FicWad

Bail Organa hunches his broad shoulders slightly within the warm weight of his long, shearling-lined leather coat, the coldness that he feels having only a little to do with the brisk wind currently ruffling his suddenly inexplicably overlong (he certainly can't remember it being in such desperate need of a trim before the attack on Coruscant, but then, he did spend several hours in a bacta tank's regenerative embrace, so perhaps that accounts for the sudden growth. Regardless, he needs to remember to get it cut, as soon as possible. Breha would laugh and teasingly call him a ragamuffin, if she could see him now, with his hair curling wildly down around his neck like this) black hair, as the last of the hovertanks whirs up the ramp into the sky-shrouding wedge of the assault cruiser, followed by rank upon immaculately regimented rank of white-armored clone troopers, marshaled by battalions, marching in perfect synchrony. Standing alongside Obi-Wan and Anakin on the landing deck, Bail silently watches the loading proceed, his gaze as clouded and troubled as his mind. He can't quite make himself believe that he isn't going along with them. It isn't so much that he really wants to go to Utapau with his new Jedi Masters, even though he's sure that they could find a way to keep him safely out of the way during most of the actual fighting and it certainly would be a relief to pull out of the political quagmire currently trying to bog him down - though in all honesty, even if Obi-Wan and Anakin had actually invited Bail to come, his own sense of responsibility most likely wouldn't have allowed him to accept that invitation, for fear of what folly the Senate might tumble into, should he absent himself from the deliberations. It's more, inexplicably, that he wants Obi-Wan and Anakin to stay. An ominously cold and echoing void has taken up residence in his chest, since the Grand Masters' declaration that Obi-Wan and Anakin would be the ones to lead the mission to Utapau, in search of Grievous, and a sickeningly hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach warns Bail that something bad is going to happen.

Bail wishes desperately that he had not allowed himself to be turned aside and sent out of the Temple after the meeting in the main arena, without even the chance to truly speak to Obi-Wan and Anakin about everything that has been happening during the past few days - not just the enormous and sudden changes now sweeping through both the Jedi Order and the known galaxy, in the wake of the revelation that Palpatine had been Sidious and the death of the Sith Lord, but also the very personal and unexpected change in Bail's own status, his own position within the galaxy, in becoming not only the first member of the New Jedi Bendu Order but the first Jedi Padawan with two simultaneous Masters in thousands of years - no matter how reasonable it might have seemed to agree to the request at the time. Even though he understands and even, in the calm, rational part of his mind, agrees with all of the reasons why it makes more sense for the Jedi Bendu to utilize Bail's not inconsiderable influence with many of the remaining members of the Senate to help smooth the way for many of the more necessary (and potentially fraught with danger, as a step taken wrongly or in too much haste could, conceivably, result in a conflagration that would make even the Clone Wars pale in overall size, duration, and sheer destructiveness) changes, both to the political structures binding the greatest part of the known galaxy together in bonds of alliance, friendship, cooperation, and mutual protection and to the general mindset of the vast majority of the sentient beings of the galaxy, in regards to the need for and nature of those ties, Bail cannot help but feel as if he were tricked into leaving the Temple and returning to his old duties, his own way of life, instead of remaining with his new Masters and pushing forward, working with them, to begin his new life, as their Padawan. At the time, his worry for Raymus and his people, not to mention his desire to speak to Mon Mothma, had prompted him to agree to go willingly; yet, a part of him bitterly regrets the decision now, necessary though it may have been.

Bail understands, logically, that his new Masters desperately needed and more than deserved) to have some time together, alone (though his entire being flinches hastily and reflexively away from any thought touching on the reasons why they might have desired such privacy every time his mind circles back around to this particular topic), before the Senate's decision regarding General Grievous' location on Utapau could once again fling events into motion and catch the two Jedi Masters up in that mad headlong rush. Ever since the staged (but no less real, for all that it had been so carefully planned and choreographed) attack on Coruscant, events have been happening with such rapidity that it is entirely too easy to believe that the bare few days between the unsuccessful attack on the Temple and the Senate's decision to request that the Jedi send operatives after Grievous, to either contain through capturing or else eliminate outright the threat the Separatist Supreme Commander represents, so long as the cyborg remains free, are all too likely to represent the only possible downtime the two Jedi will have until this bloody civil war finally ends, given how inextricably entwined with and critical to both the war and the galaxy the team of Kenobi and Skywalker have become. Yet, in spite of his imminently logical understanding of the situation, Bail cannot help but feel at least a little bit excluded, and the fear of being not only left out but actually left behind leaves him feeling hollow and cold, much like he imagines a young child abandoned by his loved ones in the midst of a raging icestorm would feel. Nothing he has told himself, none of the reassurance Bail has attempted to find in the memory of the way in which he became the bonded Padawan of both Obi-Wan and Anakin, has served to truly banish this sensation. Only his sense of duty, his grim determination to help see the Senate through this terrible crisis, has kept him from returning to the Temple and his Masters before now, in a desperate bid to seek reaffirmation of his bond to them.

It is an irrational response, he knows. Worse, Bail fears that it is only the outermost edge of the asteroid field, when it comes to his irrational feelings surrounding his new Masters and the time he has spent separated from them since becoming their Padawan. The flinching of his mind away from the reason why they would desire that time alone, together, worries him, though even that knowledge is not enough to make him force himself to examine that reason more closely - or his instinctual flinching away from it. Were he to force himself to examine either response more closely, Bail fears he would find motivations for both that would make him so entirely ashamed of himself that he would entirely forget his current embarrassment over his inexplicable fears regarding the coming separation. He has known Obi-Wan for so long and loved him so deeply - or at least Bail has thought that he's been quite deeply and profoundly in love with him, for the two decades he has known and been friends with the young Jedi - that Bail is certain he could guess what that particular emotional impetus is without actually forcing himself to confront it headlong. Yet, even though he is well aware of the fact that it is even more illogical for him to be jealous of Anakin's place in Obi-Wan's life, Bail can no more keep himself from envying the young man than he can keep himself from fearing the rapidly approaching parting of ways that will send Obi-Wan and Anakin off to Utapau while Bail is left behind on Coruscant. It is an ugly emotion and shames him deeply, so much that, in spite of his very real worry and the intensity with which he craves the attention of his Masters (both of his Masters, surprisingly, though he would of course prefer it if Obi-Wan were to pay more attention to him than Anakin), he actually hopes that neither of his Masters will pay any particular attention to the thoughts or emotions currently troubling him, so that they will not have a reason to gain knowledge of his shame.

