Chapter Text
I must admit, the mysteries of the Force are an enigma to me.
But for all those abilities… all the power… the Jedi lacked the vision for how to wield it.
- Grand Admiral Thrawn
Chapter 1
*****
Yoda
The turbolift doors opened with a deep-throated whoosh, the sound from the ancient machine decidedly more mechanical than those from its more modern descendants. The harsh white light spilling from the open lift was the only source of illumination in the lowest levels of the Jedi Temple, the echoes lingering in the air suggesting a great labyrinth of dark hallways beyond. From within the light emerged a small figure, walking with the aid of a cane, tapping the stone tiles in a slow, rhythmic beat. That distinct silhouette belonged to Yoda, Grand Master of the Jedi Order.
Yoda spotted the two temple guards on either side of the elaborately carved door, and through the Force he sensed several more standing guard just beyond in the darkness. The two masked guardians brought their distinctive double-sectioned lightsaber hilts to their chests in a practiced salute, and one of them moved aside to operate the controls for the door behind them.
With the sound of rough scraping stone, the door slowly split down the middle to reveal a second set of doors several feet beyond, Yoda nodded at both guards before stepping through, the heavy outer stone doors grinding shut behind him. He waited in front of the second set of doors, the ancient airlock bathed in a menacing red light.
Then, with a gentler whoosh, the lighter second set of doors snapped open, revealing a room so bright that Yoda had to momentarily shield his eyes. The room’s illumination came from a single white globe at the center of its domed ceiling, ringed by a series of concentric yellow geometric patterns. Small ceramic tiles in blue, red, and black were arranged in abstract designs upon the floor, while an arched doorway lined with red bricks led to an adjoining lavatory. A variety of green potted plants, gathered from several worlds, lined the walls of the modest space. At the room’s center was a neatly-made bed, flanked by a simple wooden nightstand and a fully-stocked bookshelf. Upon that bed sat his old apprentice, Count Yan Dooku.
Dressed in comfortable beige linen trousers and a tunic, Dooku looked more like an aged farmer than a head of state or a Dark Lord of the Sith. Even this brief period of captivity has eroded his immaculate posture, and drained most of that signature superior look from his eyes. As Yoda approached, Dooku looked up, smiled, and set down the worn book he was reading.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Dooku began, reading Yoda’s concerned expression through decades of familiarity. “These accommodations are far better than what I expected. I must compliment you on the consideration.”
“Still a prison, it is.” Yoda responded. “Most unfortunate, these circumstances are.”
Dooku shifted to a more comfortable position, clasping his hands over his knee. “But necessary, nonetheless. The Order must discipline its own members.” Dooku observed. “Allowing the Senate to punish a Jedi Knight, even a wayward one, sets a dangerous precedent.”
“Still a Jedi Knight, you are? Hm?” Yoda retorted in a lightly accusatory tone. Dooku smiled. It was always questions with Yoda.
“Oh, I’m not much of anything these days.” Dooku responded, with a hint of satisfaction. “Just an old man waiting to die.”
“Too old, you are? Hmph!” Yoda said while jabbing his cane in Dooku’s direction, before turning away with a sigh. He paused for a moment. “Need to end here, your life does not.”
“You know,” Dooku mused, looking up to examine the mesmerizing patterns on the room’s ceiling. “I always expected to die here, in the Temple, ever since I was an initiate all those years ago. A life in the service of the Jedi Order.”
Dooku turned to Yoda again, smiling. “Think of the last few years as a final adventure, one last detour before I lay myself to rest.”
Yoda narrowed his eyes in suspicion, the deep lines on his face forming a scowl. Dooku looked a bit sheepish after the cheap provocation, yet he still let the silence stand.
“Why turn to the Dark Side, you have.” Yoda asked, finally breaking the silence. “And why betray your new Master now?”
Dooku waited for a beat, bringing his knee closer to his chest as he sat. “You and him are a lot alike, you know?” Dooku observed, again looking into the distance. “Both of you are relics, entirely consumed by ego, playing an old game and not realizing the galaxy has long left you behind.”
Yoda placed both hands over his cane to stand a bit straighter, an almost imperceptible thread of indignation in his body language. “Alike, we are? Hm?”
“Yes, and I hope you realize that before this all ends.”
