Chapter Five
Bittersweet Grace

Multicolored stars wheeled like a kaleidoscope inside Anakin's eyelids, and he blinked furiously to clear his blurred vision. His ears felt like they had been stuffed with cloth, and something warm trickled down the side of his forehead. He swiped at it with his gloved fingertips and brought it before his still-hazy eyes. The black leather glistened in the wan daylight, and the unmistakable
sickly-sweet odor of blood wafted to his nostrils. He coughed sharply through a burning throat – not because of the aroma – but because the air was thick with dust and smoke.
Anakin desperately tried to collect his scattered thoughts, blown about like dry leaves in the wind, mentally retracing the steps that had led to this moment. He remembered looking past the blue-white glare of his lightsaber and into the bearded face of his former Master, the roar of his anger drowning out the frail entreaty of his sorrow.
He remembered the chill that had invaded his bones when his reason for being aimed at blaster at him, her large dark eyes swimming with tears born of sadness and horror.
His stomach clenched at the thought of how he had almost given in to the dark pull of fury and lashed out at her. His angel – the woman for whom his heart continued to beat, the air filling his lungs,
the mother of his children –
Padmé!

He remembered it all.
The gunship cutting through the fog, the burnt ellipse in Padmé's shoulder, and…and…
With a jolt, Anakin blinked away the last traces of dust and salt water clinging to his lashes and looked down. She was lying against him, her head pillowed on his broad shoulder, his left arm still locked securely around her slender frame. Her perfect face was powdered with fine grey dust, frosting her glossy brown curls like snow, but her expression was peaceful. Anakin was reminded vividly of an old tale his mother used to weave by his bedside, in what seemed like another lifetime, about a beautiful lady asleep in the snow, waiting to be awoken by one who was worthy…
He tenderly brushed the powder from Padmé's delicate features, but his brows were drawn together in intense concentration, creating deep furrows on his forehead. Try as he might, Anakin could not recall what had happened after his wife had been hurt. His gaze flitted to the swell of her belly, and he quickly laid a palm against the bulge, frightened for their twins. Something traumatic had occurred – that much was certain. He would survey the damage to the city after he was convinced that his family was safe. Anakin reached into the Force to search out the undeveloped minds of his children…There was nothing.

Confused, he tried again, stifling his growing worry for his loved ones, extending his consciousness outward, and waiting for the Force to answer.
But there was only a vast vacuum of emptiness.
The Force was…gone.
Anakin's lips parted in dismay, staring blankly at his own hand, resting upon the greatest treasure he had ever received. What happened?
He stumbled to his feet, cradling Padmé in his arms, and wandered blindly through the clouds of smoke and fog until he recognized the curved, plush divan that resided in their apartment. The piece of furniture seemed relatively untouched, yet Anakin glanced around warily, listening for falling debris in a potentially unstable building. He could not sense any danger, and it made him feel thoroughly disconcerted – because he could not sense anything.
Anakin placed Padmé gently on the cushions, wondering anxiously if he should even risk leaving her side when he was not aware of their surroundings, or what had happened to their home.
If he could just remember…
He needed to have a look around. Maybe it would spark in his mind and his memory would surface. He bent down and pressed a soft kiss on Padmé's cheek, relieved when he felt warmth emanating from her skin. "I'll be back," he murmured, and turned to face the billowing dust before he allowed his concern to change his mind.

Anakin strode in the general direction of the veranda, shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear his blocked ears. The silence around and inside him was more disturbing than anything he had experienced in his life. He had always been connected to the Force, and his mother had told him before he had left her at nine years of age the true nature of his birth. To be separated from the one thing that had always been a constant for him – he felt as if he had been stripped of all his senses at once.
The air changed subtly, and Anakin realized that he had walked back onto the veranda.
The dust particles floated amidst the dense fog that persistently covered the capital, and the only thing he could see was his boots treading over cracked stone and rubble.
Shards of glass and metal crunched with every step, until Anakin's toe caught on something large. The abrupt pause caused his already off-kilter equilibrium to strain, and he fought to remain upright, flailing his arms to regain his balance.
He peered down and saw an arm, covered in white body armor. His gaze followed the appendage to the torso, and then the inert body of the clone commander came into view. The one who had called him "Lord Vader." Anakin's jaw muscles bunched as he gritted his teeth, swallowing his anger as he knelt down to check the trooper's vitals. He pulled off the clone's helmet – and jerked backwards with a harsh gasp, the helmet clattering into the grey mists sluicing over the wreckage.

