw fit to twist their lips into that sickeningly bland smile and espouse to vulnerable women the wonders of pregnancy. The miracle of growing a tiny life. The beautiful, life-affirming journey that was hosting a parasite inside your womb.

Conveniently leaving out the wonders of having permanently swollen ankles. The miraculous feeling of having a tiny person sitting on your sciatic nerve for two days straight. The beautiful hormones that made you do bizarre things like eat chocolate cake slathered in butter, then immediately vomit it up right after. And the life–affirming insomnia that kept you awake at all hours of the night, cursing the day you ever let your wretched husband reduce you to this.

Padmé didn't care if she was still only at thirty-three weeks, she had had enough. It was time for her son to come out and greet the world. No more procrastinating. She needed her body back.

Strangely, the baby seemed to agree with her, as he had been a lot more restless than usual as of late. Rolling around from one side of her belly to the other and back again at all hours of the day. Currently, he seemed to be wedged right at the tip of her pelvis. The painful pressure giving Padmé the impression that if she sneezed just hard enough he'd come shooting out, and she'd be free.

Just for the sake of experimentation, she leaned back and took in as much air through her nose as she could, until the nerves inside her nostrils started to twitch and burn. She let go. And sure enough a heavy sneeze rippled through her a few seconds later. But the baby remained where it was.

Blast.

Irritated and restless and utterly incapable of enduring another moment of lying flat on her back while the baby tumbled his way up and down her spine, Padmé rolled herself off the bed and began to pace.

Walking around on sore feet was only moderately better than laying down. But the activity seemed to quell the baby's excitement a little, thus lessening her overall discomfort by a lot. She'd take it.

Coming out of the bedroom and into the hallway, Padmé wasn't at all surprised to see it lit by a soft blue glow emanating from the baby's room. She smirked to herself, knowing instantly what Anakin was up to.

Recognizing her husband's dire need for a new project to take on in the wake of his disastrous attempt at meditation, Padmé had dug out all of the holobooks on parenting she'd poured over during her first two trimesters. Of course, Anakin being Anakin, his obsessive tendencies had kicked in immediately and, as he had with the baby's room, he'd been spending every day from morning through well into the night reading. Padmé had ended up having to ban him from their bedroom at night, as the bright light from the books was just one more thing disrupting her sleep.

He didn't look up when she entered, too engrossed in his reading to even notice that he wasn't alone anymore. Good. Padmé hadn't wanted to disturb him.

The room looked so different at night, with only the light of the holobook Anakin was reading to brighten it. Different, but no less beautiful. She still couldn't believe how nicely the room had turned out. It was as if Anakin had lifted her vision for the baby's nursery straight from her head. He had followed every one of her specifications to the letter. Along with a few surprises, she noted as she came over to the wall where the crib stood, and traced the branches of the shuura fruit tree Anakin had painted there.

Clichéd or not, Padmé didn't think she could have done a better job herself.

Still feeling fidgety, she went over to the dresser, and began sifting through each of the drawers. Removing every article of clothing Anakin had so neatly tucked inside, and refolding them. Then went over to the closet, where she took every little sweater, jacket, and dress off their hangers and reorganized them by size and color. She did the same with the shoes on the rack on the floor. Clothes taken care of, Padmé moved on to the mini bookshelf beside the rocking chair Anakin was sitting in, and began taking all of the picture holobooks and stuffed toys from the shelves.

"Having fun," Anakin said absently. Still not looking up from his reading.

She jumped at the sound of his voice. So he had heard her come in after all.

"Not really," she said. "But I need to do something. I can't sit still anymore."

"You shouldn't be kneeling down like that," he warned. "You won't be able to get back up."

Padmé caught the barest trace of a suppressed laugh in his voice, and scowled. He had some nerve teasing her about her limited mobility when it was his fault she was like this.

"I will," she said indignantly, setting down the stuffed wookie and nexu she was holding in her hands. "Watch."

She gripped the top of the bookshelf and hoisted herself up midway from her kneeling position, before a sharp pain in the small of her back made her drop back down with a loud gasp.

"Are you alright?" Anakin said, getting up from his seat and crouching down beside her. "Does anything hurt?"

