this is another pretty long chapter. please try to read all the way through as there are important points that pertain to the rest of the story <3

CHAPTER THIRTY

ARTIE STARED AT REX, FLUMMOXED, AND A LITTLE ANNOYED. She put her hands on her hips and frowned, her alarm fading as quickly as it had come. "What?"

Rex gaped right back, seemingly at a loss. "I . . . General Kenobi, ma'am. I'm . . . He's dead."

An odd silence followed. They were almost completely alone in the cavernous Temple hall, save for a straggler here and there. It was evening, though the Federal District still glittered with activity just outside. Anakin and Obi-Wan were in a briefing and Artie had been overseeing a late lesson with the smallest Younglings, per Master Yoda's request. Everything was as normal as it had ever been.

So Artie could not, for the life of her, understand why Rex had come barreling in with such a ridiculous story.

"Are you kidding?" she asked with an awkward laugh. "Rex . . . you know, no offense, but I think you should just leave the jokes to Jesse. Until you've had more practice."

"It's not a joke, General."

"Rex, just — just knock it off, all right? Everything is fine." She gave him a wary smile. "I just saw Obi-Wan."

She wanted to leave. It didn't seem like it would be as nice to talk with Rex as she'd thought, for whatever reason. Perhaps he really was angry that Anakin had dropped an assignment on him unexpectedly, and this was his strange way of letting her know it. Pretending like Obi-Wan had died, though, was a few shades past strange; Artie had half a mind to suggest Rex see a shrink. A bit uncomfortable, she turned and began to walk away.

     "General," he protested. "Please. You need to come with me."

Artie spun back around. "Why? Obi-Wan is here with Ani and Ahsoka. I spoke to them an hour ago."

"And twenty minutes ago there was an accident!"

"Rex, stop." Artie's annoyance flared and became anger. "Stop it. I'm comming Anakin."

"Anakin is the one who sent me, Adhara."

It was this, after everything else, that made Artie stop short; her mouth hovered over her comlink, lips parted but producing nothing. Rex never called Anakin by his first name . . .

But he had to be lying. Artie would have believed anything else — Obi-Wan could get hurt, get lost, get captured, but killed? There wasn't anything that sounded more outlandish. There wasn't anything that Artie wanted to believe less.

"There was . . . a situation," Rex went on slowly. "A sniper fired at the three of them. They'd been waiting. Kenobi gave chase on the rooftops, but they landed a shot." He paused for several moments, each beat that passed straining the air more and more. "Obi-Wan fell. I think . . . I think it was Ahsoka who was with him . . . as he died."

The tips of Artie's fingers were numb. Her arms shook up to her shoulders and her knees felt ready to give at any moment.

Because she was finally paying attention.

The Younglings and all their amusing clumsiness had put her in a good mood and she hadn't felt it. But now — now, it was impossible to ignore. Something tore through the Force with staggering savagery and left in its wake a seething black scar and when Artie followed it she found Anakin. Mindless grief and fury coiled in thick cables around him, screaming red devastation. Something had gone horribly wrong. The same frigid dread she'd felt on Tatooine when Anakin had returned from the Tusken camp flooded her again, but deeper somehow. This was not like when his mother died. That had been steady and overhanging pain, years in the making, that gave way to cold emptiness. That agony had been many horrible things, but never surprising.

But now, this . . . this was acute terror. Blind trepidation beyond all measure and understanding. The sudden fear and torment of a cornered and ravening creature. It burned all the way through. Artie could trace it to nothing else:

Anakin's Master was gone. Part of his very soul, erased. The first cry broke past Artie's lips.

Rex had her in a moment. An armored hold around her shoulders. Blinded by tears already, Artie could do nothing for herself. So Rex guided her somewhere she could not discern, steadfast against her mounting sobs. They were almost running. The air changed and they were outside. Something unleashed within Artie and she began screaming. She howled as she staggered down the countless steps leading from the Temple, a frightening spectacle for any unfortunate passerby and a true testament to Rex's immeasurable graciousness. All the while, he encouraged her forward.