The commander's face, a face Anakin had seen hundreds of times, was frozen in death. But how he had died, the young man could not say. He had not seen it before – and death had been his steady companion for over three years of war.
Caked rivulets of blood poured from the clone's nose and ears, and dust was beginning to settle on his glazed eyes as they were forever held wide open in an expression of utter agony.
Anakin staggered to his feet, overcome by horror as the image triggered in his brain, but he refused to face it. It was not possible. His heel met a white-clad leg, and he threw off this clone trooper's helmet as well. Same face, same expression.
His breath quickened, panic fluttering his heartbeat madly. He found another clone, and another, and another – until he knew that the whole contingent that had disembarked the gunship was lying dead on the veranda. In a daze, Anakin felt his feet carry him to the crumbling edge of the veranda, and through the heavy smoke, dust, and fog…
He saw his nightmare made real.

Coruscant was in ruins. The elegant shimmering towers were all splintered like broken crystal. Twisted pieces of shrapnel from crashed speeders were lodged into the skeletal framework of destroyed buildings. Bright orange flames flowed like oil from one spire to another, illuminating the mists with a strange topaz glow.
It surged through him like tongues of white-hot lightning.
As he had clung to Padmé in his trembling embrace, the muffled echoes of blasterfire and the clone commander's inquiry had vanished into nothingness. He felt his soul being ripped to shreds by the opposing powers tugging him in all directions, vying for control of the one born of the Force – when all he wanted was to spend the rest of his life with Padmé and help her raise their children.
He wanted to live with hope.

It was his deepest wish, laid bare in his heart of hearts – buried under discipline, a yearning for freedom, and the desire for the power required to win that freedom.
That wish had resided under the guise of tenacity and arrogance for so long, Anakin had despaired of ever reviving it.
The first night he had held his new bride in his arms, that little flare had bloomed infinitesimally. Anakin never wanted be anywhere else but near her, because she made him feel less like the weapon the Council was forging through the fires of the Clone Wars, and more like a man. She made him believe that he was still human.
Her presence was his addiction – the drug that kept him from losing his mind. He would sink into her and never want to surface – to be so close to her that he could not tell where she ended and he began. She was his torch, lighting the way through the bloodshed and the seemingly endless battles. She was his safe harbor from the gales that battered his world-weary spirit. He knew she would fear for him if he would confess to her how much he needed her. But Anakin could sense that she understood, and she did not falter nor bend under the weight of his need.
And he loved her all the more.

It became more difficult to leave after each all-too-brief interlude. The unity that Anakin had desired for them grew like flowering vines the longer they spent in each other's company, and Padmé – his fierce, steadfast angel – became increasingly distressed. She hid it very well – even from her Jedi husband – but he saw it, fraying the edges of her regal dignity. Every time they parted, she donned that brave expression, smiling sweetly…and in her eyes he witnessed unfathomable grief. Within the Force it was worse.
It killed him to see her in such pain.
She never begged him to stay – not in words – and he pretended not to glimpse her pain through the façade, allowing her to nourish him with tender embraces and the taste of her kisses. Survival was the only option after five months wandering in the wasteland of their separation. While he was away from her, he knew that he was changing, shape-shifting into a cold-blooded warrior, a lump of stone encased in his ribcage. He sensed the dark side infecting his soul. It slithered around the smoky-grey caverns of his heart, seeking to snuff out the undiluted shard of light that Padmé had so diligently nurtured with her soft, strong hands and gentle yet penetrating eyes.

