Chapter Twelve
The Burdens That We Bear

I am not alone.
It was the one and only thought that pumped blood through his veins, urging his body to move faster and push beyond the stabs of pain in his leg and the sharp ache in his side. Obi-Wan felt his spirit lighten with each step closer to the hangar bay, and cheerfully recalled the instant he realized that his life would not be the sole monument to the desecrated Jedi Order.
Staring at the Port Control viewscreen, the Jedi Master had known right away that the newly arrived vessel was not an Imperial Star Destroyer. Instead of the easily recognized triangular shape, their "visitor" was a blockade-runner of Corellian design – a diplomatic cruiser. And then the ship's ID flashed upon the screen. Obi-Wan's brow had wrinkled in confusion. Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan – in the outskirts of the Rim worlds? Before he could get much farther in his contemplations, another Force presence brushed against his psyche. Like the swell of the tide as it breaks across the shore, this presence was at once familiar and foreign, due to Obi-Wan's damaged perceptions. He had tried to withdraw, as trust was now an unknown emotion in this blackened universe – when the slightest flash of insight gave him pause. In his mind's eye, he saw an unfathomably deep green gaze staring at him from across the stars, and felt a burst of surprised delight emanating from a mind as ancient as it was wise.

With a fresh surge of energy, Obi-Wan rounded a corner – narrowly avoiding a passing med droid – and skidded to a halt before the hangar bay control room's main viewport. As he watched with increasing joy, the Tantive IV floated through the hangar doors and settled on the floor, jets of air erupting from its underbelly. Once he was certain that the hangar bay atmosphere was pressurized with breathable air, Obi-Wan quickly entered the turbolift, slapping the control panel to take him down to the main floor.
He slipped between the turbolift doors as soon as they opened, loping towards the ship with an awkward gait because of his cast, but he no longer noticed the injury. The boarding ramp hissed open, lowering to the bay's metallic floor, and Obi-Wan glimpsed a diminutive figure standing at the threshold.
Relief flooded his entire being, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude to the Force for protecting the eldest of the Jedi caused
Obi-Wan to fall to his knees. All that he had experienced since the birth of Anakin's children had taught his dying heart to feel again in the aftermath of the slaughter at the Jedi Temple. And now his heart felt too much at one time.
In the past, he would have used his training to hold back the torrent of emotions and remain centered in the present moment. But now, he let the torrent wash over him, making him feel more alive than he had been for the last three years.

The hunched figure slowly descended the ramp, soft taps issuing from the gnarled wooden cane in his hand, and Obi-Wan looked up with blurred eyes as Master Yoda's wizened face peered into his own. The ancient Jedi's green eyes were unusually bright, and they gazed at one another in silence for some time – brothers in an Order that had been crushed…but not destroyed. Then, Yoda placed a clawed hand on the younger Master's shoulder and said softly, "Pleased I am to see you, young Obi-Wan."
"Master…" Obi-Wan swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, fighting to regain control of his wayward emotions. "I am –" he paused, searching for the right word, "–glad that you are here."
Yoda nodded, a quiet chuckle rumbling from his chest. "Knew I did, that here I am needed." Instantly, the old Master's countenance faded into pondering seriousness as he spoke, "Strange echoes have I felt in the Force. Unable to interpret them, I am.
But widespread are these ripples, and detect them, the Emperor will." Yoda's brow rose just slightly, and he gestured for Obi-Wan to stand. "Answers, you have for me?"
Obi-Wan released a long, deep sigh and pushed himself to his feet. "Follow me, Master. We have a lot to talk about."

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There was nothing worse than lying to oneself.
And yet Anakin had done it for nearly the whole of his life. Growing up as a reckless, bold child on Tatooine, he went through the motions of his daily chores and Watto's orders as if he chose to obey – rather than being forced into submission as a slave. As an apprentice in the stagnant, emotionless vacuum of the Jedi Temple, he lived as though nothing and no one could touch him – not the heartache of missing his mother nor the ceaseless whispers and stares of his peers. While maturing under Obi-Wan's tutelage as a Padawan, he tried to pretend that he was learning to be the stoic, passive Jedi that he was expected to become…but there had been moments – many moments – when he allowed his personality to contradict the mold that his education was constraining him to fill.
He could recall only one point in his life when all of the lies he told himself had fallen away…and that had been the heartbeat after Padmé had whispered that she loved him. Since then, the lies merely intensified.

He wore many masks as he wandered and fought throughout the galaxy. He was the great Jedi Knight that Obi-Wan had been proud to train. He was The Hero With No Fear that the citizens of the Republic revered and celebrated. He was the husband that strived with every fiber of his being to make Padmé happy and give her the love she so rightfully deserved. He had done all these things – lived all these lives – for so long and become so good at feigning that he was capable of everything expected of him…it was all too easy for him to lose sight of his internal darkness while basking in so much light. The light radiating from his angel, sending glitters of contentment and love across their bond as it fostered the glow of the spark in his chest. And the pure, innocent light that illuminated Luke and Leia's tiny faces and intuitive eyes, combined with their mother's luminous soul made him forget the bloodstains on his hands.

