At planetary noon the next day, Anakin slinks out a side entrance of the Temple and makes his way to Dex's as inconspicuously as a six-foot humanoid dressed in all black like a children's action movie character, who also happens to be a famous general, can. The sun is bright, again, at least until he makes his way a couple of levels down to where the roaring of speeders above and below echoes and fills the dimmer space with an omnipresent vibrating growl.

CoCo Town doesn't have the most welcoming atmosphere ever, and neither does Dex's run-down, squat, gunmetal gray building—at least until you try the food. Then it looks like paradise in a scrapyard, which is itself pretty close to paradise for a savvy engineer. But Anakin isn't surprised that Barriss looks wary and off-kilter when she pushes hesitantly through the door.

Anakin waves and calls a deliberately casual greeting from the booth he's occupied, then stands to lead her to the ordering window. Dex greets him magnanimously as always. "Little Ani! Always nice to see one of Obi-Wan's little ones in here."

"I'm 21, Dex, and Ahsoka is my little one, not Obi's," Anakin fires back good-naturedly. "I'll have my usual, and—Barriss? Any dietary restrictions?"

Barriss looks a little overwhelmed, her face set in a mask of calm but her eyes flicking rapidly between Dex and the signboard menu to the right of his window. Makes sense: Luminara doesn't seem like the type to take her padawan somewhere like this outside of a mission. His impression of Luminara is a mixed bag. She's a stone-cold badass, and he has to respect that, but he cannot condone her willingness to abandon her padawan and his beneath the rubble back then. Anakin thinks of her as a good Jedi and maybe even, under normal circumstances, a good person—but probably not a good master.

Taking pity, he points atDex's take on moskrat rolls on the menu board. "I recommend those if you're good with meats from the Third Low Quadrant."

Barriss nods seriously, and offers a little half bow to Dex as she says, "I'll have the Number 6, please."

The Besalisk roars with laughter, leaning out over the counter to confirm which dish is the Number 6. "I like this one, Ani, so polite! What's your name, dear?"

Barriss looks panicked. "She's a friend of Ahsoka's," Anakin takes over for her, shooting Dex a significant look that he…probably doesn't catch through the sunglasses. "I'm helping her out with a project, thought I'd introduce her to the best diner on Coruscant in the process."

Dex grins at the flattery and nods in acknowledgment of the unspoken request for discretion. "I won't keep you any longer then. You're number eight, it'll be out in five!"

Anakin and Barriss bow their thanks and head for their booth. Only two other booths are occupied, two humanoids chatting near the door and three sketchy-looking Rodians arguing in low tones against the opposite wall, so Barriss and Anakin's booth in the middle is well isolated from prying ears, and also pleasantly well-lit by the smudgy but wide windows above.

Barriss slides into the left side of the booth and starts fiddling with the loose fabric of her dark sleeves. She opens her mouth, then closes it, evidently unsure of how to begin. Anakin preempts her, trying for a smile.

"So, which classes are you taking this trimester?"

"Um." She's thrown off-guard. "...Advanced Philosophy III, Interworld Cultures II, a couple of medical ones?"

"Oh, kriff, tell me you don't have Advanced Philosophy with Master Po-ti-ada?"

She starts. "Ah, yes. They're…."

"Literally the worst, yep," Anakin voices her politely unspoken implication, and is gratified to see her shoulders relax slightly. Their order comes up. It's retrieved from Dex and inhaled by Anakin, picked at by Barriss until she realizes how incredible Dex's moskrat rolls are, and then still picked at, but with a little more enthusiasm. He manages to keep a stilted conversation going about her teachers that he remembers from his own padawanship until she finishes the rolls, sipping at his water when his own meaty salad is done. He and Obi-Wan had a rule when he was a kid: important discussions came after mealtimes. Mostly because Anakin became, in Obi-Wan's words, "an ornery little beast when he was hungry."

"So." He gives her a chance to finish sipping her water, and then drums his metal fingertips purposefully on the table. "Down to business."

"Yes."

"I think I have a general idea, but do you mind explaining to me how…this"—he waves, indicating her eyes and just kind of her general person—"happened? When did you start having doubts?"

She sighs, and, not meeting his eyes, she tells her tale. It's about what you'd expect. She'd always had an affinity for the library, and as a result, she'd gained maybe too much access for her own good. As the war wore on, she started researching heterodox and then Dark practices as she despaired more and more at the limits of her healing, tempted by rumors of ancient Darksiders reviving the dead. "Then one day, I looked in the mirror and…." He winces; that's a bit too close to home.

For a long time, she despaired. Considered turning herself in, but couldn't bring herself to face everyone she'd ever loved and see them horrified. (She talks like a Jedi; he infers the emotional parts.) Clung to that one enticing possibility, the reasoning—or perhaps rationalization—that had animated her research in the first place: The possibility that the Sith Code was what was evil and corruptive, not necessarily the Dark Side. "There must be a doctrine that allows you to draw on the Dark Side generatively, not destructively," she insists, eyes burning darkly above the tattoos on her nose. He can just see the yellow past her secondary eyelids, now, if he looks closely. She pauses; a hesitance creeps into her eyes. "Do you think I'm insane, Master Skywalker?"

On instinct, he looks around for eavesdroppers. Seeing none, he makes sure she can hear the sincerity in his voice, radiates it in the Force, as he answers quietly, carefully, and honestly, "No, I don't think so. I think the Jedi are wrong about a lot of things, and this could very well be one of them."

It's like he can see the tension drain from her small, serious frame. She gives him a wide-eyed look, and then grabs her water glass and gulps down a mouthful like an alcoholic. It clacks when she sets it back on the table. "Really?"

"Yep." But…. He measures his next words even more, if possible. "Are you sure this is a safe path for you to be going down, though? As a kid?"

Barriss looks affronted. "I'm old enough to be on the battlefield, Master Skywalker."

"No, I just mean"—he doesn't, neither she nor Ahsoka is old enough for the battlefield, but that's another issue—"even if there is a right path out there, finding it…you're putting yourself at risk in a lot of ways, in the middle of a war that's already trying its hardest to kill us all. Even if you have doubts about the Code, wouldn't it be better to wait until you're a knight, with a little more freedom, and privacy, to look into this? I know you want to heal, but can you…afford to put yourself at even more risk? Right now?" Ugh, he's not saying this right.

Now she just looks confused. Her hand drifts back up to play with her headscarf, clearly a nervous tic. "I—well, the damage is already done, isn't it?"

"...What do you mean?" Mutual incomprehension. He hurries to clarify, "I'm talking about returning to the Light, just for a little while. Until you're in a good position to go further with this." And an adult, hopefully.

If anything, she looks even more confused. "No, the scholarship is very clear. You can't go back once you've Fallen. Not without a total mind-wipe."

What? "That's, just—it's just not true." No way. There's no way he's literally been a secret Sith for a full two years without knowing.

"You know from personal experience?" Suddenly, she's a few inches closer, leaning over the table with shining eyes belying her habitual reserve. "Because you are like me. I knew it."

"What? No, I am not a Sith!" he hisses, frustration rising in his gut. He sees an Obi-Wannish expression cross her face, waves impatiently. "Sith, Darksider, whatever!"

"How do you know? You have the eyes."

"The eyes are unrelated."

She raises one eyebrow. Force, she really is like a miniature Obi-Wan, refuses to be convinced. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, tries to address this rationally. "I know I'm not a Sith because I haven't Fallen."

"Clearly you have, though." She's getting frustrated too.

"No, I'm telling you, people can have yellow eyes for other reasons."

"From birth, maybe, but appearing in middle age like that?"

Middle age?! "I—"

"How do you know you haven't Fallen?"

"Because I've Fallen before, okay?" Anakin snaps, and then immediately regrets it.

Barriss is motionless for a moment, eyes wide. "You've Fallen before?"

He sighs, instantly exhausted just from thinking about that night. The grief tears at his throat, a subtle but penetrating pang. Two years' talons. "Yes, and it felt way different than this," he affirms in a low voice.

She pauses, jaw firming, and draws back slightly. "And did you…?"

"No, I didn't do anything unforgivable." Un-Jedi-like, maybe. Prosecutable, possibly, but with very little chance that anyone would ever bother.

She's leaning forward on the table again, likely unconsciously. "Please, tell me."

Underneath it, he hears, Please. Help me.

Kriff.

