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Chapter Text

The dream began the same as the others, with Padmé dying and Anakin failing to save her. She cried out for him and he wasn't there, and he felt the loss of her like a black hole, pulling joy and hope and Anakin's entire world out of existence with her.

It was the worst thing he could imagine. A loss Anakin could never bear, and one he would do anything to prevent.

Anything.

The Force knows this, as much as something without individual sentient life can know anything, for all things are possible within the Force. There is a future laid out before them whose agony shatters the Force so severely that the shockwaves echo back in time, and collide with the mind of the man who stands almost at the centre of the storm, powerful enough to hear the message and the only one whose actions could change it.

The dream - vision - nightmare of Padmé vanished, and for a moment Anakin was caught between relief and terror.

And then something far worse took its place.

He dreams of darkness. Fire and blood and the bodies of children, rasping breaths and the tomb of his own body. Betrayal and murder and an endless, aching emptiness, and a cold that eats at his bones and never goes away.

You were the chosen one, the words echo inside his head, over and over, layering and layering until they are a deafening cacophony. Then my friend is truly dead, he hears, and knows all that came between.

He is a frozen observer to it all, horrified and screaming words no one can hear.

Anakin Skywalker has been chosen by the Force to bring balance. In one universe, the method by which he achieves it is paved with death and betrayal and pain.

In this one, even while he sleeps, Anakin makes a choice of his own. In his panic and desperation he cries out for Obi-Wan Kenobi, and the future reaches for him too.

Anakin woke gasping for breath that would not come, with sweat soaking his clothes and tears streaming down his face and dampening his hair.

He couldn't breathe. The air was wrong - too warm, too fresh - and his mind was being assaulted by light, like he'd finally stepped outside after a lifetime underground. He didn't know where he was, or when - only that they were all dead, he'd killed so many people, he was choking on the dark -

Padmé was dead, his children were in hiding from him, he'd tried so hard to kill Obi-Wan -

Anakin's mouth was open in a silent scream, and then he became aware of a hand on his shoulder.

It was an impossible point of heat, steady and gentle and soft, soft against skin that hardly felt anything any more, not since the flames and the suit, and if he had the breath he would have cried out at the sensation that pricked like needles. He hadn't felt a kind touch in so many years -

"Anakin, breathe with me. Here, feel my breaths, copy my breathing."

It wasn't real.

It couldn't be real.

Awareness of the room started to come to him. It was dark, but a normal dark, the dark of a city at night - lit by an artificial glow, with life never sleeping outside. He knew this room - he knew that voice, the familiarity of that touch.

"Padmé," he gasped, and reached for the hand on his shoulder.

Before he could touch it, he tore himself away. Anakin flung himself off the bed so hard and fast that he collided with the floor, but he barely felt the impact. He rolled upright and scrambled backwards until he hit the wall, still hyperventilating; his head felt light and his chest was beginning to hurt.

"Anakin!" she cried, sitting frozen on top of the bed, still reaching out for him. "What's wrong?"

And she was just there, alive, real. Just as she had ever been, no more and no less - dressed simply with her hair down as she only ever was at home, with only him. He drank in the sight of her face greedily -

But no, not greed, he could not have greed, that was part of the fall; Anakin cried out and dug his hands into his hair, which was thick and curling and stung at his scalp when he pulled it.

"It was a dream, it was a dream," he whispered to himself, screwing his eyes closed, as if he could make it true, but this felt more like the dream - something that Darth Vader had spent ten years wishing for, suddenly made real.

He shivered. It was only sweat cooling on his skin in the night air, but it clawed right down into his heart. The Dark Side was always so cold.

"You dreamed it again?" Padmé's hands went to her stomach, revealing the bump beneath the fall of her nightgown.

Luke and Leia, their twins, their children, the little girl Anakin would have killed without a second thought to get to Obi-Wan.

He scrambled to his feet, and managed to keep the bile down only until he reached the refresher. His knees collided harshly with the floor and he vomited into the toilet, a vicious cycle of thoughts swirling in his head.

He had killed them. He'd fallen. Padmé had died but only because of him, because of what he'd done. He'd aided in the destruction of the Jedi Order, murdered knights and children alike with his own hand, tried to kill his brother, the man who was like a father to him. He'd forced his troops to slaughter innocents, trapped in their own minds. He was a danger to his own children.

"Ani, it was only a dream." Padmé's voice came from the doorway, but Anakin, hands braced on the toilet bowl, did not look up. She stepped closer; water ran for a moment, and then she was swiping a cool damp cloth against the clammy skin on his neck, down his back. Her fingers rubbed soothing circles in his hair.

He was caught again between the need to flee from her and the almost equal need to let her comfort him, to let him savour what he had longed so endlessly to have.

He shook his head. "You need to get away from me."

"I don't understand, Anakin, what's wrong?"

"Padmé, please. You have to, please, please-"

"Alright, I'll stand over here, I'm not touching you. Please tell me what's wrong."

"It's me," he said. The sour taste lingered in his mouth, as metaphorical as it was real. "I'm a danger to you."

"Don't say that. You'd never hurt me - whatever it was, it was only a dream."

"No."

Anakin had dreamed of her death last night - or a lifetime ago. The night after they'd crashed the ship into Coruscant. He'd been so sure the dream was a vision of the future, and equally sure that he could not let go of her as Yoda had said he should. That there would be another way, where he could have both the Jedi and Padmé.

He'd had neither, in the end.

What had happened last night was different. It was like he lived it; he could still feel the phantom pain in his legs, in his flesh arm, across every inch of his skin. It was like memory, a memory of a life unlived - a life not yet lived.

But how close he was to it. Just the evening before, he had sat and listened to the story of Darth Plagueis the Wise, and the seed had taken root. Even now, this very night, Anakin Skywalker teetered on the edge of darkness, and by nightfall the next day he would fall, and everything would be ash.

The present and the future were colliding in his mind. Anakin flushed the toilet and sat back against the wall, wiping a shaky hand over his mouth. She was so beautiful, Padmé Amidala, once Queen of Naboo, and she had only a day left to live.

"It wasn't a dream. It was the future. I felt it."

And for a moment her face flickered with fear, her hands once again over her stomach.

Then those hands curled into fists. She set her jaw, straightened, and looked him levelly in the eye.

"What do we need to do?"

Anakin stared. Do? There was nothing to do, nothing but stare into the abyss forming beneath his feet.

"Anakin, if you've seen the future, if something happens to our child, then we've been given a blessing. A chance to change it."

A chance.

You were the chosen one!

He needed to run. Run to the furthest ends of the galaxy, hide himself away, lock himself up where he could never hurt those he loved, where even if he fell he would be no danger to anyone.

It might spare Padmé, but -

But there was someone looming behind all of this, someone who had planted that seed, who had seen the potential of darkness within Anakin and in it an opportunity to further his own power.

Anakin had been a scourge on the galaxy, but there was one worse still.

He could run, but Palpatine would remain. The clones would still have their minds stolen and be forced to slaughter the Jedi; the temple would still become a tomb. The Empire would still rise. Even if Anakin's departure spared Padmé from Palpatine's attention, her opposition to his policies and the birth of two beacons in the Force would not. Ahsoka would still be in danger and Obi-Wan would still be hunted.

Rage boiled in his gut, and it was so familiar that for a moment he clung to it. That was his anchor, that was all he knew - rage and hatred for Palpatine. He would destroy him, he would rip him apart, and -

And he would fall, all the same.