“Defeated the Dark Lord, the Jedi have.” Yoda responded. “Saved, the Republic is.”
Dooku turned back to face Yoda, placing both of his bare feet on the floor to lean forward towards the diminutive Jedi Master. “The Republic is done. The Jedi Order’s days are numbered. Don’t you see it?”
Yoda’s eyes narrowed. Dooku continued, “The Jedi Order and the Senate are two dying institutions, one negligent and the other corrupt. The current system only exists because together they prevent any and all accountability. The Jedi have no legitimacy without the endorsement of the Senate, and the Senate has no power without the Jedi to enforce it.”
“The will of the people, the Senate is.” Yoda counters. “Serve the greater good, the Jedi must. Seek power, we must not.”
“Yet power is what you wield,” Dooku observed. “Is it not?”
“Mastery of the Force is what we seek,” Yoda declares. “The path to the Dark Side, the other way is.”
“See, that’s the game! This talk of the Light and the Dark.” Dooku snaps, his speech growing a beat faster. “You’re still playing it, and it’s made you blind to the reality of things.”
“Guide me, the will of the Force does.” Yoda responds suspiciously, looking for Dooku to elaborate further. “A game, it is not.”
“Hmph, the Force.” Dooku grunted. “The Force is all things, every facet of existence; the Force is cosmic, and we are not. You taught me this, Master.”
“But,” he continued. “If the Dark Side has taught me anything, it’s that light and dark are mortal concepts. They reflect how we use the Force, they don’t define it.”
“Still seek, we must.” Yoda replies. “A more fundamental truth. How we study the Force, it is.”
“What you have,” Dooku contends. “Is an ideology, not wisdom. Pretending otherwise is how the Jedi got here.”
Yoda did not respond.
“You collect children from all over the Galaxy, you separate them from any sense of their own history.” Dooku ranted, his voice becoming increasingly agitated. “You give them the only family that they are allowed to have, until every Jedi in this temple lives and dies for your acknowledgement. Generations of Jedi hang on your every word, and you don’t understand why the rest of the galaxy does not do the same.”
Yoda wrinkled his brow. Dooku continued, undeterred. “You deny the Jedi any experience of love, hate, heartbreak, longing, and any other emotion you don’t understand. You’ve never experienced any of it, yet you ask others to abandon it. You ask them to sever their attachments, until they feel less, know less, do less. And you, you sit at the top of it, doing the least of all!”
There it was, that madness — Yoda could see it behind Dooku’s wide eyes, an anger which seethed within him, looking for an outlet. “As one old man to another,” Dooku added. “You need to realize when you’ve wasted your life. You’ve spent so much of it denying a full existence to others, and your narrow-mindedness has destroyed the Jedi Order!”
Dooku’s rant left the room in an uncomfortable cloud of silence, the raw anger of the outburst surprising the both of them. Yoda closed his eyes and sighed, his ears drooping ever so slightly.
After an interminable pause, he addressed Dooku. “Resent me, do you?” He asked. “Wronged you, I have.”
“Yes, I hated you.” Dooku conceded. “All my apprentices are dead, my life’s work amounted to nothing. The Republic is crumbling, and yet you remained as oblivious as ever. I began to listen to my anger, because it provided answers the Jedi could not.”
The room was silent again, both men respecting that moment of vulnerability. “Admonish you for your actions, I must.” Yoda sighed. “But deny your words, I cannot.”
Dooku seemed surprised at that admission, apparently expecting yet another rebuke about the dangers of the Dark Side. Yoda walked a step closer to look up at his former apprentice.
“Preserve the Jedi, I must.” Yoda declared. “What insights, have you?”
Dooku smiled. He leaned closer, his voice several decibels quieter. “Outside the walls of this temple,” Dooku whispered. “Every ounce of respect the Jedi have ever earned came at the end of a lightsaber. You need to understand that, before it’s too late, Master Yoda.”
“What Skywalker is doing,” Dooku continued. “Will unravel the entire Republic.”
“Troubled, young Skywalker is.” Yoda lamented. “Stop him, we cannot.”
“No,” Dooku agreed. “You cannot. But when the Republic falls, you must not let the Jedi be dragged down with it.”
“Certain of this, you are? Hm?” Yoda asked.
