AN:

Cheire – Yeah exactly. Anakin has taken it upon himself to decide when justice is served, which is pretty much his main problem, always trying to play god. And yes good catch – the ring is left behind!

Disgal – Haha can we even count Miraj as self-defense? I love the "Oh Anakin!" Haha, like a disappointed mother :D

Angie – Yes in broad daylight haha! Good thing Sebulba conveniently lives behind these secluded hills :D Hopefully Anakin will learn what he's needed all along – restraint.

Guest – Another hive of scum and villainy haha yup. I understand that TCW is geared to a younger audience so Anakin has to appear as an older mentor as children are viewing the world through Ahsoka's eyes. But yeah Anakin for me needs that inner turmoil to fit the psychology of someone who'd turn to the dark side and match Greek mythic motifs, where his downfall is his own doing. Things like Mortis undermine the philosophy for me, given that using the light side of the force requires one to be healthy and stable because it's energy. We can talk about this in messages though so people don't have to scroll for long to get to the chapter :D

Don't worry guys. I'd say that last chapter was the darkest it gets. :D

Don't Fear The Reaper

At Ben's Diner, the group gathered to give Anakin and Padme a sweet send-off. Padme and Ahsoka were wedged in one side of a retro red booth with Dorme sitting across from them. After a few laughs burst out of them during a cocktail of topics, Dorme seized Padme's arm, when the boys' backs were turned. Anakin and Wald sat on stools at the counter, conversing with Obi-Wan.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Oh I think it's a terrible idea!" Padme's rich laughter bounced across the table. The other two were puzzled, their smiles questioning whether to emerge. Until Padme continued, "But over the last two years, every terrible idea I've had turned out to be the best. So... " Her voice trailed off, not so sure this time. She was not smiling now. There was a reason she left Coruscant in the first place.

Ever since she got here, it had been a journey of self-exploration. She has allowed herself to be more open than she'd ever been. And it had certainly paid off. Her whirling worries skidded to a halt when Anakin spun around on the bar stool and headed over to them. She had come here looking for him without knowing it. And she was bringing this joyous, carefree playfulness back with her.

"When I graduate, I'll come visit!" Ahsoka beamed.

"Not for long, though, right?" Anakin teased. Ahsoka gave him a playful nudge but he grabbed her arm and pulled her up for a warm, big brotherly embrace. It was then they heard the hanging bells chime, and everyone turned to find Kitster at the entrance. Something in the air shifted, as if touched by the awkward glances between him and Anakin. Kitster waved hello to the men at the bar first before making his way over. After greeting the girls, he faced Anakin.

"Heard you're leaving."

Everyone passed in front of him and Anakin, leaving them to it.

Kitster and Anakin took a stroll along the high street just outside the diner. Kit had a book tucked under his arm which he handed over to Anakin. A humble offering.

"I know you love the father of the Beat Generation, Jack Kerouac, so thought you'd like this."

Anakin's pace slowed as he looked down at the book cover. Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller. He stood completely still, not saying a word. The slightly parted lips and shimmering gaze said it all.

"Since you're about to head out onto the open road, you might as well be in the company of those who did it first." Kitster tapped the book's hard cover. "Another nonconformist who appeared to be a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants kinda guy but, really, who went through a lot and no one understood – or ever gave him credit because on the surface, he was another neurotic egoist like you."

Anakin finally looked up, his bottom lip finding the top. His eyes gleamed in awe. The joke at his expense was innocent; Anakin was far more occupied with the thoughtfulness of the gift. "Thanks."

After what seemed like years of skirting around the fringes of their fluctuating friendship, they quickly remembered why they were so close in the past. Kitster knew a part of Anakin he hadn't shared with many. He knew of his childhood woes, the heart's dark tunnels one would rather forget – and it only made sense to avoid being around the person who knows where and why your demons lurk.

Obi-Wan joined Anakin outside when he spotted Kitster leaving. Anakin had one hand in his pocket and the other holding the novel at his side. His eyes were distant, introspective.

"Are you alright?" Obi-Wan asked but all he got was a lazy nod in response. He folded his arms, perceptively. He understood what abstractions really lied beneath that nod. Anakin had his feet turned away from him, maintaining some idea of detachment. He wasn't ready to face what he was really leaving behind. "You don't want to go..." Obi-Wan could read him well.

