Calmness to Remember

The morning after the coup, Anakin awoke to bright sunlight outlining the door of the safe room behind his shop, triumph bubbling in his spirit. After all the months of planning, it had worked. His very first completely independent endeavor, and it had worked. The slaves were free. Kitster was recognized as the president of the Provisional Council. The Imperial troops were policing Mos Espa and Mos Eisley. Even Semchan had—under compulsion—pledged his support.

Anakin's lip curled in contempt. What a sorry excuse for a human being, let alone an officer. Anyone assigned to Tatooine was incompetent by definition, but Semchan had taken the office to new lows. How dare he allow his men to terrorize the local citizenry—good, ordinary people like Kit and Lalla—while turning a blind eye to the gangs that roamed the streets. How dare he prop up Jabba to line his own pockets. How dare he turn his ire at Lord Vader on his slave.

If Leia hadn't been there, he could have given the man what he deserved.

The image of Leia's fearful face pulled him up short.

Shame scoured the wrath from his heart like the desert wind scouring sand from rock. Had he done less than Semchan? If Semchan had abused his office, so had Anakin. He had thrown his lot in with Palpatine in pursuit of power. He had committed sanctioned murder to relieve his own feelings and had enslaved entire systems on behalf of the Empire.

Anakin Skywalker had no right to judge other men's crimes.

He relived the moment he had hurled the stylus.

If Leia hadn't been there, would he have killed Semchan? No; that wasn't right. Call it what it was. The first step in repentance is always the naming. Would he have murdered Semchan?

Maybe he would have pulled himself back from the brink. Maybe Kenobi could have stopped him. Maybe the desert would have intervened somehow.

But…what damage would he have done to his own spirit?

A wave of gratitude for Leia's presence swept through him, although the irony that she was there only because of Kenobi's infuriating obstinacy did not escape him. His lips twisted derisively. Maybe he should consider that stubbornness a gift from the desert.

His mouth was parched. He pushed himself up to grope for the water bulb on the small shelf beside the bed. It held the last of what he had collected from the Great Mother's spring, and he sipped the clear, fresh water with relief. Even a day later, it was sweeter than water forced through a vaporator ever could be.

Almost as sweet as the water from the spring in his vision.

Shame for his cynicism lanced his heart. Help me, he had cried, dying of thirst, and the spring had bubbled up. Only hours later, riding the wave of anger and fear after Leia's injury, with no time to settle his emotions before confronting Semchan, he had again called to the desert for help.

If the help he had received was not the help he had expected, if it came in an unwelcome guise, did that diminish its value?

Leia's presence, at least, had indeed been a gift to remind him of what he was striving to become—and of what he did not want to lose. Yet if he had had his way, she would not have been there. Considered in that light, Kenobi's obstinacy had been a gift, too, to provide what he needed in spite of himself.

He sighed. Very well. If it was impossible to start with a clean slate with Kenobi, at least he could make an effort to begin anew.

He swallowed the last mouthful of water and forced his thoughts toward more immediate questions. Time was slipping away; he mustn't waste what remained. There was much to do if he was to trap the Emperor before he could be captured or eliminated.

He spent a few minutes cataloguing his resources and arranging the pieces of his plan. It would be almost like old times—off on an adventure with the clones, Artoo, and Kenobi. He grimaced. Not really, of course. Too much had changed. There was too much baggage. Too many injuries.

He waved on the small bedside lamp. Speaking of injuries…In the rush of activity yesterday, he had not noticed that some grains of sand had worked their way between his stumps and the prosthetics. It was only when he sat down after returning to the shop in the late afternoon that he became aware of the throbbing ache. Leia had been gearing up to launch into the diatribe she had no doubt been formulating all day, but he had gruffly cut the conversation short.

Well, time to face the music. He had promised he would hear what Leia had to say, and he meant to keep that promise before rushing off again.

Easing the bandages off, he inspected the newly-healed skin. Blast. The bacta had left its usual gummy residue, and in his abstraction, he had forgotten to save any water to wet the cloth. Attaching his legs was impossible until he had washed. Reluctantly, he reached for his comm, but before he could contact Kenobi, the man himself knocked at the door.

With one hand he pulled the blankets over his lap as he gestured with the other. The door swung open, admitting the glare of the suns.

"Anakin?" Kenobi sounded tentative.

"Come in." They stared at each other uncomfortably for a long moment, and Anakin wondered vaguely what was bothering the other man. At last he cleared his throat and held out the cloth. "Could you wet this for me?"

"Wet it?"

Anakin understood the question Kenobi had not asked. Water was far too precious to waste on cleaning as a general rule. Gruffly, he said, "Yes. I—need to clean bacta off."