Kriff, kriff. He doesn't want to talk about this. Why should he talk about this? He doesn't owe her anything.

But she's looking at him with big eyes, uncharacteristically vulnerable. Ahsoka's friend, she's basically Ahsoka's age. And there's that desperation that he's been sensing from the beginning. Beneath her cool facade, she's terrified by what's been happening to her. She survived losing her faith in the Code, she survived losing her faith in everything she once believed in. But she's terrified of losing herself, too. She needs a Code. She needs a framework, or she knows she's going to spiral off into the stratosphere, into a black hole. Into a place you can't come back from.

Anakin can relate to that.

Kriff, kriff, kriff. Shit. Fuck. Is he really going to do this? Talk about this, talk about his—to some snot-nosed kid?

She's not just some kid, she's Ahsoka's closest friend. And she's balancing on the knife edge of something…extremely dangerous.

Shit.

Okay, he tells himself abruptly, you're doing this. It's a habit he's developed, making a decision quickly so he can't back out of it. Sometimes you can only move forward by throwing yourself off the cliff. Okay.

It's just one more battle.

Just one more difficult thing.

The first words come out halting, gruff.

"It was the grief," he begins, staring at his mismatched hands on the table. Hidden under the gloves, but he's always aware.

"I'd just found my—my mother, she raised me until I was nine. I don't know if you would know that. And when I came to the Temple, I left her behind, and she was…not safe.

"So when I was nineteen, I started having these—well that's not important, what's important is I went back for her, finally, with—by myself, without my Master. I was still a padawan, I abandoned a mission. And I went back to finally see my mom again, but she'd been…taken.

"There's a species, on my planet. The waking nightmare of Tatooine. Tusken raiders. Desert dwellers, but there was always conflict, with—with the city folk. With the moisture farmers. About water, always about water, except it wasn't, really. I don't know what it was about.

"So my mom was living with a moisture farmer, and one day they took her. By the time I got to her, she'd been there two weeks. She'd been—torture. You know. Like the Seppies, but—anyway.

"When I found her, she was just barely alive." He has to pause here, take a breath, clear his airways. He can't drag his eyes off the table, but he feels her silence, her attention, like a weight on his neck. "She—didn't make it, and I needed to take the, the—take her away, for burial. And I needed revenge. And that's when it happened, I think."

He stops for a long time there, because he has to think about this next part. Of course, he's gone over this moment in his head for two years, lying on his bed in the dead of night, on the battlefield watching brothers' blood spill onto sand, their leg or hand blasted a foot away, accusing him, accusing him by the distance…. But putting it into words is different. And anyway, he's mostly thought about what came before. He's thought about this part really just as a sidebar to trying to decide if he should feel guilty or grateful for what happened next.

He must be silent for too long, because Barriss' disembodied voice prompts him. Hushed, a bit uncomfortable. "And then…?"

"I think it was the grief," he repeats himself, abrupt and too loud. He hears her shift back in surprise and tones it down. "It was…tempting. I was tempted, to put the…sadness aside. Put my mom aside. Anger is…you know, it's easier. Revenge, is. It's easier."

He senses more than sees her nod, slowly. She understands. That part, she understands.

"But that would be—it would. She was right there. That would be putting my mom aside. I would've had to—to leave her there, in the tent, while I did it." He hears his voice crack on leave, forces himself to take one slow breath and then pick it back up. He's an adult. He's a general, a Jedi knight, offering a lesson to a padawan who needs it. "I would've had to leave her there. And it would have been disrespectful. After everything. She—after everything she gave me, it would have been disrespectful not to grieve her."

The space behind his eyes is hot, and he's almost choking on the lump in his voice, but he will not cry, he refuses. He needs to get to the end, he's not telling this for him. This isn't about him. This is about Ahsoka's friend being sixteen and lost, and it's about giving her something to hold onto, to tear into, to grip with bloody fingertips when she needs it the most.

One more battle. One more difficult thing.

"And I think that's…the reason, I didn't do something…do something. Awful. Something my mom wouldn't have approved of, because she was—she wouldn't have allowed it. Revenge within reason. I killed everyone who came running for the tent, when they saw me, and didn't feel confused in the Force. The ones who felt…. They knew she was there. And I killed everyone who tried to stop me from taking her with me. And I left. That's it. Excuse me."

He stands up abruptly from the table and strides fast, but not too fast, to the 'fresher. Takes a minute to rest his hands on the sink, stare at the taps, hold himself together with iron bands. Two minutes. He thinks of Padme, makes himself think of their engagement, their wedding, makes the flashes of blood and darkness sink back into the turbulence of his hindbrain. Slowly, the lump in his throat melts away.

He feels exhausted, like he just ran ten miles. Like he just finished a battle. But also—lighter, in a strange way.

It made it easier, that she wasn't Obi-Wan, or Ahsoka, he realizes. A near-stranger. And a near-stranger who wouldn't, couldn't, judge him, who didn't have the right to judge him, because she's like him too. There's someone who understands.

He waits until he feels fully in control of himself again and heads back to the table. Slides back into the booth, puts on a cocky smile, and forces himself to look her in the eyes instead of staring at the tattoos over her nose. "So, what did we learn, Padawan? You got an A-1 case study right there of what dabbling in the Dark Side really means, in my humble opinion. Gimme your take."

She nods slowly. He can tell she's giving it thought, looking down and away as she considers what he's given her. It's—respectful. It warms something in him.

"So it was…you said. You said your grief…tempered your anger. And it was tied to atta—to love. But the anger wasn't…wrong." She meets his eyes, serious, searching for confirmation. Force, she really is a padawan, isn't she.

He shifts uncomfortably. "The Jedi—"

"I know what the Jedi would say," she cuts him off aggressively, and then clearly catches herself and lowers her eyes with her voice. "I mean. I apologize. But in that situation. In that situation…." She takes a breath. When she continues, her voice is so low he has to strain to hear it, and hard. Firm. "I think you were right. I think you were right to be angry. Somebody—somebody needed to be angry. For her." A little uncertainty creeps back into her voice. "Right?"

She meets his eyes again, more desperate this time. Slowly, he nods, that thing in his chest warming further at her words. "Yes. Like the whole—when there's an injustice." For all that they're almost whispering now, his next words drop from his tongue like lead weights, like a sentence of death. They're heavy, so heavy. But honest. "I do think it can be right to act in anger," he admits, and it feels like a final confession.

He sees her eyes spark at his answer. "Like the clones," she ventures softly, fiercely.

Anakin sighs, because that's not quite what he was about to say but yes, it's absolutely near the top of his list. "Yeah. Like the clones."

She smiles involuntarily, a quick bitter thing responding to whatever she sees in his eyes, before she seems to realize how she's leaning forward, resting on her elbows with her hands clasped. She shifts back, sitting straight again with her hands primly on the table. Back to the perfect Jedi, even during a discussion whose entire point is heresy. "So, the anger wasn't wrong," she resumes her line of thought from before. "But it needed to be tempered by grief, and love, or you think you would have done something you'd regret."

He shifts his shoulders, leaning back more in his seat. He has to admit, it feels really weird to have this experience summarized like that by an outsider. So clinically, so objectively. It doesn't feel like something that can ever be objective, and yet—"…Essentially, yes."

She unfolds her hands, lets them rest loosely on the metal table, eyes far away. "So maybe drawing on the Dark Side without losing control is about…maybe, not letting yourself be dominated by one negative emotion? Feeling everything that…should be felt, demands to be felt, feeling it fully and completely, but not letting yourself be blinded by one passion. Balancing passion with passion." He notices her right pointer finger absently tracing some sort of pattern on the table. She's not looking at it though, her eyes are still narrowed in thought, gazing past him in the general direction of Dex's toaster oven. Thinking critically about this in a way he never would've thought to, if he even could. "And also…letting those passions go, when they're spent. Feeling when it's appropriate, then letting go when it's appropriate."

Anakin thinks about that. "I don't know if letting go is a term I'd use. Uh, maybe—" He stops. He can't think of how to put it into words. As usual, his tongue is clumsy, just another crude muscle in his mouth though it's silver in everyone else's. He's no orator, he doesn't explain, doesn't negotiate. Especially not in Basic.

Maybe it's the last thought that triggers it, or the general subject matter of the last half hour, or the way he sank a little deeper into the Force to help calm himself down back in the 'fresher, but a phrase floats to the surface at the back of his mind, cool to the touch and tarnished from long residence in those dark waters, but with a tinge still of the sacred to the way it ripples the waves. He takes a moment to translate it into Basic.