Dooku leaned back and smiled.
“It’s the only thing I’m certain of.”
******
Anakin
Anakin felt his fist tightening behind him. The mechanical hand tended to do that when he was angry, frustrated, or otherwise distressed.
He stood in his usual position, looking out from the Resolute’s forward viewport with both hands clasped behind his back. The curved horizon of Tatooine spread out before him, a dozen shades of brown ringed by a faintly glowing shell of blue atmosphere. This awful planet looks just as dull and inhospitable up here as it does down there, Anakin thought.
He found himself here at the viewport more and more often these days, frequently enough that the bridge crew knew not to disturb him. It’s another form of meditation, he figured, and he found this clarity welcoming, especially considering how much he despised Obi-Wan’s insistence on “clearing his mind” throughout their years together.
Nowadays, he did have a lot on his mind, but so very little he wanted to think about.
“All ships are in position, waiting on the Captain’s signal.”
He wanted this mission. No, he needed this mission. He needed to be away from Coruscant, away from the Jedi Temple, away from Padmé, from all of it.
It’s been two years since the start of the Clone Wars, and it’s already been over a year since it ended.
Only months into the war he and Obi-Wan had, through a stroke of miraculous fortune, captured the Separatist leader Count Dooku. During transit, the Sith Lord made an unbelievable confession: his master, Darth Sidious, had orchestrated the entire conflict between the Republic and the Separatists in order to destroy the Jedi Order and rule the galaxy.
Then he made his most shocking revelation: Darth Sidious’s true identity was Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, Anakin’s friend and mentor.
Of course, Anakin protested the Count’s accusations all the way back to Coruscant. How could anyone believe the world of a traitor and a Sith Lord over that of the Chancellor? Why couldn’t they see that this was just another one of the Count’s stratagems? Nevertheless, the Jedi Council ignored his protestations — as usual —and moved to arrest the Chancellor before anyone outside of the Order knew of the Count’s confession. Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka were to join Master Windu’s team of Jedi as soon as their ship made orbit around Coruscant.
When their gunship arrived at the Chancellor’s office, knights Kolar, Tiin, and Fisto were already dead, and Master Windu was desperately cornered by the Sith Lord. Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka joined the fray, but the tide only turned when Master Yoda arrived on a second gunship moments later. Most of the fight was a blur to him — it took all of Anakin’s abilities just to keep up and survive as true masters of Light and Dark clashed. He dodged as Yoda and Sidious threw heavy tables and chairs at each other with ease, while Master Windu circled the Sith Lord searching for an opening. Anakin saw a vicious force blast knock Ahsoka off her feet and out of the office’s panoramic window — Obi-Wan barely catching her hand in time as she dangled miles above the city.
Even though he couldn’t match the Sith Lord’s prowess, he could still feel him growing impatient and desperate. While Palpatine could draw on that anger to fuel his dark side powers, he would eventually lose a battle of attrition to multiple opponents working in tandem. Minutes later, with the office in complete ruin and Coruscant winds howling from the shattered windows, Mace Windu finally disarmed the Chancellor with a deft parry. But in that moment, instead of taking the opening that the Jedi Master had provided to strike the Sith Lord down, Anakin hesitated. Sinister bolts of lightning from Palpatine’s fingers raked Master Windu’s body, costing the Jedi Master an eye and leaving horrific burns across half of his body, before the Jedi was finally able to run his purple lightsaber through the Sith Lord’s chest.
“Still no contact from the Captain, hold positions.”
Thinking back, ever since Qui-Gon first presented him before the Jedi Council, Anakin has hated Jedi Master Mace Windu. Anakin resented his judgment, his indifference, his willingness to return Anakin to slavery, and his insistence that Anakin abandon the only good thing in his miserable life. He knew these emotions were petty, and unbecoming of a Jedi Knight, but he still struggled with them all the same. Mace Windu represented everything he hated about the Jedi Order, and everything he didn’t want to be as a Jedi Knight.
But now, all he sees is his own guilt reflected in Mace’s glassy eye, his cowardice and unworthiness drawn across the burns on the Jedi’s face. Anakin could no longer face Master Windu — he found the shame unbearable.