Here and now, somehow, against all reason, love was standing before him again. Love that should always have been his anchor, his salvation, his hope. But even now, knowing the danger and the cost, he was afraid; he didn't know how not to be afraid. It was like he'd been given a vision of the future only as a curse and misery for this last day of free life. He knew what was coming, but every path led to the same outcome.

Darkness, and loneliness. Forever.

Unless.

Anakin dug his hands into his legs - his strong, healthy legs, his undamaged skin. This was real - this was now, today. It was still night, the night before Obi-Wan would leave for Utapau, before Anakin would go to Palpatine, discover the truth and still not prevent what was coming.

Unless.

In that future, ten years down the line, after genocide and destruction, he had fought Obi-Wan again and Obi-Wan had apologised. Had looked for Anakin beneath the mask of Vader, and shown mercy even when hope seemed extinguished. He had spent that long decade mourning Anakin, their sabers - their lives - buried together beneath twin suns and sand, and wishing he had done more, had found any way to turn Anakin from that path.

It had never been Obi-Wan's fault, and yet he would have done anything to bring Anakin back. Vader knew it, even if he took a sick pleasure in damning that last flicker of hope for Anakin's salvation.

It laid bare a truth that Anakin had never accepted, and now could not remember why: there was nothing in all the galaxy that Obi-Wan would not do to help him.

"We need to go to Obi-Wan."

He wasn't sure what he was expecting - surprise, confusion, or the suggestion that they would go in the morning - but Padmé studied his face and then gave a single sharp nod.

"I'll get dressed and call down, they can have a speeder waiting for us by the time we reach the lobby. Wash your face, I'll find you some clean clothes."

She set the wash cloth on the edge of the sink and then she was gone in a whirl of soft fabric, already talking on her comm.

He had missed her so much that he wept, right there on the floor of their apartment, even as he realised that the brightness in his head was because the Jedi were still alive, thousands of spots of dazzling light not yet extinguished.

How had he ever felt alone? How could he ever have thought himself any less than part of a vast, radiant family?

He could feel Padmé's worry all the way to the Temple. He let one of her guards drive, which clearly confused them both, though neither said anything. He didn't trust himself, not with her there with him.

Climbing the steps to the Temple was nearly enough to make him vomit again. Marching footsteps echoed in his ears, but it was only his own feet and Padmé's alongside. The Temple was quiet, though not entirely deserted; they passed a few nighttime wanderers, some lost in thought while others looked at them with curious but kind eyes and murmured gentle greetings. None of them could see the danger that was coming; still he was welcome among them, for one more day.

He was almost running by the time he neared Obi-Wan's rooms, and contained himself to a quick walk only because he could not bear to leave Padmé behind. Nor could he bear to be too close to her; he longed to hold her hand but he was too keenly aware of the saber at his waist. He could not have left it knowing what he needed to defend against, but he could not have it near her.

"Ani, breathe," she said again, but the door was in sight and he could think of nothing else. He hammered on it, uncaring of the hour, still deep in the small hours of morning.

"Obi-Wan!" he yelled, even as she shushed him, and he was still knocking when the door was flung open.

Obi-Wan stood there, half-dressed in rumpled tunics and bare feet. His hair was wild and his face dangerously pale; his eyes roved madly over Anakin's face and his features were twisted in pain. He was gripping the bicep of one arm, where once there had been - would be - a terrible burn, a horrific wound Anakin had done him in hatred and vengeance.

He could taste bile again and cold seeped into his bones.

"I had a vision," Anakin whispered.

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, and his voice was hoarse as if from screaming. "I had it too."

They didn't question if they had seen the same thing - if they had lived the same thing. They knew it, in their hearts, and in that corner of the Force that was theirs. And Anakin realised he had known this ever since he woke up, for those memories had not been his alone; he had seen Obi-Wan's future just as much as his own.

"I'm sorry," he said, choking on the words that had been roiling in him since first he woke. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, just kill me, Obi-Wan, please, and destroy him, end it before I can hurt any of you."

Padmé made a noise that might be a gasp or a breathless protest; he felt her start to move, but Obi-Wan was faster.

"Don't say that. You haven't done it yet - now that we've seen it all, you never will. We know now. We know what he is planning, and we can fight."

"It's too late," Anakin moaned. "There's nothing we can do."

And yet here Obi-Wan was, whole and alive and young, and Anakin had been so desperately alone. He thought of his own childish, terrible fear that he might reach for Obi-Wan and he wouldn't reach back, and Vader's even greater fear that he would. He thought of it all and he thought of his despair and yet he reached out anyway.

And Obi-Wan - Obi-Wan threw himself at Anakin, and they twined themselves together, and something that had been missing in Anakin for years or maybe his whole life slotted into place inside his chest.

Blazing light encircled him, a warmth that flooded both his body and mind. It was a shield, a golden shield Obi-Wan was building around him in the Force, so kind and freely given that he began to cry again.

"The darkness does not have you yet, Anakin Skywalker." Obi-Wan's voice was an ocean, a mountain-storm; it was inescapable and inexorable. "Anakin, husband of Padmé, father of Luke and Leia. Jedi Knight. My brother. I am with you. Padmé is with you. The Jedi are with you. We have time. Come with me now, we'll convene the Council. We can get messages to the troops, get as many of them as possible off Coruscant and cut communications. We'll rally a defence of the Temple, and send an army of Jedi against him if we must. Stand with me one more time, Anakin, and I swear to you we will end this together."

Anakin, with his face still buried in Obi-Wan's shoulder, hands fisted in his tunic, felt Obi-Wan's head move as he looked to Padmé. He could feel her uncertainty and alarm, and that thread of unwavering strength she had always had.

A general once more, Obi-Wan spoke to her as frankly as to a soldier, not a politician. "Chancellor Palpatine is a Sith lord who means to corrupt Anakin to the dark side and use him as a tool in the destruction of the Jedi and the creation of a galactic empire. I am proposing we destroy him by any means necessary to free the Republic and save countless lives, possibly including those of your unborn children. Will you help us, Senator?"

It was, surely, the most polite invitation to treason ever issued, and one that could only come from Obi-Wan. Anakin, through his own disbelief, pulled away from Obi-Wan enough to look at Padmé's face, and saw each revelation register - the Sith, Anakin's fall, children, plural - and he saw the moment her determination became steel.

"Whatever it takes, Master Kenobi," she said, and she reached out a hand to Anakin.

This time, he breathed and did not move away. Their fingers tangled together, and he kept his other hand tight on Obi-Wan's shoulder. Both of them held him back, and looked at him, the same question on both their faces.

And Anakin thought of Mustafar and the Temple, Tatooine and Fortress Inquisitorius. He thought of his phantom fist at Padmé's throat, his saber twice through Reva Sevander's chest; Obi-Wan screaming in the flames and his daughter running from him in terror. He thought of Palpatine, laughing and triumphant in the shadows.

And he thought of how it had seemed so inevitable and he had told himself as he fell, and in the years that followed, that he didn't have a choice. That darkness was all there was.

It had been a lie, and in his heart he had known it even then; it was why he had hated Obi-Wan so much, because some part of him had known that nothing was keeping him from the light but himself. It was a choice, every day, between the light and the dark.

There was no guarantee they would win. Palpatine had not come this far to lack contingencies; they knew one of his plans, but there were likely to be others.