Now, as the name of the oldest, most powerful Jedi rang in his eardrums, the crushing weight of his sins thrust Anakin back into harsh reality. His knees threatened to buckle, so he braced both palms atop the console, lowering his head as the room spun dizzily before his eyes. The small holo of Administrator Tuun was calling his name, yet Anakin could form no reply. Voices called out all around him – shrieking, begging, shouting his name in horror and shock – and bodies fell before him like toppled trees, but he had not spared them a second glance – focusing instead on the shaft of blue-white light in his hand and the imprint of Padmé's agonized, tear-streaked face upon his mind from his nightmares.
There was a flurry of movement behind him, which Anakin barely noticed, and then a small, slim hand wrapped around his large, shaking one – and from the corner of his eye he saw wisps of brown curls brushing against a slender, white-clad waist. Padmé's Senatorial voice carried authoritatively in the small room as she replied, "Thank you for informing us of the situation, Administrator. Anakin and I will remain here with our children until Masters Yoda and Kenobi contact us."
She kept an unblinking gaze locked on the Administrator's projection as he bowed and faded from view, and then squeezed her husband's quivering hand. "Ani." Receiving no response, Padmé linked her other arm through his, pressing herself against him gently – and alarm sped up her pulse when she felt him shaking violently. "Ani, are you all right?"

Without warning, Anakin's large frame crumpled, bringing them both to the floor, for Padmé had not the strength to support his muscular weight even if she were not still weakened from the delivery. Her hip struck the hard floor jarringly, but the pain was fleeting as her focus was solely on her husband. "Anakin!" She cried out, their limbs a tangled jumble of white, "Anakin, what's wrong?"
He was slumped over like a rag doll, his chin nearly touching his chest, tremors wracking his strong body…and for an eye blink, Padmé was suddenly back on the ruined veranda, soaked with rain as the man she loved sobbed with all of the grief in the universe. "Anakin…" She scooted closer to him, coiling a slender arm around his broad shoulders so he could feel her beside him, and with her free hand she gently coaxed him to raise his head, cupping his cheek in her palm. The back of her throat prickled with sadness when she felt moisture under her fingertips.
Wide, cerulean orbs awash with tears locked onto her gaze, and a desperate, throaty voice Padmé barely recognized as Anakin's muttered bleakly, "I can't do this. I can't face them – I just can't." Shadows of what had transpired within the halls of the Jedi Temple still flashed across his vision, even as he willed himself to concentrate on Padmé's warm dark eyes. "I…I betrayed them. I betrayed them all, and I killed…" His gaze fell; he could not bear to look into his angel's eyes as he relived his sins. "I killed…their friends, their students, their family…" The Jedi had never been Anakin's family, although Obi-Wan and occasionally Padmé tried to convince him that they were. He thought of Obi-Wan as a brother, and some of the others could be considered comrades-in-arms, but the rest – they had been simply faces in the crowd. But each of those faces had been a life – a soul, full of hopes and dreams and the promise of a bright future – and he had treated their deaths as callously as a woodcutter felling trees, clearing a path through the forest because it was required of him. And the Younglings…

His eyes immediately sought out the tiny sparks of hope whose mere presence had revived Padmé's spirit and filled his battered heart with a love so pure and so vast he'd have never thought it possible, nestled safely in their blankets on the storage closet floor. If anyone ever tried to harm them… He shuddered at the memory of the unbridled rage and darkness that had coursed through his veins in the bunker on Mustafar. He was certain that black moment in the midst of red heat and chaotic flames would pale in comparison to what he would be capable of if anything happened to his angel or their little stars. And that wisp of thought terrified him more than anything else. Because he knew that it was still inside of him – it had to be, for evil never gives up its prey so easily.
He was…stained.
He had touched the dark side in its purest, most toxic form – he had immersed himself in it, expecting never to surface if it would avert the unbearable fate that his nightmares had pronounced for Padmé. Now his beautiful, precious angel was irreversibly tied to him – their souls bonded almost as one, sharing thoughts and emotions as freely as the air they breathed – and Anakin was horrified that whatever darkness might yet defile his soul would contaminate Padmé's fiercely burning light, using their link as a conduit.
An angel…sharing her soul with a fallen hero, a traitor, and a murderer.
That's what I am – a murderer.

Two slim hands gripped his face, turning his head until Padmé filled his vision, her brown eyes blazing with intense conviction. "No, Anakin," she said firmly, and Anakin abruptly realized that he must have spoken his last thought aloud. "No. You are not a murderer. You are not that man – not anymore, and I don't care what Obi-Wan, Yoda, or the rest of the galaxy says or thinks. I know you."
A droplet of saltwater sparkled on her eyelashes and splashed onto her cheek, and instinctively Anakin lifted a hand, brushing away the stray tear with his thumb. Padmé paused briefly, struggling with her emotions as the achingly tender and familiar gesture threatened to break her rigid self-control, and then she repeated, "I know you – better than anyone else, even Obi-Wan. And I know that you are different." She could see the doubt coloring the jewel-like facets in his blue irises. "I know," she insisted passionately and grabbed his right hand, pressing it to her bosom – right over her heart. "In here, I know that you are not the same. You are not a Sith."
Anakin swallowed hard, and tried to pull his hand away, but Padmé held it against her chest with surprising strength. "A Sith would have no regrets, no craving for forgiveness, and would not allow himself to feel remorse – even if he should. But you feel all these things, and that tells me what I already know: you are a different man."
Her expression shone with a quiet, intense inner light, and Anakin was drawn towards it helplessly, like a moth to a flame. He leaned over quickly, touching their foreheads together and murmured in a low, anxious voice, "Being a different man does not change the past. It cannot undo what I have done. I don't deserve their forgiveness, Padmé – how can I even ask for it?"
"Forgiveness is never 'deserved,' Ani, and it cannot be earned, either. It takes a great deal of courage to ask for forgiveness – but it takes a great deal more to show mercy."