"There's—there is a time for rain," he says lowly.

When he was a child, he would hear it everywhere, from slave and master alike: the common refrain of Tatooine. Don't waste your water. He remembers his mother telling him this, when he was very young and hurting and tired, and the heat rose to the backs of his eyes. She would grip his shoulders firmly and look into his eyes with infinite compassion, but durasteel firmness as well. An unstoppable force, an immovable object. I know, I know, it hurts, little one, she'd tell him. But we can't waste the water.

But that refrain had a correlate. Not often spoken, not so useful in everyday life, but you could hear it in the snatches of songs people sang, in the rapping of knuckles on a door in the night, in the half-religious, half-believed pseudo-prophecies passed around the slave quarter like threadbare blankets. There is a time for rain.

"I think it's…." Anakin puzzles aloud. For a moment, he almost forgets his audience. It's just him, submerged in an endless dark ocean, impersonable, non-personized, and yet practically buzzing with anticipation. "There are priorities. You're never not going to feel anything, but there's a time to go forward, and a time to go around. There's a time for revenge, and a time for grief. And a time for remembrance."

She tilts her head slightly, her dark hood shifting with the movement.

"So I guess it's not so much letting go as…letting one emotion make way for another. Giving each its time and place, and then letting it yield its place seamlessly when another arises."

"So not dwelling on anything," Barriss interprets, nodding. "Not letting yourself be dominated by one passion over time, as well as in time."

"Yeah, that sounds right." Huh. He's…not actually a good model for that one, when you think of it that way. But it does sound right.

Yeah, actually. In the Force. It sounds right.

They sit there in silence for a minute, processing. Anakin reaches over and steals one of the cast-aside tuber fries that came with her meal. Regretfully, he realizes this has taken too long. Any longer away from the Temple, and someone might start to suspect.

"Did that…help?" he hazards, prompting her to zone back in from the place she zoned out to. "Do you feel like you know how to manage this, now? A little bit better?"

"…Yes, I think so," she answers, measured. "Thank you, Master Skywalker." The sincerity in her voice rings clearly in her Force presence, shielded as it is. "Can I…is it alright if I comm you, if anything happens?"

"Yes, absolutely, please do. Or if you have any more questions you want help working through." He hesitates. "I do need to ask you for something in return, though."

She looks up quickly. "What?"

"Will you tell Ahsoka? Or I can. She'll want to help." And he still wants her to know to be on guard. Just in case.

He sees the hunted, desperate look resurge in Barriss' eyes—but then she stops, takes a breath. There's a new resolve in the set of her jaw when she nods. "Yes. I owe that, to you and to her."

"Thank you."

"I'll do it tonight. In the library, the same room. Can you—let her know I'll meet her at 7? I'll tell her myself, but…." But Ahsoka trusts him more. And that way he knows exactly where they'll be and when. So he can put himself in a position to intervene immediately, just in case she was lying all along, and means to hurt Ahsoka. It's thoughtful of her. Force, he's liking this kid more and more—Fallen Jedi or not, he can't help thinking she must be a great influence on his impulsive padawan.

"Sure, I'll pass it on," he says easily. "And uh. Just one piece of advice—atmosphere is important, as my master used to tell me. So uh. Maybe turn the lights on this time around?"

She blushes a darker green, but smiles ever-so-slightly. "Ah. Yes, will do."

/B/

That night, he lurks in a different room on the same floor and monitors his bond with Ahsoka while Barriss breaks the news. He registers shock, fear (that causes a spike in his own heart rate, but it lessens in intensity before he has grounds to intervene), confusion, worry, and finally, after a while, a hesitant thread of determination. Ahsoka makes a beeline for him as soon as she leaves Barriss' little secret-sharing room, clearly aware of his presence all along. She walks in alone, looking dazed but unhurt. He resists the urge to put an arm around her shoulders, instead projecting reassurance in the Force. "Master? Barriss—she—well, she said you know…."

"Yeah, she caught a glimpse of the uh, under the glasses and thought I was also…yeah. Talked to her about it while you were in class." That twinge of guilt intrudes again. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you immediately."

She shakes her head, montrals shifting. They're not as stubby as they used to be, and she's not so short. "No, don't worry, she told me she asked you not to. But…." She crosses her arms protectively in front of her, hunching her shoulders. "Is she…you think we can trust her?" she says very quietly. "You think she's still…."

Now Anakin actually does pull her into a hug, rubbing her back comfortingly when she reciprocates. "I think we can, yeah," he murmurs into the ridge of her montrals. "I want you to be careful, though." He pulls back, leaves his hands on her shoulders as he catches her eyes seriously. "You've known her longer than me. Do you think she still seems trustworthy?"

She thinks about it for a long time, he's gratified to see. "…Yeah, I do," she finally says thoughtfully. "But I think she needs help. I want to help her."

He smiles. What a good kid. "Then that's what we'll do."

"Okay. Yeah. Okay, we can deal with this," Ahsoka responds, taking heart from the surety in his tone. Then she pouts, a spark of humor softening her worried expression. "But if anyone else around here turns out to have secret yellow eyes, I'm quitting the Jedi and moving to Naboo."

Anakin cringes. "Uh. Actually, about that."

She stares at him for a moment, claps a hand to her forehead. "…Are you kidding me?"

/B/

Speaking of which. Obi-Wan comms him after lunch the next day, while Anakin is lounging on the sunny couch in his and Ahsoka's quarters, finishing up some of the never-ending stream of datawork that comes with running a war on his desk. (Never-ending even when he delegates almost all of it to Rex; it's ridiculous.) Ahsoka is in class, so there's no one to disturb when he thumbs the "accept call" button. "Skywalker speaking."

"Anakin, I've done a thorough review of our mutual friend's activities and communications—discreetly, of course—and there's no sign that he's had any communications with outside sources. Whatever he may be, he's not actively a Separatist," Obi-Wan's crisp accent raps out.

"Really?" Anakin is surprised. He's been in Krell's head for the last two nights, slipping through the hairline cracks in his shields that grow with each hour of sleep lost to Anakin's disruptions, and while he can't exactly read anything specific that way, he's at least convinced that Krell is a nasty customer. To the core.

"However, I also reviewed all casualty statistics since his first deployment. They are—" He coughs. "Well, they're really quite something. I don't know how his legion general has continued to allow this. Even if he is winning every engagement, I honestly can't rule out deliberate self-sabotage." That kriffing barve. "Even if it's not, he doesn't…well, he can't be leading like a Jedi," Obi-Wan says slowly.

"So you think…?"

"…Maybe." He hesitates. "But there's not enough to accuse him."

Anakin almost tells Obi-Wan, "I might have a way to take care of him," but something holds him back. "Got it. Thanks for looking into that."

"Of course. I'll bring his numbers to the Council's attention; best not to mention the other part, I think, if it's unsubstantiated. But his statistics are certainly enough for us to talk to him, at least."

Just talk to him? Anakin's face twists, and a spark of anger ignites in his gut. He's about to point out how ineffectual that is—but it's beside the point, he realizes, since he's going to take care of it himself anyways. He snuffs the spark. "Sounds good, Obi-Wan."

"Don't forget the long-term contingency meeting on the Sieges tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah, I'll be there. See you then."

"You'd better," his master says with a smile in his voice. "Kenobi out." The comm light blinks off.

Hmm. Anakin has some more planning to do. But first, he needs more information.

Conveniently, or perhaps by the will of the Force, he's only about twenty minutes out from his conversation with Obi-Wan when he gets a live comm from Rex. "General! Some of the men and I are heading to 79's tonight, are you free?"

Anakin is confused for a moment, and then instantly on guard. He and Rex are friends, at this point, and he and Ahsoka have gone out for beers (and a melon-ade) with members of the command class or Torrent Company plenty of times, but 79's is for the clones. The only reason Rex would invite him there is to say something that needs to be protected from prying ears.

"Yeah, absolutely," he answers easily. "Everything's fine with the men?"

"We're all good over here, sir. I did look into that issue you asked about, I'll tell you about it this evening."

Thank the Force, this is about Krell. "Sounds good, Captain, I'll see you at 1900?

"Affirmative, General." Rex ends the call.

