So, here we go again. I am planning to private message you all at some point to thank you for your kind reviews, but I don't have much time at the moment. And this chapter is for Eruvyweth and AnakinsGirl4eva and all the others who have been waiting for Ani and Obi interaction. And Merry Christmas to all!

Disclaimer: Guess what? They're not mine, and neither is any cash, from this or anything else.

Nineteen

I was so lost in my own troubled thoughts that I was halfway into the medical room before I registered the sight of Anakin and Padmé. He lay with his right side propped half against the computer consoles keeping track of his vital signs, half against Padmé, his chin resting against her forehead and his left hand against the curve of her stomach. Her fingers, supported his head, tangled in his tousled curls, and her other hand was clasped over his on her belly so their fingers intertwined. I backed away quickly and unobtrusively to give them a few more moments together before I interrupted.

"Are you all right?" Anakin murmured, his voice soft and slurred but still hoarse with desperation. Thanks to Padmé's revelation about his visions I knew now from whence that tormented urgency stemmed, and I winced. How I wished he had trusted me enough and come to me for aid rather than letting his nightmares drive him right into Palpatine's grasp.

Padmé nodded in response, and her hold on his hand tightened. "I'm fine, my love."

He brushed his palm over her rounded stomach. "An' y're feeling okay? The baby s'all right?"

"Yes," Padmé replied. Baby? I thought. Does he not know she's having twins? Well, he had probably not been thinking too clearly when I had mentioned his "children" earlier. "Everything's all right, Anakin," she continued, her quiet voice encouraging. "Healer Risto checks on me every day, and she says everything is fine. Don't you trust her to take care of me?"

Anakin lifted his head to stare down into her face for a long moment, then nodded and sighed as if content with what he saw there. He let his head drop back down and pressed his cheek, bandaged where Onasi's attack had left fresh bruises, against Padmé's hair. "All right, then," he whispered. "Good."

I reached back to push the open button on the door behind me. This time Padmé looked up at the sound of the distinctive woosh. She smiled as I cleared my throat, and I didn't think I had fooled her at all with my attempt at tactful subterfuge.

Anakin's head jerked up in genuine surprise, though, and his expression shifted when his gaze fell on me. His features tensed and tightened, and a startled wariness widened his dazed blue eyes. He glanced nervously at Padmé—and then, when she did nothing, only laid a comforting hand against his neck and continued to smile over at me, the tension ebbed out of him, and he smiled tentatively, as if he hardly dared believe that I wasn't repulsed by finding him in an embrace with his wife.

What a sad comment on how distanced the Jedi Order had become, if he believed I would have been.

The hesitant luminosity of his growing smile, however uncertain, made my heart wrench as warmth spread up from somewhere deep in my chest, easing through me slowly as if reviving me after too much time spent in the cold. His smile was still careful and slow, tinged and shadowed by embarrassment, terrible shame, overwhelming guilt, but I had never thought Anakin would look at me with a smile in his eyes ever again, after the Temple. The shadow was still there, but softened by the light.

"O-Obi-Wan?" he said, then flushed and dropped his eyes. "I—I'm sorry. I—" I could tell the words broke down and cried all over you were running through his head.

I shook my head. "There is nothing more to apologize for, Anakin," I said carefully, uncertain with my words but wanting him to know that the last thing I did was reproach him for his earlier tears. "I am proud . . . so very proud . . . that you have—come back to us."

He bit his lip, still not meeting my gaze, and his grip clenched on Padmé's hand as I moved to sit on the bed. He shifted his leg slightly to make room for me and waveringly returned my encouraging smile, but that heightened flush still suffused his features, making him look feverish and unwell. I realized with sad certainty that it would be a long time before things could be truly comfortable between us again. If we can ever regain what we once had, one treacherous part of my mind whispered.

I ignored it. That kind of thinking wouldn't get us anywhere, no matter how much I fretted over it.

Padmé ran her hand through Anakin's hair again, straightening up and making sure he was steady as she did so. "It'll be all right, Ani," she whispered. "I promise. Somehow we'll make everything right again."

Anakin nodded dully, then took a long, deep breath, obviously readying himself for a difficult conversation. I had seen him do the same thing many times before we went in to speak with the Council during his days as a Padawan and a junior Knight, and it made the raw places in my heart twist up and ache to think that speaking with me was now accompanied by that same apprehension. "What is 't, Master?" he mumbled.

I reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder and steady him, and was heartened when he didn't flinch away, though he tensed slightly before relaxing again. "Healer Risto is going to be here in a few moments. She wanted to talk to you about your progress and what's going to happen next, how you should take care of yourself. I think it's a good idea."

He just looked at me for one slow moment before he nodded and blew his breath out. "O-okay," he said hesitantly. "You're prob'ly right."

