Author's Note:

To QueenGoddess: Just happy you liked it! I was hoping to bring out both their closeness and messed-up-edness through that. I'm glad it worked. As for Yoda--let's just say he's not my favorite person either, the little green troll. Of course, he's much better than Mace. The resident Zen Master is always a pain to write (which is pretty much why Yoda disappeared for five chapters--he was just . . . meditating. Yeah, that's it.). The Jedi do have that problem, don't they? If they hadn't been so blind, we might not even be having thisstoryin the first place. . . . But I can't just have him run into a mixer. That would be cheating, and the Rebellion is in enough trouble as it is. Tempting, though--very tempting. Maybe he'll just go off to commune with Qui-Gon some more. And I'm glad you like Shian! That's a load off my mind; an original character is always a bit difficult to bring off well. And I don't feel as if I can just ignore the EU (even though I'm doing pretty well ignoring the NJO as best I can). JA and JQ weren't my favorites, either, but .. . ah well. I liked bits, anyway, and continuity is good. Even in an AU. And I did show up at the Anakin thread--that thread is a dream come true, you don't even know . . . .

To Anakin's Girl 4eva: Just be gentle! He's still recovering! Glad to prove your point. I hope to continue doing so for the forseeable future. Your reviews always put a smile on my face too!

To Mrs. A.Skywalker: Are you sure that link is working? Anyway, I'm so pleased you like it.

To Quill of Molliemon: Yeah, Ani's having some shielding issues, and Obi-Wan's getting the backlash--just more practice with those "certain points of view," I guess.

To Eruvyweth: Frazzlegambog, eh? Hey, I like that word. I think I'll use it from now on. Professor: "Now, what do you think about Japanese Buddhism?" Me: "Frazzlegambog." Uh--well, maybe not. Yeah, Obi-Wan finally gets some rest (simply gave into Healer Risto following him around and lecturing him until he did). And I could tell you where I'm going with it, of course. But then I'd have to kill you.

To MissNaye: Well, that just goes back to those "certain points of view," now doesn't it? Interpret things however you like.

To SomeoneElse'sDream: Wow. That makes me so happy! Still, I'll try not to make you wait so long for the next few updates (I'm inspired again).

To Princess-Aiel: I'm glad too. I felt funny having them apart from each other for so long in a story like this.

To KTfanfic: I agree completely, but I think Obi-Wan has that problem--he's always been too willing to discount himself. So glad you're enjoying!

To porcelainangel: Gripped from start to finish? Wow! I'm so pleased! And I did have just as much fun--I'm having a blast, you know. Writing Star Wars is like that.

To Alley Parker: Your wish is my command. Glad you liked it!

To Anakins Force: Yeah, Padme was definitely reaching the kicking and screaming stage. Quite a determined woman, she is, and she was going to see her Anakin. And Yoda is in the process of changing his mind about a lot of things. He's just having trouble admitting it. Silly Jedi. grumbles

To Fragile Dreams: I like reviews, even repetitive ones like Groundhog's Day! Liked your Kamino analogy by the way. And I'm working on it. I'm always working on it . . . .

Disclaimer: The Flanneled One thought of it first, so naturally he got all the cash. I'm not making any money off of this, which naturally means I'm broke. Why bother suing me?

Eleven

The touch was oh-so-gentle against the ache that was his head and brought memories of light and love and happiness, of mornings on Naboo and the light and shimmer of an apartment on Coruscant, and fingers in his hair, arms that held him close, softness and love and beauty that surrounded him, accepted him, anchored him when he needed a focus, soothed him when he needed soothing. His mind tumbled back toward darkness and fire, but he pulled it away with a stubborn wrench. Those memories had no part of this.