Evening is a much better time for sneaking around when you're a six-foot humanoid dressed entirely in black. On the other hand, it makes his sunglasses far more inconvenient and far less socially acceptable. He almost gets hit by a speeder twice on the way there. Rex meets him in the dark street outside, in partial armor and holding his helmet on his hip. Pink and red light filters through the blinds, accompanied by the muffled sounds of Mandalorian electronic music and identical voices layered over each other, occasionally building to create the impression of one massive, grumbling low voice before dissolving back into a dull murmur.

Rex ushers Anakin down the building's side alley—no need to alarm the brothers by pushing through the main floor—and in through a nondescript door to a back room. The room is small, maybe five by five yards, with surprisingly classy faux wood wainscoting over light beige plaster. It's more of an entryway than a room, dim from the one light overhead and without furniture, and they can still faintly hear the thumping beat and chatter from the bar proper through a few thin walls.

"Krell is a monster." Rex skips the preamble. The set of his face is deadly serious.

"Shit." Anakin lets out a slow breath. "He's killing his men on purpose?"

"Captain I talked to says he's got a pattern. Throws away forty, fifty lives at the start of any battle on useless offensives and suicide missions before he actually starts trying to win, and then wins by the most brutal strategy possible. Off the field, too, he's kriffing tyrannical, enforces all the Kaminoan rules of conduct and more, refers to everyone by their numbers and punishes anyone he catches using a brother's name. Punishes 'em for anything he can, really." Rex declines to elaborate on the nature of these punishments, but Anakin can imagine; the knowledge crawls down to the base of his spine.

"Shit," he says again, because what else is there to say? "How did the Council not find out about this? How did his legion general not know?"

"Apparently he deliberately recruits shinies rather than transfers, brothers who'll think that kind of treatment is normal. Plus intimidation, he monitors a lot of internal and external communications. And…."

"And he got results, so no one wanted to question it," Anakin says heavily. "Fucking Council."

"What's the plan for dealing with him?"

Ah, a happier topic. In the face of Rex's pain and rage, muddying the Force around them, he's glad he has a good answer for once. "I'm gonna slowly drive him insane with constant nightmares until he reveals himself, then make sure somebody stabs him in the neck," Anakin explains proudly.

A pause. Rex looks both impressed and mildly concerned. "Well, it's…creative, I'll give you that. Although mind games are usually General Kenobi's thing. You think you can get him to snap before his leave ends?" Krell is scheduled to ship out two days before the 501st, so only a little more than a week from now. There's no way they can expose Krell's troops to an even more erratic, violent general than they're used to on campaign.

"That is a concern. I'm thinking of asking for help. Taking it in shifts." Hopefully, Rex assumes he means Obi-Wan.

"Hmm." Rex's fingers tap-tap-tap on his helmet. "He's got troop inspections scheduled in two days. I can try and get his legion in on it—move things around, swap numbers, make him doubt his own perceptions."

"Is that safe?"

Rex hisses through his teeth, considering. "Not really, but from what I hear, neither is serving under him on a normal day. And they hate his guts, I'm surprised no one's—" He cuts himself off, but again, Anakin gets the picture.

"I guess if I can get him to the point where he's already doubting himself, he won't be as likely to figure it out."

Rex nods. "I'll pass on the message, see what they can do."

"Thanks, Rex." Anakin claps him on the shoulder as they turn to head back out. "Tell your source I appreciate his bravery." He pauses, considers. "And that we're gonna get this sleemo. In the most painful way possible."

It's an un-Jedi-like sentiment, but Rex seems to appreciate it. He returns a feral, angry grin. "Oh, I believe it, General."

/B/

Apparently Krell's battalion managed to rearrange all the signage in their compound to lead Krell, searching for the officers' barracks, on a long and winding journey around the entire compound that ended right back where it started. A team of commandos following just out of sight switched and reinstalled everything so that when he tried to condemn his men for the incompetence of their signage, this time, the signs led directly and obediently to his straight-faced, politely skeptical commander's office. During barrack inspections, someone hid a dead womprat in his blaster holster so the faint smell of rotting flesh followed Krell from bunk to bunk, with no perceivable source. The officers switched their designation numbers mid-report. The shinies rearranged the furniture in the main briefing room every time he stepped out. As soon as they noticed how uncharacteristically jumpy he was, Krell's whole battalion started strategically dropping toolboxes and other heavy objects to make loud bangs when he least expected it. A few brave soldiers managed to repeatedly slip a drop of soap into his caf, no matter how many times he washed or replaced his cup.

Ahsoka, stationed a safe distance from the Temple entrance right after Rex passed on the message that Krell was returning, reports that he was in such a state of distraction upon entry that he almost got in a fight with the guards. Rex relays the additional message that that was the most fun the 246th Battalion has had since the beginning of the war, and to a man, they can be counted on for their discretion. Force, everything they've been through and they're still obviously such cheeky bastards—Anakin is going to get them transferred to the Open Circle Fleet if it kills him.

Anakin continues waging his own covert war every night, and also begins to subtly unbalance Krell during the day. He light-fingers Krell's datapad while he's in the training salle and copies his schedule for the rest of leave. Thus armed, he saunters into the back of the large, sparsely-populated meditation room Krell is using a few hours later, sits down politely on a cushion in the back, and starts experimenting with how to project low-level psychic disturbance directly at Krell without alerting anyone else in the room. It takes some time and a few disapproving looks from the two Mon Cal Jedi along the right-hand wall, but he eventually figures out that it works best when he dwells on something that makes him disturbed, and then channels his Force presence into more of a…river, or maybe a moat, than a puddle, a few layers deep in the Force, extending to envelop Krell deep enough to be beneath his awareness, and avoiding the presences of anyone else. There's probably a bit of psychic runoff perceptible to others, but Krell should be the only one feeling the full force of the current tugging subtly at his ankles.

Anakin settles in and peacefully, deliberately meditates on his various sources of worry, one by one, over the course of an hour. (In the process, he's surprised to note how many of those he has. It's a lot more than he realized.) He spills anxiety out into the channel he's dug between himself and Krell until it's swirling in a shallow, acidic pool at the very base of Krell's shields, just below his conscious perception. He feels Krell grow more and more frustrated, shifting on his cushion as he struggles and fails to find the peace of mind that would allow him to sink into meditation. The Mon Cal Jedi are shooting dirty looks at Krell now, not Anakin. Finally, after about an hour, Krell surges to his feet with a growl deep in his throat and storms out of the room, robe fluttering behind him.

Anakin smiles and takes another half hour to regain his center before rising serenely, bowing to the other Jedi, and heading out himself.

/B/

In this manner, the second week of Anakin's leave begins. Training with Ahsoka, strategy meetings, and a few more skill seminars interfere, but he manages to put in an hour or two a day of psychic sabotage. There are a lot of Jedi in the Temple, and Anakin doesn't have to be in the same room as Krell to target him this way, so he's pretty sure Krell doesn't even suspect him yet. And all along, the target is marinating nicely in the artfully applied juices of paranoia, rage, and exhaustion. If Anakin were running this op on his own timeline, he would maintain this level of pressure for another week, and thereby avoid raising the risk of detection. Yeah, he tends to be an attack-focused guy, but you don't rush a covert op unless you have to—Rex taught him that, along with hard experience.

Unfortunately, however, he has a hard deadline. Three days before Krell's leave ends, Anakin ups the ante.

He takes to haunting Krell, dogging his steps, making every excuse to be in the same room he's in and then reestablish his channel or, if he doesn't have time, just flare his Force signature as bright and turbulent as possible. Multiple Jedi have told him, especially his peers when he was a kid, that his presence in the Force can be uncomfortable to be around if his shields aren't in absolutely perfect condition. He'll admit he's gotten into the habit of occasionally using something like these two tactics against Obi-Wan, his only real weapon in wars of words that fall clumsy and defensive from his mouth: Deliberately projecting his feelings at Obi-Wan, forcing him to understand how frustrating he is firsthand. It's not something he's proud of, it's certainly un-Jedi-like behavior, but now, the experience is actually coming in handy.