Bail wishes that he could separate himself from these ignominious emotions, but he can no more stop himself from feeling such things than he can convince himself that he should look more closely at the reason why Obi-Wan and Anakin would want as much time together, alone, as they can manage to find or take for themselves. Or at least, Bail cannot currently find enough willpower or strength of character within himself to make him do as he aught and force himself to look upon his own flaws and fears with as much unflinching determination as Master Yoda had looked up and dealt with his own failings, during the Temple-wide meeting in the main arena. If he were being entirely honest with himself instead of coddling himself and allowing himself to sidestep his fears (thereby permitting those fears not only to continue to exist but to propagate themselves), Bail would have to admit that the reason he cannot find strength enough to look at this issue straight-on is that he desperately does not want to admit that, in his heart of hearts, he has known (even though he has stubbornly refused to acknowledge it or to even allow himself to consciously admit having such knowledge, even to himself) both the extent and nature of Obi-Wan and Anakin's affection for and commitment to each other ever since he first got the chance to see them together, when he went to see Obi-Wan after Qui-Gon's death and their conversation was interrupted halfway through by an undersized, tousle-haired, round-cheeked, blue-eyed, and shockingly intelligent and determined young Padawan who fearlessly chimed in to support both Bail's argument regarding the need for Obi-Wan to stop blaming himself for what had happened to Master Jinn, during that last battle with the Sith, on Naboo, and the utter irrationality of Obi-Wan's attempt to shoulder the blame for the way that the Council Masters were treating Anakin, looking on him with distrust and fear and not a little anger because of the rather spectacular way in which their earlier dismissal of him had backfired upon them.

Even then, Anakin had displayed a fiercely obvious love and trust and protectiveness towards Obi-Wan, emotions that Obi-Wan had returned with a purity of purpose that had frankly shocked Bail down to the very core of his being. Their unquestionable loyalty to each other and the indisputable extent to which they already cared for one another had, even at that early date in their relationship, been so obvious and so all-consuming that it not only discomforted and worried their fellows among the Jedi Order (especially the already suspicious and fearful Masters on the High Council), it also evidently discomfited even Obi-Wan and Anakin themselves slightly, for though the two had proclaimed their love for one another with every protective action, every easy smile, every gentle touch, every familiar word, every proud or simply warm glance, they were never so comfortable with the nature and extent of their love for one another that they had spoken of that love openly - at least not until after their precipitous return from the Outer Rim Sieges, a change so sudden and otherwise inexplicable that he can only imagine that the death of Senator Amidala must have had something to do with it, though he cannot for the life of him think of how even the casualty of someone known to be a friend to both Jedi could have triggered such a rapid change . . . unless perhaps Amidala, being a friend to both Jedi, somehow found the strength to do what Bail has not been able to bring himself to do, and arranged things so that her knowledge of their love for each other would reach them, even if she were to perish before she could see them again . . . His lack of knowledge, in this case, is both frustrating, saddening, and bitterly galling, for it seems to prove both how little he truly knows about his Masters and their relationship and how little he has done to help them, if Amidala, in dying, has accomplish what he has not had either the courage or the strength to do, while living. It also makes him doubt his worthiness, wondering just how deserving he actually is of being their Padawan, if he could fail them so.

It is an entirely absurd fear, given what Bail experienced when he became Obi-Wan and Anakin's Padawan. And yet, the sensation of abandonment, of what might even perhaps be a deserved desertion (given how entirely he has failed to either come to terms with or help them come to terms with the true depth of their feelings for one another), is, however illogical, even more coldly terrifying than the actual fear of being shut out of his Masters' lives while they are seeking after Grievous, and it makes Bail wonder if perhaps Obi-Wan and Anakin and the Grand Masters should not have sheltered him so strongly from the storms surrounding Master Yoda's struggle to acknowledge his many mistakes and his resulting rededication to the Force, with the healing that his redemption brought upon the Temple. Bail is aware of the fact that, because of the choice Yoda made then, in accepting the challenge presented to him by the Force and thereby proving himself worthy of the Force's trust again, by rising to that challenge and fulfilling the task placed before him, the many negative emotions triggered by the abrupt and frightening changes to both the nature of the Jedi Order and the perceived order of the Galactic Republic have all been carefully but thoroughly drained away from all of the other Jedi and Jedi initiates in the Temple. The Force, through Yoda, has cleansed the Temple and the Jedi of their fear and anger and set them on a path towards self-healing and self-rejuvenation. Yet, because Bail had still been enclosed within and shielded both by his new and seemingly all-encompassive bond with his Masters and the secondary but no less real bond to the Grand Masters, he was not able to share in this healing with the other Jedi and Jedi trainees. Though he is certain that his Masters and the Grand Masters must have had a very good reason for keeping him sheltered from the healing effects of the Force like that, he wishes now, desperately, that they had not done so, for he is equally sure that he would not now feel frozen and hollowed with fear.

Bail has a very bad feeling that all too soon the coldly echoing void within his chest will be filled with regret, and grief, and he wishes with all of his heart to keep Obi-Wan and Anakin both with him, to ward off whatever it is that might be coming. Unfortunately, it's a wholly futile hope: there's no chance at all that Obi-Wan and Anakin won't go. They're both determined that it is their personal duty to remove General Grievous from the war, and as utterly dedicated as they both are to the need for peace, they would be the last Jedi in the galaxy to turn aside from the chance to quite possibly bring about that peace, simply by going to Utapau and confronting Grievous now, themselves. Not for the first time in his life, by any means - though quite possibly for the first time simultaneously - Bail finds himself wishing that Anakin could be just a bit less protective of Obi-Wan and that Obi-Wan could be just a little more like Qui-Gon Jinn. After all, if Anakin were only a little less protective of Obi-Wan, he might have insisted on starting Bail's training now and made arrangements to bring him along to Utapau with them, in which case Bail would not be about to be left behind (in dubious safety, as far as Bail is concerned) on Coruscant while his Masters head off into certain danger. Similarly, if Obi-Wan were just the slightest bit more like Qui-Gon Jinn . . . well, needless to say, although Bail unfortunately had not had the chance to come to know Qui-Gon as well as he has come to know certain other Jedi, such as Mace Windu and Obi-Wan himself, Bail is sure that if Obi-Wan were more like Qui-Gon, he and Anakin would be staying while some other Jedi - some team or group of Jedi more suited to the task and less important to the future of the galaxy - went after Grievous, and Bail would therefore not be in the position in which he now so miserably finds himself, on the brink of what feels like abandonment, though he knows perfectly well that he is not being cast aside.