But he knew now where his original path was going, and if there was a chance - even the slightest hope - for something else...

Padmé watched him with worry, love, faith. Obi-Wan - even Obi-Wan, who had seen all that Anakin was going to do, looked at him with love and trust, empathy and understanding. Anakin didn't deserve it.

But maybe he could spend the rest of his life trying to.

"Alright," he said, and anchored himself to the brilliance of his love for them - for this family of his, for the thousands of stars still twinkling in his head. He chose to trust them, to know that they would give everything they had to this fight. To accept that all he could do - all anyone could do - was trust to love, and the Force, and hope.

"Let's do this."

Chapter Text

A little over ten years after the death of Darth Sidious, subsequently widely regarded as the day the Clone Wars ended and the galaxy was saved from an Empire before it could be born, Anakin Skywalker was woken up by both of his children making Force-assisted jumps to fling themselves on top of his innocently slumbering body.

During the war, this would have had him leaping to his feet, lightsaber in hand; not even Ahsoka's exuberance had trained that reaction out of him. Fortunately for everything but his sleep schedule and ribcage, he'd had an entire decade to get used to this kind of awakening.

"Ow," he wheezed, when he finally managed to get a shred of air back into his lungs.

The two demons on his bed were unaffected. Luke was now jumping on the mattress, jolting Anakin with every bounce, while Leia leaned what felt like her full body weight onto Anakin's chest and blinked at him mere inches from his nose.

"What is happening?" Anakin protested, attempting to nudge his child far enough back to sit up and breathe properly, but Leia was immovable.

"We're on holiday!" Luke yelled, and his next bounce brought him directly onto Anakin's shin.

Coffee. Anakin needed coffee.

"Holiday," he echoed, trying to scrape his thoughts together. It was dangerous to be this tired around his children. It was how he'd once ended up agreeing they could have an eopie, which - desert-planet animals that they were - couldn't even be kept on Naboo, and that had been a fun conversation to have when he was more awake. "What do you mean, you're on holiday?"

"No lessons for a week," Leia announced. This close to his face, he could tell that her breath smelled like pancakes and fruit, which explained where Padmé was and why he was suffering this alone. "And Uncle Obi wants to know if he can come stay with us."

Anakin scrubbed a hand over his face. Now that his brain cells were beginning to talk to each other, he actually wasn't at all surprised by this news. He'd been expecting - and hoping - to see Obi-Wan this week, though the word holiday hadn't featured in his predictions.

"You mean Obi-Wan is having a holiday as well?"

"Yup," Luke said, dropping smoothly out of his jump to come into a perfect cross-legged meditation pose on the bed. He did not, however, start meditating, and instead beamed at his father. "He says we're gremlins who're learning all the wrong lessons from Master Yoda, so we're to bother you instead."

"Of course he did."

The kids spent a lot of time at the temples, both on Coruscant and the new smaller temple here on Naboo, depending on which planet the family was on at the time. They attended classes most days under a number of Masters, though it was Obi-Wan who was overseeing the bulk of their education. He was in stark denial of it, but Anakin was pretty sure he was going to take one of the kids on as a padawan when the time came, if they chose to follow the Jedi path.

Then when Padmé was in Theed for an extended period, which happened only infrequently these days, she would take the kids to classes there too. (Leia was enrolled on one of the same political courses that Padmé had taken herself; she was, at her parents' insistence, going at a slower pace, but she'd been determined to take it. Anakin's life had got demonstrably harder since.)

They didn't have any such classes lined up for the rest of the month, and Anakin was certainly not opposed to them having some time off from the temple too. But he had a sneaking suspicion that Obi-Wan had, perhaps for the first time ever, declared this holiday for his own sake.

Anakin sighed. "Why's he asking if he can stay here? He literally has a bedroom right down the corridor. It's been his for nine years."

"That's what I told him!" Leia said, and revealed that she had in fact not previously been pressing her whole body weight into Anakin by slumping even more heavily on top of him, lying spread-eagled across his chest.

"Ow," Anakin said again, looking plaintively up at the ceiling, and wondered if this was galactic retribution for being a difficult child to Obi-Wan.

Luke, with impeccable timing, threw himself on top of them both.

When he had extricated himself only by the expediency of levitating his children, and distracted them by challenging them to get dressed in the most holiday-appropriate outfits they could think of, Anakin finally made it down through the warren of rooms in the lake house to find his wife.

Padmé was sitting at her favourite desk, in a room above and overlooking the balcony where they'd got married. There were papers and commlinks and data pads spread in front of her, but she looked relaxed and happy. There was a plate of fruit at her elbow and a cup of herbal tea in her hand, and she was looking out at the clear blue sky.

Maybe it was because the news about Obi-Wan had brought the vision back into his mind, but it struck Anakin then that he was wonderfully, impossibly lucky.

That vision, ten years' worth of a terrible future pressed into his head in a single night, had carried a huge cost. To know what he was capable of and how close he had come to it was a burden he had never forgotten. One he would never let himself forget.

But it was also his salvation, and it was a gift beyond measure. Because he was here, right now, with his children crashing around upstairs and his wife before him, a little older but even more beautiful than she had ever been.

Grinning, Anakin announced himself by lifting a slice of fruit from her plate to hover over her cup.

"Good morning, Anakin," she said, turned round to give him an indulgent smile. Because she was wonderful, Padmé plucked the fruit from the air and ate it. And because she was Padmé, she also said, "that's less impressive than it used to be, by the way, given that our ten year old son just washed up his plate using the Force."

"Are you saying I've lost my appeal?" Anakin said, raising his eyebrows as he came over, unable to quite hide his smile.

"Hmm." Padmé dragged the sound out, looking at him consideringly. "I suppose you've still got a certain dishevelled charm."

"Good to know," Anakin said, and bent down to kiss her. "Good morning, sweetheart."

"There's coffee in the kitchen. I made you some since I told the kids they could wake you."

"You are both the best and worst person I know," Anakin informed her, and Padmé gave a satisfied smile. "I hear we're expecting someone who still thinks he's a guest?"

"Yes, and you can expect him in about half an hour. He called while you were asleep - which was, before you say anything, a perfectly reasonable hour since the rest of us were wide awake."

It was high summer, and the sun couldn't have risen more than two hours ago; it was early. Anakin couldn't cope with these people.

"You need to talk to him," she added, more softly. "Something's wrong with him, and you know why, don't you?"

Anakin had never told a soul the full extent of the vision, and nor had Obi-Wan. It had been a mutual agreement. He'd told Padmé a lot of it - enough that she understood who and what he had become, and the sort of things he'd done. Much as he might have liked to bury even the concept of Darth Vader, to never let her know the depravity he was capable of, it wasn't an option. She needed to know so that her choices were fully informed and entirely her own. Anakin had chosen the Light that night and every day since, but if he had failed - if he ever failed - he knew all too well what was waiting.

It had been a difficult time. He and Obi-Wan had also told as much as they could bring themselves to tell to the Council, and both had spent a long time in consultation and meditation with Mace and Yoda - particularly Anakin, even long after the defeat of Palpatine. He still went to them on his more difficult days, though they were fewer and fewer of them all the time.

But it was hard for them to speak about to anyone else, when only the two of them could ever understand. They remembered another world, lives they'd not really lived, and they'd felt it all so powerfully, so viscerally...

