Star Wars 1. Chapter 1

The whip came down hard on his back, slicing and tearing at flesh as it went, but he did no more than grunt. He would do more, had done more – had cried and screamed and begged – but it made no difference. Now, he finds himself in that shadowy realm beyond pain: an area between consciousness and sinking into the depths of oblivion. There is no pain here, only a dull ache. He knew he should hurt. It registers with him somewhere – somewhere far back and hazy that if he is no longer feeling any pain, then he should be very, very afraid. It probably means death is imminent, or at least that there is severe nerve damage. Eventually, the sound of the whip fades and he feels himself drop to the ground as his captors release the restraints holding him in the air by his wrists. He does feel that pain, the sharpness of hitting his forehead on the floor and the burning fire as muscles restricted of air flow start to come back alive.

They don't come back for a long time. So long he has started to heal, although the progress is halted by the lack of proper medical help and food. There is nothing to help his body besides sleep, and he sleeps almost continuously. He can only mark the passage of time by the throbbing in his body and how it is fading little by little, every time he wakes up to snatch the scraps that are pushed through the hole in the door. He thinks they must be planning to kill him, although what they are waiting for he is not sure. Clearly, the Jedi Council and the Republic are not willing to exchange him as a hostage, because he would already be free. He thinks they must have given up on expecting him to release information to him, otherwise why would they quit the torture?

The pain does not bother him so much as the dread, the suspense. He has seen the future. He has seen what is in store for his loved ones. For himself. What he does. He screws his eyes shut and brings the heels of his palms to them, pressing firmly, wanting to squeeze the images out of his mind. The dragon still writhes in the recesses of his heart. He had never seen it for what it truly was, until his vision. It is more than his fear, more than his guiding motivation. It is his downfall, and it has wormed itself so deeply in his heart that he knows that extracting it will be impossible, that doing so would kill him, too.

This is why he does not try to escape, though he has had opportunity after opportunity, why he is willing to let them come back and hurt him. Because he knows that the real torture would be if he ever got out. He frowns, coming out of his thoughts abruptly as becomes aware that sounds are coming from outside his cell door. He flinches and takes a deep, shaky breath. They're coming back. Intellectually, he knows this is for the best, though knowing that doesn't stop him from feeling afraid. He knows that this is the most selfless, the most Jedi like thing he has ever done. To let himself die so that his loved ones might have a chance of straightening out this mess that galaxy has made, so that they could live and be happy. Knowing that this is for the best doesn't stop the dragon writhing and screeching inside him. It screams that these people should pay, should pay with blood, that he is far too powerful to succumb like this, too powerful to deserve to die like this… When it is not screaming at him, it is whispering. It whispers that everything will be ok and that he can fix this, fix this himself, and that the black masked man does not have to become his destiny. After all, between his will and the will of the Force, it's no contest.

The problem is that he can identify the dragon for what it is now: it is no parasite living inside him; it is not separate from him. It is him. Its actions are his actions. He bears the consequence for everything it tells him to do. He thinks about the night his mother died and the Tuskens, and wishes that he had realized that so much sooner. He is not a Jedi and never will be, he has simply been playing dress up his whole life. He clenches his jaw as tears threaten to fall.

The noise becomes louder and now he can identify other sounds, like blaster fire. Abruptly the door opens, and instead of a Separatists droid, it is a person he is at once happy and terrified to see. Obi-Wan. The older man turns pale when he sees him and reaches for him, one hand still firmly gripped on his light saber.

"Anakin," he says, touches his shoulder gently.

"No."


	2. Chapter 2

Obi- Wan Kenobi watches the man floating in a bacta tank, heavily sedated and oblivious to the world around him. His robes are soiled and his hair is greasy. His beard sticks out in several different directions from all the times he has tugged on it in the last few days. He ignores the sidelong glances the other council members send his way when they come to visit and the disapproving frowns that the healers at the Jedi Temple give him when he tells them, again, that he does not want to go rest or sit down.

He does not tell them that he cannot sit down. He cannot rest. Anakin has been gone for months, and the rescue scene was so disturbing that Obi- Wan does not think he will ever be able to sleep again without trouble. Guilt stabs at him, plaguing him with un-Jedi like thoughts of anger and resentment. Anger at himself that it took him so long to find his brother, and resentment towards his fellow Jedi, that no one had seemed the least bit interested in making finding Anakin a priority for months.

His comlink chirped again, and Obi-Wan sighed and without looking reached down to ignore the call. It had rung every hour on the hour ever since the rescue team had arrived with Anakin four days ago, and while Obi – Wan had not once taken the call, he knew exactly who was on the other line. Of course he felt compassion for Senator Amidala. She was the one person that Obi – Wan felt certain loved his former padawan even more than he himself did. But Jedi should not form attachments, and besides, what could he tell her? That the man she loved was a broken mess? That it could take months before he was fully healed, to say nothing of his mental trauma? He thought of the younger man's screams as he was dragged away from his cell and shuddered.

The door swished open. Obi – Wan did not turn to look. He didn't need to; even without the Force he would have known that distinctive _tap tap tap_ anywhere.

"Rest, you should, Obi – Wan." Obi- wan shook his head and continued staring at the floating form in the tank. He only looked down when he felt a gnarled hand on his leg. His eyes met Yoda's and he felt another stab of resentment at the compassion he saw there.

"Dwell on the past, Jedi do not, Obi – Wan. Cannot be undone what is done. Thought him dead, we all did."