Despite his distress, it is surprisingly easy to picture Qui-Gon now, as Bail had been permitted to see him stand several times before, his brow furrowing slightly as he gently inclined his head down over Obi-Wan. Almost, Bail could hear Qui-Gon's gentle baritone, soothing and reassuring in its cadences, patiently and calmly instructing Obi-Wan to Be mindful of the currents of the Living Force: to do one's duty is not always to do right. Concern yourself with right action. Let duty take care of itself.

Almost, that is, if not for the fact that the Force spirit of Qui-Gon Jinn is currently standing with Master Dooku, less than a pace away from Obi-Wan and Anakin, quietly conferring with Commander Cody.

Bail sighs quietly, head bowing and shoulders slumping in abject dejection. It isn't like him to be so concerned over just a bad feeling, but the fear - though inexplicable and illogical - is so great now that it is simply impossible to ignore. He wishes that he were the kind of person who could simply throw both caution and duty to the wind, give in to the urgings of his heart and his gut, and simply fling himself at the feet of his new Masters and beg for them to either stay or to take him with them, whichever they deem they must, just so long as it will not require him to be parted from them. But of course he can't do that - could never do that, no matter how much he might want to. He knows how important it is that Grievous be stopped, and he also knows why they are the ones going after Grievous, and his mind approves of both the mission and their going, even if his heart cannot. All he can do is watch the preparations with his heart in his throat and a hollowness in both chest and stomach and softly admit that, "I have a bad feeling about this."

Anakin is frowning slightly as he carefully watches a clone deck crew load both his new (and newly painted) yellow starfighter and Obi-Wan's new (and also newly mis-painted) blue-and-red-and-white starfighter (the only part of it that's red being the symbol of the Jedi Bendu wheel) onto the assault cruiser's flight deck. "I'm sorry, Padawan," he says, his voice swift and distractedly absentminded. "Did you say something?"

Something is going to happen - something important, something bad, something that will require you both to be here, not off in the Outer Rim somewhere. Either I will need you or you're going to need me, and I won't be with you, Masters, because I'm going to be stuck on Coruscant and you're either going to be on Utapau or in transit to or from there. Can't you feel it coming? Those are the words that he desperately wants to say; yet, even though Bail can feel the truth to them, he cannot quite bring himself to say them. He remembers Obi-Wan's gentle but firm words, up in the Council Chamber - Padawan, we will not melt away into nothingness if you turn your eyes away. This is where you are supposed to be: nothing will change that. There are matters yet to be arranged, and you will have to leave the Temple to tend to them, but no one and nothing will bar you from returning here. You are our Padawan now: the bond is real and it will not be denied. Accept that. Calm yourself. - and the words he longs to say dry up and stick in his throat, and he finds himself saying, instead, "I am troubled about this mission, Masters. I know how important the possibility of dealing with Grievous is, but with the taint gone from the Force, it seems to me that Master Windu might be better suited to lead this force against Grievous. The Senate respects you both enormously, and the people trust and adore you. What if something were to happen that requires your presence here while you are still in the Outer Rim?" If he could just get them to reconsider; if he could somehow make them aware of the fact that they have a duty to the fractured Senate and the confused and terrified and angry people of Coruscant, as well as to the rest of the galaxy; if he could just stay with them for a little bit longer and get away from the expectations of the Senate and his own people and the staring eyes of the other Jedi and Jedi trainees and his own confusions and just everything here on Coruscant that is dragging him this way and that way and sucking him under; if he could just do these things and stay with them here, on Coruscant, for a few more days, then everything might still be all right.

If only!

"Master Windu has other responsibilities," Obi-Wan replies, his voice quiet but firm, the image of the comatose Depa Billaba so strong in his mind that Bail can't help but to see her as well - features calmly reposed, the hideous keloid scar on her forehead from where she had once worn the shining golden bead of the Greater Mark of Illumination (the symbol of a Chalactan Adept, affixed to the frontal bone of each Adept's skull by the elders of that ancient religion as a symbol of the Uncloseable Eye, which is the highest expression of the Chalactan Enlightenment), before she had, in her madness, gouged the symbol out of her skin, during her mission to Haruun Kal, itself carved away with careful, surgical precision, that newer and far deeper wound covered over with a healing patch containing a mixture of both the infinitely precious and increasingly rare bota and the more commonplace but no less miraculously healing bacta, looking for all the world as though she might simply be sleeping, if not for the fact that the gentle rise and fall of her chest is so slow that she breathes less than once per minute. "And this isn't exactly a wild bantha chase: we know that Grievous is there. You and Senator Mothma are doing a fine job at chivvying the Senate along. I'm sure that you'll be able to handle anything that arises, with help from the Grand Masters."

"My work here is important, Bendu: I know that. And I'm sure that Masters Qui-Gon and Dooku will do their best to help keep the Senate in line." The words leave a bitterly sour taste in Bail's mouth. "I just - " Bail shrugs helplessly, looking away, suddenly unable to meet the patient gaze of his long-time friend, for fear he might give away both the extent and utter irrationality of his fear. "Something about the idea of you leaving Coruscant just now deeply unsettles me. It seems like a bad idea, to split the four of you up when you've only so recently found each other. In any case, while the Grand Masters are the Grand Masters, you are Kenobi and Skywalker, Masters. The galaxy knows and trusts and loves you, above all other Jedi, and its peoples will continue to feel as though they know and trust and love you most of all, of all the Jedi Bendu."