Her presence was as hypnotic as ever, drawing him like as if he were a magnet and she his lodestone, and Anakin was powerless against the allure of that sense in the Force. His eyelids felt like gravity-weights for lightsaber training, but with an effort he shoved them upwards. His eyes slowly focused on the gentle hand that rested on his cheek, stroked back through his hair. "Anakin," came her beloved voice, and his breath caught in his throat in a near-sob at the very sound of it. He'd so feared—how could he even have lived if he had been cut off from that voice, forever? "Ani, can you hear me?"

He rolled his head back slightly until he could see her face. She looked pale, and tired, but she was there, she was Padmé, she was all right, and she was more beautiful than ever. His vision blurred and Anakin blinked the tears back impatiently, for they were hiding her from him. "Of . . . course . . . my love," he whispered, the breath mask twisting his words into a hoarse, unnaturally deep rasp. "A-always."

Her eyes widened, and her hand fluttered away from his face. Anakin moaned at the loss of contact. Without her touching him, her sense was so far away, dulled by the mindless fog in his head. Just seeing her wasn't enough. He wanted to feel her, too.

Her gaze met his, and Anakin read fear in her gaze.

He felt his heart stop, and then shatter, first into a few pieces, than into a thousand scattered across the landscape of his soul. "D-don't look at me like that, Padmé," he stammered, his words tripping up in his mouth and falling all over themselves as they fought to get past lips that didn't seem to want to respond. Dimly he wondered if when your heart stopped working the rest of you stopped eventually as well. "I—I would never—" memories rose to the surface, and he squeezed his eyes shut in denial of them, turning his face away because he didn't even deserve to look at her. Hot tears stung his tightly shut eyelids. "I will never hurt you again. I—swear it."

"H-how can I be sure of that?" Padmé whispered in return, and her voice was wet and thick and shaking with tears of her own. "How can I be sure of anything when you've done . . . those things?"

Anakin felt as if a dragonin his soul had roared to life again, cold and dead and afraid, and was ripping him in two. "N-no, Padmé," he gasped in desperation, raising his head and looking urgently up at her through eyes that swam with new tears at her words. "I'd—I'll never hurt you. Never. I just want—I can't lose you, Padmé. N-not . . . you. Not now. Please . . . ."

She held her hand to her mouth as if to somehow hold in the tears streaming slowly down her face, and looked away from him. "Anakin—oh, Anakin, what's happened to you? Where's the Anakin I know? The Anakin I love?"

"Right here!" Anakin's voice was raw and shaking with emotion, with desperation, and he nearly screamed the words. "I'm right . . . here, Padmé!" Oh, Force, don't let me lose her—please don't let me have lost her—oh, Force, if I've lost her I—I can't lose her, I can't

The outburst was too much for him again, and the breath mask snatched the rest of his words away. He sobbed with frustration, fighting the machine as it tried to force him to breathe the way it wanted him to instead of the way he wanted.

Padmé's hands settled on his face on either side of the breath mask, bracing him, holding him still and steady. "I—I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Ani. I'm . . . I'm frightened."

He struggled to relax until he could breathe again. "I . . . I'm . . . the one . . . sorry . . . ."

Her gentle fingers rubbed against the skin above the mask that cut her off from him. "Shhh. It's all right. Really."

He closed his eyes for a moment and lived in the touch of her fingers against his face. "Sorry . . ." he mumbled.

"I know," she whispered. "I know."

He forced his eyes open again. "A-are you . . . all right?" The words were slurred and indistinct, but he struggled to make them understandable with all he had.

"Fine." Padmé leaned forward and brushed her lips against his cheek, across the line where the breath mask pressed into his skin. "I'm fine." She smiled shakily and laid one hand against the top of her stomach. "Everything's just fine."

Anakin choked on his faltering breath of relief, the tears burning in his eyes all over again. He struggled to lift his good arm, but it was held down and imprisoned by the tubes and cords running into it, his wrist shackled to the bed by a gentle magnetic field. He let out a soft curse in Huttese that was lost in the hoarse echo of the breath mask.

