Disclaimer: see first chapter blah blah blah
PART ONE: The Color Of Desire
It had been a long time since Anakin Skywalker had gotten a full night's rest.
Ever since the war began, sleep was hard to come by, and not just for his kind - the warriors of this war - but for everyone, too. Anakin was no exception to this. When he first became a Jedi, he had been an oddity for favoring actual sleep over the usual introspective meditation most chose. But now, he was as sleep deprived as the rest of them. Last night had marked his first slumber in over a fortnight.
If only it hadn't been interrupted by that...earth-shattering vision.
Anakin's allowed amount of skepticism for the Jedi art he practiced always lied the heaviest on visions, predictions, and foreseeing the future. While he had sensed all of his other Jedi mind tricks as a young boy, he had never experienced anything remotely close to a so called 'vision.'
Except, perhaps, in his dreams.
A hard frown broke up the expression on his young face. Could it even be called a vision when he had felt the disturbance it caused? Visions were often times unsettling for a Jedi, but more so on a personal matter; Anakin had visions of his mother, of his past life, deeply rooted triggers like those, for nearly every night during his first year of training. But dreaming of his mother's skin - raw and red from the end of his old master's whip - while tear-inducing for him, didn't tip the balance of the Force like last night's vision did. This was different.
Anakin did not like it. Not one bit.
After surging into an alarmed consciousness when the vision finished, Anakin chewed on the thought of calling up his old master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Although Master Kenobi didn't always have the answers, he had the empathy and keen sense of knowing how to relate, even when he had never felt that way before. This was only if he could tuck away the sarcastic, yet surprisingly accurate, indifference he believed the Jedi were supposed to practice. But perhaps Obi-Wan had felt the disturbance too, and they could ponder it together, like how they used to, back when he was Master Kenobi's eager, little Padawan.
By the time Anakin reached his decision, though, light touched the skyline, and Anakin sensed that his old master was probably meditating. Now would not be a good time to discuss what he saw when Obi-Wan would most likely be analyzing the disturbance with his best bet at figuring it out: his own self.
A Jedi's greatest accomplice was his mind, after all. Or so Master Yoda decreed.
Anakin also spent several hours meditating after he awoke so abruptly, shaken and slightly agitated. Of course, the embarrassingly selfish side to him thought bitterly in the midst of his meditating (because this was the only time when all sides of him were free to speak), the universe would decide to tilt towards the Dark Side when he was finally given his reprieve from the Outer Rim. He and Master Kenobi had spent many moons camped out in the wilderness of uncivilized systems, trying to set up safe places for those running from the Chancellor's "increasingly tyrannical actions," as the headstrong Bail Organa put.
Despite the unfortunate circumstances Organa indirectly imposed on him, Anakin still liked the Alderaanian senator. He was one of few who were not afraid to express their negative opinions on the Galactic Republic's chancellor, and since the Jedi were at the beck and call of Chancellor Palpatine, Anakin's shameful dislike of His Excellency was lived through Organa's rebellious actions against him. Living vicariously (and against the Jedi Order) in secret.
Oh, well; everyone had their weaknesses. Like Obi-Wan and gambling.
Speaking of which...
Anakin had never been a very thorough meditator. He preferred action, and was a man of combat in opposition to his mentor, who could end a war before it even began with his flow of words and wise brainstorming. So breaking from his meditation was fairly easy. With a sharp breath, his eyes flew open, and his thoughts dissipated into thin air around him, hissing ghosts until they were whispers of nothing. The light was high in the sky by now. Obi-Wan should be free from his tranquil state of mind.
Anakin crossed his chamber in a matter of three long-legged strides; the Jedi housing was nothing spectacular, but it was a close enough comfort of a home when Jedi weren't supposed to have one. Actually, they weren't supposed to have anything at all. But that didn't keep Jedi Knight Skywalker from hiding a couple of makeshift droids he built from scratch in his speeder's docking bay; just a small representation of a hobby he once had time for.
Now, however, Anakin's time had been used up completely. Today marked the first day of his rest after the long quest out beyond the Core Worlds. How ironic that it'd be spent worrying and working over a simple dream.
He caught himself, scolded himself, too. This was no simple dream; he could not let his human emotions show through on a subject as dark as this.
The HoloCom was situated next to the service com. Anakin brought his hunger to attention for the service droids before setting up a call with his old master's complex, located on the other side of the Federal District, near the Senatorial one. Exceptions had been made for Obi-Wan Kenobi to possess an actual home; he had a running, underlying mission of investigating some strange disappearances within the Galactic Senate, and having a base near the heart of it all seemed necessary. However, Obi-Wan seemed to be enjoying it a little too much, and there were already so many members of the senate anyway that what did a couple of them missing mean to the well-being of the universe?
Anakin caught himself again, scolded himself again, too, sighing. Today was not his day, and he had a bad feeling the ones to come would not be either. But such was the ways of the Jedi, and he should learn to accept that without second thoughts.
Master Kenobi did not answer. Frowning, Anakin disconnected the call before he could give a message; most likely, if Obi-Wan didn't answer, that would mean he was out drinking. There was hardly ever a reason for him to leave his special apartment whenever he was given some time off, unless it was for Dex, gambling, or drinking. Or all three of them combined, which happened more often than not.
Anakin remembered the days well of when his long Padawan braid fell in front of his eyes as he huffed and puffed his way to the first lodging in sight, his unconscious Master hanging like a corpse from his shoulders. Once undercover, he'd assist in nursing the inebriated Jedi Knight back to sobriety.
