Chapter 12 – Tumult

Author's Note: This is the end of the third arc, and if all goes as planned, there should only be two arcs (eight chapter) left. ^-^

WARNING: Self-harm thoughts, suicidal thoughts/feelings, major disassociation, and general darkness!

~ Amina Gila

It's evening by the time that Ahsoka steps into Padme's apartment along with Anakin. He had hailed a speeder to drop them off, and he hasn't said the word since they left the Temple; he's hardly even looked at her, seeming distant, absent even. For a long moment, Anakin just stands there, blinking, as if just realizing where they are before he gestures towards the couch vaguely, opening his mouth and closing it again, shaking his head and shuffling away deeper into the apartment.

There's a familiarity to his movements, not that Ahsoka is surprised, because it's not a secret that Anakin and Padme are friends.

Padme steps into the room, and Anakin pauses, glancing towards her before stepping around her and disappearing down the hallway. She watches him go, eyes filled with concern before she approaches Ahsoka. "What happened?" she asks, sounding worried.

Ahsoka chokes on air for a few seconds, squeezing her eyes closed. "I – we –" She exhales harshly, swallowing, looking down at the floor and wrapping her arms around herself. "They – the Council just… told us that we could come back, and they weren't sorry or anything, and we – we left. We left, Padme."

She doesn't want to impose on her friend, but Anakin wouldn't have brought them here if Padme minded, and Ahsoka doesn't have the energy or strength to think about it. Padme reaches for her, pulling her into a hug, one hand lightly touching her back lekku. Ahsoka clings to her, desperate for stability and strength. She feels lost, broken, adrift. She doesn't know where her place is in the galaxy anymore now that she – and Anakin – is no longer a Jedi.

And Anakin.

That's a whole other problem right there.

Ahsoka has no idea how she ought to feel about everything which she heard, the revelations which she learned. It is… strange to see her master, the man who she has always looked up to as strong and untouchable, so… broken down and depressed. It's strange to realize how badly he was suffering, and no one realized it. More than anything, she wants to help him, but she doesn't know how, not when she herself is struggling so much now.

Padme guides her to the couch, and she sits down, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, her feet on the edge of the cushion. Normally, Anakin would lightly chide her for it, but he's not here now, and Padme says nothing, sitting next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"What do you plan to do now?" the Senator hesitantly queries at last.

"I… don't know," Ahsoka admits. She's tired. She's so tired, and the sheer pain radiating from Anakin, despite his shielding, is only making it worse. "It – you don't mind that we're here, do you?" She feels obligated to ask, if only because she doesn't want to make her only friend outside the Jedi and clones upset with her.

"No, of course not," Padme answers immediately. "You are always welcome here. You can stay as long as you want. If – I can send Threepio to get the guest room ready for you. I should probably go… talk to Anakin."

"Okay," Ahsoka whispers, leaning into Padme's side. "What – where will Anakin stay?"

"I – I need to talk to him."

It's not an answer, but Ahsoka doesn't have the energy to think about it anymore, so she lets it go. She needs to deal with her own emotional conflict right now, anyway. More than anything else, she feels betrayed. When she needed the Jedi, the Council abandoned her, abandoned Anakin. That's the part that throws her off-balance most. Herself, she could possibly understand; she's only a Padawan. But Anakin? He's a hero. A Jedi Knight. A General. One of the best warriors that the Republic has. How could the Jedi have done that to him?

It doesn't make sense to her. None of this does, and she doesn't know how to keep on moving. What can she even do now that she's not a Jedi? What do most non-Jedi do in their lives? Ahsoka has always been taught to help people, but she doesn't know how to do that when she's not part of the Order anymore. She can't fight the Separatists. She can't… anything. It feels like there's nothing she can do, and she hates it.

One step at a time though, she supposes.

"Please… take care of him," Ahsoka murmurs to Padme, pulling herself out of her thoughts. "He is… not doing well."

"I will, I promise," she replies, squeezing Ahsoka before standing up and offering her a hand.