"I told you he wasn't." Obi –Wan replied, much sharper than he meant to. He saw the ears twitch, and braced himself for a lecture. It never came; instead the _tap tap tap _ resumed as Yoda made his way closer to where Anakin lay, only stopping when he reached close enough to lay a gnarled hand on the glass. After a length of time that Yoda spent staring at Anakin, and Obi-wan spent staring at Yoda, Yoda dropped his hand turned to look at Obi- Wan again.

"Much healing to do, young Skywalker has. Need you, in the coming weeks and months, he will. Not now. Know you are here, he does not." Obi – Wan rubbed his eyes, feeling for the first time the toll the past few days had wrought on his body. He looked down to Yoda again.

"Do you know what happened when we tried to extract him?"

"Read the other's reports, I have."

"So you know then. You know he screamed and fought us when we tried to get him out. Kept yelling 'no'…that he wanted to be left there."

"Punish yourself you should not."

"He tried to run himself through with my lightsaber, Master."

Yoda's ears twitched again, and Obi-Wan almost felt sorry. Almost. It was not often the Grand Master was disobeyed. More silence stretched between them, and finally Yoda moved towards the door.

"Intend to move him to the psych ward, the healers do. If you must, stay. Foolish you are being."

The door swished closed behind him and Obi- Wan rubbed his jaw, fighting a yawn before looking back at the tank. He started. Anakin's eyes were open, and he was staring at Obi – Wan through the glass. The older man waved and placed his hand on the glass. Anakin followed the movement but made no other motion.

"You are going to get out today," Obi – Wan told him through the mike, keeping his voice upbeat and positive. He smiled reassuringly at him and tried to ignore how dull and dead the younger man's eyes looked. "If you sweet talk the nurses, I bet you can get them to give you food, too." Obi- wan felt a flash of hope when Anakin's eyes drifted toward him with a spark of interest at the mention of food, but then he seemed to mute himself and the eyes became dead again.

He closed his eyes again. Obi – Wan was left with the distinct impression that he had done so to stop the conversation.


	3. Chapter 3

** Ani-Padmeforever,will zona,****Person****,jaspreet,JACarter, Andromakhe**,

Thank you so much for all of your reviews! I will try to keep this story updated regularly, and I appreciate the well wishes.

** GL30,**

Thanks! I've always agreed with you about the tragedy of Darth Vader- and I think that you use Anakin Skywalker as a metaphor for how everyone (to a certain extent) is an architect of their own destruction.

** guest,**

Thanks so much! I will say that writing is a process. I constantly find myself trying to rid myself of bad habits, writing wise, haha.

**Resikat****,**

Thank you!

Thanks again for all the nice reviews! Here's the next installment

He did not resist when they took him out of the tank. He didn't flinch when they dressed his more stubborn wounds and made no effort to help them when they tried to dress him in clean white clothes. In his room, they tried to feed him – just as Obi – Wan had predicted – but he refused. He closed his eyes and ignored everything they said and asked until he heard the door open and shut. He felt better when he was left alone; he could finally breathe. He was going to have to escape out of here somehow. He couldn't stay. He wasn't a Jedi. He thought of Obi – Wan and warm meals in the cafeteria and everything else he would be leaving behind and wished he had died in the cell.

He had mastered the art of not thinking about Padme. It was not that he loved her any less. He knew that if he allowed himself to think of her, he wouldn't be able to let go. Even now, knowing he was back on Coruscant, he could feel the tug in his heart towards that sweet spot in the Republica 500 that his whole universe rotated around, and he knew that if he did not leave soon, he would succumb to the temptation to see her.

He closed his eyes and when he did, images flashed before him. The Temple in ruins. Padme choking. An older Obi – Wan's head falling off his body. Another Jedi he felt he should know, but couldn't ever remember seeing in the Temple before, fighting him in a city of clouds…He jerked himself upright, the movement causing Obi-Wan to look up from the datapad he was reading. He met his eyes uneasily. Obi-Wan smiled at him.

"We'll have to give you a shave soon," the older man said. "You're starting to look like me."

Anakin felt fairly certain that he did not look like Obi-Wan with his beard – after months of not bathing and not being able to trim, he knew he looked far worse. His only reply was to turn his back and stare resolutely at the wall.

A few hours later Anakin was taken into his first therapy session. As soon as he left the room, Obi-Wan checked the time, and suppressed a grim smile. It looked like the Council meeting was about to start. He knew it was no coincidence that Anakin had been taken at the same time and felt a rush of gratitude and affection for Master Yoda, and then a stab of guilt at how he was making the lives of eleven other people revolve around his own schedule. He dropped the data pad and turned to leave.

**One Week Later **

Padme Amidala awoke the exact same way she had in the five months since Anakin had disappeared. As she felt the first gentle pull of awareness tug on her she would turn over and reach to the side of the bed that had cool sheets and an empty spot, and all at once wakefulness would crash in on her as she remembered where she was and who was not with her. Then she would have to choke back tears of worry and focus on getting out of bed and getting ready for the day. She checked her comlink as she slid out from under the sheets, hoping to see a missed call from the Temple, but she did not have much hope. She had given up doggedly calling Obi- Wan, knowing that at this point, he was making a clear choice not to talk to her. The one time she had gone to the Temple, she had been politely, but firmly told that 'Master Skywalker is not having any visitors right now, and we'll call you when that changes.' Padme highly doubted that call would ever come. The Jedi by nature were extremely insular, and while they tolerated others being in their esteemed halls, it was by no means encouraged.

What she did ignore were the calls from her family. She would talk to them later in the day, she promised herself, if there was time. It was hard to find time to talk to them when she knew exactly what the conversation would be about. How could she explain to them that the reason she hadn't visited in over five months was because she had to be on Coruscant if word came through?

Her handmaidens had just finished with her hair when she heard the door chime. She had made it to her sitting room just as Dorme brought the visitor in and she gasped when she saw who it was.