Padmé's hand closed over his, her fingers intertwining with his, and his hand closed convulsively around hers. "Help—" the word choked and grated in his throat, and he winced at the sound of his voice, wheezing and hollow. "Help me . . . take this mask . . . off . . . ."

She hesitated, and indecision twisted her features. "Ani—you—I can't. It might—hurt you. You have to breathe."

His lips twitched up into a weak, faltering smile, the ghost of his old lopsided grin. "I'm . . . all right. I . . . don' need that thing."

"Are you sure?" Her fingers ran reassuringly over his.

"I—c-can't breathe wi'out you . . . touching me, anyway." It was nothing less than the truth, with her this close and yet so far away in the Force.

Padmé still looked reluctant, but she ran her fingers along the straps that held the mask in place and unfastened them nonetheless, bringing away the cool hard plastic that had formed an unnatural barrier between them and setting it aside. Anakin's breathe caught in his throat without it, aching as he dragged it out of a raw throat, but he didn't care. Her fingers skimmed over his cheeks, his mouth, his nose, and she bent to whisper, "Are you sure you're all right?"

Anakin's answer was to push himself recklessly upward, his hand clenching around hers against the bed, until his lips met hers. As soon as they touched he felt as if he could breathe again, as if his heart returned to its proper place in his chest, as if color and life and sight flooded back into him, because he could feel Padmé again the way he should feel her, the way he'd always felt her, even in the years they'd spent apart from each other. Her lips were soft and warm and giving against his, and even though the contact hurt a mouth that was still cracked and burned and barely healing, he would have suffered that pain a thousand times over just for one moment like this. Padmé caught him and her hands twisted in his hair, her fingers smoothing through it to rest on the back of his head.

Anakin sighed and let his head drop to rest against her collarbone. She was warm and slightly sweaty and he never wanted to move ever again and finally he could breathe right.

"Don't . . . leave . . . me," he whispered, knowing he was pleading, knowing that a Sith Lord didn't beg like that and not caring.

She bent her head to rest it against his. "I won't, Ani. I'm here." She blew out a trembling breath and held him a little closer. " I'm here."

I doubted Healer Risto's intention had been to rope me into a planning session with Yoda and Commander Onasi, but, unfortunately, by convincing me to bring Padmé to see Anakin that was exactly what she had inadvertently done. With her there to keep an eye on the two of them, there was no excuse I could make that would allow me to duck out of the presence of either of the other two, and I was all too well aware that I shouldn't be avoiding them anyway. With the fall of the Republic and the destruction of the Jedi a war had begun, and we were all on the front lines.

And wars required planning. Strategy. It was something I could no longer put off. My personal feelings had no place in the matter. As always.

"Found time in your busy schedule to join us, General Kenobi?" Onasi asked as soon as I set foot in the room, his voice cold and sneering. I ignored him as best I could and focused my attention on Yoda.

"You requested my presence, Master?"

The ancient Jedi Master nodded. "Requested it I did, Master Obi-Wan. A . . . discussion we must have."

I nodded in unhappy agreement as I took up a position braced against the wall. "I agree. We have much to confer over."

Onasi wanted to say something, I could tell, but he refrained. For which fact I was profoundly grateful.

There was a slight pause, before Yoda sighed and spoke again. His voice was weary and older than I'd ever heard it. "Some danger there is, that to this place Sidious could track his apprentice."

Onasi sat bolt upright in his chair at that. "Sidious—you mean, the Emperor? Chancellor Palpatine?"

"That is exactly who we mean," I replied, my voice shorter than I had meant it to be. How many people with names like "Sidious" do you think are running around the galaxy? The thought was unfair of me, and I knew it, but I just couldn't seem to help myself where Onasi was concerned. It was as if I became a Padawan all over again in his presence, and a rather immature one at that.

I suddenly realized how Anakin must have felt about Ferus.

"A bond, master and apprentice share," Yoda continued, "whether Sith or Jedi. Strong emotions, pain, fear . . . all these things, reach Sidious they might. And when they do . . . strong enough with the Force to trace us here he could be. I do not know. The dark side . . . a cloud it is, over all my meditations."