Obi-Wan mutters something that sounds as if it might've been, "Don't remind me."

Anakin, meanwhile, laughs and shakes his head, declaring, "At least we haven't let them send Obi-Wan off without me - that's what the High Council would have done, if not for the presence of Masters Jinn and Dooku. It's a bad idea to split up the team - just look at what happened the last time they did that, if you don't believe me! - but we'll be together on this one, so everything should be fine. We'll be alright. You worry too much, Padawan."

"There's always a first time," is Bail's quiet but serious and obviously worried reply.

"Padawan." Bail can hear a gentle smile in Obi-Wan's voice, though his face is calmly serious. "Don't worry so. Anakin is right: bad things tend to happen when we become separated, though even when we are working separately, we are usually still working together, as was the case when Anakin took Senator Amidala to Naboo while I went to Kamino and then followed Jango Fett to Geonosis. However, we fully intend to remain close together for the duration of this mission. I won't be volunteering to spend any time with anyone like Asajj Ventress and Anakin won't be volunteering to become anyone's pet Jedi lab rat. We have enough clones to take three systems the size of Utapau's. I believe we should be able to handle the situation, even without help from you or the Grand Masters," he concludes, smiling softly.

Bail wants to answer that smile, but he can't help but to frown at the mention of Geonosis, muttering, "And look how that turned out."

"All right, so Geonosis is a bad example," Obi-Wan admits, his smile shading towards rueful. "Yet, years later, here we all are: still alive, still friends, and still working towards the same end result - to increase the amount of Light in the cosmos, by following the will of the Force and providing peace, prosperity, and protection for all of the many different sentient beings of the galaxy. My point, Padawan, is that even though we will be working separately from you and the Grand Masters, we will still be working together. We have the same goals: end the war; rebuild both the Order and the Republic, creating the New Jedi Bendu Order and the New Alliance of the Republic out of their ashes; and prepare the galaxy against the coming storm of troubles, so that both the Jedi and the Republic might weather all such coming problems. As long as we're all still on the same side, everything will come out well in the end. I'm certain of it, Bail. I would not feel comfortable leaving you here, if I were not certain of that. The storm is coming, yes, but it is not upon us as yet and it will not break while Anakin and I are away from Coruscant, no matter what else might come. Nothing that will or will not happen within the next few weeks can change that."

"And the Senate's more likely to listen to you than to us, in the meantime, in any case, Padawan. You're a known quantity, for them. They all trust you because they're sure that they know exactly where you stand. I'm aware that many of the sentient beings of the galaxy love us, for the hope we've brought them over the course of the war, but that doesn't mean I'm certain that everyone on the Senate actually trusts us. We're Jedi, and that automatically makes us at least a little bit suspect in the eyes of some, especially now that it's come out that Palpatine was the Sith Lord Sidious and he was able to hide that from us for so long. Any recommendation we might make would be argued endlessly unless we stayed long enough to force a vote or some other kind of resolution - and even though it would simple and easy and relatively painless for us to do that, it also might bring us more trouble, in the long run, than it would be worth. It just makes more sense to let you and Senator Mothma steer the Senate through this turbulence than to potentially upset the government even further by trying to intervene directly. As long as you're technically still the Crown Prince and Senator of Alderaan, they will see you as royalty and a Senator and treat you as such, not as a Padawan of the New Jedi Bendu Order," Anakin explains, his expression pained as he admits to the fact that there are some upon the Senate who regard Jedi - and indeed, sometimes Force-users in general - with wary suspicion and occasionally even outright distrust.

"There is a chance that the remains of the CIS Leadership Council may move to surrender, once they have learned that Palpatine and Darth Sidious were one and the same and understand both the depths of his treachery and his murderous intentions, towards them. If that happens, it must be the Senate - the voice of the sentient beings of the Republic - who decide their fate. The Jedi cannot be thought to influence the outcome of that particular question. The Republic must unite, and the issue of justice - both for the Separatists leaders and the peoples they have bought, cajoled, threatened, or forced into supporting or outright joining them over the course of the war, as well as for the beings who have suffered, because of the actions of both the Separatists and Sidious, both during the war and in the years leading up to war - can accomplish that, but only if the Jedi are seen to refrain from interfering in the outcome," Obi-Wan adds, removing a small datapad from a pocket within his loose outer robe and pressing it urgently into Bail's hands. "I've taken notes on the more probable pathways of the possible future for you, Padawan. Keep this datapad with you at all times, until our return to Coruscant. Your orders are in here. The datapad is locked so that only the five of us," Obi-Wan makes a gesture, including himself, Anakin, and Grand Masters Qui-Gon and Dooku as well as Bail, himself, in the circuit of his sweep, "will be able to access it. The programmed datachip will wipe itself clean, should any other being attempt to access the datapad's contents. I've keyed some text available for your immediate perusal, but certain sections of text will remain locked, so as to avoid possibly muddying the waters, unless triggered by the entry of specific questions, which will occur to you only under certain set circumstances, as events change and situations do or do not develop. This should cover any and all situations that might arise while we are gone, but the future is fluid, Padawan, so if something arises that is not covered in the datapad and you feel that you are in need of specific orders, do not hesitate to call on either the Grand Masters or to contact us, personally. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master. I understand," Bail replies, accepting the datapad and tucking it securely away within his belt, still not entirely happy with the current situation but partially calmed by the possibility of aid and reassurance, as offered by the contents of that booby-trapped datachip.

"Good." Obi-Wan nods and rests a reassuring hand on Bail's nearest shoulder. "Because I believe everything is ready for us, now. Farewell, my old friend and very new Padawan. We will see you again soon. I trust that you will see to it that the Senate behaves, while we are gone."

"Take care of yourself, Padawan. Remember to tell the HoloNet that you are the reborn Order's first Padawan learner! It should serve both you and the Order well, in the days to come," Anakin adds, his left hand coming to rest on Bail's other shoulder. "You are both wise and strong, Bail Organa. You have been a credit to Alderaan and to the Senate, and now you will be a credit to the New Jedi Bendu Order as well. Do that doubt that, however dark the days ahead may become. And do not doubt that you are indeed our Padawan learner, and that we will rejoin you as soon as we can."