Padme stays with her, leading her to the guest bedroom and making sure that she's alright. "Threepio can get you something to eat, if you want something."

"Not tonight, Padme, but thank you. Thank you for everything." Ahsoka tries to put all the gratitude that she feels into the words, though she doesn't know how well she succeeded.

"Of course," the Senator murmurs, her smile soft but sad before she leaves the room.

**w**

As soon as Anakin and Ahsoka arrived at Padme's apartment, he immediately went to her bedroom – their bedroom now. For a long few seconds, or maybe even minutes, he stands there, almost feeling uncertain before he sinks down onto the floor, staring blankly ahead of him. His heart is pounding a little too fast, but it all feels very distant to him. It doesn't feel… real. It feels like he's – like he's not real.

It's a sensation that he's familiar with, and he hates it – or at least he hates it when he's not feeling so numb and empty. He feels disconnected from his body, and even the Force feels hazy, as if he's reaching for it through transparisteel.

The wall behind him is cool, and he tilts his head back against it, aimlessly tracing the patterns on the ceiling and wondering. Wondering why he left, why his life had to come to this. Wondering if it might be easier for everyone if he just… ended it all. He doesn't know how to deal with this, how to face this, any of this, and it just – it doesn't seem worth it anyway. What would the point be?

Even if he felt like he belonged in his own body, he would still not be a Jedi. He would still not have a purpose in life. He would still be a failure. He would still have abandoned his men, abandoned Obi-Wan. He would still have killed the one person he thought he could trust with everything. Oh, and he can't forget that Palpatine was a Sith Lord, too, but he – he misses him. Force, he misses him, and he doesn't even know why.

Death would be a reprieve from it all. Death would be freedom.

And Anakin Skywalker very much wants to feel free.

He doesn't like feeling so burdened and trapped by his emotions and feelings, by the Code, by the Jedi, by the Republic. By – by everything. It's smothering him, suffocating him. Slowly. Bit by bit. Maybe one day he'll wake up to discover that he's lost every part of himself to something or someone else. It – he –

He hates this.

"I only wish you would talk to me."

"I have nothing to say, Master, nothing at all."

And really, what else could he have said? For all that he wanted nothing more than to pour out his heart to Obi-Wan, he just… couldn't. He couldn't because he doesn't know how he can trust that Obi-Wan would understand. It's – all of these feelings are against the Jedi way. The Jedi would tell him to simply meditate and let go, but he can't. He can't; he's tried.

He tried and tried, and nothing helped. For days, weeks even, he could feel the heavy weight of Obi-Wan's body in his arms, too still, too limp. Dead to the world. It was fake. It was all fake, but he still felt it, and it crawled into his brain and sunk its claws in. With the nonstop thoughts circling in his mind about how Obi-Wan didn't trust him, it's no wonder that he was unable to bring himself to trust Obi-Wan with his heart.

Anakin wishes that he could cease to exist, and maybe if he wishes it hard enough, it will happen. If he had the energy, he might even try to find… something to go through with it. He doesn't know what since it doesn't have a lightsaber anymore. And, of course, if he did, he would be breaking his promise to Padme not to hurt himself and to talk to her if he felt like it.

(If he's hurting all the time anyway, does it matter? Wouldn't it be better for him to end it, to stop the pain that's swallowed him whole?)

It's worse now, because of… everything. Leaving the Order, leaving Obi-Wan broke something in him, and he doesn't know if he can ever fix it, if he even wants to. And Obi-Wan knows the truth. That's – it still doesn't seem real that he knows, that he didn't lecture Anakin for doing something so far removed from the Jedi way.

He thinks, really thinks, about what it might feel like if he were to plunge a knife into his chest and twist it. Too messy probably. He could slit his arm open, though, and let himself bleed out. It could work if he had a blade, but is that really what he wants? Is it?

Yes. (No.)

He doesn't know.