He pulled back a little to meet her eyes, staring at her in amazement – something he experienced frequently around her. Her wisdom and discernment was truly a rare gift, and she never used it for her own benefit – only in the service and betterment of others.
Padmé watched some of the despondency ebb from his blue eyes, and she stroked his cheek gently, shaking her head with mild disbelief. "If Yoda cannot see how much you've changed, then he is not the wisest of the Jedi Masters," she announced in a feeble attempt at levity.
This wrung a small half-smile out of him, and then he looked around as if suddenly remembering where he was. His brow furrowed in confusion as he wondered why they were sitting on the floor, and then he glanced at his wife with concern. "You shouldn't be on the floor – you need to rest." He scrambled to his feet, and before Padmé could draw another breath he enfolded her in his arms, lifting her from the floor.
As much as she enjoyed being coddled by her husband, Padmé remarked pointedly as he carried her towards the bed, "I can walk, you know, Ani."
"I know." He flashed her a quick grin that didn't reach his eyes, and laid her carefully on the mattress. "But you're not supposed to move so much too quickly or it'll put too much strain on your body." Padmé smiled inwardly. She knew that he would be doing his research – her Ani was, if anything, an overachiever. "It takes time to heal, Padmé," he added, fluffing her pillows as she settled on the bed.

Padmé quirked an eyebrow. "This from the man that said he could do Form I lightsaber moves with cracked ribs and a broken collarbone." They shared a quiet laugh, although it was more for the purpose of consoling one another than for actual humor. One of the twins moaned, and Padmé sat up with a startled gasp. "Ani! I left them on the –"
"I know," he murmured soothingly, laying a finger over her lips, "I'll get them." Anakin headed over to the closet, bent down, and swept Luke into his arms. He stifled a chuckle when he saw how intently Padmé was watching him carry their son, but he couldn't fault her for worrying – it was just that she needn't have, because Anakin was more than determined to be the best father ever to Luke and Leia. But he was not about to give up an opportunity to tease her, so he stopped at her bedside and inquired mock-seriously, "Do I pass your inspection, Milady?"
She blinked, and opened her mouth to admonish him – but it snapped shut an instant later as she felt her face heat in embarrassment. Her eyes silently told him in no uncertain terms that he was going to get it, and he turned to put Luke in the crib so Padmé wouldn't see the smirk curving his lips. When his son was tucked in comfortably, Anakin reclaimed Leia from the floor and placed her alongside her brother, his large fingers working deftly to ensure that both infants were wrapped snugly in their blankets. His smile of parental delight melted from his expression as a grim notion entered his mind.

If Master Yoda and Obi-Wan did not or refused to see his repentance, what then would be done with him? More importantly, what would happen to his family? Jedi had been banished before; would they send him into the Unknown Regions?
I'd like to see them try, a shadowy voice whispered in the back of his skull – but it was swiftly silenced by an overwhelming sense of defeat. He was no Jedi – or a Sith, for that matter. The Force had abandoned him, or he had abandoned it to escape his fate – it made no difference. He could not challenge the eventual decree of the two remaining Jedi Masters even if he wanted to – he was an average citizen of the galaxy, now.
And if he was banished, he would almost certainly go alone.
He would live out the rest of his days without his angel…and would never see their little stars grow up and set the universe ablaze with their bright light. They would be Jedi – he had sensed it days ago, shortly after Padmé had told him of her pregnancy. What else would they become, with him as their father?
But…if he was banished and cut off from his one source of happiness…would Obi-Wan take them away from their mother? It had been the practice of the Order for millennia to separate Force Sensitive children from their families in order to avoid the trap of attachment. Would his old Master do that?
And if Padmé lost both him and their twins…

No. This voice was full of strength, and resounded from somewhere deep within his being. He would never allow that to happen.
He cared not what Yoda and Obi-Wan did to him – but he would not allow any mistreatment, any shred of unhappiness to befall his family.
With that resolute promise ringing within the caverns of his heart, Anakin slowly turned from the sleeping twins to face Padmé, who was regarding him with somber and compassionate dark eyes. "Do you think you can sleep?" she asked, although she could predict his answer. He shook his head, looking aside as he bit his lower lip. When he glanced back at her, she glimpsed that little blonde-haired boy that had both charmed and astonished her all those years ago, and she understood that he was feeling as lost as that little boy had, sitting in a strange ship's main hold without his mother – and had looked to her for reassurance.
Padmé's face softened, and she patted the empty spot next to her on the bed. "Stay with me?"
Anakin moved immediately, just waiting for someone to tell him what to do. He crawled under the covers, and she tucked herself into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. He tightened his embrace slightly – careful of her mending body yet wanting to make sure that she felt safe – and dropped a tender kiss on her brow. Warm breath tickled her ear, and he whispered, "Forever."

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Silence was a state of being that Obi-Wan was vastly unaccustomed to experiencing in recent times. He found it both peaceful and disconcerting – a contradiction that puzzled him to no end. Nevertheless, he quieted his thoughts by drawing from the immense reservoir of patience that had been quite useful during Anakin's apprenticeship, and simply waited. Watching the stars flicker amid the ebony expanse of deep space and the asteroids endlessly circling Polis Massa's gravity well outside of the conference room's numerous viewports, Obi-Wan became dimly aware that his throat felt dry. The lengthy monologue he had delivered to Master Yoda seemed to have released the buildup of tension in his soul; he must have spoken for over an hour, pausing only for breath or to reorder his emotions, and now he waited for the wisest being in the galaxy to give him the answers he craved. Or at least some of the answers.