These weren't his favorite memories of being under the wing of the wise Obi-Wan, but they held some significance to him; while his master did not stop his drinking, he did not favor the moments either when his young apprentice had to take care of him. But he let it happen, putting pride aside, and Anakin felt grateful for that. His master trusted him enough to see him at his worst when most Jedi Masters were careful to only show the powerful sides of themselves to their learners. That was when Anakin knew that he and Obi-Wan were more than just the trainer and the trainee; they were brothers.
And brothers looked after each other. Which was why Anakin donned his cloak from the hook beside the door and departed from the complex without a backwards glance; not even one directed at the service droid that just appeared with his breakfast.
Anakin swept through the Jedi temple at a brisk pace; those that passed him greeted him with eager nods, shy smiles or admiring eyes (the last more so from the younglings). He was the "Hero With No Fear," after all. A title that was suddenly thrust upon him after he single-handedly took down Separatist leader General Grievous's ship, the Invisible Hand - and General Grievous with it. Although superiority was only reserved for masters such as Yoda or Windu, Anakin now possessed a certain twinge of it, thanks to those that were once his peers. Anakin wasn't desperately opposed to this title, but he wasn't necessarily comfortable with it either.
"Someone has to be the poster boy," his old master commented once. While humor laced his tone, there was a seriousness to his words; Anakin understood now that the Republic does need a hero. Someone to look to who has the power to lead the galaxy out of this war. He just never expected it to be him...nor is he very confident it is actually him.
Anakin reached the docking bay for his speeder, located near the foundations of the ancient structure. As soon as he entered, his half-built protocol droid sprang to life; "Master Skywalker, it's so good to see you again."
Anakin allowed a small, answering upturn of his lips. "Threepio," he replied, nodding.
The other droid, an astromech he found rusting away in the foulest part of Coruscant, beeped its own welcoming to its maker from his spot plugged into the power outlet. Anakin was still in the process of fixing his movement controls, an on-going task for the last four months. The poor thing hasn't moved from his spot since then. Seeing the blue, domed droid trapped in the corner had Anakin standing up straighter as he looked at it.
"Artoo," he called out, "when I return, I'll try to finish you. I promise."
It seemed a little silly for someone as important as Anakin Skywalker to promise a measly service droid a mechanical check up, but these droids sometimes felt like the only beings he could rely on. Becoming a Jedi Knight meant breaking free from your Padawan master, so he didn't have Obi-Wan to guide him through life's troubles anymore. And there was hardly a time when Anakin completely relied on himself; perhaps in the heat of a battle, when his muscles practically moved on their own, but never did he believe that his mind's decision was the right one for the long run. In his opinion, that belonged to the politicians he worked for. These droids, on the other hand, did their job each time and did it well. If it was up to him, he'd like to place the galaxy in their hands, hands that were programmed to make no errors, at least for a little while.
Because Anakin's hands were riddled with hundreds of errors.
Take, for example, his one gloved hand, given to him by the Sith Lord, Darth Tyrannus, or more commonly (and politically) known as Count Dooku. What was underneath the leather encasing was a physical representation of his blunders, even as the so-called "Chosen One." He was not made for that title; he believed this with his whole entirety.
The roar of the speeder's engine seemed to calm Anakin's nerves just slightly as he started the machine and took off, away from the temple and into the heart of the Federal District; feeling the hum of a vehicle beneath him could always put aside his troubles, if just for a moment. The speeder, while old and a little cumbersome, was loved tenderly by the Jedi Knight and handled like an old friend. Whatever Anakin flew, it always felt like an extension of himself, but more so this speeder than others; it was, after all, the speeder he arrived at the Jedi Temple in when he began his training at the minuscule age of five. This speeder also delivered him from the spaceport when the cargo craft from his homeworld of Tatooine landed on the Triple Zero planet.
But that was not something to think about now, he reminded himself gently, for the topic of his past and even how he came to be a Jedi was a sensitive subject that he ventured into only occasionally, when time was plentiful and other beings were scarce.
Obi-Wan's complex was a short flight away. Within minutes of leaving the temple, Anakin was hovering down onto the private docking bay attached to his master's home, cutting off the engines and disembarking from the vehicle. As Anakin straightened his robes, a habit he picked up from the man he hoped would play host for him when he knocked on his front door, he glanced up at the windows only to find them dark.
Not a good sign.
But seeing had never really meant believing when it comes to the Jedi, something that was proven true over the course of many millenniums.
Anakin strode over to the entrance, where the solid metal doors were sealed shut; a dimly glowing button asked for the attention of those inhabiting the apartment when he pushed it, sending a short, shrill ring throughout its chambers. After waiting several moments, Jedi Knight Skywalker came to the conclusion that no one would be responding to his call. He didn't expect anyone to, but that didn't mean he couldn't hope for what he wanted most.
With a quick scoop of his hand through the air, the metal doors unhinged themselves from each other and slid open by way of the Force to reveal the messy entrance to Obi-Wan Kenobi's home. Only, messy was an understatement; Kenobi's home was wrecked.
A/N: hey, remember me? i apologize to all ends of this earth for not updating sooner. and the worst part? i wrote this chapter sooooo so so long ago; i meant to add more to it, but when i finally got back to it i realized it was a decent place to leave off, and i didn't want to keep you guys waiting anymore. once more: i am so sorry. i hope you enjoy this, if you're still there. whoever you are.