"For now, though," Obi-Wan adds, tilting his head slightly in the direction of the waiting assault cruiser, "I believe I hear General Grievous calling our names. Goodbye, Padawan. May the Force be with you."

All Bail can do is offer a reflexive echo in return, the words echoing hollowly in his chest. "May the Force be with you."

Bail stands then, still and silent, and watches as Obi-Wan and Anakin walk away, pausing for a few moments to speak softly, privately, with the Grand Masters before continuing on their way again. He keeps his gaze trained upon them until they join Commander Cody on the ramp and vanish within the cruiser, laughter trailing behind them. He watches, gazed fixed, unblinking, until the cruiser has lifted away and vanished into the heavens. Then, shoulders slumped and head hanging dejectedly, he turns and slowly moves towards both the Grand Masters and his speeder.

Mon Mothma and the Senate will be waiting for him.

***

Unsurprisingly, exhaustion starts to set in almost as soon as they board the attack cruiser.

The Battle for Coruscant lasted for about five days, though it stretched out across seven. When General Grievous and the combined Separatist fleet had reemerged from hyperspace on the furthest outskirts of the Coruscant system, it had been early evening in that part of the city-capitol that houses the Senate Rotunda and adjoining government buildings. Even with the element of surprise on their side and all but overwhelming numbers, it had taken the Separatist ships a day and a half to fight their way through first the system and then the planetary defenses and so draw close enough to the planet to unleash their droid fighters on the ecumenopolis. The sun was rising over Coruscant for a second time since the arrival of the invading force insystem before the first wave of fighters swept down across the planet, and the battle had been so fierce and desperate that the first full day of fighting over and upon the planet itself had seen so little progress on the part of the Separatists that Grievous had finally organized a strike team that he personally led down to the surface. Still, Grievous had not been able to seize Palpatine until it was so late in the following day that the sun was beginning to set, and, between the many Jedi seeking to save the Supreme Chancellor from the Separatists and the general confusion of battle, the sun had risen and was already setting again before Grievous and Palpatine were actually outbound, towards the Invisible Hand. Dooku - fleeing from Tythe and a trap that had not quite managed to completely net the Jedi it had been meant to catch for the Sith - had not arrived insystem until Palpatine was already on his way up to the Separatist flagship; yet, because the grim determination of the Jedi who so desperately and fearlessly pursued Grievous and the kidnaped Palpatine into space had delayed the shuttle that Grievous and Palpatine were in from reaching the Invisible Hand in good time, Dooku still managed to beat them to the ship, with enough time to spare to ready a suitably elegant welcome for the abducted Supreme Chancellor. By that time, the fifth full evening of fighting in the Coruscanti system had finished and the sun was rising on the fourth morning of battle on just Coruscant itself.

Everything had been timed just so, in order to allow Darth Sidious the chance to speak to Dooku, after the man had fled from Tythe, and instruct him as to what was happening and what he wished his apprentice to do, before Palpatine sat down for breakfast on the first morning of battle on the planet proper and the second morning of fighting within the Coruscanti system. The first alarms went off in Coruscant approximately halfway through that breakfast: Palpatine had just enough time to send a distress call to Anakin Skywalker, tightbeamed to his personal comm unit, before his Red Guards and advisors closed in around him and the first Jedi showed up to try to hustle him to a more secure location than his personal suite in 500 Republica. Obi-Wan and Anakin arrived just beyond the outskirts of the Coruscant system with the Open Circle Armada perhaps an hour after Dooku had. Despite the time lag between when Dooku had fled Tythe and become aware of the attack on Coruscant and they had departed the Tythe system for Coruscant, because of the brief reorient Dooku's ship experienced at Nelvaan, to throw off any Republic ships attempting to track his flight, they had unknowingly almost managed to catch up with him before he slipped in amongst the Separatists ships and vanished into the confusion of the roiling battle. It took them hours to weave their in through the confused snarl of battle that, by then, actually stretched from the lowest levels of Coruscant itself out past the system boundaries, spilling over into the empty space between that solar system and its nearest neighbors. By the time they fought their way aboard the Invisible Hand, the daylight was beginning to dim again on Coruscant as evening approached. And by the time Obi-Wan and Anakin and Palpatine were being brought to Grievous, up on the bridge, night was fading into the soft twilight of predawn.

When they had emerged from the battered fragment of Invisible Hand, the sun had been rising and it had been day again, the fourth and final morning of battle on the planet and the fifth morning (and technically the sixth day) of battle within the system. Though several more hours would pass before the last of the Separatist droids on Coruscant were destroyed and the last of the CIS ships had definitively either fled outsystem, been destroyed, or surrendered to Republic personnel, with the final outbound ship not actually making the leap to hyperspace until the next morning, the battle had essentially ended when Supreme Chancellor Palpatine was returned to Coruscant in one piece. For Anakin and Obi-Wan, neither of whom had actually slept (Anakin because he simply was too keyed up to even attempt resting and Obi-Wan because he was far too concerned for Anakin to allow himself the luxury of sleep) since before their all but suicidally dangerous (for anyone but Jedi, that is: actually difficult enough to have proved impossible even for most Jedi, when one came right down to it) run against Tythe, in the hopes of capturing Dooku alive - a mission that had begun roughly a full day before Grievous and his combined fleet had exited hyperspace, on the outskirts of the Coruscant system - the morning of their return to Coruscant had marked the seventh day they would go without sleep. And it had been that night that they had gone, together, to the Great Rotunda in search of Sidious. The following morning, their presence had been required at the Temple, to combat the only partially issued Order Sixty-Six. They had confronted the High Council and cleansed the Force of the taint upon it that evening, and accepted Bail as their shared Padawan learner. The rest of that day, and for most of two full days following, they had spent together, unwilling to sacrifice even a moment of togetherness to something so banal as sleep. So by the time Anakin and Obi-Wan finally climb aboard the assault cruiser slated to take them to Utapau - a trip that should easily require most of two days, even with the brand new Class 2 rating of the hyperdrive system powering the cruiser - they are on their eleventh day without sleep.