Obi-Wan now knew that Palpatine had survived the battle with Yoda; he had suspected as much, given the haunting quality in the old Jedi's expression as he had listened to Obi-Wan's narrative. Yoda had not disclosed any detail of what had transpired between him and the Sith Lord, and he probably never would – but Obi-Wan had noticed the absence of Yoda's lightsaber on his belt, and there were other, smaller signs as well – visible to one who spent a considerable amount of time in the Jedi Master's presence. In fact, Yoda had said significantly little since his initial arrival on Polis Massa. He had absorbed Obi-Wan's words in complete silence, eyes blinking slowly at occasional intervals, his expression unchanging – and when the younger Master concluded, Yoda made a tiny noise in the back of his throat and then closed his eyes, settling further into his chair.
And that was how they had remained – without any concept of time – seeking guidance from the Force.
Obi-Wan desperately wanted to know if Anakin's…attack on the Force had affected Yoda in any way, but thus far the ancient Jedi Master had demonstrated a proficiency in the Force characteristic of the most powerful Force Sensitive in existence – second only to the Chosen One – who, as of this moment, was a dead spot within the Force.

Obi-Wan gave up on striving to concentrate on the view, shifting in his seat as little as possible to study Yoda's face. The dusky green, wrinkled face that had a place in his earliest memories was surprisingly smooth, but every so often the brow furrowed slightly, almost as if the old Master was having a conversation. Obi-Wan found it very interesting, and contented himself with the idea that if both he and Yoda had lived through the Emperor's betrayal – perhaps other Jedi were still alive, as well.
He wondered then why he no longer considered that atrocity to be Anakin's betrayal, too. Treachery was the way of the Sith; if the Council had been aware that the leader of the Republic was a Sith Lord, they would have expected something like this to occur. Maybe it was because his old friend was both the betrayed and the traitor.
"Why are you asking this of me?"
Anakin had felt betrayed by the Jedi Council for granting him a seat, and then denying him the rank of Master. The sting had only deepened when Obi-Wan relayed to him the assignment that the Council wanted him to undertake, off the record – spying on the Supreme Chancellor. An act, which Anakin had stated heatedly and truthfully, went directly against the Jedi Code. "No Jedi shall interfere with the affairs of government – be it local, regional, planetary or galactic." A rule that was open to subjective interpretation, but its meaning was irrefutable: the Jedi had no standing in the politics of government. Their duty was to the people, not their leaders.
But he had seen the accusation and the traces of frustration in Anakin's blue eyes as Obi-Wan tried to justify the actions of the Council when he himself did not believe that it was right.
"The Council is asking you."

They had expected far too much from him.
Could he actually fault Anakin for his anger against the Council's apparent hypocritical dealings with both him and the Senate as a whole? Could he rebuke the young man's inflated sense of pride when the entire Republic – including those on the Council – looked to him as the bringer of peace to a war-torn galaxy? Anakin had felt trapped – backed into a corner with no foreseeable means of escape. He would have taken any, any way out.
"You're going to need me on this one, Master."
He had turned to Obi-Wan first – using flippant, light-hearted banter to disguise his growing desperation. The Jedi Master had dismissed the faint impression he had sensed from his friend as Anakin's thirst for adventure, but then Anakin apologized for disappointing him with his attitude – a frequent apology, to be sure, but that time it had been so unmistakably sincere, like he was sorry for something that had not yet happened…
I should have seen it. I should have helped you, Anakin. Obi-Wan's gaze fell to the floor, his head lowering sadly. But I could not see beyond my own expectations for you. That was why you never told me about your marriage to Padmé. He did not regret his failure to confront Anakin about his supposedly dangerous attachment anymore. His only regret was that he had not proven trustworthy enough for Anakin – his brother in all but blood – to seek his aid.
And any trapped creature turns aggressive when it feels threatened.

No, the betrayal had not been Anakin's. It had been fostered by Palpatine, and implemented by Vader, his Sith apprentice – not Anakin. Obi-Wan had thought that Anakin Skywalker was dead, but he had been resurrected by Padmé's love and strengthened by the arrival of Luke and Leia.
A twinge of apprehension prickled Obi-Wan's spine.
Anakin was alive…but that did not mean that Vader was dead – nor could he be killed. The dark side is a part of everyone – appealing to base passions and the shadowy nature of selfishness. A Jedi is taught to resist such temptation; as to embrace it means disaster and a fall into the twisted version of what it means to be a Jedi. Obi-Wan knew that Anakin was more wary of the dark side now…but the mental and emotional barriers instilled in him during his training were either eroded or gone, and once he regained even the smallest measure of the Force – the darkness would take him.
But perhaps he was giving the dark side too much credit.
Anakin defined his life by the ones he loved – after all, he had agreed to become Palpatine's apprentice purely because he had thought the dark side held the secrets of life and death, and a way to keep his wife with him. He sold himself into slavery in order to save Padmé…and in the end, she was the one saving him.
The irony was commendable, to say the least.

Anakin's love for Padmé and their children was at once his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.
How the young man would be able to resolve the balance between those two extremes, only the Force knew. But Obi-Wan did know that he would gladly give his last breath to protect the Skywalker family.
It was an absurd notion, since not two days ago he had been prepared to kill Anakin – but now it was one of the few things in his life that made sense.
He raised his head, observing that Polis Massa's sun was visible in the rightmost viewport, as opposed to the center, where it had been when he and Yoda first entered the conference room.
Somewhat amazed by the amount of time that had passed, Obi-Wan moved his stiffened shoulders – and froze when he glimpsed Yoda's green eyes slowly open. "Master Kenobi," he said quietly, his thoughts indiscernible as his gaze remained fixed on the stars.
"Yes, Master?"
"Time it is, to send for Anakin. From him, answers do I need." He met Obi-Wan's stare, and each was suddenly and vividly reminded of the last conversation they had about the young man. Obi-Wan tried to see the faintest hint of what the elder Jedi Master was thinking, but Yoda's eyes were shuttered and his Force signature was carefully guarded – a precaution against the Emperor.
But Yoda had called Anakin by his name.
"I will send for him," Obi-Wan replied as he came to his feet. Striding into the Administrator's office, his back to Yoda, Obi-Wan allowed himself to feel the tiniest glimmer of optimism. He honestly had no idea how the ancient Jedi would react to Anakin, or what he might have in store – for Yoda was rarely predictable. But Yoda never wasted a word. He had deliberately used Anakin's name rather than his Sith title – surely that counted for something. Obi-Wan surmised that Yoda was reserving his final judgment until he spoke to Anakin face to face, and then he would either incriminate or redeem himself in the eyes of the remnants of the Jedi Order.