And here they were now, and Anakin recognised the date, because he'd long ago worked out when it would fall. Tomorrow would bring them to the very end of the vision. To Obi-Wan trekking across the sands of Tatooine with the Force ghost of Qui-Gon Jinn, in search of a new home.

After more than ten years, they had finally drawn level with the end of the future that the Force had shown them.

"I do," Anakin said, and Padmé squeezed his hand.

"Bring your brother home, Ani."

Talking to Obi-Wan proved, that day, to be like trying to fight a battle droid with a water pistol.

Intent upon catching his old master unawares, Anakin installed himself on a comfortable seat on the front lawn rather than waiting for him to knock. 'Front lawn' was a very contained term for it, but one he used for his own sake; the Naboo lake house, permanently gifted to Padmé by the then-queen in the aftermath of the war, was set so much in the countryside that there was really no end to the grassland until you hit the lake or the mountains. To someone who had moved around almost all his life, having so much space for himself and his family was an adjustment.

It was a very pleasant place to wait.

Obi-Wan arrived on foot, with a bag slung over his shoulder. It was, after all, only about a forty five minute walk along the lake from the Naboo temple.

The existence of that temple, and two others like it on other planets, was one of the actions Anakin and Obi-Wan had argued for after the defeat of the Sith. It remained a mixed blessing for Anakin. It had been his own idea, but the most grim of all the topics they'd discussed. The ease by which they had seen the Jedi Order destroyed in a single blow - in part by him, his own hands - had left him unable to sleep even with Palpatine dead. He'd suggested to Obi-Wan that they could split the Order, expanding their base from Coruscant onto other planets. Many such temples were already known to exist, after all, but they were little used in recent years in favour of consolidation on Coruscant. It would be essential to ensure each new temple was desperately well protected, with escape plans and contingencies, but they were to be part of a system designed so that even a devastating assault on one would not bring about an end of the Jedi.

Obi-Wan had looked ill when Anakin first suggested it, but they had lived through enough war and nightmares to make pragmatists of idealists. It was a terrible sort of calculation, but better than the alternative.

Anakin had not, when they first laid the case before the Council, intended for one of the temples to be on Naboo. Even before figuring out what his path would be, he had stepped down from being an active Jedi and made a number of very difficult confessions to the Council, along with explaining where his priorities truly lay. It had never occurred to him, when he split his time between Coruscant and Naboo to follow Padmé's Senatorial responsibilities and only being involved with the Jedi when he was on planet, that they might follow him to Naboo.

Surely they'd want to keep themselves as far from him as possible.

"Foolish would it not be, hmm, to lose two of the greatest Jedi in the Order?" Yoda had said, leaning on his stick and fixing Anakin with that knowing look. "Many knights weary of war we have, and younglings in need of guidance. Raise them in peace on Naboo, we can."

Anakin hadn't even understood what he meant about losing two Jedi until Obi-Wan looked at him with a tentative sort of hope and asked if he and Padmé might want a little help with the children, sometimes.

Since then they all tended to move between planets together as their schedules required, though Obi-Wan did other work for the Council now and then, returning to the sort of peace negotiations and relief missions the Jedi used to be known for. Anakin missed him dearly when he was gone, as did Padmé and the kids (very vocally), but he could see the good it did Obi-Wan each time.

And for his part, Anakin occupied a strange space, no longer quite a Jedi as he had once been, but still a part of the Order. He had accepted that he could not truly follow the tenets required of a Jedi, but he loved the Order, cared about it with so much of his heart, and he had found new work with them that meant he still belonged there.

Anakin grinned to himself as Obi-Wan approached, looking faintly startled as he caught sight of Anakin. It was hard to catch the man even a little off guard, but Anakin liked to keep him on his toes.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully, when his friend was close enough to hear. "If you ask me whether you are allowed to stay here, I'm going to tip you into the lake."

Obi-Wan sighed. It was a beautifully familiar sigh, the exact same tenor of exasperation that was the backing track to Anakin's life.

"I've already had that lecture from your wife and your daughter today," he said. He was probably aiming to sound long-suffering, but there was too much fondness present for that. "Believe me, I've learned my lesson."

"One day I might even believe that, old man."

"I am not old," Obi-Wan huffed, and that was another argument so familiar that it felt like a homecoming. And Anakin would accept some truth in it, if not out loud. Ten years - but when he thought about it, Obi-Wan did not look quite so old as he had in the vision. There was probably no version of their life in which he was totally free of stress and hard work, since to not be affected by the troubles of the galaxy's peoples would make him not Obi-Wan. But here he had not been aged before his time by incalculable grief, relentless twin suns and hard labour; here he was a little lighter, his face lined more by laughter than hurt.

Because there were no words for that sort of thing, not between brothers, Anakin rose to hug him. For a while they just held each other close, and that last errant part of Anakin's heart slotted into place.

When they parted, he had smoothly moved Obi-Wan's bag to his own shoulder.

"Hang on a minute," Obi-Wan protested, but Anakin waved him off.

"Trust me, you're going to want to have your hands free."

"Why-"

Obi-Wan didn't get to finish the sentence, which was probably just as well, because it was a very silly question.

"Uncle Obi!"

The cry came from two voices at once. The twins raced down the path and onto the grass and collided with Obi-Wan at virtually the same moment.

The first few times they'd done this when they were little - well, littler - Obi-Wan had been so stunned that he'd either frozen up or basically sunk to the ground under the force of taking two small children to the legs. But he, too, had by this point had a lot of practice with the Skywalker twins.

Which was why Anakin was now treated to the way Obi-Wan's face lit up like a sunrise. He ducked down just in time and perfectly positioned to take Luke in one arm and Leia in the other, and he surged back up with them both clinging round his neck, settled against his hips, held in a tight embrace. They were starting to get a little big for this, really, but Anakin knew Obi-Wan would keep it up as long as he could.

This. This is how it was always meant to be, Anakin thought, as the twins clamoured to speak over each other about everything that had happened in the single day since they'd last seen Obi-Wan at the temple, and their uncle listened with indulgent delight shining in his eyes.

"Hello, Leia. Hello, Luke. I'm very glad to see you too."

They walked towards the house, the twins shamelessly insisting on continuing to be carried as they chatted, and met Padmé at the door.

"Master Kenobi," she said, with the same warm teasing formality they always used on each other. "It's good to have you home." There was a faint stress on the word, and Obi-Wan gave it the sheepish smile it deserved.

"It's good to be back, as ever, my lady. I would bow, of course, but I am somewhat hampered by a very heavy burden."

"We're not heavy," Luke protested mulishly.

Leia, always ready with a scheme or two, said innocently, "We could always levitate, if that would help."

"No levitating outside," Obi-Wan said with the reflexive speed of someone who was both a teacher and very familiar with the Skywalker twins. "You know the rules, and I know you know why."

"The tree wasn't that tall. I could've climbed it without the Force."

"The tree wasn't the problem, Leia, it was that you went from there onto the roof."

Padmé, prudently, chimed in before Leia could marshal any further arguments. "Alright, put your uncle down, both of you. He's here on holiday, remember, which means you can't torment him with Jedi mischief. And perhaps you can tell me what you're wearing."

Obi-Wan lowered the kids to the ground, with some protest on their parts and a slight air of relief on his. It gave Anakin an opportunity to take in the consequences of his instruction to dress for a holiday.