A well trained Jedi who is healthy in body and strong in the Force can go without sleep for a surprisingly long period of time, if necessary - longer still, even, if that Jedi is able to meditate at least semi regularly during a part of that same passage of time - but not even Jedi Masters will forego sleep after so long a time without, if the opportunity presents itself. Especially not after eleven days as full of hustle and stress and a singular need for constant (some might say continual), concentrated outpourings of energy. So they linger on the deck of the cruiser just long enough for Anakin to say something to Commander Cody about the inappropriate color that Obi-Wan's new starfighter has been painted (Cody, unsurprisingly, cuts him off midway through and assures him that he already has some men on it, and that it'll be properly red before the day is out) before retiring to their shared quarters. This time, when they help each other to strip off boots and belts, robes and tunics and trousers, their movements are a slow measured dance of efficiency and care and genuine tiredness, not a frenzied race of pushing and pulling and careless stripping away in an effort to get skin to skin. They come together several times in a somehow organized tangle of half clothed and half undressed arms and legs and kiss, Obi-Wan giving voice to a quiet hum of sleepy delight as they kiss, slowly and warmly and dreamily and thoroughly, with passion but no real urgency, Anakin whispering and then laughing softly, in between embraces, as if surprised by the joy of a sudden realization, "This really is happening! Obi-Wan! We can always be together like this, now. We won't have to worry about making the wrong impression. I won't have to creep in and out of your bed as if I were a thief, simply because I want the comfort of your arms. Isn't it wonderful?"

Obi-Wan, smiling, his heart in his eyes, leans in for another kiss. "The most exceptionally wonderful," he pauses, mid declaration, to tilt his head up for another kiss, which Anakin obligingly bestows, "excellent," /kiss/, "marvelous," /kiss/, "fantastic," /kiss/, "awesome," /kiss/, "good," /kiss/, "and irrefutably right arrangement ever."

"Mmm. You forgot to say /wizard/," Anakin sighs, letting Obi-Wan's gentle tugs upon his shoulders and the siren call of the bed win, folding himself down into a slow collapse onto the mattress with Obi-Wan, his hands tracing lazy patterns across the broad expanse of Obi-Wan's back as they snuggle up close, legs twining together, Obi-Wan's body half draped over Anakin.

"I was leaving it for you, love. You do still adore that word, don't you?" Obi-Wan's murmur is almost swallowed up by the low chuckle accompanying it.

Anakin merely smiles sleepily and cranes his neck to nuzzle up against the curve of Obi-Wan's jaw, loving the silky smooth feel of the skin under his lips. "Mmm . . . yeah. But not nearly as much as I love you."

"I suppose that's comforting . . . "

"Mmm . . . no. 'S truth. Could never love anything or anyone even a billionth as much as I love you. Not even close to a fraction of that much. Nope. No one. Ever. Never have. And never will." Anakin rouses himself enough to open his eyes and meet Obi-Wan's sleepy but amused gaze, schooling himself to utter seriousness. "You know that, right?"

"I know. Never doubt it, Anakin. You are my heart and my life, and I love you. I've loved you for many years, though I have not allowed myself to realize it, for fear of what it might mean for us, as Jedi, and what it could do to us and our relationship. I no longer have any reason to fear. And there is nothing that could ever make me stop loving you. You know that, don't you?" The hesitation between Obi-Wan's question and the movement of Anakin's mouth, in the shape of a response, is so infinitesimal that anyone else would have missed it. But not Obi-Wan. Quietly but firmly, his voice heavy with mounting exhaustion but full of so much strength of purpose, so much truth, that it leaves no room for doubt, Obi-Wan declares, "Even had you become Darth Vader, I never would have stopped loving you. I would have seen to it that your son was raised in such a manner that his love for you and his faith in you would be able to bring you back to me, Anakin. And if it had happened that he failed and fell prey to Vader's charms, I would have intervened and seen to it that Palpatine was killed so that he could not harm either one of you. And then I would have seen to it that your daughter came to save both you and your son from the darkness clouding your hearts," Obi-Wan promises, staring relentlessly into Anakin's eyes. "I would not have stopped until you were with me again, Anakin. One way or the other, we would have been together. We are together now. And there is nothing, now, that will ever be able to keep me from being with you. Don't let your pain over what was or your guilt for what might have been cause you to doubt our love. Trust in us. Trust in our love and believe me when I tell you that no matter what storms may come, what troubles lie ahead, or what mistakes lie behind us, there is nothing that will make me stop loving you or that will keep me from being with you. Believe me, Anakin. And have faith in us. Please."

"Yes." Anakin nods, heart calm and still and absolutely fixed upon Obi-Wan, unable to do anything other than believe, in the face of such utter faith. "Together."

"Always. Even when I am not with you, I will be with you, and you with me," Obi-Wan adds with another soft chuckle, pillowing his head on Anakin's shoulder as he floods joy and certainty and love along the bond - so much more than a simple mental connection now that it makes even the uncommon depth and closeness of their earlier Master-Padawan bond look like a small and shabby and puny thing - irrevocably tying them together.

"I know," Anakin agrees, turning to place a kiss on Obi-Wan's left temple and hugging him close. Then, with a deeply amused and anticipatory chuckle, he adds, "Grievous won't know what hit him . . . "

"I rather suspect not - but only if we're functional enough to actually challenge him!" Obi-Wan agrees with another laugh.

"Told you we'd sleep on the ship, didn't I? So we'll sleep."

"Indeed you did. And indeed, we shall. Pleasant dreams, Anakin."

"I've no need for pleasing dreams now. I have you to wake to."

"Sweet talker."

"No, bluntly honest talker - a fact you've bemoaned many times before now!"

"Scamp. Only because it's difficult to be diplomatic in the face of such blunt honesty!"

"Mmm. But you loved me anyways."

"Always."

"I know. But it's still nice to hear it."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Good. 'S nice. Sleep now?"

"Yes, I believe I shall."