The darkness nearly sank its poisonous fangs into it as Anakin fought with Dooku aboard the Invisible Hand. The young Jedi tried frantically to hold the darkness at bay, but he could not split his attention between shielding his heart and dueling a Sith Lord – not if he wanted to stay alive. Dooku sensed his fear and provoked him. "I sense great fear in you, young Skywalker. You have hate, you have anger…but you don't use them."
He had not succumbed to the Chancellor's command to kill Dooku.
Anakin had rashly cut down the beaten Sith as a means to pacify the black shadows threatening the spark inside him.
In the aftermath of his harrowing return to Coruscant, he made a silent vow while an orbital shuttle carried the Chancellor, Obi-Wan, and himself to the Senatorial Offices: he would never be parted from his wife again. To rip himself from her and not see her, speak to her, for weeks…months…and for what? To participate in a war that seemed endless?
To not even think of her for fear that his fellow Jedi would sense their relationship?
Never again.

Anakin decided that he did not care anymore. He did not care if the Council discovered them, if they cast him out of the Order. They would only be giving him an escape from the strictures that girded him like iron bands around his chest. When he had glanced over and seen Padmé waiting for him within the shadows of the columned hall, relief and joy glistening in her eyes – the image cemented his oath. Her incredibly wonderful news of a child fanned the spark into a bright flame, and he experienced the most profound feeling of…release.
His wish would soon become a reality. In a few short weeks his beautiful Padmé would deliver their child, and he would be free. It was an impossibility to return to the rules and regulations of the Jedi after the arrival of their baby. And while he could no longer be a Jedi, the Force and all he had learned would remain a part of him, and he would have fulfilled his dream of becoming the great defender of peace and justice that his mother had always wanted him to be. He had fallen asleep easily that night, listening to Padmé's soft, even breathing, her warm body pressed to his, and mused that he would rest well from now on.

When the nightmare startled him awake, shivering and sweating – he hated the Force.
He hated it.
The Force controlled his entire life – adding, subtracting, rearranging pieces at will.
He refused to let it take anything away from him again. If he truly was the Chosen One, then he was the one with the power to control the fate of his loved ones, the galaxy, even the Force itself.
He could control his own fate.
Palpatine had provided him with the means to an end. The ways of the Jedi were not giving Anakin he answers he wanted – indeed, the wisest among the Order had quoted platitudes.
"Death is a natural part of life," "attachment leads to jealousy," and "train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose." It was strange, really, how Yoda's words resonated within Anakin even now. His empty gaze stared out over the city, the wreckage reflecting the damage to his own soul.
He knew that he did this.

The universe had been spiraling ferociously, and as he cradled his hopes for the future in his arms, he realized that he was utterly powerless. The rawness of that insight chafed Anakin like salt on an open wound. And the hatred he carried for the Force and the injustice of being unable to alter the path he had taken was unleashed upon the galaxy.
He wanted the Force and all it touched to suffer. To feel all that he felt – all his pain, his grief, his anger, and his despair. He poured out every last drop of all he had been subjected to and how it had made him feel – from what had occurred mere seconds before, to the day when Shmi Skywalker had gently explained to her small son that they were slaves.
He flooded the Force with the toxin of those feelings, which he had kept bottled up in the depths of his being, hidden from his Master and his wife. He had emptied himself of…everything, and it was remarkable. Anakin may have killed all connections to the Force for every being in the universe, including himself, but he was viewing the world with a clarity he had never before possessed. Completely cut off from the conflicting extremes of dark and light, Anakin was able to see the consequences of his actions with unfettered eyes.
He did not like what he saw.

He squeezed his eyes shut in a vain effort to block out the images his self-disgust invoked, but they continued to revolve past his pupils. The fear in his beloved Padmé's eyes.
The sorrow and grim determination that Obi-Wan leaked into the Force. The screams of the Separatists in the communications bunker on Mustafar. The bodies of the Younglings lying on the Temple floor. The devastation of the Tusken camp on Tatooine.
I am a monster.

Anakin retched and doubled over, eyes watering as he fought to contain the revulsion that churned in his stomach. Inhaling heavily, black spots danced before his eyes as he gazed into the hazy depths of the ruined city. Remorse twisted in his gut like a knife, and in the space of a dozen heartbeats, he considered plummeting into the mists. Death was a small price to pay compared to all the lives he had taken – and if his attack on the Force had harmed the twins in any way he would never forgive himself. A being that harms its own flesh and blood does not deserve to live. He stepped to the crumbling edge, the toes of his boots knocking pebbles into the fog – and he suddenly glimpsed the edge of a sand-colored tunic, hanging on the far corner of the veranda. Sections of the stone were falling away, and the inert form of Obi-Wan Kenobi was slipping ever closer to oblivion.
Anakin reacted instinctively; he raced precariously along the edge, hearing the stone crack beneath him, and grabbed Obi-Wan's arm, yanking the Jedi Master to the relative safety near the building. Anakin rolled his old friend onto his back, and another painful stab of regret struck his shredded heart.