In Leia's case, this was a tunic, leggings and hard-soled shoes combination that Anakin knew perfectly well she wore when she wanted to go climbing, and he was pretty sure he could see the straps of her swimming costume underneath - never let it be said that his daughter did not know how to be prepared. Luke, apparently determined to do the exact opposite of what he was told, was wearing Jedi robes and boots, his only concession to the 'holiday' concept being that he was wearing short sleeved tunics.

"Whatever is happening here, it's my fault," Anakin announced, grinning.

"Of course it is," Padmé said, and shook her head. "Come on then, the pair of you. Whoever's inside first can get Uncle Obi-Wan a drink."

She followed them to oversee the new race that immediately ensued, leaving with a significant look to Anakin, who took the opportunity to forestall Obi-Wan with a hand on his chest.

"Are you alright?" he said in a low voice.

"What?" Obi-Wan blinked at him guilelessly. "Of course, whyever wouldn't I be?"

"Obi-Wan, you've not willingly taken a holiday in literally ever."

"Don't be ridiculous, Anakin. Oh, the hallway looks lovely, did you finish the redecorating?"

Damn the man's quick reflexes. He was more in practice than Anakin, who was a half second too late to stop him dodging into the house and hurrying after Padmé.

Things did not change much over the course of the day.

The kids, evidently, intended to get started on their holiday as soon as possible. Padmé was due on a series of holocalls with senators before lunch; though not currently a member of the Senate herself, she was still an active campaigner and was working as hard as ever on legislative reform. Much had changed for the better, but unpicking the damage done by Palpatine was hard work in a body as self-centered and resistant to change as the Senate. As Padmé had put it herself, the Jedi could defeat the Sith, but that didn't change the nature of sentient life; defeating a great evil did not so quickly change the minds of politicians.

It wasn't a battle ground Anakin was suited for, but that was alright, because it was Padmé's element.

In lieu of their mother, the kids kidnapped Obi-Wan to go swimming with them. Anakin was very rarely persuadable on the issue, having never grown fond of either swimming or sand; besides, it was good to see the way that Obi-Wan yielded to their persuasion and began to relax, devoting himself to quality time with the kids. The thoughts preying on his mind seemed to lose some of their power as he was corralled into changing and then dragged down to the water's edge. Luke turned out to be wearing swimming kit under his clothes as well, so this had clearly been plotted out in advance. (Anakin suspected he knew which child was the ringleader.)

They splashed around in the shallows, the kids shrieking and laughing in delight as they talked Obi-Wan into showing them tricks in the water - the way he could call fish over for the kids to watch, or make beautiful patterns of bubbles and send tiny waves dancing around small eager hands.

Content that his children could be in no safer care, Anakin left them to it.

Obi-Wan remained equally skilled at deflection, if not particularly subtle about it, each time Anakin tried to talk to him. When he realised they were in from the lake, Anakin tried to track him down, only to find Obi-Wan sequestered at a table with Luke.

"Hey, Obi-Wan-"

"No," Obi-Wan said distractedly. "I'm on holiday." He didn't even look up, too busy with a small bottle of glue and the piece of metal Luke was holding out to him. He was wearing an expression of deep concentration that was the perfect match to Luke's, as they attached wings to a detailed model Naboo N1 starfighter Obi-Wan must have brought with him.

Later, after he'd found Leia working on a proposal document with her mother and herded everyone downstairs for lunch, he somehow lost track of Obi-Wan again. Hunting him down took longer this time, but he was better armed, because a comm message had come through in search of him.

"Obi-Wan," he called, approaching the lake shore. "The Coruscant temple wants some advice, the Senate's after volunteers to-"

"I'm on holiday," came the serene reply from the sun lounger set up in the shade of a broad tree. Leia, on her own lounger beside him, lifted her huge sunglasses to scowl disapprovingly at her father, gesturing him away with one hand. Anakin, struggling to process that Obi-Wan was also wearing large sunglasses and shorts, let himself be dismissed.

And then, of course, there was the point in the afternoon where he had worked out a script, a way to plead for conversation for his own sake if not Obi-Wan's, only to find the man sprawled in a dead sleep in the middle of his bed, with Luke curled into one side of his chest and Leia on her back using his other arm as a pillow.

Anakin, his brain now blue screening and unable to process any thoughts except an overwhelming surge of affection, gave the whole thing up and went to continue trying to add an AI into the laundry system.

Several hours and two hastily mopped floods (which, if he had his way, no one would ever find out about) later, the family came together around the dining table for dinner. The kids regaled them with tales of their day, Padmé and Obi-Wan sparred about the latest Senate policies and traded gossip, and Anakin reflected that he would be quite happy if every day for the rest of his life was just like this.

It was Obi-Wan who came to him, in the end.

Padmé had taken the kids off for their baths, which they had agreed to only under the firm terms that Obi-Wan would read them a bedtime story afterwards. Having learned his lesson for the day with the laundry, Anakin had started disassembling a combat remote over the cleared dinner table instead; the temple sent him home with a few every time the padawans did major damage, and the straightforward work was second nature to him.

He was certainly not so engrossed that he missed it when Obi-Wan sat down opposite him with two glasses, nudging one of the fingers of whiskey across the table.

"That's a good sign," Anakin said dryly, setting down his tools.

"You know what date it is," Obi-Wan said without preamble.

"I do."

Obi-Wan looked down at his glass. He was rolling it between his hands, but he didn't drink.

"Talk to me, Obi-Wan. Please."

He released a breath in a long, slow sigh. "I'm trying not to be afraid."

"Afraid?" It didn't register properly. It was wrong to say that Obi-Wan never felt fear; Anakin knew that he did. But he had always been so good at acknowledging his feelings, accepting them, and then letting them go; things Anakin had struggled with all his life. For Obi-Wan to be wrestling with this... "Afraid of what?"

"I shouldn't burden you."

"Hey." Anakin shoved the remote parts out of the way without a second thought, reaching across the table; he grabbed onto Obi-Wan's hand, which was so tight around the glass that his knuckles were white. "Don't do that. All this time - we do this together, remember?"

It took a moment, but Obi-Wan nodded. He still didn't look up. "The vision felt so real. You remember? I truly felt, waking up that night, that I'd lived it all, though no time had passed."

"I remember." Cold, grief, guilt, emptiness-

"It's foolish - I know it's foolish. But it feels closer than ever, somehow, and I just keep thinking how alone I was. I couldn't bear to go back to that, Anakin. I couldn't lose you all."

Anakin's chest clenched. There was a lump suddenly thick in his throat. "You won't, Obi-Wan. Never."

Obi-Wan smiled, finally meeting Anakin's eyes, but it was a sad sort of smile. Anakin could read the unspoken words there - that not even he could promise that.

"You came here to be near them," Anakin said in understanding. "To be with the kids."

"To be with you all," Obi-Wan amended. "There's nowhere I'd rather be, you know."

Anakin really would spend his life grateful for the vision, but this - this was why he'd never been able to explain it to another living soul, and why there were things he could only talk about with the person who already knew. The fear Obi-Wan was talking about, the grief and loneliness it was born from - they were from a world and a life that didn't exist, that would never exist, but that he had nonetheless lived. Those emotions were real. Separate from their own lives, but they left an indelible mark.

It made them grateful beyond measure for what they had, but they were also acutely aware of what it would mean to lose it all.

"Me neither," Anakin said, and he felt raw and exposed with how fervently he meant it. It had been strange to him, the first time he realised there was nothing he wanted except to be right where he was.