"I'll leave you two to talk, then," Padmé said, pulling away with a slight caress to Anakin's cheek. His head whipped around to look at her, his expression so vulnerable that it gave my already sore heart another pang. Padmé shook her head and reached up to brush a soft kiss across his lips. "I'll be fine, Ani," she whispered. "I'll be back again later, all right?"

Anakin nodded falteringly. "I'll miss you, Padmé." He caught her face to bring her close for another kiss, this one so deep and heated and passionate that I could feel my cheeks growing hot. I averted my eyes.

The kiss seemed to go on for quite some time before I heard Padmé's amused voice, shaking with the effort of holding back laughter. "It's all right, Obi-Wan. You can look now."

I turned back and knew that the embarrassed flush was only slowly ebbing from my face. Padmé's cheeks were even pinker than mine must have been, her lips full and kiss-swollen, and she was smiling brighter than the suns of Tatooine as she squeezed Anakin's hand one last time and disengaged from his embrace. She looked better than she had since we'd arrived.

Anakin let her go unwillingly but tenderly, and his eyes followed her as she made her slow way across the room and out into the hall. I could hear her greet Healer Risto before the door slid closed again. I flushed yet again at the juxtaposition of Healer Risto and kissing in the same thought and was suddenly very glad Anakin wasn't paying much attention.

As soon as she was gone Anakin swayed and nearly collapsed, crumpling in on himself as if his strength had left the room along with her. I caught him just before he fell and moved to support him against my side, sliding one arm around his waist to further steady him. His good arm came up behind my back, his fingers clenching slightly in the cloth of my tunic. He was trembling, I realized, little tremors shaking his entire body.

"Are you all right, Anakin?" I moved my arm up under his shoulders to try to give him more support.

He shrugged bonelessly. "T-tired. S'all right if I lean on you, Master?"

"It's fine," I assured him quietly.

"Good." He relaxed against my side, letting his weight settle into me. "Th'nks."

"It's nothing," I replied, touched by the trusting way he lay against me and let his head drift down to my shoulder. His limp weight was heavy, so I shifted his position again, trying not to press too hard on his bandages.

Anakin sighed, a breathy wisp of sound. "Am I too heavy, M-Master?" he asked. His voice was still slurred and blurry, but a little stronger than it had been.

"Not at all."

"Good," he mumbled again. "Don' wanna be t' heavy." There was a long pause. "Master, I—" his voice wobbled a little "—'m glad . . . y're here."

My vision blurred, and I blinked rapidly to clear it. "I am glad I am here, too," I whispered, and suddenly my voice was broken and shaking. I blinked again and could feel a hot, wet droplet trickle out from under my eyelid and slip soundlessly down my cheek into my beard. "I—" I took another deep breath "—and I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" His muscles tensed and he looked up into my face, his forehead creasing and his eyes big and bruised-looking with pained shame. "Why . . . sorry?" he asked, and I could see in his eyes that somewhere in his confused mind he thought it was because of him.

I had to correct such an erroneous assumption. I indicated his bandaged, damaged body with a nod of my head. "I did all this to you, Anakin." I could hardly even bear to say it. "And I am sorry for it."

"Oh." The tension eased from his muscles. His head returned to its place on my shoulder. "S'okay."

"Okay?" I choked out, unsure whether to be moved by his unexpected forgiveness or horrified at the disregard with which he seemed to treat his own injuries. The anger and defensiveness with which he had first reacted had been, in some ways, easier to bear. "Anakin, how—"

He shook his head. "'s not really a big deal, Mas'er. Thought . . . it was gonna be . . . lot worse." He shivered, and his fingers clenched more tightly in my tunic, his fist burrowing into the fabric. "Though' you were gonna leave me . . . could f-feel the fire, could a'ready see you walking away. S-saw things—darkness lifting me, still burning, things tearing a' me, ripping my s-skin off . . . black t-tomb closing me in. Trapped, b-burning forever. Couldn' b-breathe . . . couldn' feel . . . ." He took a deep, shuddering breath, and I could feel his leftover terror in the way his body was shaking. "Bu' you saved me, Master; didn' leave me . . . leave me there . . . . You saved me." There was a long pause while he took a deep breath. "Thank you."

An icy chill run down my spine at his stumbling words. I knew that he had described a vision of the future that would have been had I not pulled him back from the edge of the river of flame, and I started to shake, too, at how close we had both come. "I will never leave you like that again, Anakin," I said ferociously.

His hand relaxed its tight hold in my tunic, and he smiled. "Tha's nice t' know, Ob'-Wan," he said blurrily. "Thanks."