"-kin?" A quiet voice breaks into his spiraling thoughts, and he blinks, trying to refocus on the present instead of getting lost in his head, but it's hard. Why is it so hard? "- hear me?" He blinks again, mind sluggishly telling him that it's Padme. Normally, he would feel some sort of gratitude towards her for being here, for being willing to deal with him and all of his problems, but all he feels now is apathy.

Anakin blinks a few more times, registering that he's sitting on the floor – he can't remember when or how that happened – and focusing on Padme's face. He tries to say something, but his voice doesn't cooperate, so he merely nods, trying to tell her that he's here – sort of – and that he hears her.

"Ani, are you with me now?" Her voice is quiet, careful, and it feels like she's treating him like he's fragile and damaged, but he can't muster up anything other than a bone-deep exhaustion, so he dismisses it.

"I – I don't… maybe," he mutters, finally becoming slightly more aware of his surroundings. The bedroom is dim, whatever little bit of light they have coming in from the open window.

"Stay with me." He doesn't know if it's a request or an order, and he watches, numbly, as Padme glances down at a datapad lying on the carpet next to her leg, tapping something on it. She's kneeling in front of him, close enough that it feels like she's really there, but far enough away that they aren't touching and that he feels comfortable.

Padme tries getting him to respond, but his mind keeps slipping, and he doesn't want to face everything, so she eventually gives up, coaxing him to bed. She wraps him in her arms, and eventually, with the warmth of her body tucked against his side, Anakin drifts off. His night isn't restful by any means, though; he dreams of his mother, of her death, and then, she turns into Obi-Wan, and he can't breathe.

When the sun finally rises, Anakin is still tired, but he feels more alert, at least, which is something. Not much, but something.

"How do you feel?" Padme asks him cautiously after she's already gotten up and dressed for the next day while he still lays in bed.

"Don't want to move," he mumbles into a pillow, finally opening his eyes to blink up at her. Her fingers ghost across his face lightly, gently.

"How would you feel about talking to someone about this?" she questions. "I know that a professional might be able to help you. It's – there's nothing… wrong with needing a little bit of help sometimes."

"There's nothing wrong with me," he snaps, angry, and feeling awful a moment later for snapping at her when she's only trying to help. Yes, she might be wrong, but she still wants to help him when no one else has.

"Please?" Obi-Wan had said, almost pleading, touching his face with an affection that he's never freely showed or given in the past.

Anakin buries that memory back down into his subconscious mind. If he thinks about it, he'll want, and he cannot allow himself to indulge in such desires, not when they'll only destroy him in the end when he's left yearning like every time in the past. Obi-Wan is a Jedi. He will not betray his Code and way of life for Anakin, and nor should he, because Anakin is not worth that.

"No, there's not," Padme agrees, sitting on the edge of the bed, "But if you are hurting because of you experiences… that is normal. It is natural. I have seen the struggles of those who go through… difficult things. It isn't easy, and it's not weak to ask for help."

"I don't need help," he insists, turning a scowl onto the ceiling. "I don't. I will be fine."

She presses her lips together, perhaps out of frustration or perhaps to hold back a remark, he doesn't know. "You are struggling," she says at last, "And I don't know how to give you the help that you need."

"Just… stay with me," he offers a little shyly. "Your presence helps. It makes me feel better. Alive." He reaches towards her in the Force, letting the warmth of her wash over him, though she can't respond to him even if she recognizes his touch. She is radiating concern and affection, and he hates that he's worrying her, but she's here and she's real and she's alive, so she'll help him. Her mere presence will help.

Padme shakes her head, equal parts fond and exasperated. "You make it so hard to help you sometimes, Anakin," she murmurs, leaning down to kiss him, his lips barely ghosting over his before she stands straight again.

Normally, he might feel a little breathless from that, ready and eager for more, but now, it hardly even fazes him. He wants rest more than anything, wants to escape from the reality of the world that is left to him. He has nothing. Nothing.

Well, maybe that's not strictly true, but it certainly feels like it.

(There's an Obi-Wan shaped hole in his chest, and nothing and no one can fill it except his former master.)