Administrator Tuun was just returning to his office when Obi-Wan approached and requested, "Administrator, would you please contact Anakin and have him join us in the conference room as soon as possible? We have some matters to discuss."
He said this in a mild, noncommittal tone – but Tuun had an affinity for the seriousness of their situation and responded immediately. "Of course, Master Kenobi. I'll contact him at once."
Obi-Wan nodded his thanks and returned to the conference room. Yoda was sitting in the exact same position, gazing intently at the view…and Obi-Wan was suddenly struck by the magnitude of what was about to occur. Anakin would be asked to recount his actions – and Yoda, and Obi-Wan himself would make a decision on how to proceed. It was a trial in every sense of the word.
Obi-Wan had done his best to describe the changes he had witnessed in Anakin's demeanor as well as his behavior towards Padmé and their children, and what he had sensed in the birthing room…but he had not mentioned his peculiar vision. He was not entirely certain he should mention it – just the memory of what he had seen and heard made his skin tingle and caused a chill to seep into his veins. Besides, he knew that it would not make a difference with whatever path the future took from this moment on.
That was up to Anakin.

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She always had a way of making him feel safe.
Padmé's slight, soft warmth rested comfortably against him, with one hand splayed on his chest as the other tenderly stroked the back of his neck. She shifted briefly, her head tucked securely under his chin, and Anakin tightened his embrace just noticeably, gently rubbing her arm with his palm. Her long, dark curls pooled around them atop the mattress, and he twirled one loose strand around his finger with deliberate care, watching the light catch traces of gold and auburn in the glossy spiral. And he could think of no better way to spend his time than simply enjoying Padmé's nearness.
Anakin knew that he should try and get some sleep – he was barely functioning on five or six hours' rest within a 60-hour time period, and the exhaustion would overcome him in due course. He was certain that his wife's goal was to lull his racing thoughts to a standstill and help him fall asleep; the way she wrapped her body around his and caressed his skin immediately soothed his tensed muscles, and he had to fight hard to stay awake. He wanted to cherish every second that he had with her and the twins.
Both of them were trying to pretend that they were not waiting for the galaxy to come crashing down on their heads, and while Anakin held his angel in his arms he began to believe that peace was more than just a vague inclination. He could accept the steadfast trust that Padmé placed in the man that she saw when she looked at him – and for a handful of heartbeats he almost saw himself as that man. Almost.

But the lie had lost its power, and the masks had all fallen away – exposing his true self to the universe, and to himself. It was the one aspect of the Trials that Obi-Wan was never entirely convinced that he had passed – the ability to face one's reflection without fear, and accept who one has become.
Hence, the reason for the lie to exist in the first place.
Because Anakin could not peer into his inner being and just…accept what he saw. It was easier and far more beneficial to display countless versions of Anakin Skywalker, and strive to be whoever was most needed, whenever he was needed. And that mindset had left him with no sense of identity at all. Instead of providing him with the mental grounding he had sought throughout the whole of his life, the lie had stripped him bare like a sapling in the dead of winter. There was nothing left to hide behind anymore.
At least he knew now who he wanted to become. He glimpsed that man within Padmé's velvety chestnut orbs each time she looked at him, and when he watched Luke and Leia's sweet expressions light up as he held them in his arms. He wished with every fiber of his being that he would have the opportunity to become that man after he paid the consequences for his actions.

Anakin cast aside thoughts of the impending confrontation with Yoda and Obi-Wan, and craned his neck to the side, attempting to see his wife's face. No matter how much he turned his head, all he could make out was a curly mass of dark hair that smelled faintly of the gardens saturating the grounds of the Lake Country villa. He pressed a light kiss on the crown of Padmé's head, and then his blue gaze slid sideways to the crib that butted up against their bed. Anakin had pushed the sleeping twins as close as possible, stating practically that it was easier on her to keep them nearby – but that was only part of the reason. He wanted to see their perfect, tiny faces, and have the freedom to reach out and touch their small bodies without leaving his angel's side. His eyelids slowly closed without his consent as he envisioned taking his family to Naboo. He could think of no better place to raise their children, for Naboo was filled with light and warmth and life – and Padmé was always happiest when she was amongst its lush flora and sparkling waters.
In his mind's eye, they were standing on the veranda, watching the stars come out…and the air was perfumed by thousands of blossoms while Padmé smiled up at him, Leia tugging on her hair as Luke's tiny fingers stretched towards the heavens…