Nearly there, he'd say. I've got you. I've got you.

Artie had no measure for how long they traveled, only that her legs had regained a burning feeling purely from incessant movement, and that her cries now came out hoarse and choked. Finally, Rex stopped. He sat her down on some abandoned length of durasteel and knelt before her. The smell of rubbish soured Artie's nose and through her hysteria, she guessed they were in an alleyway.

"General," Rex said carefully, bracing her by both arms, "General . . . you're all right."

Artie could not answer. She wanted to thank him, but she could draw breath only enough to feed her weeping. Tears soddened her shirt and made her throat slick, the underside of her hair lank. She could not wipe them away no matter how she tried and succeeded only in rubbing the skin around her eyes raw. Her stomach twisted as she shrieked into her hands, face warm and skull pounding with the effort this throe demanded.

Suddenly Artie was on her feet. She darted away as far as she could get and vomited hard until the muscles in her abdomen strained painfully and her throat seared from bile. She shook worse than ever. Forced into some kind of calmness, Artie stood bent over with her hands on her knees, trying to spit the taste of sick out of her mouth. She remained this way for several minutes, gasping for air, then stumbled to where she'd sat before and dropped her aching head in her hands.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely breaking past a whisper. "I'm sorry for this. I just can't — I can't . . . believe that — that he's —"

Artie clapped a hand over her mouth because she was very near screaming again. Rex took her other hand and folded it tight in his own. He'd taken off his helmet and Artie could see now that his eyes were swollen. She had never witnessed him in tears before.

"Everyone is shocked," he said softly, "and no one is handling it well. When I left, General Skywalker was . . . he was inconsolable. Commander Tano is with him. He asked for you. That's the last thing I could get out of him. He won't speak to anyone."

Artie sniffed but said nothing. Rex went on:

"There hasn't been a public announcement yet. People closest to him are being told first for the funeral. Master Yoda has gone to see Senator Amidala, and the word was just sent to Duchess Kryze."

His words hardly registered; Artie's entire focus was on his hand over hers, the only solid thing in the galaxy. Distantly, she knew there was a need for a funeral, but such a thing in conjunction with Obi-Wan was deeply confusing to her. She had seen him an hour ago, and now they were preparing to bury him. She thought to ask about Duchess Satine Kryze, a name she knew in a completely political context and not in any way relating to Obi-Wan, but ultimately she could not bring herself to. Her panic was fading, despite her peculiar and feverish desire to hold on to it. She knew once the hysteria was over she would have to come up for air and face this horror story for what it was: decades and decades of life left, without Obi-Wan Kenobi to be a part of it.

Artie's tears still streamed like rivers but her lips were wired shut. Where minutes ago her body had been formless and flailing, it now corded into tight unfeeling. She was pried open, a victim of Death's gnarled hands taking her and peering impertinently inside. It had selected Obi-Wan from her collection of beloved things and torn him away. Why? The large part of her that was still a child asked again — why? Why? Was there no good reason? Obi-Wan was supposed to see the War to its end. Obi-Wan was supposed to fight by Anakin's side until there was no longer a need to fight at all. Obi-Wan was supposed to one day enjoy the peace he flayed himself to the bone to create. Instead, he was killed.

But it was a war, wasn't it?

Fame and skill and clench-jawed correctness were not shields against Death. Millions died every day. Billions were already dead. A rare, pragmatic voice in the back of her head told her wishes and aches for what should be were not cures for this finality. Obi-Wan's death was catastrophic to her, though inconsequential in the grand scheme of the galaxy.

But Artie wasn't thinking about the grand scheme of the galaxy. She couldn't care less.