"No – I don't know... " Anakin groaned inwardly. "Is there a choice?" He had nothing left to offer Padme here. He was falling deeper and deeper into a cycle of confusion, unpredictability, instability. Everyday, he is no longer the man he was yesterday.

"I mean if I were to tell you what to do, you'd just do the opposite." The corners of Obi-Wan's lips hinted at a cheeky grin. "So, I suppose there is."

"I could be a handful." Anakin's chuckle was apologetic and mirthless.

Obi-Wan pondered at the busy road stretching ahead and the rush of drivers dying to get to the bohemian crossroads. "Do you remember my father?"

Anakin now fully turned to look at him, recollecting old comforts. "Qui Gon, of course!"

"I would get so sick of his "everything is the will of God," the hippie raconteur he was. And boy could he talk your ear off with all his spiritual, peace-loving mumbo jumbo." Obi-Wan didn't talk with a sense of agony; rather a fondness for the memory of his father's wisdom, a proponent of hope, and how his simple, tried-and-true systems affected him – positively and negatively. He walked beside the large window of his diner, enjoying the mystery and curiosity of life's many trajectories. He chuckled, warmly, at the past. "So. . .I joined the army... Married a traditional girl..." Facing Anakin, he talked with his hands and calm confidence. "Every child rebels against their parents in their own way. But you know what, he never stopped me. He let me find my own path. So, maybe acceptance and rebelliousness are equally a sign of intelligence."

Obi-Wan pictured his father. The twinkle in his eye as he'd fold his arms in front of an overworn poncho he bought while backpacking in the depths of an oasis. Even in the middle of a crisis that had everyone around them frantic, his father would be calm, telling everyone not to worry. He was meditative and present, embracing the light that touched him wherever he went. His shadow never caught up with him.

That's how Qui Gon wanted to be remembered. His father said to never mourn the dead... He'd share a lot of concepts he read about in theology books. The dead are the ones going to a better place, so why be sad for them? You'd just be making it about yourself, his father would say jokingly. Who would want you to think of them and cry? You better think of me positively or you'd just be taking yourself away from the joy of my life.

"Wow." Anakin held in a sneer. "Not sending me off with a lecture?"

"I've grown to understand that I have done all I can. You need to figure out the rest. As my old man used to say: talk sense to a fool, he calls you foolish." Obi-Wan amused. "But if you want a lecture for old time's sake... " He lifted a finger. "Remember, there's no such thing as luck. So, before you do anything, THINK!"

The swashbuckling charm of Obi-Wan's voice softened the hard edges of Anakin's jaw, his hand slid down his own chest, swiping the knotted feeling away. Anakin then looked over at Padme through the window, his icy blue eyes gentle when he looked upon her rebel beauty that defied age. Her faraway gaze met his, flying over the chatter of the girls.

Somehow, the world always seemed surreal. Age and time did not offer him much comfort. If anything, Anakin understood the world less and less – the beat generation didn't help. They were always rebelling, looking for answers that weren't ordinary or "boring." But looking at Padme, she brings a sensitivity to a hostile world. She brings a little Frida Kahlo art style, bold, colourful paint to a black and white canvas, keeping the world's flowers alive when life is dry.

All our time have come

Here but now they're gone

Seasons don't fear the reaper

Nor do the wind

The sun or the rain

They did it. Anakin and Padme hopped in Artoo and drove down to the capital city. Anakin left Threepio with Obi-Wan. He thought old Ben would get some use out of him, especially regarding supplies for the diner. Threepio wasn't the vehicle of adventure that Artoo was. He was better off staying close to home.

It was the first time Anakin had ever left Tatooine. The minute they arrived, he was immersed in the sparkling colours of the city, the bright beams from the street lamps lighting up the little river. A river as black as the velvet night under a wide, modern bridge with golden rails. The colours of the city turn to liquid as they are tossed onto the water. The moon's reflection undulating on the spine of the river.

Having to follow the road rules was the biggest culture shock so far.

They arrived at Padme's condo to a bottle of wine outside her front door, with a card attached to the bottleneck by a silvery-pink ribbon. Padme assumed it was from the building manager.