"Just my back," she said, cringing. Knowing how Anakin was going to react before he'd even had her scooped up in his arms. "Ani, I'm—"

"This is why Em-Dee put you on bed rest," he said distractedly, already making for their room. "You should b—"

"No," she said forcefully. Motioning for him to put down. He complied reluctantly. "I physically cannot endure another second lying down. I know you and Em-Dee mean well, Ani, really I do. But honestly, laying down just makes it worse."

Anakin smiled softly.

"Worse, huh," he said indulgently. Pulling her into his arms and resting his head on top of hers'. His hands came up to knead the area of her back that had protested the loudest when she'd tried to stand. Padmé arched into his ministrations with a satisfied whimper.

"Your son has been crawling up my back all day long," she most definitely did not whine. "No matter which position I laid in. Nothing helped. He only stopped once I got up and started moving around. I think movement calms him down."

Anakin pulled back, and lay his hand on her belly.

"Alright then," he said with a sly grin. "Let's do this instead."

He took hold of her hand as he began walking backwards toward the rocking chair, and sat down, tugging her down with him to sit on his lap. He leaned very far back in the chair, to the point that it felt like they would tip over, and then let it swing back up. And then again and again, as they began to rock back and forth in a hard, choppy rhythm. The force of it made Padmé's head knock back against Anakin's collarbone. But he didn't seem to mind. And neither did she. For she had expected the sitting position to aggravate the baby even more. But the turbulence seemed to be doing just the opposite. He was settled. Completely still. Finally.

"Thank you," she murmured to no one in particular.

"Hmm?" said Anakin, back to reading now. His hand came up to rub absently at her belly.

"Nothing." A pause. Then, "I'm ready for this to be over, Ani."

"Not much longer now, Love," he assured her.

"Easy for you to say," she grumbled.

"Mmm," he said passively. Attention once again consumed by whatever it was he was reading. Then, "How do you feel about 'Luke'?"

Her head snapped up in surprise. "Huh?"

"If you're right," he said, with a teasing smirk. "And it is a boy, how do you feel about naming him 'Luke'?"

Padmé looked down at the holobook he was holding, and she realized he was on a familiar page. It was three columns of male names, all starting with 'L.' Some of them highlighted; 'Liam,' 'Lachlan,' 'Li,' 'Leon,' 'Laith,' 'Liang,' 'Lok,' and finally, 'Luke.'

"It was one of the names I marked off," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but I wanted to see if you changed your mind," he said. Then shyly, as if confessing some big secret, said "I really like it."

She grinned. "You do, do you. Does this mean you're admitting defeat?"

"Never," he said defiantly. "I have a name picked out for a girl, too."

"Oh really," she said, curious. "What is it then?"

"Not telling," he teased. "You'll find out when I'm proven right."

"Tell me!" Padmé cried, reaching to snatch the holobook out of his hands. But he was too quick for her, and had already lifted it high in the air using the Force.

"Fine," she said petulantly. "Be that way. But just so you know, I like 'Leia.'"

Anakin made a strangled noise in the back of his throat that he quickly tried to cover with a hacking cough. Padmé rolled her eyes. But the baby being still had her feeling generous. She settled back against Anakin's chest and let him have his 'secret'.

Gradually, the rhythmic rocking of the chair and the calm stillness of the room began to lull her into a state of not-quite-sleep, where her eyes remained open, but she was no longer seeing the darkened nursery. No, now she was standing in the middle of a field. Green as far as the eye could see. The sky bright and blue overhead. And there was a little boy. Tiny, even for his age, with sun-bleached blonde hair. Running and laughing, his stubby legs causing him to trip over himself with every other step he took. But he was too caught up in the game he was playing to notice. The child's back was to her, which meant she couldn't see his face. But Padmé knew that if she could she'd find the widest smile in all the known universe, and eyes bluer than the sky under which he played. His father's eyes.

Padmé's heart was full to bursting just watching him. She felt she could stay on this imaginary plane watching this phantom child play for the rest of her life and not even notice the time pass her by. She—

—was suddenly yanked her out of her daydream by something…wet. Water. Pooling between her legs.

Oh Stars…This is it.

It was finally over. It was finally happening.

"Yes!" she sighed, eyes misting over with relief. Oh gods, thank you, thank you. Thank you!