"You're injured? What happened?"

Anakin nearly choked on all the answers he might have made to that, but he had declared a truce with Kenobi. It would not be fair to rub his nose in the past right now. He settled for saying quietly, "Sand worked its way between my stumps and prosthetics over the past few days. The skin became raw."

Kenobi looked stricken and would not meet Anakin's eyes. "I'm—sorry to hear that. Can I help?"

"Other than getting me the water—no."

"Of—of course," Kenobi stammered, casting his eyes around the room to avoid looking at Anakin. His gaze fell on the prosthetics leaning beside the bed. He whitened, face drawn. Anakin followed his gaze and tensed. Wrenching his eyes away, Kenobi fled.

Anakin leaned against the wall, humiliation licking at his spirit like the lava of Mustafar. To be obliged to request assistance from Kenobi of all people! And then to have Kenobi's discomfort thrust so blatantly in his face. He could inflict the injury, but he couldn't look at the aftermath. The thought was bitter. It was almost more than he could bear to be so helpless in Kenobi's presence. He could not attach the legs fast enough.

Kenobi returned, keeping his eyes on the cloth until he handed it to Anakin, along with a half-full water bulb. With a determined air, he seated himself on the small stool in the corner. Anakin waited for him to leave, but Kenobi perched there fidgeting with his robe, gathering fabric in a bunch and letting it go. Visibly bracing himself, he said, "I need to speak with you."

"Can't it wait?" Anakin asked tightly, unwilling to pull the blanket back to expose the full sight of his disability.

"No, it can't." Kenobi stared intently at the worn brown cloth between his fingers. "I was planning to tell you yesterday when you returned, but then you rushed us from one place to another all day. So I was going to tell you last night, but you disappeared in here. And I didn't want to tell you four days ago because I thought you needed time to absorb the shock about Leia…." Kenobi jerked his eyes up to meet Anakin's, squaring his shoulders as he tended to do before some disagreeable task. "You're going to be angry probably—and I don't blame you—but I did the best I knew at the time. It's—about Padmé and what happened after…well, after."

Anakin tightened his grip on the cloth. "About—Padmé. What about her?"

"Did—did she tell you what kind of baby you were going to have?"

"You mean whether it was a boy or a girl?"

Kenobi nodded.

"No. She didn't want to know. Said she wanted to be surprised and had told the med droid not to tell her anything unless there was something wrong with the baby."

Kenobi looked almost sick with apprehension. "I see. That explains…" He paused, unsure how to continue. At last he said in a hoarse voice, "You must believe me. I was not trying to conceal this from you a few days ago. I was trying to give you time to absorb the first shock before handing you another one. You see—" He gulped, then said in a rush, "Padmé gave birth to twins."

"Twins?..." The galaxy seemed to pause in its headlong rush while blood roared in his ears. "Did the other twin—" a heavy swallow "—die?"

"No. No." Kenobi shook his head.

Anakin frowned. "But then…where…? what…?"

"When I escaped Utapau, I headed for Coruscant. I couldn't raise anyone on the comms." The digression baffled Anakin, but Kenobi plowed ahead, impervious to interruptions. "I finally picked up a message directing me to coordinates where Bail Organa was waiting. Master Yoda was with him too. We knew we had to turn off the Temple beacon, to prevent any Jedi who had escaped the attacks from walking into a trap on Coruscant." Kenobi was studiously avoiding his eyes again. Anakin was reciprocating, not wanting to discuss this at all. "While Organa attended the Senate session, Master Yoda and I slipped into the Temple and changed the beacon. I insisted on watching the security recordings, though Yoda warned me…."

Kenobi shook his shoulders and forced himself to continue. "Yoda told me I had to find you and—kill you. I begged him to let me face Palpatine—that I couldn't kill you. But he insisted I was not strong enough. Only he would have a chance at defeating the Emperor. So I—stowed away on Padmé's yacht without her knowledge and, well…

"You know what happened afterward." He held up a hand. "I know. And we aren't discussing it. I'm explaining what occurred, and you need to know why I was alone. I was supposed to rendezvous with Organa and Yoda, but they never arrived. I don't know what happened. I never dared contact Organa later. I don't suppose you…?"

"No, I don't."

"And Yoda? He's still listed at large."

"I don't know. I never even heard that he faced the Emperor." Anakin felt numb. How many more revelations and shocks would there be?