Obi-Wan's beard was caked with blood and dust. The telltale traces of crimson trickled from his nose and ears, and although his eyes were closed, they were squeezed tight in an expression of barely-suppressed agony. "Master," Anakin breathed feebly, his eyes prickling with hot tears, "I'm…I'm so sorry." The words were inadequate, and Obi-Wan could not hear them, but Anakin had to say them. He pressed two flesh fingers against the Jedi Master's throat, and his shoulders slumped in relief when he felt the weak pulse.
An abrupt noise, like a collision of rock and metal, erupted behind him, and Anakin's head snapped around, calling worriedly, "Padmé?" He clambered to his feet, gaze searching the clouds hovering about him, but he could not find the right direction back to his wife.
A quiet moan floated among the fog, and Anakin slowly glanced sideways as Obi-Wan's bleary blue-grey eyes opened.

------------

The silence was blissful.
In the aftermath of the cataclysmic explosion in the Force, Obi-Wan's battered psyche drifted on soothing waves of quiet. But it was getting harder to breathe. His lungs were clogged with the scent of smoke and blood, and Obi-Wan struggled to awaken. His body's survival instincts were shrieking for him to get up, but his mind felt fractured, disconnected thoughts and images whirling about in fierce eddies. Attempting to bring some order to the storm, Obi-Wan began to focus on his last coherent memory.
That was when the ringing started.
His brain started vibrating painfully, and his skull ached as if it had been hammered repeatedly with a Gammorean mallet. A moan escaped his dry mouth, and Obi-Wan slowly opened grimy, blurred eyes, still laboring to sort out his fragmented thoughts.

A dark silhouette swam into view, fog and dust flowing around the outline like water.
Tall and broad-shouldered, the man's robe was caked with grey powder; his hair and skin sprinkled with the same pallid color, making him nearly indistinguishable from the dense clouds. The man was turned half-away from Obi-Wan's slanted view, his face etching a sharp profile against the colorless backdrop. Obi-Wan's head throbbed unexpectedly, and he groaned again, weakly lifting a hand to his forehead to check for an injury. The man slowly turned to look at him – and like a current released from a dam, the Jedi Master's mind snapped together in complete lucidity.
Casting aside all notions of pain, Obi-Wan sprang to his feet, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. The mists disguised everything around them, but his gaze remained fixed on the form of his adversary. Anakin simply rotated to fully face him, drops of blood traveling down his temple, the whites of his eyes turned red from burst vessels and the debris floating in the air. He was unarmed, but any wielder of the Force is never without a weapon. Obi-Wan's hand immediately dropped to his belt, but his lightsaber was not present. He began searching the partially obscured foreground for the missing weapon, while keeping a wary eye on Anakin.

The young man continued to meet his stare, splatters of dust on his expressionless features – a chill slid down Obi-Wan's spine as he studied his old friend's eyes. There was an emotion in those reddened orbs that the Jedi Master had not expected to see. Before he could puzzle out the possible meanings of that emotion revealed in Anakin's eyes, he caught a dull gleam of silver to the far right. The smooth cylinder of his lightsaber lay amid the rubble a few meters away. Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed at Anakin, debating whether or not he should react. His palm extended almost subconsciously toward the lightsaber, and Obi-Wan swiftly called upon the Force to summon it into his hand.
When nothing happened, Obi-Wan shifted his gaze wholly on the inert object and concentrated. The cylinder did not so much as shudder with the effort. Deeply confused and a little worried,
Obi-Wan's eyes flicked back to Anakin, who seemed as immobile as a statue. The Jedi Master tried to send a tendril of Force energy towards the young man to receive some sense – any sense –
of what was happening.
The silence that greeted him suffused Obi-Wan with dread.