I took a deep breath. "And—I must apologize again." It hurt to do this, to acknowledge how many mistakes I, too, had made, but it needed to be done, so we could both let go.

He rolled his head back so he could look up at me. "Again, Master?" He smirked a little, bruised mouth quirking slightly. "An' I thought I was th' one who screwed up here."

I shook my head. "We all made mistakes. You certainly did—'screw up.' But I—I should have asked why."

He blinked. He seemed a little bit more aware now, the drug-haze fading from his eyes. "'m not exactly following you, Master," he said. "S'rry."

My hands trembled; I clenched one of them into a fist at his back where I steadied him and forced the other to flatten on my knee. "I—I shouldn't have assumed you did all those things merely in a fit of rage and out of lust for power, Anakin," I told him. It was my voice wavering a little this time. "I know you better than that. I should have known there was something else in the beginning. I just wish—" Now my voice shattered and broke, and I had to swallow hard. "I just wish that you could have trusted me," I finished. "And I should have asked you why. I should have. But—it all hurt too much, and I just—I didn't want to know."

Anakin wasn't looking at me anymore. His gaze was fixed on some point on the cool gray-blue wall. "Then you know," he murmured. "Padmé—did Padmé tell you?"

"Yes," I admitted.

He sighed. "Stupid," he said softly. "I was s-stupid. Should have told you. Padmé . . . wanted to. But I—I was afraid. Y'd turn me into th' Council. Wouldn' respect me 'nymore. Stupid, I guess."

"No, Anakin," I said. My throat was so tight and choked that it was difficult to get the words out. "Not stupid at all. I had given you no reason to trust me in that sort of situation."

His hand came up and squeezed my shoulder. "My friend," he said. "Should have trusted you 'nyway."

I took a sharp breath and had to swallow hard against tears again. Force, they were close to the surface these days. "It is all right, Anakin," I whispered.

He shook his head slightly. "No. Shouldn' have doubted you." He lifted his head a little, and his face was anxious now. "It's really 'kay, Master?" he asked then. "Know I broke th' Code. Married. But I—I love her."

I nodded. "It's fine, Anakin." I took a deep breath. "I knew already," I added in a whisper.

Anakin smiled slightly and shook his head. "Should have known I couldn't . . . keep it from you, Master." He took a deep breath. "Thanks . . . for covering for me, then."

"You're welcome," I responded softly, just as the door slid open and Shian stepped inside. At the sight of her, my mind immediately slid backward to the thoughts I'd had earlier, and I could feel myself flush all over again. This time I was fairly sure Anakin noticed, but thankfully he said nothing, his concentration mostly on struggling up to a sitting position within my encircling arm as Shian crossed the room to us.

"Better, hero?" she asked. "Or worse?"

Anakin blinked. "B-better," he said, after a moment, and she smiled.

"I thought so," she said, reaching forward to ruffle his hair. Anakin winced away at first, then grinned shakily.

"Hey," he said.

"Sorry," Shian replied. "Couldn't resist." She glanced over at me. Our eyes met for a moment, and for some strange reason I felt as if my heartbeat speed up. After a moment, she bit her lip and looked away. "You're looking better, too, Obi-Wan," she said. "I told you all you needed was some rest."

"You were right," I said. Force, what was wrong with me? Thinking about Shian like that was—not appropriate, and I had plenty of other things to worry about at the moment. "I should know better than to argue with a healer by now."

" 'Should' being the operative word in that sentence," Shian returned dryly. "Right, Skywalker?"

"She's got you there, Master." Anakin's words were still slow and slurred, but they were a bit clearer.

I sighed. "I concede. Two against one is not a fair battle."

Shian grinned. "And here I thought the Negotiator would be beyond little concerns like the odds."

I shook my head. "Not beyond. I may disregard the odds, but I never fail to take them into account. Whereas Anakin here just doesn't care."

Shian laughed. "I have heard people wonder if 'The Hero With No Fear' might be Corellian and not even know it." She turned to Anakin. "All right. How do you want to do this?"

He swallowed, and his hand tightened on my shoulder. "Jus' tell me . . . everything." He sounded vaguely ill as he continued. "Please."

I squeezed his shoulder, wanting to let him know that I was there, that he wasn't alone.

Shian nodded, her face serious. "All right. Well, it's not nearly as bad as it could have been. I was surprised, actually, by how quickly your lungs healed, and you're not going to have to be on a respirator or anything like that. Your back was badly burned, along the right side especially, and parts of it will probably scar."

Anakin closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "How bad?"

"Not too bad, really," Shian said. "Your shoulder and along the back of your arm got the worst of it, and there'll be some scarring spreading out from there, but, considering how bad the burns were, you're getting off easy. It shouldn't curtail your ability to move the arm at all if you take good care of the wounds while they heal."