"Padmé," Anakin said worriedly. "What's going on…?"

She almost laughed. He hadn't felt it. All his power and training and connection to the living Force and he hadn't been able to feel it right when she had.

"Oh, kriff!"

There it was.


0x0x0x0


Obi-Wan let out a long groan as he stretched out his aching muscles. It had only been an hour long sparring session, and yet he felt as though he'd just gone up against a stampede of reeks. He looked over at Anakin, and watched in admiration as his young padawan continued practicing his forms. Though the lesson had formally ended, he was still bursting with energy.

Oh to be young and spry again, Obi-Wan thought wryly.

He really had to hand it to Anakin. If nothing else, the boy was a hard worker. But he supposed that was to be expected, given where he'd come from.

"Alright," he breathed, coming over to collect Anakin's practice saber and putting it back in the bin. "I think that's enough for today. Let's head to the mess for a quick lunch before your next lesson."

Anakin pouted. "Already?" he whined. "Can't we do one more round?"

"Everything in moderation, Anakin," Obi-Wan scolded lightly, already leading him out of the room. "Besides aren't you hungry?"

A violent shake of the head. "Come on, Master," he wheedled. "Just one more? We can get lunch later."

Obi-Wan paused, sensing from the undercurrent of anxiety in Anakin's voice and the dread he could feel gripping him through the Force, that there was more to the boy's reluctance to end their training session than his enthusiasm for sparring. He turned to look down at him.

"What is it?" he said. "Why don't you want to go eat?"

"I do!" Anakin backpedaled. "But could we…maybe, I don't know, eat in our quarters?"

"Unless you've suddenly become ill, no. Everyone eats lunch together, Anakin. You know this."

Anakin's gaze shifted to the floor. He dug his right toe into the carpet.

"What is it?" Obi-Wan asked again, starting to get impatient.

Anakin mumbled "It's just…you always have to eat with the other Knights. And I always end up eating alone."

"You sit with the other padawans."

"Yeah, but none of them ever talk to me."

"They don't talk to you because you don't talk to them."

"I can't!" Anakin protested. "None of them like me."

He bowed his head, his shoulders curving in to make him look even smaller and scrawnier than usual.

"You're the only person here who does, Master," he said dejectedly.

Obi-Wan sighed again. He wasn't completely wrong in that. But still.

"You're new," he said softly. "Most everyone here has been lived here in the Temple from infancy. We all know each other. We've all grown up together. We're comfortable with one another and, well…we're not very used to outsiders…"

The boy's head and shoulders slumped even lower. Not for the first time did Obi-Wan silently berate Qui-Gon for leaving him like this. If he wasn't going to stick around to train the boy, couldn't he have least passed on more of his patented advice-giving.

"But that isn't your fault," Obi-Wan quickly amended. "I wasn't trying to imply that it was."

He huffed another weary sigh, and got down to his knees. He cupped Anakin's chin, tilting it up so that they were eye-level.

"Anakin, I know it's been difficult for you. You've had to leave everyone and everything you knew behind and adapt to an entirely new way of life. That isn't easy. Especially not when the other students in your class haven't yet accepted you."

He gave the boy's shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Give it time, padawan. They'll come around once they get to know you better. But not if you close yourself off to them. Alright?"

Anakin still looked dubious, but nodded anyway. "Alright, Master."

Relieved, Obi-Wan gave his shoulders another squeeze. Then stood, and led the two of them down the hallway and into the cafeteria. Anakin, thankfully, went to sit with the other padawans without further fuss. While Obi-Wan joined a group of knights, Garen and Bant among them.

"Hey, Obi-Wan," Bant greeted him over her bowl of nerf stew.

"You look terrible," Garen said. "That new padawan of yours' must be giving you a run for your credits."

"He sure has his work cut out for him," a new voice, belonging to Tiro Yoan added. He turned from his companion to address the whole table. "Did you know I heard that kid can barely write his own name?"

"Well that's no great shock," Garen scoffed. "Who's going to bother teaching a slave how to read and write?"

"Be a little more insensitive, won't you, Garen," said Obi-Wan defensively. "Anakin's behind yes, but he's also very tenacious. He'll catch up to the rest of his peers soon enough."

