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In the wake of his fainting spell, when Anakin reemerges from his chambers, he is surprised to discover that the Rebels' hostility has lessened. Rather than viewing the incident as weakness to be exploited, it has become something of a base legend, with the commander who had called the ill-timed meeting bearing the brunt of the teasing and backlash. In the words of one brave soul who graffitied on the commander's office door: "meetings so boring, they left Vader snoring." To his own surprise, Anakin finds his mouth almost quirking into a smile at the sight. It's...funny. A feeling he hasn't experienced in quite a long time. Somehow, the incident has humanized him in their eyes, at least slightly. And he surprises himself to discover that he doesn't entirely mind.
It seems that he and Padmé have come to an understanding, a truce predicated on stolen moments inside the walls of his quarters, late at night with no one else to see. They become the highlights of an otherwise small and unchanging routine. He continues to serve as a strategist and advisor, a subject matter expert like no other, acting as a "consultant" behind the scenes of the Rebellion. He is given run of the base and nothing else. Not that it bothers him; everything he could possibly want is bound up in the woman whose leadership keeps the base operational. The base is home, and the base is her.
Weeks fly by in a dangerously comfortable routine.
Of course, such routine can never last. Soon enough, Padmé is called away for a meeting with the Rebel High Command. Leaving him truly alone for the first time in months.
And, of course, this is the moment when the base falls under attack.
In the dead of night, explosions rock the building's foundation, strategic bombing sealing off exits left and right to pave the way for a ground swell of armed insurgents.
Anakin has only just returned to his rooms when the ground shakes with an explosion, and he finds himself in the middle of a volley of blaster fire that strikes something in the core of his chestplate. He lifts a hand and calls upon the Force, holding off the remaining blaster bolts as he plunges through the smoke, taking cover in one of the adjacent rooms as the screams of surprised and dying Rebels burst in the air around him.
The body of one young soldier lays prone in the gap within the doorway, and so he grabs for it, removing the Rebel's obstructing body as he slams down the mechanism to seal the room off. He hears the squadron drawing closer, moving in formation, the frequent and repetitive burst of munitions signaling a series of executions taking place in the hallways beyond.
And so he sits and waits. He listens carefully, mapping their mode of attack in his mind. To press his advantage, he must create the element of surprise, take cover, and wait for them to come to him. They will not hazard to leave any survivors and so he knows that they will eventually force their way into his hideout. As he contemplates his strategy, he looks down, and his eyes land on the face of the Rebel at his feet; he looks so young…so much like the holo of Luke…
He shakes away such thoughts. Now is the time for focus.
The Rebels have stripped him of his lightsaber—but not the well of power thrumming in the life around him, of the beating of his heart, the pumping of his blood, the latent energy in the lives fluttering around him. He reaches out and feels the weak breaths fluttering in the chest of the dying Rebel beside him, feels their fear, feels their despair. In the halls beyond, the stormtroopers are heady with exhilaration, adrenaline flooding in their veins. Some surge with joy with every squeeze of the trigger; others are calm and cold, focused and intent.
He feels all of it, weighing it in his proverbial fingertips before seizing and pulling it into himself, a well of power surging inside of him. Moments later, the door bursts open.
As the troopers open fire, he allows the power in his grasp to explode like a volcano.
And none of the bolts ever touch him.
There is a hissing noise and a shower of red mist. From there, the rest of the battle is a blur as he chokes off the in-pouring of insurgents, using the rubble of the building to crush and shatter their armor with a veritable hurricane of debris.
He holds them off long enough for the base to evacuate.
As he hears Rebel fighters burst from the bay doors, he counts them down one by one. When he knows there are only two fighters left, he turns and grabs for the dying Rebel soldier, tossing him over his shoulder as he makes for the hangar bay to effectuate his own exit.
It is only upon entering hyperspace that he finally takes stock of himself and discovers that the initial volley of bolts has caused irreparable damage to the suit's battery pack, leaving it melted and twisted beyond recognition. The suit has power for now, but there is no way to recharge it. In a matter of hours, the suit's auxiliary functions will cease, and beyond that, the respirator and pacemaker will slow over days like a winding down clock until, at last, they reach a terminal stop.
Almost as soon as he sees the battery's hopeless state, he accepts that this will be his inillustrious fate. Even so, he continues on, following the trail of one of the straggling x-wings.
When he eventually manages to rendezvous with the other survivors, many of them appear surprised to see him striding among their rank, the Rebel's battered body slung heavily in his arms.
He fully expects to be left to pass away quietly in some corner of the temporary encampment; his only hope is that, perhaps, he will hold out long enough to be able to say goodbye to Padmé before the end. But, to his surprise, when he wordlessly deposits the wounded Rebel with the medical unit, the remaining Rebel medics—with whom he had become all too familiar over the previous months—not only notice the damage unprompted, they immediately scramble to set up an external bypass to feed the suit power.
He accepts their interventions with both surprise and gratitude, but he knows all too well that it is only a temporary measure. He cannot live the remainder of his life attached to a generator. As it is, he is left in the ridiculous position of having electrodes attached like leads to his chest. They allow him to walk and to move within the radius of the leads, but only so long as he remains attached to the hulking generator in the med-bay. And if the generator goes out…well,…best not to think about that.
A decision will have to be made about what to do with him. Though he is reasonably sure it will not be his decision. And so he waits for a pronouncement on his fate….
To be continued…
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