He walks in on Krell in an isolated part of the library, pretends to be looking at books, and carefully channels his feelings about keeping his marriage secret from Obi-Wan into a simmering morass in the Force until Krell surges to his feet and storms out of the room. He claims the next training salle over from Krell and dwells on his guilt over his childhood friends, left behind in that sweltering purgatory, until Krell grips his forehead with a shout and gives up on—oh, not even dueling, Anakin realizes; Krell was trying to take a nap in there. Anakin sits at the next table over in the refectory and chews moodily, automatically through a sandwich while deliberately ruminating on his failures as Ahsoka's master, until Krell abandons his dish of sweet corn and Kam'ik squid half-eaten. It's something of a kamikaze tactic, he'll admit, and it certainly doesn't leave him in a good mood afterwards, but his sunglasses stay firmly on his face and it's worth it for the effect he can see it having on his adversary.

Krell was already jumpy, irritable, but now he's gotten downright erratic. In the end, Anakin didn't ask Barriss to help him with the actual psychic undermining part—too dangerous for a kid—but she and Ahsoka take to reporting back to him on Krell's movements and demeanor in their spare time. He's only been harrying Krell with this new intensity for a few hours when Barriss brings him a story she heard from a group of padawans—apparently Master Krell dashed into the study room they were using, bowling one of them over in the doorway, and proceeded to chew them out in a long, loud, rambling lecture for being in his way, before apparently forgetting what he wanted to do there and dashing right back out. Krell is getting more and more paranoid and unbalanced, and the Temple is starting to notice.

Anakin's tactics aren't as imperceptible as he'd prefer—any other Jedi who pass by while he's flaring his signature likely think him rather rude, and he wouldn't be surprised if much of the Temple is having a vaguely crappy couple of days. However, they shouldn't be viewed as too suspicious, either: He already has the reputation, he has reasonable excuses for being in every location he's done this in, and not many Jedi have actually seen Anakin doing this in Krell's vicinity, since he's been making an effort to catch sleemo alone. It helps that Krell doesn't really seem to have friends. Which is understandable.

By two days before his leave ends, Krell has abandoned his schedule entirely, but Barriss and Ahsoka's covertly texted and immediately erased updates make it possible for Anakin to spend hours upon hours working on him anyway, without any indication that he's following him. It's a time-consuming but surprisingly easy task—he's falling behind on his datawork, sure, but on the other hand he's actually gotten pretty good sleep for the last few nights; Krell's subconscious mind has started replaying Anakin's nightmares automatically without Anakin having to give it more than an initial nudge each evening.

In no time, it arrives: the last day before Krell's leave ends. Krell has become a positive menace in the halls of the Temple, taking his hair-trigger temper out on random padawans and initiates, earning reprimands from multiple senior masters, and in one memorable instance barging into Mace Windu's meditation class, violently pulling all the window curtains closed in a panicked rush, and then sprinting back out with no explanation. Anakin has been slowly raising the intensity of his psychic attacks as Krell's shields have crumbled, and he's almost certain he has Krell right where he wants him as the moment he's been waiting for approaches. His blood is humming with the anticipation of a predator about to spring—or a general, about to close a perfectly executed trap. Closing his eyes and leaning against the hard marbled wall of an out-of-the-way corridor, burrowed deep in the Force with his awareness extended to encompass half the Temple, he waits.

Finally, finally, he senses Krell storming to the Council chamber, two hours late for his final campaign prep briefing. (He used Obi-Wan's credentials to gain access to the all-Temple briefing schedule and confirm the time in Krell's own calendar, a neat little piece of slicing that shouldn't be traceable back to him.) Anakin fast-walks to his planned intercept position and plasters himself behind the corner just as Krell enters the final vibrant-tiled and carpeted antechamber before the Council chamber's huge doors come into sight. Ten seconds to intercept. He breathes deep. He reinforces his shields one last time, everywhere except the hole that leads directly to the channel he's dug toward Krell's weakened mind. He's as ready as he needs to be. Five seconds to intercept. With effort, he makes himself remember the time from two campaigns ago when he was way too high on stims to make up for the rations he'd slipped Ahsoka and thought for sure they were all going to die in the next attack—one second—and channels one final, mind-bending push, like a mind-trick but with 80 times the power behind it, directly into Krell's half-shielded mind.

He hears a strangled growl and the thud of something heavy hitting the ground. He checks around the corner to see the greenish-grey Jedi pushing himself to his feet, clutching at the crests on his head.

Krell is glistening with sweat and missing his outer robe. His bulbous Besalisk chin jiggles threateningly above eight feet of pure muscle, much of it consolidated in four meaty arms. Just as he regains his feet, Anakin feels a sting in the Force, and makes to duck back around the corner before Krell can spot him.

They make eye contact through Anakin's shades.

Oops.

Krell's eyes widen, and then before Anakin can react, his hand snaps out and seizes Anakin's left arm in a bruising grip. Anakin already has his saber unclipped from his belt before he manages to fight his first instinct to cut the sleemo's arm off. It takes a great effort not to do it after his first instinct passes, either, because he wasn't intending to be here for this part, and he spends much of his life trying not to look weak in front of the Council. But, he figures, his desire for victory wrestling with his wrath, it would look too suspicious to hurt Krell now, and he's always been good at improvising. And it's worth it to look like the victim for a few minutes if it enables you to win.

So he's only slightly incandescent with rage when Krell drags him, stumbling in his attempts to keep up, through the final antechamber to the Council's chamber itself. The doors slide open at a signal from someone inside, and he narrowly avoids falling flat on his ass when Krell hurls him through with all his Besalisk strength before storming in after him. Krell's robes are growing more askew by the minute, as he clutches at his temples and takes deep heaving breaths. He's practically foaming at the mouth.

The Council looks concerned, to put it mildly. Some of the younger ones have half risen out of their seats, while those only present in hologram lean in keenly.

"Master Krell? What are you—what are you doing with Knight Skywalker?" Shaak Ti looks uncharacteristically lost.

"And what was that disturbance in the Force outside?" Ki-Adi-Mundi adds.

Obi-Wan's eyes widen across the room, before he pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He probably thinks Anakin has just said something stupid and offended Krell to the point of distraction. Little does he know.

Krell makes a noise in his throat that can only be described as a growl, turning to Yoda on his right. He stands directly between Anakin and the door, putting Anakin closest to Plo Koon, and Saesee Tiin, and Deepa Billaba (in hologram) and Shaak Ti nearest to Krell, at his 4:00. Coruscant's sun streams down through the big window behind Yoda, illuminating the scene.

Yoda's ears flick down subtly when Krell growls wordlessly a second time, eyeing him like he's lunchmeat instead of the Grandmaster of the Order. "Pong Krell! Explain yourself immediately," Mace Windu's hologram barks, hovering above the chair to the right of Yoda's.

Eyes flicking to the hologram, Krell finally opens his mouth. The voice that emerges is still a low baritone but croakier than usual, with an edge of hysteria accented by the sheer volume at which he raves. His eye color, however, is still murky brown. "He is burning me! This child will not stop burning me in the Force, I cannot—I cannot think, I cannot sleep, I—"

Anakin musters all the innocence he can in his expression, backing away with his open hands on display from the four index fingers pointed accusingly at him. "Masters, I'm sorry, I don't know what he's talking about. Master Krell and I are only passing acquaintances, I don't have anything against him," he says. Whoops, he thinks, listening to himself. As it turns out, he can't exactly manage innocent, but impatient works too.

"He lies!" Krell roars, lurching towards him in a way that has several Council members rising tentatively from their seats. "He lies, he has been attacking me, I see him in my sleep! I see him in my sleep, he burns!"

Anakin takes another measured step back. "Uh. I know my presence can be a bit—maybe my shields have gotten a bit damaged, since my last campaign? I apologize if I startled you, but if I did, it was an accident." He looks to the gathered Councillors for support.

"Master Krell, this is the Temple. You're safe. No one should be attacking you," Shaak Ti interjects firmly, rising to her full height with a hand on the hilt of her lightsaber. "If you've been having visions, we can help you with that, or if you want to lodge a complaint against Knight Skywalker, there are channels available to you."

Krell goes completely still for a moment, and then bursts out into booming, manic laughter. It sounds compulsive; he bends and almost topples sideways with the force of it. "BA-ha-ha-ha-ha! A complaint! You want me to lodge a complaint? Bwah-ha-ha! I'll lodge my lightsaber through his miniscule skull! Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

"Master Krell, this isn't the battlefield," Anakin tries. "Do you think maybe you should see a healer?" Plo Koon is nodding along in his peripheral vision, surreptitiously pressing a button on his wrist comm.