"Obi- Wan!" She launched herself at him and wrapped her arms around him, her relief at no longer being ignored outweighing her annoyance with the Jedi. If Obi- Wan was surprised with her behavior, he didn't show it, wrapping his arms around her tightly after a moment's hesitation. She separated from him and held him at arm's length to really look at him. He looked…beyond tired. Exhausted; like she could lift a finger and push him over, and he would just crumple over, asleep before he hit the ground.

"Why don't we sit down," she said gravely and turned to Dorme to order some fresh caf.

After they had settled, she looked at him, momentarily at a loss for words. She had suspected for a long time that Obi- Wan must know of their relationship, despite Anakin's assurances to the contrary. Her beloved just wasn't good at hiding his feelings in order for something like this to stay a secret for long. Her frantic attempts to communicate with him a few days ago must have sealed any doubts the older Jedi had. Staring into his eyes, in the light of everything that had happened, she knew that he knew. Even if he didn't have all the particulars, Obi- Wan knew. The silence stretched before them as the awkwardness of the situation settled in like a blanket, neither one knowing how to break the tension or even how to start the conversation. Dorme came in with their drinks and left again.

"I really questioned if I should come here, or not," Obi-Wan began, and his voice sounded as tired as he looked. "It is wrong. I shouldn't be encouraging this, but… I need help. Anakin needs your help."

Padme nodded once, feeling a sort of calm she hadn't experienced in months descend upon her. It wasn't just relief that Obi- Wan hadn't begun with accusations, it was that for the first time in five months, she was fixing to get answers.

"What happened on that mission? How did he even get captured?"

The older man rubbed his face savagely, like he was trying to scrub a memory away.

"We were in a battle. There had been reports that the battle droids seemed to be trying to take Jedi prisoner, but no one had taken it seriously, because none of them had even gotten close to succeeding…

_The missile whistled over Obi-Wan's head and found its target moments later, crashing into a carrier packed with clones. He could feel the heat on his back and the impact in his chest as his ears ached with the sound of such a great explosion. He let the waves of the blast propel him forward, increasing his speed. Some yards to his side, he saw Anakin do the same. The Clones that were with them were blasted off their feet, but Obi- Wan made no move to help them. The ones that weren't seriously injured would get up and try to catch up with the Jedi, and there was nothing that could be done, at this moment, for the wounded. He felt a warning and allowed himself to use his momentum to carry himself into a forward roll, allowing him to miss the leg that was flying through the air like a missile. As it went, it still squirted blood and Obi-Wan could feel the warm spray hit his back and his neck, drenching his hair. He grimaced, knowing that his crème colored robes were now ruined. He jumped over the leg when he came to it._

_The shield generators, they had to get those down, otherwise this offensive would fail, and all the lives lost here would be in vain. _

_He reached his generator after Anakin had already begun taking the vent covers off of his and setting the thermal detonators. The blaster bolt seemed to come from nowhere; one moment Obi-wan was yanking a vent cover open, the next moment he had to swing his light saber so close to his body he felt the hair on his beard sizzle. Droidekas. He abandoned his project in order to turn about face all the while swinging his light saber in a defensive maneuver. He turned to Anakin, wanting to warn him, to see if they could prevent being outflanked. _

_Anakin was already in motion, having taken out one of his droids, he was in the process of slashing down on the head of another, and suddenly, time seemed to stop. All around him there were screams of blaster bolts and the dying alike, he could still feel the wind on his face, drying the sweat on his forehead, but for Obi-Wan, all activity around him seemed to grind to a screeching halt. _

_He felt a pull in his gut, like someone had reached through his skin and given his intestines a firm squeeze. He felt the cloudiness that had polluted the Force let up, for just a moment. It was like a cleansing rain coming through a smog filled city; he could breathe again, and for the first time Obi-Wan realized just how much the darkside had infiltrated into the galaxy, for him to not even realize how choked off and sluggish he had been. It lasted only for a moment before the smog rushed back in, covering the hole that had been temporarily uncovered._

_Before time started back for Obi –Wan Kenobi, he shifted his eyes to stare at his former Padawan, wondering if he too felt the shift, the disturbance. It took a moment for him to register what he was seeing. While Obi-Wan still felt frozen, Anakin clearly wasn't, he was still coming down on the Droideka when his face seemed to go slack. His eyes glazed over like he could no longer see what was in front of him, but he looked tortured. His normally handsome face twisted into a gruesome caricature of pain and horror. His face shifted to look at Obi-Wan, instead of focusing on his task at hand, and that was his mistake. His concentration completely shot, instead of slashing the machine to bits, he crashed into it hard, crumpling the thing beneath him. _

_That was when time started back up again, and things moved very, very fast from there. Obi- Wan could tell that Anakin had probably broken something – probably several something's – landing as awkwardly as he did, and he when he didn't immediately rise up, his former master became concerned. It happened so fast. Obi-Wan was still battling his droids, when another, unfamiliar class of droids came out of nowhere and converged on Anakin, surrounding his still prone form. Then the thermal detonators Anakin had sent blew. Unprepared, it knocked Obi-Wan off his feet. When the smoke cleared, Anakin was gone. _

"When we got back, because of the explosion, and the fact he had gone mute in the Force, the Council decided based on my report that he was dead. That was it. No discussion, no opportunity to mount a rescue. No available resources, they said."

Padme felt anger stirring towards the Council, but tried to hold her tongue. Criticizing Obi- Wan's fellow brethren was more likely to get him to clam up than to continue to reach out for support.