Anakin's blank expression twitched imperceptibly, and Obi-Wan stared intently at him as the final image burned into his mind before a curtain of darkness fell shimmered into focus, superimposed over his current view of his former apprentice. Kneeling on the cracked stone, cradling the motionless body of his wife, face upturned as he screamed in anguish.
The unsettling emotion in Anakin's gaze intensified, and he looked away, as he always did when he was expecting a harsh reprimand from his Master.
Obi-Wan did not disappoint. His dust-covered face full of troubled apprehension, he asked roughly, "What have you done?"
Anakin stayed mute, avoiding Obi-Wan's piercing gaze. The Jedi's eyes darted back to his lightsaber, longing for its comforting weight against his palm. He felt vulnerable; even though Anakin was unarmed, he must have done something to block Obi-Wan from using the Force in order to gain further advantage over his old Master. Obi-Wan lifted a boot and timidly edged sideways, in the general direction of his lightsaber. He demanded again, more vehemently, "What have you done?"

Anakin's eyes flew up to meet Obi-Wan's, and he replied in a dry, brittle voice, "I won't fight anymore. I can't touch the Force, either."
Obi-Wan scoffed, "Why should I believe you?" He took another hesitant step toward the silver cylinder, while pinning the younger man with a fierce stare, his grey-blue eyes darkening
like a gathering storm.
"Look around you, Obi-Wan!" Anakin retorted bitingly, an arm sweeping wide to gesture at the destruction, "Do you have any idea what happened? Do you think you would still be alive if it hadn't happened?" His eyes widened, and appeared to glaze over as his tone changed abruptly from anger to guilt. "How can anything still be alive after – after what I did," he spoke quietly, almost to himself. "I thought…that I killed it. For everyone – and for me. That was what I wanted…but…" he trailed off, lost in his thoughts.
Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow as foreboding skittered across his skin, raising the tiny hairs on his arms. Anakin was not making any sense at all, and the Jedi Master did not think that it was a ploy. Regardless, he had no reason to coddle a murderer, and he could not waste time while Anakin struggled to collect himself. An enemy thrown off-balance was far easier to defeat.

"Killed what?" Obi-Wan said firmly, each syllable as hard as if it had been chiseled in stone. "What are you talking about?"
The young man's scarlet-stained eyes slowly focused on Obi-Wan, and the Jedi finally named the emotion lingering there.
It was remorse.
"I thought that I killed the Force."
The absolute absurdity of that statement caused Obi-Wan to pause in mid-step and stare at his former Padawan in incredulity. "That's impossible. The Force exists through life, and life, in turn, makes it grow." It was one of the first lessons a Youngling learned at the Temple. "You know this, Anakin."
Anakin's pupils were dilated; like carved obsidian, reflecting the desolation of the soul as he asked hoarsely, "Then how do you explain this? How did I –" he swallowed hard, and squared his chin. "How did I do this?"
Obi-Wan studied him critically, not entirely certain to what Anakin was referring.
He diverted his attention to the debris and hunks of rock and metal surrounding them. Shock began to filter through his bloodstream as the fog and smoke became patchy, and images of crashed transports, shattered windows, and the overall destruction rippling outwards from their position became visible through the bleak mists.
And he looked down when his foot made contact with a clone trooper's helmet. The body was lying a few feet away…
Anakin watched his old friend examine the dead clone, and saw his face contort with surprise and horror, and he lowered his head shamefully.

Obi-Wan tore his gaze away from the clone's face and looked at the man whom he once thought of as a brother. "You did this?" he asked hesitantly. He was not certain that he wanted an answer.
And he saw the hilt of his lightsaber, glittering dully under the dust near the discarded helmet.
"I – wanted it to stop." Anakin said hollowly, head bowed, his tousled hair crusted with grey powder. "Everything that's happened is wrong. I'm wrong." As he spoke, Obi-Wan bent cautiously, his eyes trained on Anakin, and grasped the handle of his lightsaber. "I only wanted to save her. Is that wrong? Is that why we're not supposed to love?"
The smooth metal against his palm filled Obi-Wan with confidence, and he straightened, his stare resting on Anakin's bowed head as he held the weapon behind his thigh. "Love is not the problem, Anakin. It is the dangers of attachment and possession that are the problem. Do you think Padmé would agree with you that her life is worth more than the Jedi Order?"
He sighed heavily, an expulsion of dwelling on the past and the what-ifs circling him like a pack of kath hounds. He would not be tormented by visions of what might have been any longer. Anakin had made his choice, and there was no going back. And if the Force did return to him, he would be more of a danger than ever. Obi-Wan silently hoped that Padmé and the child had not been harmed, and that one day, they may be able to forgive him.