"I believe that would be wise," Shaak Ti agrees in a calming tone, slowly making her way toward Krell in the center of the chamber with her palms open. "Master, will you tell me about this vision you've been having?"

Krell's eyes widen, and he backs away from her. "No healers!" he bellows at top volume, almost tripping on the waxed tile floor in his haste. "I will not be treated like a youngling! I am not ill, it is this—this creature burning me in the Force, stealing my sleep, it was him all along, I know it!"

"The healers, we will not call, if want them, you do not, Master Krell. Only calm yourself, you must," Yoda says gravely. "A path to the Dark Side, anger is."

Well, there's not going to be a better moment than this. Anakin gasps. "Master Krell, your eyes—!"

Krell visibly startles and erratically searches the room for a reflective surface, displaying his glowing yellow eyes to every single member of the Council in the process.

Across the chamber, lightsabers ignite in a cacophony of fhwooms!

"Pong Krell! Put down your weapons!" Mace Windu has gotten extremely close to the holocamera, rendering him essentially just a giant, aggressive blue head. Anakin ignites his 'saber as well and backs into the space between Plo Koon and Saesee Tiin's deserted seats. He assesses the scene, his victory mixed with a twinge of chagrin. The entire Council should be able to handle one Sith no sweat, which is why he made this plan in the first place, but he'll feel horrible if Krell actually manages to kill anybody.

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he almost cuts off an arm for the second time in ten minutes before he registers Obi-Wan's presence in the Force. In the chaos, his old master managed to get across the room and come up behind him without him noticing. "Anakin, are you all right?"

Not willing to risk a wink, Anakin sends a pulse of the emotional equivalent of "Oh, everything's going just fine" down their bond. He registers surprise, and then Obi-Wan is removing his hand from his shoulder (he is hyperaware of the warm spot this leaves) and giving him an odd look out of the corner of his eye.

While all this has been going on, Krell has been slowly backing away from the loose circle of seven Councillors, two hands drifting dangerously close to his sabers. Suddenly, he ignites them both and rushes for the door. Ki-Adi-Mundi gets there ahead of him, though, forcing him to retreat back into the center of the steadily shrinking circle.

He looks around wildly, and then with a bellow of rage he rushes Plo Koon. Master Plo deflects his first sally easily, ducking under the overhead saber while repulsing the other with a firm backhand grip, and Krell effectively bounces off the much smaller being and back into the center of the circle, unsteady on his feet.

There are now only about four yards between Master Ti on one side of the circle and Master Plo on the other, all seven Jedi padding forward on silent, predatory feet. Sabers raised. Pong Krell twists around unsteadily again, looking for a weak spot, and in that moment Master Ti lunges forward and strikes at his side, cutting a burning line down Krell's ribs. As he lunges at her retreating form, Master Yoda bounces forward and takes Krell's left lower hand from behind.

Krell roars and explodes into movement, his mismatched lightsabers whirring as he deflects attacks from several Council members at once. For all his wild energy, though, he doesn't leave a scratch on them. It's kind of terrifying. Jedi usually fight one-on-one duels, but they don't have any particular compunctions against fighting in numbers, as long as their causes are just. They just don't get many chances to do so, spread thin throughout the galaxy as they generally are. The Council's seamless teamwork and utter cold-blooded ruthlessness are amazing to behold. For once, Anakin feels no need or inclination to jump into the fight, lurking in a good position to block the biggest window with his master.

Master Plo's precise strike takes another hand at the wrist, and this time a saber with it. The Council backs off slightly then, and the blue head of Mace Windu speaks for them. "Surrender, Pong Krell. You can't win this."

Krell lets out a roar of rage that morphs into that booming, manic laughter from before. "Fools! You're all fools! You're going to lose, I've foreseen it! Another power will rise, a stronger power, it's risen already and you're all so blind…but I will see my revenge!" he howls, and then suddenly lunges to the right, breaking through the circle of Jedi at the cost of a horrific burn on his neck and cut to his flank. His huge head lowers. His robes flutter behind him in tatters. He barrels toward Anakin and Obi-Wan like a hyperline train.

A flash of blue, up to the left. One of the Council members has thrown their saber. Still in motion, Pong Krell twists to deflect it. It scores a long ricochet gouge in the wall. Krell's huge bulk is still moving forward while he's facing back, and Obi-Wan throws out a hand: a small, precise Force push, right to Krell's poorly planted right foot.

It goes out from under him. Krell begins to topple. Ever opportunity's devotee, Anakin sprints forward and slides into the space behind Krell. Extinguishes his saber. Points it straight up.

Like a brilliant flower, the blue blade blooms from Krell's chest as he falls to the ground.

Thump.

Krell goes still.

The smell of cooked fish begins to permeate the room.

And Anakin ends up with several hundred pounds of limp Besalisk directly on top of him, which he's not exactly thrilled about. He probably should have thought this through. With his flesh left hand, since his right is still holding the lightsaber and trapped between his body and Krell's, he starts to shove at the dead weight before realizing with a jolt of pure adrenaline that his sunglasses are missing. Kriff, kriff! He fumbles in a panic around his head with his free hand, accidentally flicking the glasses a few inches further away before managing to grab them and shove them onto his face, which is luckily turned to the side and hidden from onlookers by Krell's upper left arm.

He gets them back on just in time, as hands grip Krell's visible wrist and haul the corpse bodily off of Anakin. It's a relief when his cheekbone is no longer squished uncomfortably beneath Krell's massive shoulder blade. Anakin's saber is still on, and the smell of cooked fish gets worse before he manages to flick the extinguisher button. Gratefully, he pushes himself out the rest of the way and stumbles to his feet, brushing off his robes. Ugh, he thinks Krell might've stopped showering near the end there. His robes will need to be washed. Repeatedly.

"Knight Skywalker. All right, you are?" Yoda asks, hobbling up toward Anakin's left leg.

"Me? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. He's toast though, right?" Anakin still feels a bit dazed. A four hundred pound Sith falling on you will do that to a person, even if that person realistically should have expected it.

"Pong Krell is dead, yes," Shaak Ti answers from where she's crouched over the body, examining Krell's sightless eyes.

Master Windu's head nods solemnly. "Obi-Wan, Saesee, we need to see all of his communications for the past…year. No, better make it the whole war. We have no idea what he could have leaked." He pauses. "Skywalker, report to the Halls of Healing if you need to. Your quarters if you don't. And don't mention a word of this to anyone. Is that clear?"

"As kyber," Anakin replies, resisting the urge to snap off a salute. He bows to the assembled masters and starts fast-walking for the door. Did he really get away with it? His heart is still hammering like he's on an infiltration mission, the high of victory mixed with a potent animal fear. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Ki-Adi-Mundi, engrossed in a datapad near the door, absently touches his arm to get his attention on his way out.

"Oh, that's a shame," the old master says kindly, looking far too closely at Anakin's face.

"What is?" Anakin manages. His voice sounds too high to his own ears.

Master Mundi reaches up and taps his fingernail twice on the rim of Anakin's saving grace. "You've got a crack in your new glasses."

/B/

Obi-Wan messages his comm that evening. Says he wants to talk. Anakin leaves off looming and making probably unhelpful suggestions over Ahsoka's literature homework, and heads downstairs to his erstwhile master's quarters. He expects tea, or something. Obi-Wan probably wants answers. The apartment should be safe for that, Anakin soundproofed and bug-proofed it back when he was a (more) paranoid little preteen.

The door slides open to Obi-Wan looking…not stellar. This whole thing is probably a mess for the Council, though rather less of one than it would have been if he hadn't already done the heavy lifting himself. Obi-Wan is frozen mid-pace, watching Anakin with inscrutable eyes and a burbling, uncomfortably agitated presence in the Force.

As soon as the door slides shut again, he speaks. "Was Krell telling the truth? Did you really use the Force to…unbalance him like that?" Obi-Wan sounds queasy.

Anakin doesn't get it. "Well, yeah," he says slowly, warily. "But I didn't make him a Sith, he was a Sith before that. That was the whole problem."

"You—what, you exerted…pressure on his Force presence?"

"…Yeah, essentially. Oh, and I projected my own nightmares at him. Deprived him of sleep. A real Jedi would just release it to the Force, but Sith are driven by passion, they're inherently unbalanced; I figured he had to crack eventually, and flash his eyes where somebody could see. I just had to make sure that happened in the presence of someone who could handle him—i.e., the Council." Honestly, it was way less reckless than most of Anakin's plans. He smiles uneasily.