"It's not like I don't understand their point of view," he offered weakly, feeling a need to defend the Jedi's actions to the outsider. "There was zero proof he was alive, and none of our intelligence indicated that they had gained any prisoners from the battle… Since that particular generator ended up blowing up, it was assumed that his body got lost in the chaos when I went to look for it, and that it was…" he drifted off when it occurred to him that Padme may not want to know the grim details. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, it was three weeks ago when we heard the report that our spies thought there was probably a Jedi being kept on Vjun. I knew immediately who it was, and launched a rescue mission. We got him back, Padme."

"So what do you need my help with?" She asked. He stood up and drifted towards the window to stare at the Temple in the distance.

"He's in bad shape, Padme. He won't talk; he only eats just enough to avoid an IV, he won't cooperate with the healers beyond the bare minimum… Something happened to him in there. Nobody can reach him." He turned to look at her. "I know you two have a…understanding. I was hoping a visit might…" he trailed off as she rose from the couch. She managed to keep the movement graceful, but she could not disguise her eagerness through the Force.

"We should go. A visit might do him some good."


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks again for the great reviews! Ya'll are so awesome!**

Padme spent her journey to the Temple feeling like she was walking on air. She had to remind herself every so often to suppress her giddiness. Obi-Wan might know about their relationship, but it seemed unwise to rub his face in it. She looked over at him again and resisted the urge to rub his arm comfortingly. He looked so terrible, so tired.

He walked the halls with her anxiously, continually looking over his shoulder and stopping for no reason, cocking his head to the side as if listening to someone else's footsteps. Padme began to feel uncomfortable. As much as she wanted to see Anakin, Obi- Wan was behaving so suspiciously that she was sure that it would be obvious to even the most junior Padawan that Obi – Wan was arranging a clandestine meeting rather than simply visiting with an old friend.

Finally, they made it and as Obi-Wan reached for the door pad; she couldn't contain her eagerness anymore. When the door opened with a swish, she pushed past him with a huge smile – and found an empty room. She frowned, disappointed, and then turned when she heard an anguished groan from Obi-Wan.

"He should be here." He said. "He has no appointments, he should be here!"

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Blasting away from Coruscant in the fighter he stole from the Temple, Anakin let out a sigh. He was still hurting, but when Obi- Wan mysteriously disappeared, Anakin knew he had to seize his chance. Waiting too long meant that the opportunity might not come again.

The dragon hissed and whimpered against him, quieter than it ever had been before. It told him that he could stay, that it didn't have to be this way. He pushed the idea away before it could fully form and took a deep, steadying breath. He couldn't be a Jedi. He couldn't be a husband. He couldn't have all the things he had always wanted without utterly destroying them. The vision had shown him that. He thought of Padme, and of those few lazy mornings spent in bed, watching the daylight creep into the room through the window and create patterns on the walls, of feeling the rise and fall of Padme's chest against his side.

He closed his eyes and felt his heart throb painfully in his chest. He set the coordinates for hyperspace, and before he could stop himself, pulled the throttle. He watched the stars elongate and choked back tears, swallowing through a thick throat. He knew where he was going; the desire for peace and solitude made his choice easy. What he would do once he got there… Well, that was much harder to decide. He wasn't used to a quiet life, and while he had once assured Padme that he could go anywhere with her and raise their children in peace, he was honest enough to know that it was not truly in his nature.

He thought then of the masked man, of planets being destroyed and people being slaughtered and a shudder went through him. He could force it to be in his nature. He had to.

Hours later, when he got to the unpopulated forest planet he had chosen for his home, he looked around, studying it as he listened to the engines on his fighter powering down. He and Obi- Wan had stumbled upon it years ago on a mission that involved chasing pirates halfway across the galaxy. He had thought then that this planet was probably the only one that could rival Naboo's sheer beauty. He took a deep breath, and set foot into his new life, and his new home.

The Shadow hisses menacingly in his corner, his fury building. All that hard work. Years spent molding the boy, of shaping and breaking him just right. The shadow wonders what went wrong. He had been so careful to hone and bring out his protégé's natural selfishness. Of making him feel alone and isolated from the Jedi.

He had even begun chipping away at the cracks in the relationship with his wife. After all, what do a peace monger and a warrior really have in common? What can they build together, when even she was undermining him? Despite the progress, he had expected that to be a far longer project, but he had no trouble being patient. He had waited for years. But now – the boy had fled.

He had only meant to break him – had needed to speed the process and be given the opportunity to put the pieces back together in a more expedient manner. But the boy hadn't responded predictably since the whole project started. He hadn't taken any of the opportunities to escape, hadn't tried to exact vengeance, or anything useful, anything the shadow could work with. He had just given up. And then, even the rescue hadn't gone the way it was supposed to.

It was clear the boy was despairing, and THAT the shadow could work with, if only he knew the cause. Except the boy was gone, fled. Foolish Obi- Wan Kenobi was desperate to get the boy back, but The Shadow was going to put a stop to that. It had to. It was clear the boy was feeling the separation, the isolation The Shadow had worked so hard to create. He would have to draw the boy out, somehow. Someway. But he had to find him first. The connection he had worked so hard to build was muddled, almost completely broken. Without that control, the shadow was powerless. He let that thought sink in, and let it fuel his anger before he let it all out in a ragged scream, destroying everything in the room.

He would get his prize. He knew he would.


	5. Chapter 5

**So I think it goes without saying that I owe you guys an apology. I made the mistake of posting this story before I had finished it. I thought I knew where this story was going, but I think the characters have outgrown that particular story arch. I WILL finish this story, it's just going to take longer than planned. I really want to reach a conclusion that seems both fitting and real. Here is the next post, I hope you enjoy and that the wait was worth it. *****************************************************************************************

Blasting away from Coruscant in the fighter he stole from the Temple, Anakin let out a sigh. He was still hurting, but when Obi- Wan mysteriously disappeared, Anakin knew he had to seize his chance. Waiting too long meant that the opportunity might not come again.