"Yeah…I guess," Garen said doubtfully. Indifferent, and already bored with this topic, the others shrugged and murmured their halfhearted agreement, and quickly went back to whatever droll conversation they'd been on before Obi-Wan had sat down. Now fully irate, Obi-Wan ignored them.

They didn't have to say anything out loud. He already knows what they're thinking. The same thing everyone in this Force forsaken Temple thought when they saw him and Anakin together. That Obi-Wan is making a mistake in training him, and that the Council is making a mistake in letting him. That Obi-Wan or Anakin, or Force, really, both of them are going to fail this little experiment. That the odds are too heavily stacked against the two of them for them not to. And in his darkest moments, Obi-Wan feared they were right.

Anakin was immensely powerful, yes. And he had enough drive to do great things with the natural gifts he'd been born with. But there were so many little things that went into being a Jedi that just came naturally when you'd been raised in the Temple from infancy. It is so strange to actually have to teach them to a nearly pubescent child.

Controlling one's emotions. Meditating. Letting go of past attachments. All of these Anakin struggles with. But worse was that it was so evident. Obi-Wan didn't need to tell his friends that Anakin still cried out for his mother at night. Or that he couldn't sit still long enough to meditate. Or that sometimes he just felt so very much all at once, it overwhelmed Obi-Wan to the point that he would have to close off their bond.

It was just the truth. Anakin was underprepared in ways that just couldn't be learned overnight, if at all, given his age. And Obi-Wan was biting off more than he could chew with trying to catch him up in such a short amount of time. He knew this. But there was nothing to be done about any of it but to endure and do the best he could. Qui-Gon had left him this last assignment and he would see it through if it killed him. Anakin would be trained, and the two of them would prove them all wrong in the end.

"We have to," Obi-Wan said aloud to himself.

"'Have to' what," said Bant. Eyeing him worriedly.

"Nothing."

Bant didn't look like she believed him. But she let him be, and went back to chatting with the others. Obi-Wan didn't join them. Still too wrapped up in his thoughts to care much about whatever it was they were going on about. The scene around him faded away, as he tucked into his own bowl of stew and set to planning out tomorrow's lesson with Anakin, when—

"I said LEAVE ME ALONE!"

It all happened in a blur. As Obi-Wan rose out of his seat to see to the commotion, he felt a red hot burst of anger more potent than anything he'd ever experienced before shoot through him. His knees buckled, and he fell back into his seat.

Bant, having seen his reaction was at his side in an instant, asking him if he was alright. But Obi-Wan's attention was on the body of a young Twi-lek girl slouched against the far wall. A trickle of blood oozing from her head, and a small, jagged crack along the wall behind her. The spot where she must have hit.

Obi-Wan waved Bant off, and headed over to join the crowd of knights and older padawans that had gathered to investigate the disturbance.

"What did you do that for?!" he heard a boy, he thinks his name might be Ky Kassal, shriek. "You could have killed her! What kind of freak are you?!"

The crowd was blocking Obi-Wan's view of the person Ky was shouting at. But he didn't need to see who it was. He did his best to squeeze his way through the crowd to get to them, but someone else beat him to it.

"What happened?" Master Ki-Adi-Mundi demanded.

"It was him!" the boy accused, before Anakin could even open his mouth. "Lu'Mae and I were talking to him and he just exploded!"

"Anakin…" Ki-Adi turned to the boy. Waiting for his side of the story, in the spirit of fairness.

Watery blue eyes stared pleadingly up at the Jedi Master, but found no leniency.

"Th-they were—And I was just—and I swear i-i-it was an accident," he said, tripping over himself in his haste to be heard. "Honest! You've got to—"

But Ki-Adi had apparently heard enough. He held up a hand, stopping Anakin in his tracks. Then turned to glare pointedly around at the gaggle of horrified, yet morbidly curious padawans and knights who had gathered to watch the carnage unfold.

"Disperse."

No one needed to be told twice. The room cleared in record time, save for the three of them, plus the injured padawan and her friend.

"You as well, Ky," Ki-Adi said in a gentler tone. "Take Lu'Mae to the infirmary."

"Yes, Master," Ky mumbled, scooping up the unconscious girl, and scurrying away, without sparing a second glance at any of them.