A sharp, high-pitched beep jolted Anakin out of his short-lived rest, and his eyes snapped open as his body jerked in surprise.
Padmé pushed herself up on an elbow, searching his eyes, and Anakin found her expression completely unreadable, save for the faint echo of distress traveling between their bond. He brushed a fingertip along one smooth cheek and resolutely fell back into his place on the mattress, gently pulling Padmé down with him. She settled into her previous position, but he felt the tenseness in her slim frame as the noise trilled again. After a minute of silence, Administrator Tuun's voice issued from the console. "Jedi Skywalker?"
So, it was back to the formalities. "Yes?"
"Masters Yoda and Kenobi are waiting for you in the conference room."
Padmé buried her face into Anakin's chest, and he rubbed her back soothingly as he replied, "I'll be right there." He waited until the comm shut off with a barely audible click, and then enfolded his wife in his arms, cradling her against him. "I should go," he murmured into her hair, and her head bobbed slightly as she nodded in agreement. He reluctantly slipped from her embrace and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed beside the twins' crib. Anakin looked down at their slumbering forms, shoulders rising and falling with a deep sigh, and prepared to stand.
Two slender arms ensnared him with startling strength, and Anakin felt Padmé's lips against his ear as she whispered in a fierce, broken voice, "Stay."

He squeezed his eyes shut in agony, and she continued pleading, "Stay with me – with us. You don't have to see them. They have no authority over you. You're not a Jedi, anymore; you're not the Chosen One, The Hero With No Fear – you're just a man. You're just Anakin Skywalker, and you're my husband and Luke and Leia's father." Her words began to mingle with shuddering breaths and choked tears. "I won't let them take you away from me again… I…" Then she repeated the phrase he had uttered not two days ago.
"I can't lose you – not again. Not now, not ever…" Her tears moistened the collar of his shirt, and she pressed herself to him, holding his broad frame in place as she cried quietly into his shoulder.
Anakin finally had the answer that he had yearned for since the day Padmé had told him that she loved him.
She needed him.
She needed him as much as he needed her.
And it was all the motivation necessary for him to take the next step – to confront the horror of his past.
He twisted a little in her tight grasp, moving very slowly and carefully so she would not think that he was trying to escape, and surrounded her trembling body with his strong arms. She melted into the warm embrace that had only ever held her, and did not resist as Anakin lay down on the bed, still holding her close. Padmé hid her face in the thin fabric covering his toned, muscular chest, the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat bringing a small bit of comfort to her anxious mind. "Padmé," he murmured in that deep, loving voice she found impossible to ignore, and pulled away slightly, waiting for her to look at him.

With the quivering timidity of a frightened child, Padmé raised her head, tangled brown ringlets partially obscuring her expression as the loose strands clung to her damp cheeks. Gentle, calloused fingers tucked her tresses behind an ear, and she took a deep breath in an effort to halt the steady flow of tears before gazing into his sky-colored eyes.
Anakin felt his heart clench with misery as he studied his wife's face, arranged in an expression that should not exist on her beautiful, delicate features. Her ivory cheeks were blotched red from crying, and bore further evidence of tears by the sheen of moisture trailing from her eyes. Within her large, velvety brown orbs he saw the grief that she had managed to veil whenever they had parted during the war…but he also saw the warm undercurrent of love that permeated her stare every time she looked at him, and it made what he knew that he must do a little easier to bear.
Cupping her face between his palms, Anakin fought hard to drive back the old feelings of guilt and unworthiness when confronted by Padmé's sorrow, and gave her a feeble, lopsided smile. "You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?" He remarked cryptically, and the corner of Padmé's mouth barely lifted. He leaned into her, brushing feather-light kisses on her forehead, each eyelid, her soft cheeks, and her lips. After that quiet, tender moment, Anakin gazed deeply into her eyes, his thumbs caressing her cheeks as he spoke in a soft, deliberate tone, his bright blue stare wordlessly pleading with her to understand. "Padmé…you will never lose me. Never, I promise you. We are a part of each other, and that means that I will always come back to you – I will always be with you, just as you are always with me. But I can't run away from what I've done. I can't turn my back on all those lives that I helped destroy, and the justice that they deserve." Her skin paled, eyes widening in fear, and Anakin moved closer, declaring firmly, "Listen to me, Padmé: no matter what happens, I will come back to you. You, and I, and the twins – are going to be a family. And whatever I have to do to atone for my crimes…I will do it, so that we will all be together. I promise."

They stared at one another for a brief eternity – two souls that had become forever entwined by love and destiny and a power far beyond comprehension – and then soft, slender fingers reached up to touch Anakin's chiseled, unshaven jaw. Padmé blinked her large, dark eyes once, and murmured, "I believe you."
His face lit up, delighted as he always was whenever she announced her belief in him, and enveloped her in his arms, whispering into the soft skin over her collarbone, "Thank you." Padmé breathed in his familiar scent, telling herself that it would not be the last time, and as they slowly drew apart, he said quietly, "I'll say goodbye to the twins, and then I have to go." She swallowed hard, forcing back the burning sting of tears, and nodded. Anakin clambered to his feet, avoiding a glance at Padmé – because if he took that last look he might not have the willpower to resist her heart-wrenching entreaty to stay. Standing over the crib, he carefully lifted his son to his chest and kissed Luke's downy blonde head. He brushed the infant's cheek with his own, and said in the barest whisper into the tiny ear, "I'll be back soon. Look after your mother and sister for me, okay?" Anakin lowered Luke down into the blankets, and an instant later cradled Leia in his arms.
He rubbed their noses together gently, and kissed the top of her dark head. Repeating what he had done with her brother, Anakin whispered to Leia, "Help your mother not to worry. I'll be back before you know it." He replaced his daughter in the crib beside her twin, and watched them sleep for what few seconds he could spare, memorizing their small faces and drinking in every detail. A grin quirked his mouth as his eyes roamed over the cleft in Luke's chin, and the way Leia's eyelashes lay like glossy fans on her round cheeks – and at this moment, both newborns resembled Padmé, with their peaceful expressions and the hint of a smile that curved their rosebud lips.