But he had to question his motives.
Was he prepared to deliver justice on a man who, though he had destroyed hundreds of lives, seemed sincerely repentant? Is that not the reason Obi-Wan had held back during their duel – in hopes that somehow the smallest flicker of light would rekindle in Anakin and release him from the dark side?
"The boy you trained, gone he is. Consumed by Darth Vader."
Obi-Wan saw the truth in Yoda's words before they had parted on their respective missions, but now that truth was colored in shades of grey, like the fog that persistently lingered.
Vader had not consumed Anakin. They were at war with one another within the same shell, and while they were not tied to the Force, the darkness was unable to cloud Anakin's mind.
Obi-Wan wanted to trust in that hope…but without the Force to guide him, he was unsure of the path that he was to take. The flame of the Jedi was extinguished from the galaxy – his friends, his teachers, his family – and he realized that his motivation was vengeance.
The Sith are the nemesis of the Jedi, and it has been that way for millennia.
He had the opportunity to guarantee that this generation of Sith would not become a threat to the new Jedi that would spring from the ashes of the Temple.

Before he was aware of it, Obi-Wan felt the thrum of an activated lightsaber in his hand, and the blue-white bar of energy shone like a beacon in the colorless atmosphere. Anakin's gaze rose, and he looked at his old Master with saddened acceptance. "I knew that you came here to kill me. I knew that the moment I realized you were still alive." He started to walk forward, and Obi-Wan brought his lightsaber to bear defensively, anticipating an attack.
Anakin halted, the indigo glow lighting his eyes, and the corner of his mouth barely lifted. "I told you – I won't fight anymore." He spread his arms wide, palms upward in surrender.
"I know that I deserve to die."

The air chilled, and the wind stirred the dust that had settled as the distant rumble of thunder rattled the loose stones on the veranda. Obi-Wan could do nothing but watch as Anakin came before him and knelt, yielding to the Jedi Master. The irony was not lost on Anakin - and as cold drops of rain began to spatter the dirt on his skin, he reflected on that black night, when he had sworn allegiance to Darth Sidious. He had knelt before him as well, begging for Padmé's life.
Now he knelt before the last Jedi, offering his own life in penance for his crimes.
Droplets landed on the bright blade, hissing and smoking. Obi-Wan's hair was plastered to his forehead, no longer a nondescript grey but the sandy-blonde that Anakin remembered. His friend's expression was unreadable, and as hard as durasteel plating.
The blade twitched slightly, and Anakin whispered, keeping his gaze locked on Obi-Wan's, "I'm sorry."
He waited for the blow the strike, understanding that he may never see Padmé again, or witness the birth of their twins, yet knowing that he must atone for his actions.
But Obi-Wan still hesitated, hovering over him, rainwater flowing from his neatly trimmed beard.
A shadow moved within the dwindling mists, and Anakin's eyes shifted to follow.
Obi-Wan, alert to the slightest change in the young man's countenance, noticed the motion and turned aside.

As if she had coalesced from the rain, Padmé stood before them, the water flowing through her dark hair and the folds of her blue-grey gown. Her eyes were as fathomless as the sea, and the rain swept across her silken skin, shimmering like the mountain lakes of Naboo.
Anakin's stare latched onto her as if she were an anchor in the fiercest storm – but he felt quivers of dread along his spine. The vision he had received in hyperspace was playing out before him, and he did not think that he would survive if he had to endure her rejection of him again. He tentatively came to his feet, and Obi-Wan glanced sharply at him, surprised. They were standing only a few feet apart – these brothers who had been unbeatable, and at one time would have gladly laid down their lives for one another.
The rain was cleansing their bodies of the dust; the smell of smoke and death was washed away by the clean scent.
Anakin's golden locks clung wetly to his skull, and his eyes were full of rain, the irises glistening a pale blue as the red stain evaporated like the fog. Lightning flashed overhead, throwing Padmé's delicate features into sharp relief as she watched him, her wounded arm resting on the curve of her stomach.