He has Padme, and he has Ahsoka. But he can't help them right now when he can't even keep himself together, and he doesn't have the energy to move, much less get up. It's not like he has anything to do anyway. "I think – I think I want to sleep," he whispers, burrowing into the blankets.

Padme strokes hair back from his face. "Then sleep, Anakin. Ahsoka will be here, and so will Threepio, but I, unfortunately, need to go to the Senate. Comm me if you need anything."

"I will." He won't, he's certain, and he closes his eyes, listening to her footsteps leave the room, listening to her quietly speaking to Ahsoka in the hall.

He doesn't get up.

**w**

Obi-Wan is simmering with seething… something. It's an emotion that he can't name, an emotion that he is unwilling to name perhaps. Anakin left. He left the Order. He left, and he's not coming back. He stood outside the Temple, staring at the place where he last saw his former Padawan until night fell. It must have been hours, and finally, he tore himself away, going back into the Temple towards the living quarters.

Except he doesn't go to his own bedroom; he goes to Anakin's. It still feels like Anakin so strongly that he aches from the sensation. His Padawan's emotions and Force signature have been branded into the wall, and Obi-Wan picks his way across the floor and through the controlled chaos. All of it was left as if it's inhabitant will be back at any moment, and it hurts to see it, because Anakin will never be back.

Not to here.

Ideally, Obi-Wan knows that he ought to pack up Anakin's belongings and send them to Senator Amidala's apartment where Anakin – and Ahsoka – has undoubtedly gone, but he can't bring himself to do that. Doing that would feel like cutting Anakin out of his life for good, and he can't – he can't –

He can't accept just yet that this is permanent.

A part of him stupidly feels as if this is no more than a nightmare, something that will pass by briefly, and that at any moment, Anakin will show up and laugh at him for thinking that he could ever really leave.

It – Anakin leaving the Order, (leaving him) – was something Obi-Wan had accepted as a possibility ever since he realized that Anakin and Padme had a thing going on, which was shortly after Anakin's Knighting. He had suspected beforehand, but he had never gotten any real confirmation until he saw them at the Temple. Perhaps it was selfish of him to arrange for Anakin to get a Padawan when he so clearly desired to be elsewhere, but he doesn't regret it.

He can't, not when it meant putting off… this.

Force, how would he ever have survived it?

It's only been a handful of hours, and he's already breaking apart. It's very undignified for a Jedi Master, much less one on the Council, but Obi-Wan can't bring himself to care. He steps further into the room, reaching out, fingers lightly ghosting over the surfaces as if touching these things so imbued with Anakin's presence will even begin to soothe the gaping wound in his heart.

He only didn't leave with Anakin because he has duties the Republic. He cannot abandon the Republic and the war effort in these critical moments, and if not for that, he might have left if only to spite the Council. His anger at them is simmering, and perhaps it's not justified, but they still made the choice to cast out Anakin and Ahsoka without allowing a proper investigation. Though Anakin would have faced some sort of penalty for breaking into a Republic military prison in such a manner, it would not have resulted in him leaving the Order.

It's wrong. Anakin is a Jedi. He belongs in the Order. He shouldn't have left. He shouldn't have had to leave.

And here Obi-Wan is, desperately clinging to whatever is left of Anakin that he can find. He doesn't think he's ever been properly grateful for the things Anakin has done for him, for the way that Anakin always inevitably comes to his rescue when he needs it. What will happen now that he no longer can rely on Anakin to come for him? It was wrong for him to rely so much on Anakin's help, but he did, and now, it feels as if a part of him as been abruptly wrenched away.

He only doesn't give into his emotions because they are far too deep and cutting.

(He wants to scream or rage or cry, or something to get rid of the smothering pressure.)

Slowly, Obi-Wan sits on the edge of Anakin's bed, brushing his hand over a stray robe which Anakin left crumpled on the end of his bed. Almost automatically, he picks it up and folds it properly, half expecting Anakin to come through the door and be annoyed at him for being here in his bedroom uninvited.