***

They have forgotten that she is there - if, indeed, it can even be said that they have ever completely understood the circumstances surrounding her presence there, tied to the beatified Padawan braid of Anakin Skywalker. She who was, in life, Padmé Amidala Naberrie Skywalker, finds that this bothers her less and less, as time continues to pass and no one - not even Qui-Gon Jinn, whose strength in the Force allowed him to essentially catch her spirit, as she fell free of her body at the moment of death, and anchor her there, in the necklace of that braid, to begin with - notices her or attempts to speak with her. Strangely enough, she finds the lack of attention oddly soothing. She spent so much time, during her life, with so many others crying out for her notice, being forced to parse out more and more and larger and larger pieces of her self, of her mind and her soul, to that ever-increasing clamoring mob, that the relative peace and quiet acts like a balm to her raw-rubbed and troubled spirit. Perhaps more importantly, though, the current complete lack of attention being paid to her allows her plenty of time and space in which both to think to and sort many things out for herself that she simply could not find sufficient time and energy to spare enough personal consideration to figuring out, while still living, as well as to quietly but thoroughly observe the happenings around her. Although currently both of the Jedi present in the room with her are (finally!) resting peacefully, she is quite certain that she would still be blushing an unbecoming shade of red (if, of course, she still had a body) over some of the things that she has been able to observe (great stars, but aren't Obi-Wan and Anakin enthusiastic and possessed of seemingly all but limitless reserves of both energy and flexibility, now that they have finally gotten past the last few barriers that have been keeping them apart!), though since the sheer amount of love and devotion so obviously being shared between those two helps to reassure her, on the deepest of levels, that she has not, after all, quite managed to ruin the most perfect and fundamentally right and true partnership in the galaxy, she would be the absolute last being in the galaxy to chide them over any of their actions.

Their obvious and staggeringly strong love both quiets her fears, for having so nearly ruined that relationship, and assuages her guilt, for what amounts to inadvertently spying (tied to the braid as she is, it is all but impossible to avoid knowing what is happening in its immediate vicinity, especially when it involves the two men whose claim on that beatified necklace is such that it essentially acts as an open conduit, a pathway into their minds and hearts) on such intimate moments between the two men. It also turns her mind inward, to her own memories of love and pleasure, though strangely enough she does not find herself drawn to remembering the far too few and often furtive embraces of Anakin Skywalker, as her husband. Instead, she finds herself thinking, wistfully of her first crush - a dear sweet boy by the name of Palo Tilera, who, having apparently gotten more than enough of politics during his time Legislative Youth Program, moved on with his life to become an accomplished artist, in Theed - and of her first serious boyfriend, Ian Lago, the son of King Veruna's prime counsellor of state, Kun Lago, who had threatened to disown his son for "consorting" with King Veruna's most visible political enemy, the then still Princess of Theed, until Padmé finally broke the relationship off, certain that she could not, as the newly elected Queen of Naboo, risk such a potential political liability as a relationship with the son of the former prime counsellor of the newly abdicated (having chosen abdication over being forced to resign, on charges of corruption and incompetence) King of Naboo. She wonders, idly, whatever happened to Ian - a tall youth, with light sandy-brown hair, the most shockingly beautiful indigo eyes (dark blue from one angle or in one kind of light and violet in the next), and a mouth simply made for kissing - if he ever managed to get over his disappointment with her, at having so suddenly and unilaterally (she had refused to listen to his protests) broken off their relationship, enough to return home, to Naboo, and wishes that she had been both wise enough and brave enough to get to know him better than she had.

She now deeply regrets having been too cowardly to continue the relationship - for she understands, now, that a coward is exactly what she had been. She had fallen so hard and so fast for Ian Lago that her feelings for him had been both deep and strong enough to allow her to be able to seriously imagine giving up her fledgling career in politics just for the chance to be with him. And that had frightened her so deeply (vividly bringing to light what she had thought, at the time, were weaknesses in her character, that she could be willing to put her own happiness before the needs of the people of Naboo) that she had panicked and cut the relationship abruptly short. So much pain and suffering could have been avoided, if only she had proven to have enough conviction of character to follow her heart, as well as the dictates of her conscience when it came to the greater need of the people of Naboo. She could have had both a relationship with Ian and been a good Queen for Naboo. She knows that now. She had just been too frightened of her own desires and too bound up in her own unforgivingly rigid sense of honor and duty to allow herself to risk striving for both, instead of giving up one or the other. It is entirely possible that, even if she had remained with Ian, things might not have worked out between them, in the long run. But she most assuredly would not have fallen so deeply and hopelessly (dare she even say violently?) in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi if she had been in possession of a serious boyfriend of her own, and if she had not loved Obi-Wan with such desperation . . . well, it is entirely possible that she would not have responded to Anakin's clumsy and obviously far more inspired by the idea of love itself (and the not too subtle hint from her sister, Sola, that the entire Naberrie family would not only be reassured but would be ecstatic to discover that a fine young strong man, such as himself, was not only looking after but also in love with their Padmé) than any truly deep or lasting attraction or attachment to her, specifically, and then things would have turned out so differently!

She who was, in life, Padmé Amidala finds herself heaving what amounts to a great mental sigh. She is more than a little discouraged by the increasingly blatant proof of the many enormous mistakes she has made throughout the course of her life (culminating in her plainly ill-considered and all but sham of a marriage to Anakin Skywalker) and wonders, sadly, how Qui-Gon Jinn could have considered her worthy enough of his time and effort, to have rescued her from simply perishing when her body died, to give her the chance to at least try to help set some of her more recent and more obviously awful mistakes right again. Almost in spite of herself, she wonders, too, how Obi-Wan Kenobi could have ever held her in such high regard that he could consider her a friend and even continue to do so, in spite of her several and unwanted attempts to win more from him than just his friendship. In spite of her many weaknesses and flaws (including, she knows, a terrible tendency to lie overmuch and much too easily - even to herself, if necessary - to do her job or to get her way, as a politician), which he has never failed to call her on, Obi-Wan has been a good and true friend to her, and damned if Padmé can figure out why. Anakin's infatuation with her seems so much easier to understand and explain, now, than Obi-Wan's essentially unwaveringly loyal friendship. She remembers Tatooine far too well, the hellish heat and the barrenness and the seemingly hopeless misery of most of its inhabitants, and she can perfectly envision the blue-eyed slave child who had looked up at her with an expression of stunned awe and dawning adoration before finally demanding to know if she were an angel, while all the while she could only stare at him dumbly, shocked and horrified by the knowledge of his slavery and wondering if the brightness in his water-colored eyes was really there or if it were only a mirage of innocence, nothing more than a trick of the heat and twinned-sun dazzle.