Ki-Adi waited until they were gone before turning his attention back to Anakin. He opened his mouth to unpack what was sure to be a very long and very cutting rebuke, but Obi-Wan cut him off right then.

"I can handle it from here, Master," he said hastily.

The senior Jedi narrowed his eyes incredulously at Obi-Wan. Irritation at being challenged by a newly minted knight rolling off of him in waves. But Obi-Wan stood his ground. Anakin was his responsibility. He could do this.

"Very well, young one," Ki-Adi said tightly. "See that you do."

He turned on his heel and swept out of the cafeteria. Leaving Obi-Wan alone with his teary eyed padawan.

"Master," Anakin said shakily. "I…"

"Not here," Obi-Wan said, sharper than he'd intended. He laid a hand on the boy's shoulder (ignoring the way Anakin flinched at the contact), and steered him out of the cafeteria and to their quarters. Neither of them said another word until Obi-Wan had hustled them inside and slammed the door behind them.

"What were you thinking?!" he shouted. Kicking himself as soon as the words left his mouth. He hadn't meant to start off yelling. But he couldn't backtrack now. He had to stand his ground.

"How could you be so reckless, Anakin," he said. "Honestly! Attacking another padawan—no, attacking anyone like that, is inexcusable! I don't care how angry they make you. You may have been born with exceptional gifts but that does not give you the right to abuse them to resolve petty squabbles. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Master," Anakin answered, in a small, timid voice.

And just like that, all of the anger and frustration that had been building up inside of him popped like a bubble. He felt about two centimeters tall, staring powerlessly up at a giant's boot hovering over him. Coming down to squash him like an insect. He was an insect. Small. Insignificant. An outsider. Unwanted. Alone.

No. That wasn't coming from him, Obi-Wan reminded himself brusquely, as he blocked out whatever this was that Anakin was unconsciously feeding him through their bond. He raked a hand through his hair, and took a deep breath.

"Now tell me what happened," he demanded. Mortified that he hadn't opened with that, and pointedly Not Thinking about the fact that Ki-Adi had at least asked to hear Anakin's side before beginning to chastise him.

Anakin sniffled loudly, and wiped the back of his hand along his nose and mouth. A tiny groan squeaked through his wobbling lips.

Obi-Wan sighed again, and took him by the hand and led him over to sit on the sofa in the middle of their small living room.

"It's alright, Anakin," he said. Quieter this time. "Tell me your side of the story."

Anakin looked at the floor and mumbled something incoherent.

"Speak up, I can't hear you," Obi-Wan said, exasperated. He tilted the boy's head up by his chin. "Look at me. How many times must I tell you to look me in the eye when you speak to me?"

"I said they were making fun of my mom 'n me," Anakin said. "Y'know. How we were…slaves." His cheeks turned bright pink and he looked back down as he went on.

"I was trying to do what you said and open up to the others. And it was going okay at first. Til they started asking about what it was like to be…you know. And then they were asking me all these questions. And I said that I didn't want to talk about it. That it didn't matter 'cause I'm a Jedi now. And that I'll only ever go back there again to free my mom."

His hiccupped, his voice getting squeakier and squeakier as he rushed out the rest of his story.

"And then th-they said that it would take me a long time before I'd be able to go on solo missions. A-a-and that she'd probably d-die before I'd get the chance to go back for her. And I just…I dunno. I snapped. I didn't mean it, Master. Honest!" He was shaking now. His words running together in his rush to get them out. "I didn't even know I could do something like that! I didn't wanna hurt that girl. I just wanted them to leave me alone, but they just kept sayin' about how I'm stupid 'cause I'm still having trouble with writing and l-lessons, and how I shouldn't even be here a-and… "

He trailed off into hiccups, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. Obi-Wan gave the boy a few moments to get himself together before speaking again.

"Anakin…" he began. Setting a hand on the boy's shoulder. He flinched again. As with before, Obi-Wan ignored it. "I know you miss your mother quite a lot. I can't imagine how worried you must be for her, given…well, her circumstances. But despite what the others may have said to you today, you are a Jedi now. You're one of us. And I know it will hurt to hear, but you need to leave your mother in your past. Focus on your training. Focus on your studies. And if the Force should will it, you and your mother will meet again one day."