Anakin nodded. His eyes were fixed on her face.

"As for the rest of it," Shian continued, "you've had a mechanical arm attached already, so the procedure won't be anything new. We're going to put you into surgery tomorrow. We want to get you up and about quickly, I understand. You're going to have to go through some physical therapy to get you used to the new limbs, and I'm sure Obi-Wan can help with that."

Anakin sighed, and his body trembled under my arm. "Quickly . . ." he said, and then his eyes swung over to lock with mine. "Master," he said urgently. "He'll . . . know. He'll be coming after me—we have t' get out of here."

"I know," Anakin, I said helplessly. "I know, but you're still too weak."

His hand tightened in my tunic again. "Obi-Wan, you have t' get out o' here," he said. His voice was hoarse and desperate. "Please. L-leave me if y' have to. Jus' get Padmé and th' baby . . . safe. A-away from him."

I shook my head and reached out with my other hand to grasp his shoulder. "No, Anakin," I ground out. He winced, and I gentled my hold. "No, Anakin," I said again. "I—will—not leave you."

"Then . . . get Padmé away." His voice broke. "Please, Obi-Wan. Please."

I stared into his face for one long moment, reading the open, frantic terror there, the pleading—and I sighed. "Yes," I said. "All right. We'll get Padmé away."

"Thank you." He sank down until his head was resting against my shoulder, shaking with released tension.

I looked up and met Shian's gaze, and her eyes were dark and troubled.

Sidious was one with the darkness, a shadowy spider sitting in the center of an immense web of stars, of places, of people, of emotions, of broken hopes and dreams and plans, fears and torments and agonies. The power of the Force traveled through him to the threads of shadow that bound the galaxy together, and it was all at his fingertips.

He was getting closer to his destination, and it was easier to feel the dulled sense of his apprentice now, his presence shrouded in a thick, fuzzy haze and infiltrated by light. But the light was a superficial thing, simple to duck around it and find the dark, hot anger of Vader's rage, the freezing chill of the fear that resided deep within his heart.

By this point, there was very little in Anakin Skywalker's heart that was a secret to Darth Sidious.

His new apprentice had been left with Kenobi longer than Sidious would have preferred, for the dark lord had been delayed leaving Coruscant. Sidious had had a myriad of back-up plans in place, should his attempt to turn the Sith'ari fail, and activating them had taken longer than he had expected. And Skywalker's wife was with him, too—there was no other explanation for Senator Amidala's rapid and oh-so-convenient disappearance—something else that Sidious was not overly pleased about. Inopportune occurrences, all, but hardly developments that Sidious could not twist to his advantage. Darth Vader might be making his stumbling, uncertain way back to the light, but the fault-lines along which the young Jedi had shattered once before were still there. They had merely been patched, not repaired, and new cracks and fissures had developed with the strain of guilt and an entirely fresh set of fears. Apply the right kind of pressure, tug on the right strands, and the boy would fall back into the waiting hands of the Sith.

It would not be difficult. Skywalker was easy to read, an un-encoded holopad to those who paid attention. He broadcast his emotions so openly that it had been almost embarrassingly easy for Sidious to twist them to his advantage.

Sidious considered the star-field before him from where he stood looking out the viewport of his private cruiser. Still, Skywalker notwithstanding, it seemed Kenobi had changed the setting of the dejarik table. Perhaps Sidious had underestimated the unassuming Jedi Master—underestimated both him and the power of his attachment to Skywalker. He had admittedly not been expecting Kenobi's actions on Mustafar, and they had thrown him off, redirected his strategy like the classic Corellian Gambit, used skillfully, redirected a game of dejarik. It was a regrettable oversight on his part, but an oversight all the same.

Kenobi had suddenly become a much more important piece on the board. With that increased importance, it had become even more urgent to do something about him—either to remove him from play altogether, or to redirect his actions in return, so that everything Kenobi did only further served Sidious's purpose.

One thing was for certain. The Jedi Master wouldn't give up on Skywalker again without a fight, and a fight with Kenobi meant contending with all the tenacious steel that formed the backbone of the Jedi's resolvee.

A problem—but that stubborn determination could be an asset, if utilized correctly, Sidious reflected. He'd been able to use it that way before, during the hunt for Grievous, for example. Kenobi was clever, but he too could be misdirected.

And Amidala, too, simply provided Sidious with another pawn. Skywalker's secret wife had already proven useful in twisting the boy's thoughts and focus. Sidious would have to change his strategy—the reappearance of Jinn's spirit, if that was truly what he had encountered, was another unexpected setback, a new game piece he would have to consider—but the Sith lord had no doubt as to his ability to play the game.

That he had never doubted.