Part 4

Dirt. Grime. Mud splattered, blood splattered. Filth. Blemishes. Scars. Open wounds. Wounds of the body, wounds of the mind, wounds of the heart, and wounds of the soul. What good is a healed body if the mind and soul and heart still have open wounds? How can a person function in such conditions? Better a wounded body than a wounded soul.

Such a person who is wounded mind, heart, and soul falls deep into an abyss. Fear, irritability, depression, anger, confusion, hate, rage sets in, buries itself deep, grows in a messy tangle.

How can the fallen be saved, those who have done evil? How can those lost in the darkness be saved? Who would save those who have done evil and are no longer innocent?

Foggy blue eyes gaze up at a white washed ceiling, the cot creaks underneath him as he shifts underneath a thin white sheet. Looking around he realizes he is no longer aboard the ship but in some kind of medical center. An icy cold knot forms inside him, fear for his wife and unborn children.

Leaving the room, clad in a hospital gown, he follows Padme's life Force signature, which grows fainter with every passing minute. He enters an unused observation room and looks into an operation room. He senses Obi-Wan, Yoda, and Bail Organa in an observation room on the opposite side of the operating room and enhancing his hearing with the Force, he hears the beginning of a report.

"Medically, she is completely healthy. For reasons we can't explain, we are losing her." She's exhausted and stressed, that can't be medically healthy! Anakin thought in response.

"She's dying?"

"We don't know why. She has lost the will to live. We need to operate quickly if we are to save the babies." Stupid droids, who programmed you?! Lost the will to live indeed! She is suffering from exhaustion and emotional stress you bucket of bolts!

"Babies??!!" Yes, twins.

"She's carrying twins."

"Save them, we must. They are our last hope." Last hope for what?

Anakin stopped listening then and ran his hands through his messy blonde hair. He looked down at Padme, his beautiful wife, his angel, in the operating room, lying on a cot with medical droids around her.

Distress. So much distress. The war, the Senate, the destruction of democracy, rise of a dictatorship, loss of liberty, the death of Jedi, hiding a pregnancy, threat of discovery, a husband in war, a husband falling and entering into darkness, betrayal, heartache, pain, so much pain.

Anakin pressed his forehead against the cool window and choked on a sob. He had caused so much pain, had added to her burden. "Please…please don't let her die." His legs give out from under him and he crumbles to the floor. He can hear voices from within the operating room.

"Don't give up, Padme." Listen to Obi-Wan, Padme, listen to him.

"It's a boy." My son.

"Luke . . ."

"... and a girl." My daughter.

". . . Leia."

"You have twins, Padme. They need you . . . hang on." Please Padme, hold on. Please. Listen to him.

"I can't . . ." Yes you can!

"Save your energy." Listen! Please!

"Obi-Wan . . . there . . . is good in him. I know there is ... still . . ."

A strangled cry escapes Anakin's throat as he senses Padme's presence fade away. "No, Padme!" He ran from the observation room and burst into operating room. Only one being in the room matters, everything else falls to the background, even the wail of one of the twins.

No breath, no movement of the chest, no heartbeat. Skin growing cold, clammy to the touch. Face pale like the white gown she wore. Lifeless. Gone.

Tears run down already red and puffy eyes, landing on the still body. "Please, Padme, you have to come back. I need you. The twins need you." Anakin buried his face in her chest.

Gone. No more. Now only a shell. Death. Another death by his actions. Another innocent lost. Another failure to add to his list. Failures on so many levels to many to count, to many to list.

A gentle hand touches his shoulder, but Anakin jerks his shoulder away from the touch. A newborn's wail pierces through the sobs, but Anakin ignores it. Anakin lays a gentle kiss on Padme's lips and then walks away, totally oblivious to everything else around him, as if he were in a trance.

Somehow he made it back to the room he had woken up in and he climbs onto the cot, blankly staring up at the ceiling. How long he was like this he did not know, nor did he even care. Why should he care? It was pointless.

The door slid open and the sound of footsteps approached, slowly, cautiously. "Anakin?"

Anakin did not move a muscle, his eyes remaining fixed on the ceiling. Lost in his despair, in his guilt, in his nightmare, in his revulsion.

"Anakin." A pause and the footsteps stopped. The edge of the cot bent as the person sat down. "I'm sorry." A long pause and then, "I know that saying sorry doesn't make everything better but – "

"No, it doesn't." Anakin's voice cracked and he swallowed hard, his gaze remaining fixed on the ceiling.

"Let us help you. Your children need you."

"No." Anakin closed his eyes. "No they don't. They need to be hidden separately, away from the Emperor. I would only be a danger to them, I can't take care of them."

A hand rested upon Anakin's shoulder. "Is that really what you want?"

Haunting images flood his mind, he could smell burning flesh, hear the screams of the dying, feel the pain in the Force. The faces of those he slaughtered drifted by in his mind's eye, eyes wide open in horror, eyes that held shock, disbelief, confusion. His stomach soured, a burning sensation crept up his throat.

Death, so much death. It was wasteful, useless, without logic. Even before the slaughter, there was so much wasteful death. Wasted in fighting for the wrong side, wasted in allying with an enemy of the republic. Deceived, taken advantage of, tricked into helping destroy the republic, destroy democracy.

Death was barred from him, only taking away those he loved. Why? Why this torture? Where could he turn to save those who remain? To whom could he turn? Tears leaked from his eyes, salty tears. A gentle finger brushed them away.