Anakin looked dubious. "But Master—"

"Anakin—"

"—what if she dies! What if something happens and I'm not there to protect her!"

Obi-Wan shook his head solemnly. He had no answer for that but what he'd been told his entire life.

"There is no death, there is only…"

"The Force," the boy finished impatiently. "I know, Master. But—"

"We have no control over life and death, Anakin," he said, with a calmness and conviction he hoped Anakin couldn't tell was a front. "The will of the Force is absolute. If something is meant to be, it will be. Even as Force-users, all we can do is accept that. Understand?"

Anakin looked as though he would very much like to slam him into a wall like he had with Lu'Mae. But instead, simply bowed his head respectfully.

"Yes, Master."

The anguish and defeat in those two words made Obi-Wan's stomach turn. He quickly smothered the discomfort. This was the way things would have to be if Anakin were to become a proper Jedi. And he would be. If it was the last thing Obi-Wan did.

Obi-Wan scrubbed a rough hand over his eyes. Wishing against all logic that he could scrub away the ugly memory the way he scrubbed the sleep from his eyes.

It was amazing, the memories this place managed to call up. Things he hadn't thought of in years. Places and conversations and actions that seemed out of a past life rather than a mere decade or so ago.

Force, he'd been so young, then. So very bitter and inexperienced. Still reeling from the loss of Qui-Gon, while also trying to navigate the fresh waters of Knighthood. It had been difficult enough keeping himself on track most days, never mind the added burden of looking after a child. And little Anakin, so talented, so sensitive, and so eager to learn, had needed so much more than him.

Obi-Wan has always felt the bitter sting of regret whenever he looked back on the early days of Anakin's training. But in the wake of recent events, those feelings have quadrupled and metamorphasized into something all-consuming and monstrous that sticks to him like a second skin. Unflagging in its determination to remind him of how cold he'd been. How unreasonable and unfeeling and hard-nosed. Hindsight is, of course, 20/20, but any moron would have been able to see the first time around how lonely and ostracized Anakin was, and done more to help him find his place. Before it was too late.

In those early days Anakin had been a hyperactive ball of questions and enthusiasm. And now that Obi-Wan has experienced life on his homeworld first hand, he cannot fathom how such a beautiful boy could have come out of this wretched hive of scum and villainy. But if Anakin could make it through his childhood virtually unscathed by this desert hellscape, then it was the Jedi who must have broken him. Obi-Wan himself. And he can't reconcile that. He just can't.

It would be one thing if he could pinpoint exactly where he'd gone wrong. What he must have said or done or not done to lose Anakin's confidence. To drive him into the arms of their enemy. But it wasn't just one event. It happened gradually. A series of missteps and breakdowns in communication. Probably starting from Day One. Or maybe it had been the first time he'd told Anakin he would have to leave his mother in bondage. Or maybe it had been the night Anakin had tried to crawl into his bed after a nightmare, and he'd promptly sent him back to his room, reprimanding him for putting too much stock in a dream. Or maybe it had been much later, after weeks of ignoring Anakin's visions of his mother, only to find out later that the woman had been murdered. Or maybe it had been when Ahsoka had left the Order, and he had had no words of comfort for Anakin but to just let her go. Or maybe…Or maybe…Or maybe…


0x0x0x0


You are Leia, Anakin tells his daughter. Your name means 'meadow.' I chose it because once your mother and I had a picnic in a meadow not too far away from where we now live. It's one of my most cherished memories because it's one of the few times in my life where I've known pure, untainted bliss. In those hours that I spent with her, there was no darkness. No fear. No one telling me that I was foolish or cocky or inadequate. I was heard. And I was her's. And in her I was complete. That's the way I always feel whenever I'm with your mother, safe and loved and invincible. And that's how I want you to feel every single moment of your life, my love.

Leia… you're made up of me, and your mother, and your brother. We're your family, and we love you more than life itself. We're apart of you, always. And with us, you'll always have a place to belong. But don't ever forget that first and foremost you belong to yourself. And don't ever let anyone take that from you.

Leia, not even a full ten minutes old, scrunches up her face and yips out a tiny yawn in response. But Anakin can feel her signature, a familiar tempest of exuberance and ferocity in the Force knocking incessantly against his consciousness. Demanding acknowledgement after having spent an eternity wandering in search of him. And Anakin knows that his baby girl has heard him, and understands.