She remembers the shock of seeing him again, over a decade later, and discovering not the cute (and almost unsettlingly normal and healthy looking, for a child who'd lived all his life as a slave) little golden-haired Ani but instead Jedi Padawan Skywalker, a rangy young man with widening shoulders, bronze skin, sand-colored hair, and huge eyes of crushed blue ice shining steadily out of a face seemingly formed of bold swathes of summer sunlight, his full lips flushed a natural purplish red and ripe with the promise of all the scorching heat of a pitiless noonday summer sun. Padmé also remembers quite well the almost oppressively smothering sense of Anakin's desperate pain and longing (like the lowering claustrophobia of bruised sky that will presage the rising of a sudden summer squall, all that leashed violence of potential power waiting for but a moment of inattention to brew itself into an explosion of fury and storm) whenever he would look upon Obi-Wan, in that short span of time before she would be sent, with Anakin, back to Naboo to hide away from the danger threatening her while the rest of the galaxy erupted into chaos and the madness that would culminate with a bloodbath on Geonosis and a beginning to a galactic-wide civil war. She recalls his carefully constructed arguments in favor of Jedi who would be allowed to love, too, just as she also remembers the almost frenetic quality of Anakin's pursuit of her, his frantic attempts to draw her attention and to gain not only her notice but her wholehearted approval of him. Force help her, Padmé also remembers giving him that unquestioning approval and reassurance, even when he came before her, broken and weeping and raging, with the blood of uncounted Tusken Raiders (some of them children, many of them innocent of any wrongdoing) on his hands, following the death of his mother, Shmi.

When Qui-Gon had lifted her up out of herself to save her from simply dying and then dissolving immediately into the Force, she had been faced with an unflinchingly accurate portrait of herself, including the existence of several often exceedingly fine but deeply woven threads of darkness, shot all throughout the material of her mind, like tendrils of poison or some foreign pollution worming their way through a discrete amount of water. Qui-Gon had explained to her, calmly but firmly, that these threads of darkness were lines of control, woven carefully through her mind over the course of several years of what she had thought to be friendly association with first Senator and then Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, to give him a way to influence her actions just enough to make her amenable to certain suggestions hatched in the evil morass of a mind of a Sith Lord and Master. In spite of Padmé's strong and intelligent mind and even stronger and more stubborn will, Palpatine - no, Sidious. He had been a Sith and she should think of him thus, not as the man she had taken for a compatriot of Naboo and mistaken for a fellow patriot of democracy - had nonetheless been able to find a way to gain power over her, by simple dint of patience and time and insidious deceit. Master Qui-Gon had not been able to tell her specifically which or even in general what kind of suggestions those poisonous black lines of control might have been used to influence her into doing, but Padmé cannot help but hope that they had somehow inclined her towards her foolishness, with Anakin. She knows that she genuinely had come to care a great deal for the young man (though she also knows that her feelings for Anakin had never come close to equaling either the ardor or respect or sheer sense of rightness and belonging and caring that Obi-Wan had always been able to inspire in her), and so her behavior is all the more inexplicable. She simply cannot understand what she was thinking, when she told Anakin that what he had done to the Sand People was understandable and alright and that he shouldn't dwell on it because it was really just a sign that he was human, not some awful flaw that meant he was evil and could never be a real Jedi.

Padmé can't even begin to comprehend what she was thinking, when Anakin came to her after Jabiim and Aargonar, and she just stroked his hair and held him tight and whispered that he was a hero and everything was alright, that everything would be alright, that he would find Obi-Wan and prove the Council wrong and, together with Obi-Wan again, he would doubtlessly find a way to end the whole terrible war and so show the whole galaxy just what a wonderful and good man, what a true hero and strong Jedi, he really was. She had ignored all of the danger signs, all of the now quite obvious indications that Anakin was in trouble, that he was confused and in pain and (with her unwitting help) heading for a fall so long and so dangerous that he could possibly completely lose himself over the course of that fall. She had, in a way, enabled him, behaving towards him in such a way that she not only allowed but actually encouraged his more dangerous tendencies. And since she had genuinely cared for Anakin Skywalker, she cannot understand how she could have acted in such a manner. The dismay of her handmaidens, in retrospect, seems so much more understandable, now! Although it gives her some small comfort to think that perhaps her folly might have been influenced by the Sith's evil (even if the idea is also flatly infuriating), since she cannot know for sure, one way or the other, if Sidious had anything to do with it, Padmé feels obliged to remain where she is, in Anakin's Padawan braid, despite being forgotten by both Anakin and Obi-Wan and apparently even Master Qui-Gon. She may be tired of being presented with a seemingly endless stream of examples of all of her worst mistakes, but being forced to essentially sit quietly and face all of those errors down is not only enlightening, it serves as a kind of penance and so helps to lighten her mood and calm her mind. Besides, she is determined to make sure that at least this one thing will be set completely right, and as long as she has enough thoughts to occupy her mind she can remain where she is and busy herself enough to avoid being driven half-mad from boredom, from being stuck in this braid and essentially unable to do much of anything to affect the outside material world, and so continue to keep watch on Obi-Wan and Anakin and mark their progress, making sure that they have indeed bonded for good and final and that nothing will be able to drive them apart from one another ever again.

Of course, it's entirely possible that her current preoccupation with finding, facing, and then analyzing (or at least trying to understand her motivations or thinking for) every single one of her mistakes may end up being just as counterproductive and even unhealthy as her previous inability to even recognize any such flaws judgment as actual errors. But somehow Padmé gets the feeling that she needs to work through all of this in her own way, at her own speed, if the conclusion that she ultimately comes to is to have any real meaning or to provide a true sense of closure for her. So she continues to abide within the braid, watching over Obi-Wan and Anakin to make quite sure that they are alright and mercilessly making herself attempt, again and again and again, to look upon her life without any illusions, to squarely face her own mistakes, and to try to come to terms both with those errors and the reality of her past life, in hopes that doing so might somehow serve either to enlighten her or at least lighten the load of (deserved) guilt she feels she is carrying with her . . .

***