Anakin doesn't come.

Of course, he doesn't come, and each passing minute without him is like a dagger to his heart. He wishes he could have apologized to Anakin before he left, told him how much he regrets that he hadn't been able to do anything to change the Council's mind. A couple hours. They could have waited a couple hours, and they might have known the truth, and then, none of this would have happened.

He's angry, so angry, and he doesn't know who he's angrier at. Anakin, himself, or the Jedi.

He wants answers. He wants to know what has been going on with Anakin, how he got to the state he did, what happened. And now, Obi-Wan may never get those answers. He'll never get the chance to talk to Anakin, to spend time with him and hope that he can coax the truth out of him. He wants to know, and he wants to help however he can, but that's not his responsibility anymore, is it?

(It is. Of course, it is. It always will be. Anakin might not be his Padawan anymore, but he's still – he's still… his.)

It doesn't – he needs to know, though. He needs to be sure that Anakin is alright, that he'll be okay, that he'll – that he'll be alive. Seeing how deep Anakin's depression has spiraled, Obi-Wan is more than a little terrified that he'll – that he'll –

It's not a thought he can even bring himself to finish; the implications are too terrifying, and he can't let himself think about it or he'll surely do something rash.

Obi-Wan has not felt this off-balanced in a long time, and his anger, his fear, they feel like living things, cold and burning and devouring. The world has fallen out from under him, and he has no idea how to keep on moving. He doesn't know if he even can. Anakin's depression, he can understand – he feels it, too, now. Anakin's pain which went so far that he hurt himself? Not so much. He doesn't want to feel pain. He wants to… inflict it. Does that make him a bad Jedi?

He wants to lash out, violent and uncontrolled, burning the world around him to ash, and it's all so unlike him that he's scared. He's scared of these feelings, of where they might take him if he doesn't find his center.

(What center? Anakin was his center, the center of his world and his everything. The star he has orbited around for so long that he can't imagine another life. Without Anakin, he's lost, drifting, and he doesn't know how to handle these feelings. Not at all. Not when he can't hide them.)

When Obi-Wan finally leaves Anakin's bedroom hours – it can't have been days, right? – later, no one will know if he takes one of Anakin's robes with him, the only thing he really has left of his once Padawan.

It is… enough.

It will have to be enough.

(It will never be enough. He needs more. Moremoremore. He needs everything.)

**w**

Anakin doesn't get up the first day. He wouldn't have gotten up the second day, either, if Ahsoka hadn't practically dragged him out to the living room, so they could spend time together. The second day is also when he and Padme tell Ahsoka about their marriage. She's mind-blown, and a little hurt by it, especially since Anakin was married when he was a Jedi, so he had broken the Code. But she's still very understanding of it, and she's supportive of them once she gets used to it. That day was also the day when Padme explained to Ahsoka that since she's legally still a minor, Padme had filed court papers to get custody meaning that Ahsoka is legally Anakin and Padme's daughter.

He thinks he should be happier about that than he is.

The third day is much like the second day, except that Ahsoka is beginning to visibly become restless from staying in the apartment all day. She's still struggling, and she wants to go out to distract herself, but Anakin doesn't have the energy to accompany her. He still feels like a horrible parent and brother and friend when he sends her out on her own on the fourth day with only one of Padme's handmaids for company.

At the end of the first week, Padme sits down with him to talk, actually talk. She tells him again that she thinks he should consider some sort of professional help since she hates seeing him so depressed. And he maintains that he won't help. There's nothing wrong with him. He's not – he can't be fixed like a droid can be.

Anakin suspects that the only reason Padme doesn't try anything more persuasive to convince him to agree is because she's worried about pushing him too far or hurting him further.

So what if he uses that to his advantage, refusing to "get help" for something that no one can help him with? This is something that he has to work through on his own, and it will get easier with time. It will. It did before, before the whole bombing debacle, and there's no reason to think that he won't get used to this, as well, and begin to feel better again.

Right?

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