Then he felt warmth against his back, and a pair of slim arms wrap around his waist. He sighed and closed his eyes as Padmé laid her cheek on his shoulder blade and softly appealed, "I'll go with you."
Vividly reminded of the first time she had spoken those words to him, Anakin nevertheless shook his head and replied, "That means more to me than I can say…but this is something I have to do alone."
"You're never alone."
Unable to withstand the temptation any longer, Anakin turned to face her, and she granted him that soft, brave smile, eyes shining with devotion, and tilted her chin upwards. With that silent invitation, Anakin bent down and swept her into a fierce, passionate embrace, and Padmé was dimly aware of her feet leaving the floor before the rest of the universe disappeared. All she knew was Anakin; the heat of his body, the feel of his golden hair twined around her fingers, the taste of his lips against hers…
He made himself pull away, setting her gently onto the floor, and watched her eyelids flutter open with reluctance, her breathing as rapid and labored as his own. Padmé fell into those ardent, incredibly blue eyes that burned into her with exquisite ecstasy as he affirmed in a deep, fervent voice, "I love you."
Her arms felt cold and inexplicably empty a heartbeat later, and Padmé blinked, glancing around the room as if in a daze, and saw his swift-moving shadow arc around the doorframe just before it slid closed. Awash in confusion and fear and hope – a mixture of contradicting emotions that she had not experienced since their last farewell – Padmé slumped to the ground in a cloud of white, her unruly curls hanging in a riotous mass around her shoulders. Staring blankly into nothingness, her heart lamented the loss of another illusion – one of her own making. It was the illusion that Anakin had at last shaken free of the destiny heaped upon him by the Jedi.
The illusion that her Ani could finally become just that – hers, and Luke's, and Leia's. The illusion that he would be nothing more than an ordinary man to the galaxy…and everything to her and their twins. And she felt its loss as an icy blade plunged through her breast.

A harsh, ragged inhalation of air – a desperate, vain attempt to control the inevitable – and Padmé clamped a hand over her mouth to silence the sobs that would surely awaken her slumbering stars. Chest heaving, tears spilled from beneath closed eyelids, tumbling down her cheeks and over her fingers to be absorbed by the fabric of her hospital gown. She stumbled to her feet, silently cursing her unbalanced hormones as she lay down on the bed, grabbing Anakin's pillow. Pressing her face into the pillow, the smell of him helped her stem the flow and mute her throaty cries, keeping the noise from disturbing the twins.
Padmé's sensible nature inwardly berated her emotions for displaying such a dramatic upheaval. She was supposed to be the strong one, the practical one, the one that thought with the head instead of the heart. She decided that she no longer cared about common sense. The man she loved more than she thought she could ever love anyone, the father of her children…could very well be on his death march, awaiting his sentence from those whom he had wronged. And for the second time in three days, Padmé Amidala Skywalker – former Queen, Senator, speaker for the Loyalist Committee, key member of the Delegation of Two Thousand, wife and mother…did not know what to do.
"You're never alone."
Her words – but as they reverberated in her mind, they were spoken in Anakin's husky, soothing voice.
Padmé could almost feel his warm breath on her ear, and dewdrops of tranquility slowly filtered through her raw nerves, repressing the asphyxiating grip of panic. She hugged Anakin's pillow tightly, vision blurring once more with salt water, and in her heart of hearts she begged him to come back to them.

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

Long-legged strides carried Anakin out of his family's presence and down the hallway as he repeatedly told himself not to look back, though the recurring ache in his bone marrow he suffered each time he left Padmé pained him with every step. He halted suddenly, bracing a palm on the wall as a wave of anguish ripped through him – anguish that he knew was not entirely his. Blue eyes widened in shock over the extent of her grief, and it was swiftly accompanied by a sense of dismay that was like dozens of razor-sharp blades flaying his heart.
It was all his fault.
It was because of him that she felt this way – that she had to hide from civilization, from the family she missed on Naboo, and that she had to even contemplate the loss of one of the three people that were keeping her from drowning in despair was tearing her apart.
Anakin felt beads of sweat blossoming on his brow, and his head whipped around, staring down the long hall towards one door that was indistinguishable from the rest. The desire to sprint forward, take them all in his arms and never be seen or heard from again ran strong within him, heating the blood in his veins as his heartbeat pulsed rapidly against his eardrums. He actually took a step forward, before the truth of their circumstances hit him like a splash of cold water.
If he did not at least try to earn the Jedi's forgiveness, he and his family would lose their most powerful ally. They would be forever on the run, looking over their shoulders, jumping at every shadow…was that the kind of life he wanted to give his angel and their little stars? And if he never truly came to terms with what he had done…what kind of legacy would he be leaving to his children?