The dragon hissed and whimpered against him, quieter than it ever had been before. It told him that he could stay, that it didn't have to be this way. He pushed the idea away before it could fully form and took a deep, steadying breath. He couldn't be a Jedi. He couldn't be a husband. He couldn't have all the things he had always wanted without utterly destroying them. The vision had shown him that. He thought of Padme, and of those few lazy mornings spent in bed, watching the daylight creep into the room through the window and create patterns on the walls, of feeling the rise and fall of Padme's chest against his side.

He closed his eyes and felt his heart throb painfully in his chest. He set the coordinates for hyperspace, and before he could stop himself, pulled the throttle. He watched the stars elongate and choked back tears, swallowing through a thick throat. He knew where he was going; the desire for peace and solitude made his choice easy. What he would do once he got there… Well, that was much harder to decide. He wasn't used to a quiet life, and while he had once assured Padme that he could go anywhere with her and raise their children in peace, he was honest enough to know that it was not truly in his nature.

He thought then of the masked man, of planets being destroyed and people being slaughtered and a shudder went through him. He could force it to be in his nature. He had to.

Hours later, when he got to the unpopulated forest planet he had chosen for his home, he looked around, studying it as he listened to the engines on his fighter powering down. He and Obi- Wan had stumbled upon it years ago on a mission that involved chasing pirates halfway across the galaxy. He had thought then that this planet was probably the only one that could rival Naboo's sheer beauty. He took a deep breath and set foot into his new life, his new home.

The Shadow hisses menacingly in his corner, his fury building. All that hard work. Years spent molding the boy, of shaping and breaking him just right. The Shadow wonders what went wrong. He had been so careful to hone and bring out his protégé's natural selfishness. To make him feel alone and isolated from the Jedi.

He had even begun chipping away at the cracks in the relationship with his wife. After all, what do a peace monger and a warrior really have in common? What can they build together, when even she was undermining him? Despite the progress, he had expected that to be a far longer project, but he had no trouble being patient. He had waited for years. But now – the boy had fled.

He had only meant to break him – had needed to speed the process and be given the opportunity to put the pieces back together in a more expedient manner. But the boy hadn't responded predictably since the whole project started. He hadn't taken any of the opportunities to escape, hadn't tried to exact vengeance, or anything useful, anything The Shadow could work with. He had just given up. Even the rescue hadn't gone the way it was supposed to.

It was clear the boy was despairing, and THAT The Shadow could work with, if only he knew the cause. Except the boy was gone, fled. Foolish Obi- Wan Kenobi was desperate to get the boy back, but The Shadow was going to put a stop to that. It had to. It was clear the boy was feeling the separation, the isolation The Shadow had worked so hard to create. He would have to draw the boy out, somehow. Someway. But he had to find him first. The connection he had worked so hard to build was muddled, almost completely broken. Without that control, the shadow was powerless. He let that thought sink in, and let it fuel his anger before he let it all out in a ragged scream, destroying everything in the room.

He would get his prize. He knew he would.


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, so it wasn't until someone left a review that I realized I re posted a chapter. I had forgotten that I had combined Chapters 4 and 5. So here is the next chapter and I hope ya'll didn't get too confused. Hope you enjoy.**

**Months Later**

The fire crackled and spat, reaching upward into the heavens, battling the inky blackness above. Fire and Sky. Light and dark. Anakin thought about all the ways they were different, thinking long into the night. About how the dark always seemed to swallow everything up, and how it wasn't until the light fell that all the truly frightening animals -the predators- came out.

Anakin had spent the first few weeks sleeping in the cramped cockpit of his ship until he had finished constructing a more permanent structure. Even inside the insulated walls of the ship, those first few nights he had lain awake listening to snarls and yips of the hunters and hunted. At first it had disturbed him - he had gone to such great lengths to avoid the darkness, and he had stepped into a place that was consumed by it a third of every day.

Even now, long since accustomed to the wildlife and knowing how to protect himself against it, Anakin still liked to keep a fire in front of his hut, counting on the nocturnal animal's instinctual fear of the glowing brightness to keep them at bay. He had grown accustomed to thinking of the light as his friend and his ally in the months since he had secluded himself, because no matter the noises at night, they always abated at the first crack of morning light. It wasn't until he entered his third month on the jungle planet, as he sat eating his breakfast of fish and berries, watching as the morning dew evaporated on the leaves from the sun's harsh glare that it occurred to him that the light consumes, too.

He had established a steady routine ever since completing his hut. The majority of his day consisted of trying to find and catch food. When he did have down time, he spent it either napping to escape the heat of the day, or watching the birds interact with one another. He had found a sort of peace in the quietness of this new life; it wasn't until he had started to heal that he had realized he had been so broken. It was no wonder he had spent so much of his life always feeling so inadequate; always drowning. He had never stopped long enough to take a deep breath and relax. He had always felt he had something to prove.

At first he was trying to prove his humanity in the face of slavery, and later, faced with the knowledge that he was not truly welcome amongst the Jedi, he was always trying to prove his worthiness to be there, always focused on trying to earn their respect and acceptance. Even as a husband, he was riddled by fears of inadequacy, always feeling that he was not worthy to have his wife. He had always assumed that his path lie with the Jedi, but it was only now that Anakin was starting to realize that he had never stopped to consider who he truly was, what he really wanted out of life.