"All right. Well. Well—after Padmé died, I stayed at Polis Massa for several weeks, except for a quick trip to her family to deliver her remains. I told them she had died before giving birth. The babies were small, and the medics said they would be better off for some extra care. It was a risk, staying in one place for so long. But we were outside Imperial space, and Palpatine was busy solidifying his grasp on the Empire. I decided to risk it. It also gave me time to learn how to care for them. I knew nothing about infants. It—ah—didn't take long for me to realize I wasn't up to the task.

"The problem was that I had no one I could trust. I thought you were dead—and I wouldn't have trusted you anyway. Padmé's family would have been a logical choice, but I knew they were probably under surveillance. The Jedi were gone. There was only one person who would love your children, merely because they were yours, and who would be willing to go into hiding to protect them. It was difficult, but I was finally able to get in touch with Ahsoka through an old holo board she used to post on when she was a padawan."

"Ahsoka?" Anakin whispered.

Kenobi didn't seem to have heard him. "I brought her to meet the twins. She agreed to come to Tatooine with me. When the twins were strong enough to leave, we came out here, where we found an abandoned hut in the Jundland Wastes. We lived there for about a year, but the twins were so bright in the Force, we became more and more concerned that they would attract unwanted attention. In the end, we decided we would have to split them up."

Anakin frowned. Kenobi was again twisting his robe between his trembling hands, gathering the fabric and smoothing it out over and over.

"It was heart-wrenching because we could detect a—a connection—in the Force. But they glowed brighter every month, and we knew that in a few years, especially once they began training, they might become impossible to hide. It was better to separate them before they would remember each other. We agreed on a method of contact if it became necessary. But we also agreed we wouldn't use it except in the direst emergency.

"Ahsoka took Luke. She stays on the move, in the hope that he's less easy to detect as a moving target. And I stayed here with Leia. I have not had contact with them in seventeen years until this week. They're the ones I thought might be willing to assist in your plan to take Palpatine down. She left a message while you were gone that they'll arrive this morning. I told her to ask for Kraytrider. Of course," he shot Anakin a rueful smile, "I had no idea at the time that you were involved in a revolution that would upend Tatooine yesterday."

Anakin stared unseeingly at the cloth in his hand. Ahsoka. A son named Luke. A daughter. What next? Thoughts whirled in his head—incomplete, fragmentary, phantasmal. He became aware of Kenobi's voice. "What?" he forced out with a tongue that felt numb.

"I said, are you angry?" Kenobi repeated.

"I—" Anakin blinked at the cloth in his hand, and then, purely for the sake of having some occupation, began to clean his stumps. Kenobi gasped, but Anakin barely noticed. "I don't know. I feel like I ought to be angry. I want to be angry. But somehow—I only feel—blank." He proceeded to attach his legs, mechanically lining up the ports and securing the braces, checking the connections with care. Activating the neural interface, he waited out the uncomfortable integration sequence. As always, the pain receptors were last. He hissed.

"Are you all right?" Kenobi said faintly.

Anakin stared at him with a blank expression. "What?"

"You hissed. Are you in pain? Do you need help?"

"No. The neural interface was booting up. It always hurts when the pain nerves activate." He rose, pausing while the internal gyros balanced themselves, then took a few cautious steps to be sure everything was working properly. Satisfied with the functionality, he pulled down his leggings and stepped into his boots. It was not until he had straightened his tunic that he realized Kenobi had said nothing for several minutes. "Kenobi?" He snapped his fingers under the stricken man's nose. "Kenobi? Wake up!"

Kenobi shut his eyes, shaking his head in denial. "Your—You—You mean it hurts every morning, just to—to put on your prosthetics?" He swallowed heavily, his features creased with anguish.

"Well, I don't take them off every day. But, yes, it hurts to put them on. There's no other choice if I want to walk. And at least I can switch off the neural interface while I work with them. The ones I wore in the suit couldn't be turned off." His smile was bleak. "You can imagine the result any time they had to be removed or attached."

"Does it—does it hurt to walk?"

"…Sometimes. Why?"

"I had—I had no idea…" Kenobi opened his eyes, full of remorse and regrets. "I am so, so sorry."

"I already told you, I don't care about your apologies and I don't want to discuss it," Anakin said brusquely. "Looked at from a certain point of view, I even deserve it. Now, does Leia know she has a brother?"

Kenobi shook his head.

"So he's going to walk in here today, and she's going to be surprised. Good plan. As though she isn't angry enough already." Anakin jerked the blankets into order on the bed and grabbed his cloak.

"I don't mean for her to be surprised." The tone was placating. "I simply thought I should tell you first."

"Well, then, we'd better get busy telling her."

"We?"

"She is my daughter, however little I have been her father." Anakin strode out into the courtyard.

After a stunned moment, Kenobi followed him.