Fatherhood was driving Anakin Skywalker to pursue responsibility and maturity in ways that the Jedi Order, even his marriage to Padmé, had not. And it was this newly developing facet of his character that urged him to continue on the path that he had chosen; although Padmé's sorrow bled determination out of him like an open wound, he understood that if what he hoped would happen between himself and Obi-Wan and Yoda actually took place – the sorrow she felt now would be a fleeting thing, like a passing thunderstorm on a bright summer's day.
So he spun on heel and resumed walking onward to his original destination, while sending a wisp of thought and comfort to his angel through their bond, waiting anxiously for its message to take effect.
Anakin released a brief sigh of relief when he felt Padmé's emotional instability level out – her worry for him did not diminish, but it was clear that his touch had alleviated the panic endangering her mind.
His right hand balled into a fist at his side. No matter what happened next, no matter what consequences he had to pay or amends he had to make – he would find a way back to Padmé and Luke and Leia.
They had come too far, persevered through too many obstacles and struggles to be defeated now.
In all of his time as a Jedi, he had never felt stronger or more centered than when he was with Padmé. She was everything that he could ever hope to be, and a life without her was a life not worth living.
The twins were as a part of his soul now as their mother; Anakin could see, even with the untrained eye, that Luke and Leia were bonding with Padmé – physically and within the Force. They recognized him, too, though he did not understand how. He would do anything for his children, his little miracles; they were a tangible symbol of the love he and Padmé shared – and if ones so pure and innocent could come from him, then perhaps there was some hope for absolution, after all.

His footsteps slowed as the door to the Administrator's office loomed at the far end of the hall, and the dense, chill fog of foreboding suffused his mind, shrouding his unflinching strength of will. Anakin raised a hand – and it froze a hairs' breadth from the door as trepidation momentarily overtook him. The last time he had entered this room, it had been with the flickering wish that his relationship with Obi-Wan could be mended – that it was not irreparable in the aftermath of so much death and destruction, wrought by his hands. But his old Master had insisted on taking the moral high ground, and Anakin was barely restraining his boiling temper when Obi-Wan had bellowed those callous remarks about Padmé…
What had happened next was a hazy blur to Anakin. He could only recall vague flashes – like holo-images stamped upon his memory. Looking down at a fallen Obi-Wan, blood trickling into his beard from the split in his lower lip that Anakin's fist had put there, the metal hilt of the Jedi Master's lightsaber groaning with protest as his cybernetic fingers tightened around the cylinder…and then suddenly he was on the floor, brawling with his old friend in a manner Obi-Wan would call "uncivilized" – but that did not stop him from jamming his elbow into Anakin's chin.
They had both lost control during that fiasco, and a shiver skittered down his spine when he remembered how invigorating it had felt to allow his anger to dictate his actions, to not hold back as he had when he was a Jedi and try to pretend that those emotions had no standing in his heart. Obi-Wan was right. If he had had the opportunity, Anakin would have grasped the searing power of the dark side without hesitation, wielding its blackness against the Jedi Master with vindictive fury.
Then he would have lost everything.

"I'm different now."
He had said that before the connection with Padmé had manifested, and in light of that event Anakin truly believed, as Padmé did, that he was different. He must find some way to prove to Yoda and Obi-Wan that he was changed – that he was not a corrupted Jedi Knight-turned-Sith Lord any longer. He must also convince them that he would never embrace the dark side again, when and if the Force returned to him. Anakin was uncertain as to how he would prevent himself from slipping backwards into "old habits" – but he felt that the key was his bond with Padmé and the love he possessed for her and their twins. He was beginning to understand that love and attachment were two very different concepts, and he wondered whether the Jedi Council had simply avoided either because one would most likely lead to the other…or because they were ignorant of both.
He mentally shook himself. Now was not the time for an internal debate on the policies of the Order, not when he was preparing to face two of the beings whom he had hurt the most. Anakin laid his palm on the door and it opened with a soft gust of air that ruffled the tousled strands of blond on his forehead. Crossing the threshold, he threaded his way through the vacant office soundlessly and paused at the entrance to the conference room. The door was closed.

A frightened voice in the back of his mind whispered that he could still walk away – but Anakin ignored its self-seeking request. Walking away from this confrontation would only offer a temporary peace, one that would rapidly degenerate into daily torture as reminders of his crimes hounded him ceaselessly, stabbing his conscience with painful precision. And he refused to let the shadows hanging over him have the slightest margin of influence on his Padmé, or Luke and Leia. He would not permit them to carry any blemish from his mistakes. Though blood thundered dully in his ears and his soul ached for the comfort and wholeness its mate could provide, Anakin knew that this battle was for him – and him alone. He was the one that had soiled his hands with the blood of countless Jedi; the one that had sealed the Separatist leaders in the bunker on Mustafar and carved their flesh with his lightsaber; the one that had thrown away every lesson, every measure of trust and brotherhood that Obi-Wan had given in a single, violent act of betrayal.
It was his burden to bear.
The immense weight of stolen lives and shattered vows would surely kill him sooner or later – only by asking for forgiveness could he hope for some relief. And the only ones who could do that were behind the door that stood in front of him with all of the opaque intimidation of a durasteel wall.

Anakin watched shaking fingertips brush the cool metal, and the conference room spread before him, illuminated by dim glow panels set into the ceiling and the faint, silvery light from the myriad of stars outside the viewports on every wall. Two figures, one large and one small, sat on the left side of an oblong table in the center of the room, facing the panorama of the asteroid belt. Unmoving and silent as statues, they did not seem to know that he was here. Anakin inhaled a deep, shuddering breath of the unusually cool atmosphere and took one step forward, the quiet footfall resounding like a drum in the stillness.
Large eyes the color of emerald leaves and orbs that mirrored a storm-tossed sea immediately swiveled to gaze at him, piercing the semi-darkness with a sharp clarity that made Anakin stumble to a halt like an animal scenting danger. Wordlessly commanding his numbed muscles to function, the young man that had changed the shape of the galaxy with one choice moved to stand before the last of the Jedi Masters – without knowing his fate, yet without fear of what might come – willingly handing over his life into the hands of those whose brethren he had slain, and clinging to the fragile thread of chance that he may be granted clemency…though it was undeserved.
And the passage of time knotted itself around this one instance, awaiting a conclusion that would not only affect a newborn family, but all time to come.