Anakin’s close association with the Chancellor was no secret amongst the Jedi at the temple. The Chancellor was like a father to him, and Anakin spoke of their relationship often. But while he accepted, even expected, the suspicion and scorn of his peers, what he couldn’t endure was their pity. Mace Windu never blamed him for failing to strike the killing blow, Master Yoda offered to lend an ear to his troubles, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka kept their distance while demonstrating their sincere willingness to help in their own, annoying way. He could stand being treated like a failure, like an irreconcilable deliquent, he was used to it by now. But he couldn’t stand being seen as a victim, as someone manipulated — no, tricked — into being a poor excuse of a Jedi.
He realized the childishness of continuing his reckless disobedience just to prove a point, but even so he still pursued the conclusion of the Clone Wars with unmatched ferocity. Anakin’s fleet chased the Separatist remnants across the Outer Rim, scattering countless Confederacy ships across the stars even as most of the Jedi dismissed themselves from the war effort. And when the war finally ended, less than a year after the Battle of Geonosis, he chose to remain with his fleet, away from Coruscant. He worries about what kind of example he’s setting for his Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, but even so, he needed to prove that he was his own man, his own Jedi, and not some pawn of a greater power.
“General, a transmission for you from the surface.”
Tatooine. He’d previously avoided this cursed planet because it reminded him of his greatest failures, and of his most painful grief. But lately Anakin has found that his recollections of his mother were no longer fringed with unbridled anger, his pain no longer raw and blinding. He could be present for the memories of her kindness in life, rather than be obsessed by the circumstances that enabled her death. Whether it was Palpatine’s dark influence receeding or just the natural passage of time, Anakin found that he didn’t really care. What matters is that he could finally fulfill that ultimate promise, if to no one but himself. He was going to set all the slaves free.
And so, he was back here, where it all began. It took nearly six months for the Senate to approve his expedition into Hutt-controlled space, and the vote prevailed only after several Senators were convinced that he was completely willing, and totally capable, of undertaking this venture without Senate approval.
“General Skywalker, we have a transmission from Jabba the Hutt.”
“Ah, right…” Anakin responded, finally aware of Admiral Yularen’s presence beside him. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”
Anakin walked with Yularen to the holographic projector at the center of the bridge, flanked by dozens of clones performing their duties. The projector flickered to life as they approached, resolving into an image of Jabba’s throne room, the weighty creature flanked by a number of his courtiers as well as a heavily-used protocol droid.
“His great eminence Jabba the Hutt protests this unwanted incursion into his territory,” the protocol droid translated as Jabba rumbled in slurred Huttese. “His great eminence demands that you cease trespassing upon his domain and withdraw immediately from the system.”
“Great Jabba,” Anakin responds in Basic for the benefit of the bridge officers, as well as for the official record to be presented to the Senate. “We are here as agents of the Galactic Republic to ensure that Tatooine has adequate representation in the Galactic Senate, and to establish whether or not you are, in fact, the elected leader of this planet.”
Jabba burped and grunted through another series of sentences in Huttese, seemingly amused with himself.
“His great eminence questions the necessity of this Republic inquiry,” the droid translated. “As Tatooine is a privately-owned trade outpost, with too meagre a population to qualify for representation in the Senate.”
The droid left out a few pointed Huttese curses at the end of the Hutt’s tirade, Anakin noted with some amusement.
Anakin leaned forward, leveling an accusatory look at the Hutt. “The report you’ve submitted to the Senate has the permanent population of Tatooine at under 50 thousand sentients,” he began. “But, if you count the slaves, that population is well over 200 thousand. And, if we consider the local Tusken population, the number is at least as high as 500 thousand.”
Anakin stood straight again, crossing his arms across his chest.
Jabba was fully laughing now, his bulk swaying from his exaggerated amusement. “His great eminence Jabba the Hutt would like to remind you, Master Jedi,” the droid translated. “That slavery is illegal in the Republic.”
Then Jabba, the showman that he was, zoomed out the holoprojection to show his entire throne room, now absent the usual set of chained Twi’Lek slave dancers. “As you can see,” the droid continued. “We have no slaves here.”
Jabba, along with his entire court, laughed uproariously in response.
Anakin allowed himself his signature roguish grin as the jeers of Jabba’s court echoed in the bridge.
“That’s the idea.”