The atmosphere continued to amaze Anakin when they entered the penthouse on the 9th floor. The view from the top was incredible. Spotted diamond lights from skyscraper to skyscraper kept his interest. The voices of city life and civilians was a dim hum from up here. Coruscant was what he expected a big city to be, large, lively, glorified and expensive-looking.

Padme tossed her bags on the beige couch that matched the one they had at home in Tatooine. Obviously a set. Anakin decided to sneak a peak at the wine they were given, which sat atop a low, square coffee table of pinewood. It was like a secret site of memories scattered... cards, a crystal bowl, candles, family photos and other sacred items laced with her vintage, glittery life. Her life before him.

Anakin untied the ribbon bow and read the card: "Welcome home. Love, Clovis." He muttered. His face scrunched up like the card had scalded him.

"That love is platonic." Padme's tone matched her body language: soft, pleasant, leisurely, as she took the card from him.

"Why would he send you wine when you're pregnant?" Anakin seemed to precariously sail towards a tone of gloom and doom.

Padme fiddled with the card, her finger tracing over the edges. "Because he doesn't know." She sighed. "No one at work knows yet... I just wanted to be there at least a month before I start discussing maternity leave."

She tossed the card in the bin beside her bedroom door as she went in to change clothes.

Valentine is done

Here but now they're gone

Padme rounded the kitchen island and poured herself a glass of water. She looked over at Anakin who was on the balcony, still enthralled by the view. The gleaming candlelight played in his gaze. There was a solidness, a simplicity in the architecture.

She uncorked the bottle of wine, offering him a glass, thinking he might want something to ease him into the new condo and city. But he looked over and declined with a subtle hand sweep. "No point if you can't drink with me."

He came closer, watching her appreciatively, eyeing her big, bombshell hair and her curvaceous figure in a champagne slip dress. She now looked up at him standing before her and he began tugging at the hem of her dress.

"We haven't uh christened the apartment yet." His smile elusive, devlish as he pushed the fabric up her thighs. He hooked his thumbs under the sides of her underwear, pulling it down for her to step out of before lifting her slip dress over her head. Before she knew it, she was lifted onto the kitchen island. His hands cupped her shoulders to lower her down. She shifted to lie back; the white lily marble surface cold against her warm body. She was exposed, bare, open-mouthed.

Her eyes raked over him, getting lost in his handsome face, his golden hair, his deep ocean of blue eyes that move mountains and send a message full of intensity. All her senses fired when he looked at her like that – like he owned her.

He crouched over her, supported by his elbows; his hungry lips met hers, tongues teasing with filling, slow inhales of each other and speeding hearts.

When he released her mouth, he reached for the wine bottle. "Well, since you can't drink with me..." Anakin's voice was breathy and mysterious as he pulled out the cork and took a sip. "We'll find another way to make use of this." With his eyes steady on her, he poured the bottle over her breasts.

No, he didn't just do that! The shock of the crimson waterfall splashing her nipples had her lifting her head. Her racing thoughts barely had time to let panic well up. "Anakin!"

The cold wine had every nerve blooming. He put the bottle back down, and she lied there, stunned. She had little time to think before she felt his hot mouth on her, lapping it all up. Heat flushed her face when his mouth settled on her nipple. His lips were a warm balm painting her chest, making every thought fall at the edge of the goosebumps that pricked her flesh.

She should be used to his whims now, but this was a whole other reckless level of eroticism – even for him. She didn't know what had gotten into him, but she wasn't complaining.

He broke away from her flesh, and she finally had the courage to look down at herself stained with ruby red. It was a scene of roses and lovers... nerves and excitement. A perfect depiction of their sensual life together. It was messy, layered, imperfect. And now more than ever Anakiin needed to escape in her.

Anakin reached for the bottle again, this time pouring it down the curve of her navel. She felt it sinking lower. The plinking sound of the wine hitting the marble tabletop and floor was the most decadent soundtrack as the wine traveled in the crease between her thighs and her sex.

But Anakin didn't stop there. In his eyes is naked desire. Anakin then doused her in wine. . .down there! The rich cool liquid melted her screaming skin, making her alive with feeling. The earth practically shook when she felt the gust of sizzling air from his mouth hovering over her area. Her vulnerability evaporated. And she felt starved for touch in that moment. The art of the tease. His scorching lips were patient but ready to gather up the wine again. She bit her lip as a moan lingered, almost slipping out, when he licked the wine off the angle of her hip and the flicks of his tongue covered the distance of the downward curve of her inner thighs.