"Sometimes I can hardly believe we did it. I wake up in the dark and for a moment I expect to find myself in the cave."

Strange how something so matter-of-factly delivered could cut at Anakin like a knife, like ice. It was an old ache, like a wound healed but never quite right again - all the sorrow his brother had felt, and how much of it on Anakin's account. How alone he'd been. How alone they'd both been.

"None of that," Obi-Wan said, sharper, and his hand twisted to grip Anakin's back in turn. "I told you before, Anakin, you are not to blame for things you haven't done. We agreed there was no blame between us for any of it. Why do you think I knew coming here would make me feel better? We changed it all. We're still rewriting it, even now."

"Sometimes I feel like it's still inside me." It was a confession Anakin could not have made to anyone else. There was a time he wouldn't have made it to anyone at all. "Despite everything. That darkness. That same potential to fall."

"Hmm." Obi-Wan studied him, bright eyes so intent in the low evening sunlight that Anakin wondered if he could see right through to his soul. "Tell me this, Anakin. Imagine if there was some great disaster, or a terrible enemy, and you had two choices. If I was in grave danger, facing certain death, but so too was an entire planet of people you didn't know. Or even just a single family that you'd never met. And you had to choose to save me, or to save them. Which would you choose?"

It was an unbearable thing even to think about. Even here, in the safety of his home with no danger anywhere near, Anakin felt that the question would tear him apart.

He knew what his answer would have been ten years ago.

He knew why Obi-Wan was asking.

And he knew, down to his bones, what his answer was now, even if it felt like a betrayal of his own heart.

"I'd save them," he said, and the words scraped from his throat like broken glass. "I'd let you die."

And Obi-Wan -

Obi-Wan smiled at him as if Anakin had done something wonderful, as if he was something wonderful. He smiled like clouds clearing away before the sun.

"And that, Anakin, is why I know that you will not fall. And I am comforted, more than you know."

Anakin understood the Jedi now in a way he had not when he was younger, even when he was one of them. He understood what it meant to love without attachment, to be willing to let go. He understood that to follow the Light in the way of a Jedi meant harder choices than most people could make, sacrifice born out of a love vast enough to encompass the whole galaxy. And yet he still found it strange that what felt almost a betrayal to him was clearly a gift to Obi-Wan.

It was merely a hypothetical, and Anakin would do all he could to keep it that way.

But it was a very remarkable thing, to be the recipient of Obi-Wan's faith. A faith strong enough to keep a falling Jedi in the Light, and on the foundation of which Anakin had built a whole new life. Even now, it remained the solid ground beneath his feet.

And he returned it in kind, a thousand times over, but there was still a sorrow in Obi-Wan that he sometimes did not know how to reach.

But, tonight, an idea began to take shape. If it was the presence of family that could ground him, and reaching the end of the vision-time and still being here with them would reassure him...

"We'll finish this together," he vowed, as Obi-Wan had once done for him. He extracted the glass from his brother's now lax fingers. "Go and read to the kids, Obi-Wan. I'll be up soon."

First, he needed a word with Padmé, and then he had some calls to make.

Mace was the first to arrive the next afternoon, along with what appeared to be pretty much every padawan from the Naboo temple. Anakin, opening the door to them, was barely able to start offering a greeting when the gaggle of children caught sight of Luke and Leia behind him, and he was promptly nearly bowled over as they ran past him with a giggling flurry of 'Hi Anakin's and 'Bye Anakin's.

Slightly windswept, Anakin blinked at Mace. He had for the most part grown used to seeing the victims of the carnage he'd caused in that other life. It grew easier with time, as the younglings grew up and new ones joined, and the adult Jedi aged in increasingly notable ways. He had learned to separate the present from the vision-future, to cherish what he had and not feel only horror at what was lost.

But it still hit him occasionally, what the cost would have been.

Yet here Mace was, his face more heavily lined but his eyes brighter, and one very small green shadow trailing after him.

Anakin, well-used by now to containing the vision shielded in his mind, gave no sign of his thoughts.

"Master Windu," he said, and could not help smiling at the tiny figure soldiering up the path behind him. "Hello, Grogu." He raised an eyebrow at Mace. "Bit young to be playing with the padawans, isn't he? He's only, what, thirty five?"

"Which would make him the same age as you, and far better company." The deadpan delivery was the same as ever, but Anakin knew the wry humour behind it very well these days. "I had to get him out of the temple. He's just figured out he can digest entire frogs without chewing them. Yoda's never been so happy. He's a few minutes behind us, and you might want to figure out how to keep them both away from the lake."

They both paused in a shared rictus of horror. Grogu was so sweet, Anakin reflected, until you heard things like that.

"Luke became convinced he could digest sand a month ago," Anakin offered. It had been a very fraught time for him.

"I can't say I'm surprised," Mace said, but before Anakin could protest, he changed the subject abruptly. "I need a word with you later. I've looked into your lead about that moon in Hutt space - I think there's something to it."

A smile stole over his face, and a sense of anticipation built in his gut. "Excellent."

Anakin had a few roles with the Jedi now. He undertook a lot of mechanical work, of which much needed doing in a new temple. He also worked with knights and even some of the older younglings who struggled with traditional meditation, particularly after traumatic experiences; Anakin had found that working on droids and other projects could be akin to meditation for him, and he enjoyed guiding others through the same journey.

But, very occasionally, he also took up his lightsaber again. It had been his earliest dream, as a young child, to end slavery. Much older now, he knew no one person would achieve that, and not in his lifetime - but to be a part of the fight? That was a goal he could meet.

"I'll find you in a bit," he began, but was interrupted abruptly.

"Anakin, why are there a dozen younglings in the living r- Mace!"

Obi-Wan, wearing an expression of great bemusement, joined Anakin in the doorway. He cast Anakin a suspicious look before greeting the other master properly.

"It's good to see you. I wasn't aware we had company today."

"I have a bone to pick with you," Mace said, rather than addressing this. "Whatever's on your mind, I can sense there's something strange all the way from the temple."

"I have no idea what you mean," Obi-Wan said with admirable serenity. "I'm merely enjoying a well-deserved holiday."

"You're starting to remind me of Qui-Gon." This might have been a compliment, but for the tone of great warning with which it was delivered.

Obi-Wan smiled. "You could just say I'm irritating you, Mace."

"I thought I just did."

Anakin was a genius, he reflected happily, as Mace and Obi-Wan allowed themselves to be steered through the house towards the refreshments and chairs set up on the balcony and though into the garden. Grogu scurried along after them, keeping pace sufficiently to continue gnawing on the fistful of Mace's cloak that was stuffed in his mouth.

Yes, if the arrival of Mace and the kids alone was enough to get Obi-Wan happily bickering again, then the rest of Anakin's plan was going to work like a charm.

A little later, another contingent of Jedi had arrived, including Yoda, who had ensconced himself in the Naboo temple the moment it was built and refused to leave the planet since. Mace and the other masters tended to move around a little more, but Yoda had declared he found the spot peaceful, and any suggestions of returning to Coruscant were met with benign lectures on Naboo wildlife that lasted until the other party gave up in tears.

Quinlan Vos had accompanied him, Anakin was both glad to see and dreaded because it definitely meant trouble - and also Reva Serander, who went to help Mace supervise the younger kids who'd decided to go swimming. She was good with them, Anakin reflected. His relationship with her was a little strained - entirely on his part, and she was mostly confused by it - given all that had happened in the other life, but he was glad to see her happy.