*****
“Smells like a sewer down here.” Rex complained as he hunched down to accommodate himself under the lower ceilings of the cramped crawlspace.
“We’re above a waste disposal chute,” Ahsoka responded from ahead of him. “Just bear with it.”
They were in the lowest corridors of Jabba’s Palace, skulking along hallways hewn from the rough Tatooine sandstone. While these passages were unlit, enough light from Tatooine’s suns filtered through cracks and crevices to prevent the environment from being too terribly claustrophobic. The enhanced humidity of the palace air — and the humidity of its occupants — gathered more strongly at the lower levels, condensing into a nearly visible fog as they made their way through the passageway. There was actual mold on the walls here, Ahsoka noted with equal parts astonishment and disgust.
She was dressed in plain servant’s garb, barely a step above rags, having infiltrated the palace four days ago as a newly-acquired slave for the kitchens. Meanwhile, Rex was dressed as a bounty hunter, sporting a rather menacing helmet with a built-in vocoder, meant to disguise his extremely recognizable face and voice. He’d arrived a day ago along with Echo and Fives to facilitate the extraction.
Following them was a throng of slaves, 37 in total. They served in various parts of the Palace, most of them either custodians or kitchen staff, slaves who kept the tenants well-fed and the palace comparatively clean, at least by Hutt standards. The last of the slaves they gathered were the two Twi’Lek throne room dancers, who were dismissed from their posts when the Republic task force announced its presence above the planet.
“Status Report.” Rex whispered into his wrist communicator.
“All Clear,” she heard Echo respond. “No hostiles on the path to the extraction point.”
“Let’s pick up the pace,” Ahsoka commanded. “Before Jabba gets hungry and realizes the kitchen is empty.”
“Right, sir.” Rex responded, waving on the nervous group of slaves behind them. They hurried with renewed energy, and she soon saw daylight reflected around the final turn.
As she made her way around the corner, she spotted the crouched silhouettes of Echo and Fives, both also dressed as bounty hunters and flanking a ledge at the end of the corridor. They both nod in acknowledgement as she approached, and Ahsoka moved between them to look over the ledge they occupied.
Below her was a several-foot drop into what looked like a gutter, cut from the same sandstone as the corridor. That gutter then led to a long, steep narrow incline which dropped downwards for well over 30 feet before reaching the source of daylight. Unlike the slightly moldy corridors they’ve traveled in so far, the gutter and the chute were properly filthy, covered in a glossy brown patina and littered with unidentifiable bits of detritus.
“Can’t see why they need a waste chute this big,” Rex remarked from over her shoulder. “Even Jabba himself can’t shit big enough to need one wide enough for us to fit through.”
“You haven’t seen the Rancor, then.” Ahsoka responded.
“The what?”
“Nevermind.”
Ahsoka turned away from the chute, and made her way to the anxious group of slaves behind her. She approached a woman at the front of the crowd: a stout, middle-aged human with a weathered face and numerous gray streaks through her black hair.
“Myrene, have you done a final count?” Ahsoka asked.
“Yes, my lady,” She answered eagerly, with both urgency and fear in her accented voice. “All 37 are accounted for, including Brekka and Nyra.”
“Great, then let’s get out of here.” Ahsoka said through a disarming smile. “Gather everyone, we’ll slide down using ropes.” She could hear the clone troopers hammering in the climbing pitons behind her.
“Wait!” a black-haired young man interjected from beside Myrene. It was her 17 year-old son, Deek.
“How will we get past the grate?” He asked. “The sluice is double-reinforced, it would take hours for us to cut through it with blasters.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Ahsoka responded with brash confidence as she turned back towards the chute.
“I got this.” Ahsoka said over her shoulder, unclipping the lightsaber from her belt and taking a rope into her other hand. The crowd gasped as she disappeared over the edge.
Ahsoka slid while standing, careful not to touch the filthy walls of the chute with her hands or clothes. Her surroundings quickly got brighter, and she built considerable speed before finally stopping herself on the sluice, striking the slotted metal plate with her feet hard enough for a loud clang to echo the length of the chute. She could see daylight from between the slits on the grate, bright even reflected off the barren, rocky ground several stories beneath her.
With relief she smelled the dry desert air, slightly cool in the shadow of the Palace, and activated her lightsaber.