The minute she felt his mouth on her sex, she cried out. His hot, wet kisses were fervent, obscene, a dream. She closed her eyes and saw opalescent colours. Her fingers curled around the edges of the kitchen counter and a soft curse left her lips while he chased the red wine. Shivers and fireworks popped up as he dragged the tip of his tongue over her clit. His licks were full and slow when they opened the lips of the vulva like a rose, promising delicate caresses. Overwhelming. She leaned back on her elbows like her shoulders were conjured up by an aura of emotion, a mystique bringing out the vixen underneath.

His mouth seduced her until this unbearable, out-of-control sensation between her legs was driving her to the edge. Her glistening and throbbing body was about to shatter into a million pieces as he devoured her.

"Oh god, Ani!" She clawed at the back of her lover as she toppled over into oblivion. Her head dropped back onto the island, she could barely move as her eyes flicked upward at him. He stood tall, lean. His shoulders filling out his t-shirt nicely. This ridiculously beautiful man was pure impact, rock n' roll, and unabashedly sexy.

His smile, unrepentant as he looked down at her. She couldn't live without that smile now. She couldn't live without him. Three years ago, she'd have been mortified if her neighbours heard her locked in passion. But now she didn't care. They had gone rogue; every other life would pale in comparison. Who could let this go? She was happy to honour and pray at the altar of him. And the altar is wherever you kneel. It's wherever you feel the magic.

Romeo and Juliet

Are together in eternity

40,000 men and women everyday

Another 40,000 everyday

We can be like they are

Too exhausted to move, Padme felt strong arms lift her off the island and carry her to the bathtub. She stood, hands pinned to the wall, holding herself up and expecting him to wash her off, which was his intention. But he couldn't resist her when he saw her standing there. He hopped in barefoot and with rolled t-shirt sleeves, with little time to undress. It was that masculine impulse, that masculine lust that she loved. He unzipped his jeans, getting them halfway down his thighs when she felt him take her from behind and drag her along his dick. Not in his usual crazed, impetuous way. Tonight, the way he made love to her was slow, tender, delicious, wanting to be connected.

She glanced at their reflection in the mirror. It was a sight to see, harmlessly loving. The front part of his hair was damp and pushed to the side, his white t-shirt wet and sticking to him, defining his abs. His jeans went a darker blue, drenched from the splattering of the showerhead.

The heat from his fingers traced the hill of her belly. She felt his passion-fueled touch of spread hands over her breasts; chivalrous yet disobedient fingertips traced over her nipple and drew a line to her neck. He placed a finger in her mouth with love and seduction, and when she sucked on it, he groaned in a rough voice that was as soothing as ocean waves over rocks. That same hand eventually slid back down to her neck. She then felt his lips stroke along her shoulder to her ear. It was wild and romantic and making her knees weak.

This man would write poetry for her. For as volatile as he is, to her he was romantic. She had relinquished any self-effacing reservations. It wasn't so scary coming back to Coruscant now that he was with her, making it feel more homely and warmer than it ever did.

He tasted like home.

And it was her free and fluid feminine spirit that helped him to forget. According to him, life just kept getting in the way – but he was determined to take imagination into their future. Perhaps being here really meant he could wipe the slate clean. Forget all they left behind.

All the philosophical clues he needed on how to live can be found in his smoky stack of books currently in the corner of the living room. Maybe they weren't meant to think about the past. Block it out. For, in art, mythology, religion, the psychological principles of human nature, all eclectic readings, one lesson holds true: you can always start again.

Maybe this was all there was to life. Making the most of a little moment. Life is not about knowing. It's about being comfortable with not knowing. (Not his strong suit, but he'll try).

Some poems don't have beginnings, middles, or ends – they don't get to have rhyme or reason.

This was his chance to prove he could once and for all, choose a life without suffering.

So come on baby (don't fear the reaper)

Take my hand (don't fear the reaper)

We'll be able to fly

Cause baby, I'm your man...

Baby, I'm your man...

Don't Fear The Reaper - Gus Black

(Cover from Scream Soundtrack)