Obi-Wan caught Anakin's eye a few times, but it was Anakin's turn to make himself too busy for conversation now, and there was plenty to do. Bail and Breha arrived soon after, happy to make the short trip over from Alderaan with their daughter. The little girl was a year younger than Leia, but the two made a beeline for each other as soon as she arrived; they were both politicians in the making, if Anakin was any judge, and fierce friends.

He and Padmé welcomed the Organas warmly. He'd never had strong feelings about them before, thinking of them more as Padmé and Obi-Wan's friends than his own. But having seen how well they would have raised Leia, how safe and loved she would have been with them - it felt only right to spend time with them often, to have them be part of the kids' lives.

(They'd even visited the Larses once, with the same thought in mind, but it had been an odd trip. He knew Owen and Beru so little, and they'd not known what to make of the Skywalker-Amidala clan descending on them. Not to mention that he'd been miserable returning to Tatooine, and they were reluctant to leave it for a visit in return. It had been right to do, though, he still felt. It would be wrong for them never to meet Luke at all.)

And, of course, along with the Jedi, there were the clones.

Freeing the clones and ensuring their rights as independent citizens of the Republic had been one of the very first reforms enacted at the Senate ten years ago. Padmé and Bail, along with the full Jedi Council, had known there would be a window of opportunity immediately after the war - a time in which the combination of the Senate in disarray and the clone troopers and Jedi being heroes gave them a chance to push a few key laws through. And suddenly every clone in the GAR was free. Wide-scale work was undertaken to disable the chips and prevent further rapid ageing, and Order 66 was permanently averted. The clones were given resources and support to make their own choices and build new lives.

Many left. Some planets welcomed them, while some battalions struck out into the unknown by themselves seeking to build something new.

There were still others, though, who chose to stay with the Jedi. To live among them as equals, residing with them, sometimes working and sometimes simply living and adjusting to all that the new galaxy meant for them. They formed communities in and around the temples - becoming teachers and students, business owners, shopkeepers, running public services. Building their own culture, and blending it with the Jedi.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, there were a good number who wanted to use the skills forced upon them in training by their own choice, and they helped to defend the temples and joined the Jedi on their missions, undertaking relief work and helping settle their brothers across the galaxy.

It was certainly true that Anakin never made his forays against slavers alone - nor was Obi-Wan ever unaccompanied on his own missions, when virtually the entire 212th had refused to be parted from the Jedi Order.

Many of those present today had once been part of the 212th or 501st. It was good to see them without armour, wearing civilian clothes that ranged the gamut from from Jedi-style tunics to some genuinely terrible flower-print shirts and shorts. Anakin was, however, waiting keenly for a particular ship to arrive, which landed an hour or so after the last of the Jedi.

"You're late," he called, as the ship ramp opened out front next to several of Anakin's half-deconstructed project ships and Padmé's much sleeker cruiser. He folded his arms, but couldn't stop smiling.

"Sorry about that," Rex said, descending the ramp with a very put upon air. "Someone was playing with her food."

"We were attacked by pirates, Rex! If you thought it was taking too long, you could've helped a bit more."

Anakin beamed as Ahsoka followed Rex out of the ship. She looked well, flushed with the bright cheerfulness she always got after a successful relief mission, and in her element bickering with Rex.

"Ah, you had it well in hand, commander."

"Alright, captain," she rejoined, and turned a brilliant smile on Anakin. "Hey, Skyguy," she said, and they folded each other into a tight hug.

"It's good to see you," he murmured, then flung himself at Rex too. "Both of you."

"Wouldn't be a party without us, huh?" Ahsoka grinned. "Plus we've brought just the guy to cheer up Obi-Wan."

"I know we get paid now and everything, but I still don't get paid enough for this."

Anakin turned to grin at Cody as he emerged from the ship, and extended a hand in greeting. "Welcome back, Cody. I'm not sure there's enough credits on the planet to help you with Obi-Wan."

"I'm going to recruit your children to fill all your shoes with sand," Cody informed him mildly, before immediately heading around the side of the house where the younglings could be heard yelling and laughing even from here.

"Your face," Ahsoka said, bursting into entirely unsympathetic laughter.

"I really think he's warming up to you at last," Rex said, altogether too amused, and between them they steered Anakin back towards the party.

It was the arrival of the three newcomers that led to Obi-Wan cornering Anakin by the drinks table ten minutes later.

"I know what you're up to," Obi-Wan informed him sternly.

"Good for you," Anakin said, helping himself to some iced lemonade. "Is it working?"

Rather than answer the question outright, Obi-Wan grasped Anakin's shoulder and drew him in to press their foreheads together. Anakin knew what the gesture meant to Mandalorians, and felt in that moment a fierce shared joy pass between them, an affection too deep to name.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said, too softly for anyone else to hear.

It would be around sunset, by Anakin's reckoning, that they could be said to have surpassed the vision's end. By then, the gathering had begun to wind down. Full of treats and tired out, the younglings had been herded back onto the transports and returned to the temple along with the Jedi and clones who'd accompanied them. Luke and Leia were currently passed out on a sofa on the patio, and Bail and Breha said their goodbyes quietly to avoid waking their daughter, also sleeping in Bail's arms.

After they left, Obi-Wan had excused himself and taken a slow, thoughtful route to go and sit on the shore, looking out at the lake. Cody, Rex and Ahsoka, who would be staying in the house, were still sitting on the patio with Padmé. Or so Anakin thought, as he carted dishes into the kitchen, but he turned round from one load to find Cody busy filling the kettle and finding mugs with easy familiarity.

Before Anakin could speak, Cody caught his eye.

"I'm glad you called," Cody said quietly. "I didn't realise what today meant to him. To you both."

"I'm glad you came," Anakin said with frank honesty. He was aware Cody didn't hold all his actions during the war in the highest esteem, which he genuinely respected because he didn't any more, either. Beyond that, he knew that Obi-Wan had told him about the vision - exactly how much Cody knew, he wasn't sure, but certainly enough. He never said much to Anakin about it, but for a few years he had watched Anakin with a great deal of caution.

Not for his own sake, Anakin knew, but to provide the kind of defence for Obi-Wan that Obi-Wan would never provide for himself.

It was not easy, to face the fact that a man who loved Obi-Wan felt that he needed protection from Anakin. And yet it reassured him, to know that there was someone else who took the spectre of Vader seriously, and would be prepared to act if the time ever came.

They had reached an unspoken truce, even an understanding, in more recent years, and Anakin didn't begrudge Cody a bit of the doubt.

"We got the situation sorted on Yavin IV, and the clone settlement is doing well. I thought I might stay a while, until Obi-Wan wants to go back to the temple. If that's alright with you and Padmé."

"Oh, don't you start too," Anakin groaned. He fixed Cody with an intense look, trying to convey the message that didn't seem to be getting across to either of them. "This is your home, both of you, whenever you want to be here. Honestly, Rex and Ahsoka don't seem to have half as much of a problem with this."

"That's because they're insouciant ingrates," Cody said primly, getting to work filling one mug with coffee and finding a teabag for the other. "Obi-Wan and I are polite."

"That's certainly one word for it," Anakin said, and maintained a placid smile when Cody shot him a look.

"Thank you, anyway," Cody said after a minute, while the tea was steeping. "This has been good for him. To have everyone together like this, and get him out of his head."