*****
Jabba continued in what seemed like a well-practiced routine, unleashing a long series of insults in Huttese while he and his court amused themselves at the expense of yet another Republic flunky. The protocol droid left the jeers untranslated, repeating “oh dear…” in a quiet voice as he was jostled by the excitement of Jabba’s guests. This went on for several minutes, and while Jabba expected him to either react in anger or end the call completely, Anakin simply stood and waited.
“We’re clear of the palace, General.” Anakin heard through his wrist communicator. He turned away from the projected scene of Jabba’s throne room and spoke into his receiver. “And all the slaves are safe?”
“Yes, 37 in total, we’re making our way to the LZ.” Rex responded. “They never saw us coming, General.”
“Good work, Rex. I’ll see you topside.”
“Hey Master,” Ahsoka interrupted on their shared channel. “Next time, you get to crawl through Jabba’s toilet while I stay on the ship.”
Anakin smiles. “I’ll make it up to you, Snips, I promise.”
With that, Anakin turns back to approach the holoprojector table again, leaning forward until his face was covered in a mass of deep shadows cast by the ghostly blue light of the projection.
“Look, Jabba.” Anakin began. “I’m not here looking for a bribe, and I’m not here to parade around the system just long enough to report back to Coruscant. I’m here to enact justice — to enforce the rule of law. Either comply with my demands, or face the consequences.”
You can’t just make demands of me you ball of Bantha snot, I own this system! Jabba exclaimed in Huttese. The protocol droid was nowhere to be seen at this point.
You try to extort one of us, every Hutt in the sector will put a bounty on your head, the Jedi can’t save you then. Jabba continued. You should know your place, slave-son. Once a slave, always a slave, don’t mess with the possessions of your betters, or you’ll know a fate worse than death!
Anakin smiled. He’d heard these threats countless times in the junkyard and on the podracing track. In the past he could feel his anger coil around him, narrowing his vision, burning his mind. But now, all he could see was an insignificant bully who had neither the wit nor ambition to aspire for anything better than a dusty ball of misery on the far corner of the galaxy. Just another sad creature perpetuating a sad system.
“Jabba, I don’t think you understand.” Anakin said after a pause. “The Republic is not here to negotiate with treaties or lightsabers. We’re here to negotiate with a fleet of cruisers.”
Anakin stood again, turning from the projector to address Admiral Yularen. “Firing solution Delta, tight spread. You may fire when ready.” The Admiral nodded in acknowledgement and turned to relay orders to the bridge crew.
The throne room went silent. The courtiers looked to one another in confusion as Jabba’s sneer resolved into a look of puzzlement. A cacophony of protests slowly began to build, and within moments everyone in the throne room, including Jabba himself, was shouting. Anakin looked down at the projection, which suddenly seemed very small.
May the sands return you to the sky.
Anakin spoke the Tatooine slave idiom as Jabba’s projection flashed brightly before flickering, the Hutt’s final howl an unintelligible warble.
“Deploy the troops,” Anakin said, eyes still fixed on empty table where Jabba’s image was just a moment ago. “We can cover all the major population centers within the day, and make sure every unit has one of Echo’s new gadgets to disable the implant detonators.”
“Yes, sir!”
Anakin finally turned away from the blank projector, addressing the armored clone trooper directly. “Seeing what happened to Jabba should prevent any organized resistance from the slave masters. And be prepared to render medical aid to the locals.”
“Roger that.” The clone responded before exiting the bridge at a brisk jog. Anakin returned to his usual station at the main viewport, watching as a steady stream of gunships and landers exited the Resolute’s main bay towards the planet below.
There, done.
After almost 20 years, he was finally able to fulfill that promise he made as a child, even if it was now just to Anakin himself. Anakin resented the judgement of the Jedi Council because he could feel, on some level, that they were correct: he was a scared, angry little boy, and he was still that boy 10 years later because he couldn’t learn to be anything else.
He hopes that boy is happy now, because Anakin is ready to move on.
*****
Several hours later, the 501st had completed their deployment on Tatooine, utilizing the planet’s three major spaceports as staging areas while they dispersed into the outlying settlements. As expected, there was no notable resistance amongst the slaveholders — they were equipped for suppressing riots, not for fighting an elite clone battalion. With little left for him to do on the bridge, Anakin returned to his quarters on the Resolute, mentally and emotionally worn from the day’s work.