"A bond?" Onasi repeated, and there was a strange excitement in his voice. I looked at him—he fairly crackled with repressed energy. An unnatural fire burned in his eyes, and for a moment I was reminded of how Anakin had looked facing me above the river of lava on Mustafar. The thought was still painful, and I pushed it away, focusing resolutely on the cold, unfeeling concerns of strategy and tactics. Such preoccupations could not heal the wounds, but they could dull the ache, salve the tearing pain with numb detachment.

"We cannot stay here much longer," I reflected out loud. "No matter how isolated Elanna may be. We cannot take the risk."

Yoda nodded, but Onasi was still staring at the ancient Jedi master as if I hadn't even spoken, and a spark of annoyance lit inside me. Who was he to not even listen to what I was saying? I did outrank him, after all, no matter how he felt about Jedi.

"What kind of bond?" he repeated, and a frisson of disquiet ran along my spine at the eagerness in his voice. "Palpatine can feel—Vader—through the Force? Through his emotions?"

"Yes," Yoda said cautiously, and he sounded as wary as I suddenly felt. "A danger, it could be."

"A danger?" Onasi actually laughed. "Well, yes, I suppose so. If it's handled badly. But don't you see? This is exactly the weapon we need to end this war, here and now!"

I shifted uncomfortably. "A . . . weapon? Commander Onasi, I am unclear as to exactly—"

"This is practically a gift," he continued. "It plays perfectly into our hands. Vader is here, now, entirely in our power thanks to General Kenobi—" oh, so now I did the right thing, I thought, the sarcasm bitter and unpalatable, "—and we are in the tactically stronger position. We have the perfect bait—we can lure Palpatine here and defeat him and cut off the head of this Imperial monster before he can do any more damage. After the great evil is gone, it will be a simple matter to reclaim the Republic from this . . . Empire . . . he's constructed."

I doubted anything was ever as easy as he was making that sound, but his earlier words made me too uneasy to even remark on that. "Perfect bait?" I repeated. "What . . . bait—" the very word left a sour taste in my mouth "—were you intending to use, precisely?"

He looked at me as if I were a slightly simple child he was trying to lead to the correct conclusion to an uncomplicated mathematical equation. "Vader, of course," he said. "What other use is the boy? He is our enemy, Kenobi. Don't forget that. If his emotions can be twisted to suit the purposes of the Republic, there is no question at all as to what we should do. And he is so very easy to manipulate, surely you see that."

What I saw was the red haze of rage that had risen up in front of my eyes in response to his words. I hadn't felt like this since I had watched Darth Maul cut down my master while I stood helplessly by. My hands clenched into fists and unclenched again as I struggled to regain control over my emotions, but I feared I wasn't having much success. "Do I understand that you mean to—to use Anakin like some kind of—homing beacon to lure Sidious here?"

Onasi looked as if I had grasped a difficult concept sooner than he had expected. "Yes," he said. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting."

The red haze turned to hot, angry crimson. "If you lay one hand on him—" I started, barely even aware that my voice was spiraling up several decibels and my hand had gone instinctively to the lightsaber at my belt.

"Master Obi-Wan!" Yoda's sharp command cut through my rage like a vibroblade through durasteel. "Help us, this will not. In control of your emotions you must be. Remember what was Anakin's downfall, you must."

I took a deep breath, shivering as the anger that had filled me drained away. "Yes, Master," I replied shakily.

"Commander Onasi," Yoda continued. "Use this plan, we will not. A tool, young Skywalker is not. Lost, alone, in pain, he is. Need this, he does not. Leave this place soon we must. Not the place for a rebellion, this is."

"Master Yoda," Onasi began.

"We will not!" Yoda said, and there was such presence in his gravelly voice that it made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Onasi fell silent and got to his feet without a word.

But I could see the hunger in his eyes, and I knew that he had not abandoned his plan.