The night took one final, desperate dip into blackness before the dawn broke over the horizon, but by that time Anakin was already up. He sat by the dying fire, letting the embers warm him as he poked at it with a stick, reviving it. He sat for longer than he should, looking at the glow instead of getting up and starting his morning routine. He felt exhaustion steep into his bones and had to work not to close his eyes, terrified of what he might find there. Because now, after months of working to find his inner peace and coming to terms with his dark destiny, there were new images to see when the light left and the darkness closed in.

Her face, twisted in agony. Begging for him, always begging and reaching towards something he could never see, like she was trying to fend off an invisible threat. The blood was especially disturbing and he felt helpless every time he had to watch her face grow ashen from the loss of it.

He felt torn. He had made a commitment to stay in this place and he could feel its healing effects on him every time he took a breath, like the fresh air was coming in and cleaning out the rot in him. Like every breath meant that he was becoming more like the man he wanted to be and less and less like the… _thing_ inside him that only wanted to destroy. But the new nightmares- the visions, had started nearly a week ago, and were growing stronger and more foreboding every day.

To know that _she _was in trouble, that she needed him, was relying on him. That she could be in danger and no one might know about it until it was too late and he could stop it except he was too afraid to leave his place of exile… He took in a deep, steadying breath. He had to go. The closure would be good for her, he reasoned. She could finally move on once he left her again. He wouldn't have to feel so guilty for leaving her. He was nothing like the man she had fallen in love with, there was something inside him that he could not take out, could only manage, and once she saw that, once she saw what he had become, her interest would wane. He could protect her and then he could withdraw again, back to this place. He did not have to be gone long…

His love for her wasn't like before. The months in seclusion had shifted his perspective and he found himself more grounded than he ever had been before. He still loved her just as fiercely, but it wasn't the all consuming love that it used to be. It was a warm, steady love that pulsed with every beat of his heart. He could see things in himself that he couldn't see before. He realized now that the kind of love he had coaxed her into was toxic, heady like a drug but with a bite like a viper. She had been right that night by the fire on Naboo. They would have destroyed each other, because the love he had expected was a so uncompromising that there wasn't any room for it to grow – only wither and die. It wasn't like before, he told himself. This time, he loved her more than he loved himself, and knew that when the time came, he could let her go so she could find love elsewhere.

His decision made, he rose from the fire he had been tending and stamped it out with his foot before starting towards the cave he had stored his ship in.


	7. Chapter 7

This is how it feels to be Padme Amidala Skywalker:

After months and months of separation, you're used to sleeping alone now. The emptiness that exists in your bed is merely an echo of the emptiness that is in your heart, and most days you find yourself so consumed with your inner pain that the open spot in your bed where your husband is supposed to be is little more than an afterthought.

Much has changed since he left and you sometimes wonder what he would think of you now, if he saw you like this. You think he wouldn't be impressed, because now you are only a shadow of your former self; the only thing that really exists is just your outer shell. The former Padme is in there somewhere, of course, waiting patiently for the trauma of her loss to be over so she can come back out and take charge again, this time older, wiser. Harder.

You have always been a petite woman and you lost so much weight so fast that your friends in the Senate ask if you are in good health, if there is anything they can do for you. Your family, those rare times you return their call, beg you to come home and rest and you don't blame them for being concerned. When you look into the mirror, you don't even recognize yourself, so how can they?

To be fair, it is more than the loss of Anakin. His loss seems so… symbolic. Since he left, the Republic you love is crumbling at an accelerated rate and you know that you are watching its death throes. The Jedi are more and more haggard every time they come to the Senate. You always knew your husband was a great Jedi and a fierce warrior. It was one of the reasons you were adamant that he could not quit the Order. He needed an outlet for all his energy and his talents. Or so you thought. Now, after watching the events of the past few months unfold, you realize that you were wrong all along. Anakin did not need the Jedi. The Jedi needed him. Not being Force sensitive, the prophecy of the Chosen One had never really made sense to you, had never really concerned you. Now though – the decline his departure wrought was so rapid, so abrupt, that it eradicated any doubts you once had about this vague prophecy. It was like removing him had tipped over the first domino, and all anyone could do was watch the rest fall.

His departure had shaken you. He had sworn his love to you over and over again as he pursued you relentlessly, had made you believe in him so thoroughly that you hadn't fully believed you could take a breath in a galaxy that didn't have him in it. How many times during the war had he wanted to walk away? Had begged you to just go somewhere and leave everything else behind? On those nights where the war had seeped itself so deep into him that he felt suffocated by it, you put him back onto his path. The fact that he had given up on you – given up on us – had broken something inside of you that you had not even known had existed. The rejection shredded your heart and made bile rise in your throat every time he crept into your thoughts. You're angry. You're hurt. All you want is him to come home, right now, to take you up into his arms and make everything better. At the same time, you also want to strangle him. These two sides of you; the angry, vengeful Padme and the loving, forgiving Padme are constantly at war with each other, and you don't know how you're supposed to feel. To realize that he did not love you the way you had believed he did makes you question your worth and it's humiliating to know that when he left, he took not only your heart but the inner confidence that had always made you such a formidable opponent, as well. As the weeks and months drag on, you finally realize that he isn't coming back, and you break all over again. That was the worst part: that you have to hurt like this and you don't know how to make it stop because you're pretty sure there is only one person who can make it stop, and he doesn't want you anymore. You will never know his reasons, whether they were good or bad, and that was another wound that you doubt will ever really heal.