His quarters were larger than the typical officer’s cabin, but still much smaller than any of Padmé’s apartments on Coruscant. It possessed an adjoining living room, kitchen and reception area, meant to facilitate the more diplomatic facets of his role as de-facto commander of a Republic fleet. However, most of the space in his quarters was overrun by piles of scrap and machinery, evidence of a dozen incomplete projects. Now that he no longer had to abide by the strictness of the Jedi Temple custodians, or Obi-Wan’s obsession with cleanliness, he had allowed his living space to evolve into a junkyard. Ahsoka had once remarked that his quarters looked like the bottom of a Jawa Sandcrawler.
He had converted the desk in his bedroom to a mechanic’s workbench, and it’s where he spent most of his time while not on the bridge. These hobbies helped him pass the time, and kept his mind clear of any unpleasant thoughts. As he entered the dark bedroom, he was greeted by a flickering red light followed by a lethargic beep as R2-D2 stirred from his standby state.
“How are you, R2?” Anakin asked as he pressed the button to activate the room’s ceiling lights. “Sorry for being away for so long, had some things to take care of.”
R2 let out a short series of affirmative beeps, and Anakin smiled at the droid’s sarcastic reply. “Not a lot for you to do on the bridge, unfortunately. Believe me, I’d rather be out there in a starfighter too.”
Mollified, R2 responded with a sequence of higher-pitched beeps. Anakin turned to remove his belt and robes to head to the shower, but was interrupted by another series of urgent beeps from R2.
“A message,” Anakin repeated, a look of concern forming on his face. “From Padmé.”
Anakin sat down on his bed, still unmade from the last time he slept.
Right, Padmé. The other thing he didn’t want to think about.
His correspondences with Padmé have become increasingly scarce since he left Coruscant 6 months ago: they went days and then weeks between calls, and a few months ago Padmé switched exclusively to written messages. He hadn’t gotten a response to his last message 2 weeks ago, but as it was a continuation of a months-long pattern he chose not to pry further. Anakin knew through the newsfeeds that Padmé had left Coruscant to return to Naboo over two months ago, and has stayed out of the public eye ever since. She continued her work in the Senate via proxy, and nothing about the situation gave Anakin any particular reason to be concerned for her safety.
As upsetting as the revelations about the Chancellor were to Anakin, he knew that they were far more devastating to Padmé. She had known him since she was a child, grown up under his care. He was like an uncle to her — he was the one who introduced her to politics, who taught her about statesmanship, who was her closest mentor as Queen and then later as Galactic Senator for Naboo. Palpatine had molded Padmé’s entire life.
And that brought them to the thing that they couldn’t bear to discuss, that Gundark in the room: Palpatine was the only common figure in their lives, the largest intersection between them, and if all of him was a grand deception, then was their romance also a lie?
Anakin knew he still loved Padmé. He loved her headstrong conviction, her mischievous sense of humor, her boundless empathy for others, her fearlessness in the face of danger. And also, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. But, while their relationship was always dramatic, and their disagreements explosive, those same arguments became… different after Palpatine’s death. They would wield words with malice, speak with the intention to cause permanent harm, and while in the past they would transition effortlessly between arguing and flirting, the acrimony from their disagreements now lingered like a dark cloud.
Once he was away from Coruscant he realized what she was trying to do, or really, what they were both trying to do. They were testing the limits of their relationship, testing their capacity to endure each other’s shortcomings, in order to prove that their love was real. He wondered if he was pursuing this romance with Padmé just to stubbornly prove a point, or maybe he treated the crumbling relationship like a challenge, something to mend like one of his scrap projects.
So he was almost glad when Padmé began to curtail their correspondence, because if this had to end, it should probably end with things unsaid. They both possessed the same stubborn bullishness, and would most likely refuse to break up out of sheer spite if either one of them were to actually broach the idea. Even so, Anakin missed her, and wanted to tell her that he loved her, one more time, to make sure that she knew he meant it.
He sighed, looked over to R2, and gathered his resolve. “Show me.” He commanded.
R2’s projector flickered to life, illuminating a text message over the center of the cramped room:
Anakin, we need to talk. See me on Naboo when you can.