Something complicated is happening within Obi-Wan in the Force, something he's unable to put his finger on before Obi-Wan's end of the bond abruptly shuts down.

A pause.

"How…how could you possibly think I would approve of this?" Obi-Wan says slowly, voice hushed with horror.

Anakin is living proof that if you act disappointed in someone for absolutely everything, on occasion up to and including breathing, for the better part of their childhood, eventually your disappointment loses its power as a deterrent. It still hurts like hell, yes, draws up a bucket from the well of shame residing deep in the pit of your stomach, splashes its acid all over your fragile organs. But when one realizes something is unavoidable, one stops trying so hard to avoid it. Nowadays, Anakin just gets angry.

He unclenches his jaw with effort. "I just don't understand what you're objecting to. I've been watching you play mind games for twelve years, I was just using what you taught me." (I thought you'd be proud.)

"What I—?! What you just did, and what I do, are very, very different, Padawan!"

"How. Tell me how. How are they different."

"You drove a man out of his mind, Anakin!"

Too loud, that was too loud. But Anakin can't restrain himself from responding in kind. "He was a Sith, he was already out of his mind!"

"That does not make what you did to him acceptable!"

There's a terror vibrating in Obi-Wan's voice, he registers dimly. Obi-Wan never raises his voice. "What about it was unacceptable?!"

"You know damn well what about it was—"

"No, I don't!"

"Yes, you do!"

"I swear to you—"

"It was Dark, you—! It was Dark!" Obi-Wan roars, his explosion ringing off every wall of the apartment.

…

As if by lightning, Anakin is struck dumb.

Kriff, wait, he's right.

…

…But, the thought crystallizes in Anakin's mind, resonating like kyber with the memory of his lunch with Barriss, that doesn't mean I was wrong.

"What would you have had me do instead, then?" Anakin says slowly, more quietly. When your opponent is unbalanced, that's when you rebalance yourself. "Tell me that. What could I have done for a better outcome?"

"You could have told the Council!"

Oh, that is the most—"I did tell the Council! I told you!"

"You should have let me handleit then!"

"And you were really going to deal with it in the next—what, the next 12 hours? Krell was shipping out with his battalion tomorrow, Obi-Wan! He's been killing his own men! For years!" Obi-Wan tries to say something, but Anakin barrels over him. "And the Council didn't notice, and the Council didn't do anything, and the Council was going to continue to do nothing and let innocent men die!I did what needed to be done, General Kenobi." He spits Obi-Wan's title with a sarcastic edge. "Maybe what I do is Dark, but you've been damn grateful for it on the battlefield a hundred times, and you're going to keep being damn grateful for it 'cause it's not going to stop. I'm going to do what needs to be done to protect you, and Ahsoka, and as many of my men as possible, and kriff whatever the Council has to say about that."

Anakin is breathing hard by the end, practically snorting the wrath superheating his lungs. Obi-Wan, however, has managed a 180 while Anakin wasn't looking. He has an icy look on his face, perfectly composed, and it only makes Anakin want to strangle him more.

"Are you quite done," Obi-Wan says quietly, crossing his arms.

In spite of everything, it still sends a frisson of fear skittering down his brainstem, to see Obi-Wan looking at him like a stranger.

"You took vows, Anakin," Obi-Wan begins, cold fury percolating beneath his flat tone. "You vowed to revere and protect life in all its forms. You vowed loyalty to the Jedi High Council. You vowed to uphold the laws of the Republic, including those regarding due process of the law. And you renewed those vows upon your knighting, just two years ago.

"I raised you as a Jedi. I raised you in an ancient tradition devoted to protecting and serving the galaxy, and I was proud of the knight you'd become."

Obi-Wan's voice is very, very quiet as he pronounces his next words. One by one, they fall heavily into place on Anakin's soul.

"I have never been so disappointed in you as I am now."

It's like a punch to the gut. He feels nauseous, detached from himself. Okay, maybe Obi-Wan's disappointment does still have the power to eviscerate him.

(Emotion makes Anakin impulsive. It always has.)

(In three, two, one…)

"Then it's a good thing I'm leaving," Anakin whispers harshly.

A dead pause.

The coldness in Obi-Wan's eyes cracks and shudders. He blinks. "What?"

"As soon as the war ends. As soon as my men are safe, and Ahsoka's knighthood is guaranteed. I'm leaving the Order." He clears his throat; Obi-Wan is still frozen in incomprehension. "My actions won't be your responsibility, anymore."

"Wait," says Obi-Wan. "Wait."

"I'll see you on campaign, Obi-Wan," Anakin says numbly, and turns and walks away.

Huh. The last word, at last.

It really doesn't feel great.

/B/

Ahsoka is waiting in their shared quarters to give him an emphatic, breath-banishing hug as soon as he enters. He rubs her montrals and feels guilty for being glad he forgot to shut down their bond during the previous conversation. Then she tries to make dinner and burns it, and he has to fix it with massive amounts of salt and spice. Which is admittedly an okay distraction.

That evening, when she repeats her offer to spot-check him though joint meditation, he gives in.

"Well, good news! It's not that much different than usual, Skyguy," Ahsoka chirps when they both resurface, after stretching her arms above her head with a dramatic yawn that shows off her sharp canines.

"Really? I'm all good?"

"You're all good."

She's not meeting his eyes. He narrows his eyes and waits.

"Well, sort of." She squirms under his gaze. His dread grows stronger. "I mean. It is kind of dark in there, Master," she finally admits in a small voice.

At the words, his heart sinks a little deeper into that well of shame, but not as deep as he expected. He knew this was coming. If he's honest with himself, he knew it all along.

"But it's not necessarily what you think it is!" Ahsoka rushes to interrupt his thoughts, all wide-eyed intensity. "I mean. To be totally honest, it's been a little dark in there as long as I've known you."

"What? Really?" He isn't an idiot, it's not that surprising, but she could sense that? And she still…

"Yeah. Just a little! But not—not bad dark, if you know what I mean?" She fidgets, rearranging her legs out of a full lotus and into a more comfortable cross-legged seat. "I, uh. I didn't really know what to make of it, when we first made the bond, but you've—I mean, you've always been there for me, Master. Even when it got dark. Sometimes especially then. So it doesn't scare me anymore, it—at this point, it kind of makes me feel safe."

Snips is leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees, all earnestness. Kriff, he's actually gonna cry, he realizes with alarm. What did he do to deserve this kid?

Of course, Jedi aren't built for emotional honesty, so as soon as she hears herself Ahsoka sits back up and coughs into her hand. "I mean, maybe that makes me a bad Jedi," she laughs off awkwardly. "But I dunno. All I'm saying is, I don't see any reason why I shouldn't be able to trust you now, if I trusted you then and you've saved my life like eighty times since then. And it…I dunno, it kind of suits you, Master. I don't know if you'd be you without it."

It suits you…that's what Padme said about his eyes. Two of the smartest people he knows, and both of them are telling him…he needs to think about this.

But first: "You should watch out, Snips, my ego is inflating as we speak." Coward that he is, he brings it back to banter, smiling weakly. "When did you get so wise, little one?"

"Probably when I started hanging out with Rex," she fires back cheekily, as they both rise to their feet.

"You might be right. Hey, since we ship out soon, wanna go grab some iced t'jabi liver from that place near the barracks?"

"Like I would ever say no to that!" she enthuses, all gravity forgotten, already rushing to pull on her discarded over-robe to guard against the chilly Coruscant evening.

He tugs on her padawan beads as she passes and laughs when she growls at him, still feeling a little distant from himself. "Yeah, I know you wouldn't. You've got expensive tastes, Snips."

"Of course not! I would never place value in material things," she says snootily, drawing her outer robe around her with exaggerated gravity. "Luminous beings we are, haven't you heard?" She grins—"That's why you're paying, Darth Dorkious."

He almost chokes on his own spit, trying not to laugh. "Too soon, Snips!"

She's still laughing at him when they leave the room. He still feels—he doesn't know, exactly from the conversation with Obi-Wan, but. But. In this moment, he almost doesn't notice it, blinded by his padawan's light.

/B/

Life goes on. Anakin spends his days with Ahsoka, Rex, and the 501st, spends his nights with Padme, grabs one politely friendly lunch in the refectory with Aayla Secura, and avoids Obi-Wan for the last three days of his leave. With one day left before he ships back out, he meets up with Barriss again at Dex's.