This is how it feels to be Padme Amidala Skywalker.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey Guys! So sorry for taking so long to get this updated...This fic will get finished, promise! I just got thrown a curve ball the past few months... Thank you all for the reviews, and thanks for all the favorites/follows. It makes me feel good to know so many people like my story! Since ya'll had to wait so long, I made this chapter extra long. From now on, I won't post a fic until I am completed with it... Newbie mistake. Enjoy.**

On the night Anakin came back, everything changed. Of course, he did not come back with that intent. His plan had been simple. Watch Padme from afar and wait. Then he would save her, go back home, and live his life out in peace. What he was not expecting was for her to fall victim to an assassination attempt the very first night he took his watch.

He watched her from a neighboring balcony as she went about her nightly routine. She had come home late – later than he could ever remember her coming home before – and went straight into her room and began undressing. She did not even bother drawing the curtains for privacy and a part of him – the old part of him, the one that wrapped love in with jealousy so tightly that it was easy to confuse one with the other, became angry. Here he was, watching her – which meant _anyone_ could be watching her. He wondered if this had always been her habit, even when they had been together, and squashed the thought. It wasn't any of his business. Not anymore.

The other part of him, the good part, the part he had spent months trying to cultivate, felt guilty. Dirty, even. He had no business watching her like this, not really, especially without her consent. It seemed worse that he could feel familiar stirrings begin just watching her and when she undid her hair and began combing it out, dressed only in a bathrobe that she had left open, he had to screw his eyes shut and control his breathing. When he reopened them, he kept his eyes transfixed on the light coming from her bedside lamp. When that light went out a handful of minutes later, he let out a breath and readjusted his seating, getting comfortable for the night ahead.

He was starting to dose when a tendril of warning from the Force grabbed his attention, like a friend tapping his shoulder and pointing. Anakin was on his feet in an instant, scanning into the darkness of the apartment to see what was going on. There. Movement in her bedroom. He leapt from his balcony to hers and, allowing the momentum of that move to push him forward, crashed through the glass door into their – her – bedroom.

Padme jerked awake with a distinct sense that something was wrong. She frowned, staring into the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust and trying to decide what had awoken her. A footstep, quiet, but so out of place in a room that only she occupied that it might as well have been as loud as a bomb going off. In an instant she was in an upright position and already reaching for the blaster she kept by her bed... only to have another, much longer blaster be jammed in her face.

"Don't move!" Snarled a metallic voice that belonged to a droid and she froze, staring at the blaster with a growing realization that she was about to die.

There was movement from the corner of her eye and on instinct she turned, just slightly, to see it more fully and that was when her glass door exploded, showering glass everywhere and making her cry out from surprise and fear.

The droid, also surprised, swung its whole body in the direction of the balcony to face the new threat, but it was too slow: it didn't even complete its turn before _something_ crashed into it, hard. Both crashed into the wall with a thud so hard that it caved in. Padme saw that it was a man who came to her rescue as he stood up and picked the droid up by its throat. She winced at the awful, grating sound of tearing metal and wires as he tore the droid's head off. She blinked. He tore the droid's head off… with his _left cybernetic hand_. The droid pieces fell in a heap onto the floor.

He turned to look at her and for long moments the only sound in the room was the loud, erratic beating of her heart and a distinct roaring in her ears so fierce that it made her feel dizzy. She watched his lips move and the spell was broken, time seeming to jump forward and she cleared her throat and shook her head to rid herself of the noise and managed a shaky, "What?"

"Are you okay?" He repeated. He took a step toward her and then stopped as she recoiled, dropping his hands back to his sides. His voice…. He spoke in Anakin's voice, but that was where the similarities ended. He looked… like a wild man. He was dressed in rags that were so soiled the she wondered how they had not rotted off him. His normally tan skin looked much darker from dirt build up. His face was the biggest change of all. His hair was longer and matted and clumpy in places with twigs and leaves sticking in it at odd angles. He had a beard – a wild, untamed thing – that reached almost to the bottom of his neck. Even his eyes were different. They were Ani's – she had spent too much time staring into them to not be able to recognize them, but now they seemed wider, bluer.

"Ani?" She managed, disoriented in the wake of all the upset of the past minutes. She watched his face twist in a familiar grin that did something in her gut and when he nodded she pulled herself out of bed and launched herself at him. His arms had barely encircled her waist when she pulled away again.

He stank, terribly. She felt her eyes burn from the stench of his unwashed body and focused on breathing through her mouth. He was still staring, wary and expectant and scared, and she felt all the recriminations she had stored up in the past months die on her lips. Obi – Wan had told her that he had been through hell during his captivity. It had been easy to forget that when he left and hurt her so much, but looking at him now, seeing how he had let himself go and how he held himself, she felt it all rushing back - Obi – Wan's grave concern, the way she felt when she had thought she was a widower. It didn't lessen what he had done to her, but for the first time Padme saw how much he needed to be cared for. She reached out her hand with a gentle smile and after a moment of hesitation he offered his flesh hand in response. Lacing her fingers through his tightly, she managed a smile.

"You're back," she said gently. Something she didn't recognize flashed through his eyes. He almost looked…guilty. With his hand still tightly in hers, she turned towards her bathroom door and led him in.

Anakin didn't realize her intent until she turned the shower on. He tried to pull his hand from hers but she grasped his hand tighter and turned to face him.

"You need a bath," she said firmly. He felt himself flush, and his eyes fell to the floor. Of all the ways he had expected this to go, this wasn't it. He had been expecting anger. He had been expecting her to lash out, to punish him for everything. He realized with sudden clarity that he had been hoping for her to punish him in some way and was disturbed to feel so guilty for not being on the receiving end of her wrath. He felt her hands at his waist, wrapping around the fabric of his shirt and the sensation took him back in time – less than a year ago – when he had been stripped of his clothing and beaten as a prisoner, and he flinched and stepped back. He tried to work moisture into his mouth and calm his racing heart. There were many moments of silence as the bathroom filled with steam.