You are Luke, Padmé tells her son. Your name means 'Light.' I chose it because once upon a time a little boy in a junk shop asked me if I was an angel. There were stars in his eyes when he said this. And there are still stars in his eyes whenever he looks at me, even to this day, though they've dimmed quite a bit. Life has not been particularly kind to your father. But oh, how he tries. So very, very hard. Not for himself, though. For the people he loves. For us. I've never known anyone to love as deeply, as fiercely as your father. Oftentimes, I don't feel I'm deserving of such devotion. But you are, light of my life. You deserve every speck of it.

Luke… at times the galaxy can be cruel and unfair and corrupt and dangerous. As much as your father and I will do our absolute best to shield you and your sister from it, pain and heartache will find you. They always do. But please, please, don't ever allow the darkness to claim you from the Light. Don't ever let it steal the stars from your eyes.

Luke, with all the wisdom of his fourteen minutes of life, stares up at Padmé with his father's reverent blue gaze. Eyes wet and bones soft, he is too new to the universe to have any clue as to what his mother is going on about. But she can feel him, a tender bundle of warmth and light and love, tugging excitedly, adoringly at the edges of her mind. Soaking up every bit of his mother's undivided attention like a sponge.

Yes. Definitely his father's son.

Padmé looks over at Anakin. Watching as he fawns over Leia. He hasn't stopped kissing her little forehead, her cheeks, her hands, her toes, since Em-Dee placed her in his arms. Seeing him so giddy makes her heart swell. After years of being smothered by sorrow and cynicism, the youthful effervescence of the boy she met on Tatooine all those years ago is steadily resurfacing, and Padmé has a feeling it's here to stay. Our baby is a blessing; he'd told her weeks ago, when their secret life had been coming apart at the seams. Oh, but he'd had no idea.

If Padmé had been radiant all those years ago in Watto's shop, right now, shining down upon Luke, who was himself his own supernova in the Force, she was nothing short of iridescent. Watching the two of them bask in one another's light sets Anakin ablaze, and he remembers how, weeks ago; he'd promised his wife "never again" would he sacrifice his soul or topple a regime in her name. And he meant it. But he would do both for his children. Twice. Over and over again, endlessly. If it meant they would never have to know even a fraction of the suffering he'd endured in his lifetime. And Anakin just has to look over at the awe-struck smile on Padmé's face as she holds Luke's pinkie finger between her index and thumb to know that she agrees wholeheartedly.

And he burns for them.


0x0x0x0


A/N:

So we start off with Anakin's Meltdown Pt. II. Don't act so surprised, gang. You had to know our little drama queen couldn't get off with just one. In all seriousness, I didn't want to brush off the gravity of what Anakin did, or only have his family (Padme, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, etc.) grapple with what that means. These are Anakin's mistakes, and he's the one who's going to be struggling with them the most. But if his thoughts seemed a little meandering, I'm sorry. He's very mixed up right now, and probably will be for a little while yet. His processing of his thoughts/emotions won't always be very linear.

On a different note, Obi-Wan holding Anakin's hands during meditation is not something I came up with. I got the idea from a piece of artwork I saw on Tumblr, though I can't remember the name of the artist. If anyone knows or has a link to it, let me know and I'll give credit to the artist in the notes for the next chapter.

A note on the last section, I know people like to headcanon that Leia would be a daddy's girl and Luke his mother's son, and that's it. But lemme tell you, this ain't gonna be that. Maybe it's just a reflection of my own (admittedly privileged) upbringing, but in regards to fiction/fanfic, I really don't like the theme of a child being close to one parent, but distant from another. Anakin and Padmé are both loving people, and their children are a brilliant mix of both of them. I don't know why fandom likes to break the fam up into teams, but it's definitely one of those popular fanon things that really grates on me tbh.

Finally, for those of you curious about "Menace," it's being reworked. As I was planning out the next couple of chapters, I realized that the story was going in a different way than I originally intended. Because of that, a few things in the early chapters need to be changed. Plus, looking back, I wasn't really happy with them to begin with. So please be patient. It will be back up within the next month or so. It will look a bit different. But I haven't given up on it. Not by a long shot.