Ahsoka wanted to be there, but she had finals for her classes every day this week, her teachers desperately cramming in early evaluations before she leaves on campaign. There was no other time to do this. And Anakin has two tasks to complete. He has a confession to make, and some unfinished business to finish.

They make small talk and war talk until his porg sandwich and her salad are finished and pushed to the side, and then he gets down to business. "I've been thinking."

"Yes?" It sounds slightly sardonic, but when he looks up, she's blinking innocently at him. She clearly spends too much time with Ahsoka. He scowls so she knows he's onto her before continuing.

This isn't a battle, he's made peace with this. He has Padme's blessing, Ahsoka's blessing. This isn't such a difficult thing. "I'm thinking, it's. It's time to stop lying to myself. What we—what I did to Krell was definitely Dark. But no one got hurt except Krell, and we were able to save a lot of lives; soldiers died by the thousands on his campaigns, besides whatever he would have done with his Temple access when he got tired of hiding."

Barriss nods. "So?"

"So I think you might be right. Can the Dark Side really be wholly evil, if it can be used to enforce justice and protect people?"

She hmms, acknowledging his point, and has the grace not to be smug about it. "So the dichotomy between Light and Darkness, it's not good and evil. And it's not emotion and calm, necessarily, the paradoxes in the Jedi Code account for that. The Light is about order. Order and…order and chaos?"

Back on Tatooine, the bright heat of the day threw everything into focus, pressed everything down into weary routine like a flower dried under glass. The day was long; it taught and demanded resilience. The night was no kinder, really—the knock at the door could just as easily be the savior with her scanner or the slaughterer with his knife—but the darkness was always pregnant with opportunity, lit intermittently by the fireworks the slaves called deliverance. Some people, Obi-Wan's people, will slog their way blindly through the shifting sands of a hundred nights just to feel the sun on their face one more day. But Anakin, he thinks he's one of those people who would trade a thousand days to spend one heady predawn hour all alone in the center of the Dune Sea; or, all else failing, to go out like a firework in the heat of the night.

"Order and freedom," Anakin says thoughtfully.

Barriss takes a moment to think about that. "Freedom…yes, that makes sense. That could be where the Sith went wrong, fundamentally. The tyrannical tendencies, the urge to empire….They seek freedom for the few through the enslavement of the many. The Jedi seek to ensure the well-being of the many through the exacting restriction of the few, and the less stringent regulation of the rest."

It can't be so simple, though, there are so many ways to define both "order" and "freedom." The Jedi preach that true freedom is accomplished through complete self-control, and while that logic doesn't quite resonate with Anakin, he can understand it. "Is it possible to ensure the freedom of the many without compromising your own?"

"I think you do have to compromise your own. A little bit," Barriss reflects. "I do think the Code is wise to suggest that freedom can be achieved through self-control, or at least self-control doesn't inhibit freedom. Self-control is, by its very nature, an expression of freedom."

"Hmm." She's Temple-raised, of course she totally buys into that. It strikes him that this is a perfect segue though. "If that's true, then there's something you need to do."

She blinks, and the set of her jaw regains a tinge of its old wariness. "I—what?"

Anakin makes sure he has eye contact, retains it. Obi-Wan taught him that: he used to hate eye contact, but now he knows it's a tool, and he uses it. "Leave the Order, Barriss," he says as gently as he can.

"I." She blinks again, her hand drifting up to her opposite arm. "Leave the Order? I couldn't."

"My—I have a friend who can help you. Senator Amidala of Naboo, she's involved with a lot of refugee resettlement programs, and while the Order should provide you with the funds to get started, they have a lot of great resources for people starting new lives, in cultural contexts that feel alien to them. You won't even be hopping planets—with the right testimonials, you can get a nice apartment blocks from the Temple entrance a few levels down. See Ahsoka and all your friends whenever they're in town, go for dinner with Master Luminara every week once the war's over. You don't have to give up everything. But the way things are, you have to know you're at risk of losing everything. You saw what happened to Krell."

Her nostrils flare. "I could say the same to you."

"And I'd say yeah, actually, I'm planning on it. As soon as the war ends." He hesitates, but he's already divulged some of his darkest secrets to this kid. "I promised someone."

Her petite features aren't quite as suited as Ahsoka's to the mulish cast her face takes on. "Well then I'll leave after the war, too. You're delaying because you don't want to abandon your men, right? I can't abandon mine either."

Anakin sighs, resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose with his metal hand. He can't afford to even risk breaking the glasses. "There's a difference between our situations, and that is that you are a kid. I'm an adult and a general, and if I quit, my padawan and my troops would get passed on to who knows what pompous jerk. But you're a teenager, and a commander. Don't you trust Master Luminara and your captains to take care of their battalion?"

"But I'm a healer. How many lives won't be saved if I leave?"

Anakin feels the tension in the moment. Takes a breath, exhales. This is the tipping point. He was raised by a diplomat and married a politician. He can say this in a way that will get through to her.

"You took the same classes as me. You know as well as I do that there's two forms of self-control. There's the type where you push through, and persevere despite the odds, and there's the type where you remove yourself from the equation. Where you know, beyond a doubt, that you can't handle a situation, so you avoid being put in that situation in the first place." He leans forward, metal making a quiet thunk through the glove as he rests his interlocked hands on the table. "Barriss, you know you aren't suited for this war. If you keep pushing yourself without anything to ground you, you're going to reach a point where you're unable to help anyone. Including yourself."

It's true. Being a medic is hard, even when you don't personally know and love all the men you're losing, and Barriss has already Fallen this far. She had one hand still gripping the edge of the cliff when she revealed herself to him, dangling bloody-nailed out over the void, and he gave her something else to hold onto, but it's not enough. She's still dangling. She needs time, and space, and more hands than he has left to offer to crawl back up to solid ground.

"On the other hand…" he hazards, because he's still got her full, wide-eyed attention. Distantly, he registers that he's slipped into the tone he uses when Ahsoka is concussed or otherwise distressed. "If you leave now, you can keep studying the use of the Dark Side for healing. You're one of Master Nu's favorite padawans"—a complete guess, but she doesn't dispute it—"and you've already seen half of what's down there, anyway. The Order doesn't hold a grudge against those who leave on good terms, I bet she'll still let you have access to the library even if you're, technically, a civilian researcher. As long as you don't give them reason to suspect," he emphasizes with a significant look. "And even if you lose your access, there's a whole universe of undiscovered Sith artifacts out there!" Admittedly, he probably shouldn't be encouraging a teenager to explore Sith temples alone, but that's genuinely probably safer than her staying. He'll leave it to Padme to undo that particular damage. "Without the war to distract you, imagine how much freer to travel and study you'll be. And if you really do figure out some sort of advanced Darksider healing technique? I for one would take you on as a civilian medic with the 501st in an instant. Luminara would almost certainly do the same, if you could keep hiding it. At the rate this war is going? In the long term, I bet you could save more lives by leaving than by staying."

Padme helped him craft this particular pitch, but he thinks Obi-Wan would still be proud of his delivery. (If Obi-Wan were still capable of being proud of him.) Now to see if it sank in.

Barriss is looking a little shell-shocked, honestly, but she recovers her composure quickly, as always. Looks him in the eye. "Thank you for your advice, Master Skywalker. I think I need some time to…think about this."

He shrugs, spreads his hands on the table to help him lever himself to his feet. "Take the time you need. I'll support you, whatever you choose, and I know Ahsoka will too." He smiles. "Secret Sith solidarity, eh?"

"Oh that's horrible," Barriss says on reflex, but she's smiling too now, standing to follow him out of the booth. He's never seen her smile much, even around Ahsoka. Too serious, this one. "But yes. You and Ahsoka can count on me to. Um. 'Back your plays.'" It comes out incredibly awkward, amplified by how her hand drifts up to nervously tug on the draping part of her headscarf.

Anakin does not guffaw, because he has some tact, at least. But he does grin widely, extending his left hand for a firm handshake. For a moment, again, the grief of his rift with Obi-Wan retreats into the background, dimmed by the brilliance of this new victory.

"Welcome to the team, Padawan Offee!"

/B/

The First Two Tenets of the Aurelian Reform Sith Code, c. 20 BBY

(translated from the Huttese)

Don't waste your water.

But there is a time for rain.