"I'm glad. He was... troubled, yesterday. Unsettled." It would have felt like a sort of betrayal to say to anyone else, but this was Cody. There was no need to ask him to look out for Obi-Wan, because he always was.

"That'll be the trauma," Cody said blandly, and took a sip of his coffee.

Anakin stared at him for a beat, then narrowed his eyes.

"You really do deserve each other," he said, shaking his head. He meant it in every sense, not all of them polite - but it came out gentler than he intended, achingly sincere, because they did deserve it - the happiness they gave each other that Anakin so desperately wanted for them.

Cody's deadpan expression softened into a tenderness Anakin had never seen during the war, but that often revealed itself in these quiet moments. When he was surrounded by his brothers, or playing with the kids, or when he was looking at Obi-Wan.

"We try to," he murmured, smiling down at the cup of tea.

Anakin gripped him by the shoulder. There was suddenly so much he wanted to say, but words seemed far too small. What was there to say to someone to whom you owed so much of the happiness of half your soul?

Cody, however, was a wise man. "I know," he said, and there was a warmth now in how he looked at Anakin. "He knows." He nodded, then scooped up the mugs and took his leave.

Anakin trailed after him, drawn by something he couldn't quite define. He leaned on the balcony outside as Cody followed the well-trodden path down to the water's edge. By the time he reached Obi-Wan, they were too far away for Anakin to hear them - but he didn't think any words were even exchanged when Cody settled down beside him on the sand. He passed across one of the still-steaming mugs, and their fingers brushed as Obi-Wan cradled it in his hands.

Anakin wasn't entirely sure why he lingered there to watch, as the sun set low over the lake and the gently rippling water reflected the orange-gold sky and the hills of the far shore. Maybe it was just because of the bone-deep sense of rightness that he felt in seeing the quiet, gentle joy of someone he loved.

Because that joy was there in the way that Obi-Wan softened when Cody joined him, and the little laugh he huffed in response to something Cody said. It was in every line of his body as he loosed one hand from the mug to twine it with Cody's, and the way he settled his head on Cody's shoulder. Cody pressed his lips into Obi-Wan's silvering hair, then rested his cheek there, both of them looking out at the water.

A weight shared; a partnership born in war but nurtured in peace. Another flickering candle of hope that, in this world, never needed to go out.

The sun was setting, but the Light seemed brighter than ever. Anakin smiled, and went to put his children to bed.

Much later, Anakin was sequestered in a living room that looked towards the mountains when Obi-Wan found him again. Rex and Ahsoka had long since gone up to their rooms, and the kids were fast asleep. Anakin and Padmé had been sitting and talking on the plushly cushioned bench set into the bay window, and she'd fallen asleep there half an hour ago, her head resting on his lap.

Anakin stayed there, feeling that he would be perfectly content to do so forever. Ten years, he thought again - and how well they had spent them, that this was what they had. A galaxy more or less at peace, his friends safe and well and living the lives they wanted. His family here with him where they chose to be, where they were happy. His wife, trusting and restful, sleeping in the moonlight beside him.

Anakin closed his eyes, gathered up that deep well of feeling, and silently offered his profound gratitude to the Force.

Perhaps he was a little prescient, or perhaps he just knew them well. Either way, Obi-Wan entered the room on quiet feet, a cushion in one hand and a blanket in the other. Anakin shook his head in silent incredulity that was met only with a smile, as Obi-Wan tucked the cushion behind Anakin's back and laid the blanket over Padmé with care.

"I don't know how you do it," Anakin said in a low voice, gesturing to the bench on Padmé's other side. She was a deep sleeper, particularly now that the kids were old enough to only rarely need their parents at night.

"And you never will, my dear padawan." Obi-Wan sat down, and looked very fond as he studied them. "It's happened, then. The last of the vision future has passed."

"Yes. It's over now." And he could feel it, in a way. A gentle shift in the Force. Something that had settled permanently into place. "You'll never be alone again, I promise."

"I know," Obi-Wan said, quiet but resolute, and the last of Anakin's lingering worries settled.

They sat in silence for a time, and it was a peaceful, easy silence. At length, Obi-Wan spoke.

"I am very proud of you and all you've achieved, Anakin. Whatever small part I contributed to the man you've become is the greatest success of my life."

It was a mirror held up to the echoes of another world. I am not your failure, Obi-Wan - true enough, but here, so much more was true.

Anakin shook his head, somehow not surprised to find there were tears in his eyes.

"Whatever small part? Obi-Wan, none of this - I wouldn't have any of this without you. That night, I would still have fallen, even despite the vision. No, don't argue. You're too generous to me, you always have been. I could feel it inside myself. It wouldn't have been for the same reason, but my anger... I was so angry, and I was terrified. I might have killed Palpatine first, if I could manage it, but I'd have fallen anyway, and everything I'd known about the future would have been deadly. But I thought about you. In a way it was the most real part of the vision to me, what you were willing to do to protect my children. What you would have done to protect me. And you did, here. You always have. All of this is because of you. I know you won't believe it, but that's okay. I believe it for both of us. Everything I have is built on the foundation of how much you love."

You might say we are encouraged to love. He'd been such a child then, utilising Jedi teachings and his own powers to flirt with Padmé. (Though it had worked, for what it was worth.) But there was a truth to the words deeper than he'd appreciated at the time. He hadn't been reshaping the teachings cleverly to get what he wanted, to legitimise the attachment he'd greedily hidden inside his heart. He'd been striking at the greatest truth of the Jedi Order. One that Obi-Wan had been handing him all along, if only he could have understood it.

Love. It was a Jedi's love for the galaxy, for life, that made them who they were. A love anyone could embrace, Jedi or not. A bruised love and an aching one, wounded by many trials, but a love that never gave up. That accepted what was, fought for what could be, and hoped, always, for happiness.

He should have seen it from the start, because Anakin had been loved like that all his life.

"Anakin..." Obi-Wan was shaking his head. Not in outright refusal, but inability to accept what he was being told. That was alright, though, because Anakin would be here to tell him again, as often as he could.

Obi-Wan's eyes were shining, and Anakin remembered that last day, their fight and the broken helmet, the dancing light of red and blue across both their faces - but now what shone there was not sorrow but a profound joy. "I am so glad to be here with you. And I do love you, and our family, with all my heart."

Our family. What in the entire universe could be more perfect than that?

Obi-Wan stood up. No doubt Cody was waiting for him, and it had been a long day; Anakin could feel his own gentle fatigue stealing over him now.

In another version of his life, they had parted last in such grief and anger. He had heard Goodbye, Darth and watched Obi-Wan walk away, and remained by himself in a darkness that had no end.

Here, Obi-Wan tucked the blanket in around Padmé and bent down to press a kiss to Anakin's forehead. "Goodnight, Anakin. I'll see you in the morning."

Anakin watched him go, and then looked down at Padmé. He reached out with his mind, sensing the slumbering lights of his children and the distant, twinkling comfort of thousands of Jedi across the galaxy.

Warm and content, he turned his gaze to the sky. There were so many thousands of stars, and he hadn't visited them all like he'd once planned, but he no longer needed to. Everything he'd wanted, since before he understood what he was missing, was already here. He was home.

When Anakin dreams that night, he simply dreams. There are no more warnings, and there is nothing he needs to be but what he already is.

The Force, balanced, is at peace.