Shame pierced his core, leaving a sour taste in his mouth as Anakin met his wife's clear gaze. He forced himself to hold her stare, even though he felt naked and distraught, exposed to the radiance contained within Padmé's velvety orbs. He had always been an open book to her; she had a gift for seeing others as they truly are – an admirable quality for a politician.
And he had no reason or desire to hide his feelings from the woman he loved – he spent too much of his life keeping to the shadows. He abandoned his emotional shields whenever they were alone together in an effort to keep the taint of secrecy from the purity of their love.
Until recently.
Humiliation stung his eyelids as he tried to glimpse her emotions in her face…but it was as blank as a porcelain mask. Anakin had often used the Force to brush against Padmé's signature to interpret her mood, but now that option was closed to him. He would never admit that she knew him better than he knew her – his pride was injured enough by the Jedi Council and Obi-Wan. She had honed her unique talent through years of public service, and like a finely-tuned instrument, Padmé read into Anakin's every gesture, each subtle movement, and the shifting jewel tones in his eyes.

He relied on the Force for everything, even something as trivial as picking up on his wife's feelings, when he should have devoted himself to observing her with his more commonplace perceptions.
But their clandestine meetings became fewer and far between, and Anakin was so ravenous for her love and attention that he focused only on what she did for him – and not on the amazing, beautiful person that had stolen his heart and never released it.
And now she stood before him, her dark eyes nebulous as shards of quartz, the rain-soaked fabric of her gown molding to the swell of their children.

He wanted to tell her that he was sorry, that the guilt was eating him alive. He wanted to say that he loved her more than anything, and that he would do whatever she asked. He wanted to beg for forgiveness, because hers was the only one that really mattered.
But he could not move. The cool, glittering sheets of water kept him rooted to the ground, as did his terror of what would happen if he approached her. All he was capable of was gazing deeply into her endless eyes and losing himself once more in their depths, hoping fervently that she would be able to see what he did not have the courage to voice.

Padmé's face shimmered like sun-drenched ripples on a pond, and she looked at him with the expression that Anakin carried in his heart wherever he went: her skin was luminous as if lit from inside, her lips curved gently in a contented smile, and her eyes sparkled with a love that would transcend time and space. And she opened her arms.
He had committed unspeakable atrocities.
He had betrayed his comrades, his teachers.
He had pledged himself to the enemy.
He had threatened to destroy everything he wanted to protect.
She forgave him. She still loved him.

The last weak thread of Anakin's restraint snapped as his vision was transformed into a watercolor wash of blue and grey, his angel welcoming him back to the world he thought he would be parted from forever. A dry sob tore itself from his throat as he staggered towards her, and the vastness of the feelings and memories drowning his mind drove him to his knees. He crumpled on the broken stone, curled in a tight ball, trembling violently.
Padmé rushed forward and knelt beside him, gathering him in her arms.
Anakin's shoulders heaved with each wrenching sob, and he clung to her, tucking his long body to fit in her embrace. He pushed his face into her collarbone, the dark curtain of her hair falling across him as she held him close. Tears for the dead, the betrayed, the lost, and the forgiven spilled without cease, the saltiness mingling with the sweet rainwater cascading from the sky.

Obi-Wan glanced aside, a forgotten witness to an intimate reconciliation, yet he found his gaze drawn irresistibly back to the huddled couple, twined together in the rain. Anakin's sobs swelled into a lump in Obi-Wan's throat, and he felt a trickle of warmth seep from his eyes as Padmé silently consoled her husband, a hand softly stroking his wet hair. Obi-Wan became aware that a shaft of blue light was still clutched in his hand, the familiar hum obscured by the cadence of the storm.
He stared at the blade until it left a streak of white on his vision, and the Jedi Master understood that the universe had once again taken an unexpected turn.
And he made his decision.
He looked over at the man he had been prepared to kill…and saw a broken-hearted young man, devastated by his sins and weeping in gratitude for the grace bestowed upon him by the dark-haired angel cradling him in her arms.
His thumb slid sideways, and the lightsaber was extinguished, swallowed into the hilt.

The only sound was the steady rhythm of the rain.