Anakin only looked up when he heard a shuffling sound and started when he realized that Padme was completely naked. Their eyes met and she smiled so sweetly at him that he felt his stomach twist painfully. She reached out her hand again and turned the water off, then turned to face him fully as he tried to keep his eyes anywhere but on her petite form. She walked over to her vanity and pulled out the chair. The wood scraped on the tile, sounding harsh in the all tile room.

"Why don't you sit down?" She said, her voice gentle in the way one talks to a stray on the streets or a child frightened by nightmares. The old Anakin would have bristled at her using that tone directed at him. This Anakin felt embarrassed but walked over and sat down with no comment. He felt her hands on his hair and tensed as a new wave of memories hit him. He focused on breathing and balled his fists tightly, determined not to embarrass himself in front of her again. He felt her tug on a few twigs to loosen them and then spent the next few minutes alternating between massaging his scalp and trying to comb his hair out with her fingers. Finally, he heard her give an irritated grunt and drop her hands to his shoulders. She stared at his face in the mirror with a frown that meant she was deep in thought. He was admiring the way her pale creamy skin contrasted with her chocolate hair when her voice broke his reverie.

"I want to try something." She said and reached down to open one of her drawers, rummaging through. Her hands fell from his shoulders and he twitched in his seat, bothered by the loss of her touch. Finally she found whatever it was she had been looking for and held it out to him for inspection. He took a deep breath and then another. The last time anything mechanical had been anywhere near him, it had been used to hurt. His discomfort must have shown on his face because she pulled away from him a little and placed her hand on his shoulder. He tore his gaze from her hands to look at her eyes.

"It's not going to hurt," she said. "Your hair is so tangled; you're going to have to get a haircut. If you want to do it, I understand - " he cut her off with emphatic shake of his head. She pursed her lips, and it occurred to him that his continued silence must be annoying her. But she nodded and drifted back behind him before turning on the hair trimmer. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. _It will be over, soon._ He promised himself.

She made quick work of his hair, giving him a short, even cut. As the hair fell away, he was surprised by how much lighter his head felt. After she switched the trimmer off, she spent a few moments massaging his head and he felt himself begin to relax as he closed his eyes. So it was a complete surprise when she stopped what she was doing and threw her leg off his lap to face him. He felt the movement and opened his eyes to see her breasts swaying inches from his face. He jerked back in surprise as he felt another wave of nausea hit him _She's too close_! His body screamed at him. With nowhere to go he flinched as his whole body went rigid and he screwed his eyes shut, readying himself for a hit that wouldn't come.

He had thought he was healed from his time in captivity. He had spent months knitting himself back together, but now he realized that it had been easy to come to terms with his abuse when he had been fully in control of his environment. Now though – to bear another's touch took a level of trust that sent his pulse skyrocketing and caused a tightness in his chest.

He felt her back away and opened his eyes to see her moving away. He felt the invisible bands on his chest loosen; he met her gaze. She was staring at him with wide eyes, her hand half raised in a protective gesture.

"I was just going to trim your beard." She whispered into the silence. "I'm sorry." He shook his head and cleared his throat.

"It's not your fault," he said reaching out with a shaky hand and grabbing her still raised one. He brought it to his lips and then held it against his cheek. Even that touch sent a cascade of alarm bells ringing inside him, but he forced himself to ignore it and focus on her scent. She switched the buzzer on again and it hummed; Anakin could feel the vibrations that coursed through Padme from her hand. He took another breath and then let her hand drop, sitting back and stretching his neck out for better access. She made quick work of his hair, within a few minutes all that was left was stubble.

She moved away from him and he studied himself in the mirror. Through the reflection, he studied his wife's lithe form as she made her way back to the shower and switched it on again. He was so sure he could walk away, but now he was riddled with doubts. He loved her. Really, truly wanted her happiness. But she didn't seem like the Padme he remembered. It wasn't just her physical appearance, the way her skin was even paler and how he could count every rib. There was something guarded in her expression that he had never seen before. All he wanted was to make it go away.

He rose from his chair and reached down and grabbed the hem of his shirt. In one quick motion he pulled it off of his body and then pulled the pants from his hips, simply stepping out of them when they pooled at his ankles. He studied the wall intently, refusing to look at her as he felt her gaze on him. He didn't need to look at her. Didn't have to see – the Force told him everything that she was feeling. He could feel her horror, her anger and knew his scars must be much worse than he thought. He had grown accustomed to them, but he didn't like to look at them. Looking at them hurt, because it reminded him of why he got captured in the first place. Reminded him of the masked black man. The scars hurt, because not only had it been brutal and violating and terrifying and like experiencing a million different hells all at once, they also reminded him that you could destroy what was on the outside, but nothing could touch the darkness inside.

A wave of warmth washed over him and he screwed his eyes shut, trying to force the tears back. He had left her, and even when he had been here, before that terrible day, he had been so absorbed in himself that he had never really _been there_. So to feel this _outpouring_ of compassion and love made him feel ashamed. She grabbed his hand and led him into the shower and as she slowly and methodically began to bathe him, he let the tears fall freely.

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

The Shadow giggled to itself in the corner, pleased. His plan worked perfectly. The boy was back and right where it wanted him. He was so weak, so pliable – it was in moments like these that The Shadow doubted the boy's abilities to be even a halfway decent acolyte of darkness. No matter. One always needed brawn to for dirty work, and strength – well, the boy possessed that in abundance. Now all The Shadow had to do was wait, to let the darkness do its work. The Shadow never miscalculated. Never.


End file.

Star Wars