Obi-Wan flashed across her memory ceaselessly, things she had never thought would return to her now with the force of a supernova behind them. He always called her Artemis, seldom ever Artie. It had seemed so deliberate. She'd wanted to ask him why, but now she never could. She remembered his tendency to quietly step away when the HoloNet crews found him and Anakin, smile graciously if they caught him alone, and give concise updates on the War with nothing extra relinquished. It was part of his appeal, of what drove the public mad with curiosity, and what kept them talking about him more than he would have liked — Obi-Wan gave nothing away. Anakin kept them all enticed by his sheer audacity and passion, things he could not sequester even if he tried, but Obi-Wan had inadvertently weaponized the inherent romanticism of a man with something to hide. Everyone dreamed of tearing away his mystery and seeing for themselves who the Great Negotiator was beneath his unmalleable reputation.

     "What do we do?" Artie said. Her voice came out a whine despite her efforts to steady it. "What . . . what can we do?"

Rex closed his eyes a moment. He opened them and they were filled with sad determination. His hand still held hers tightly. "We take the next step. That's all there is. I'd say we deal with General Skywalker. There's not a man alive who knew General Kenobi like he did. He mourns every one of my brothers when they're lost, even though they don't have to be anything more to him than clones. Losing Kenobi . . . will change him."

Artie finally took her hand away so she could use both to twist her earrings. She felt scabs tear open and her skin stung angrily, but she didn't stop. It was true that Anakin loved every clone under his command and took careful time to know them. A wiser man might have saved himself the pain, because it was an awful lot of sorrow to ensure oneself. But Anakin did it happily.

     "Blindfold me," he often dared, "and I'll tell you who laughed."

Some clones Anakin knew only a few months. Others, mere weeks. But he loved each one — there was no doubt about it. It made them ready to die for him. When they were lost, he grieved for them by name.

And how much deeper had his bond with Obi-Wan run?

Artie was half-expecting to find Anakin on the verge of mental collapse. She wanted to comfort him more than anything, but how could comfort reach him at a time like this? How could anything reach him? It was beginning to seem completely futile.

But he had asked for her. He must have believed there was something she could do for him. She owed him that, and so much more.

"Let's go back," Artie croaked.

"Are you sure? You're ready?"

She moved her hands away from her ears and found blood on her fingers. She wiped it on her pant leg. "No. But we don't have a choice."

     Even still, they didn't move for another minute, until Rex sighed and got to his feet. He slipped his helmet back over his head.

     "Best get to it," he said grimly. He'd assumed the same stalwart tone he used on the battlefield.

     Artie nodded. She stood and they walked side by side through the alleyway, the air between them choked by tragedy. Artie cried silently as they went. She was not ready for this new world they lived in, but it certainly wasn't going to wait for her to catch up.

     And if Anakin needed her, that's truly all that mattered.

• • •

LYSANDER HAD ONCE TOLD ARTIE, YEARS AGO AFTER ABDUCTING HER FROM THE Lars homestead, that the galaxy was not set against her and that bad things happened to everyone. There was nothing so special about her that she was allotted extra pain while others were not. It was an irritatingly valid observation and one Artie had actually agreed with, that is until she and Rex returned to the Temple.

     Being the only people who had been with Obi-Wan as he died, as well the the only witnesses to the assassination, Anakin and Ahsoka had been whisked away for questioning before Artie and Rex even arrived. The higher-ups in the military had apparently gotten involved because it was one of their generals that had been taken out. It made Artie's stomach start churning again, the thought of the turn the War might take now that one of the Republic's finest and most capable warriors was gone. There seemed no end to what Obi-Wan's death would affect.

     Before Artie could worry much about that, however, she agonized over the fact that Anakin was somewhere not with her. He didn't need to be made to relive seeing Obi-Wan die, but she feared that was exactly what was happening. Couldn't they wait a day?

Rex was called away after a half-hour of waiting,  and left Artie with deep reluctance apparent on his face. Alone, she paced about the vast, vaulted Temple hall, tortured and aimless, until Padmé found her by some miracle. She came weeping into Artie's arms, so distraught Artie wasn't positive she heard her sniffling explanation of what had happened. But did it matter? Explained or not Obi-Wan's death was almost inconceivable, and Artie did not think having someone to blame it on made a difference.

She could not figure if Anakin would believe the same.

     "I don't want to see it," Padmé whispered. Artie knew she meant the funeral. The body. Padmé had had unique trouble with such things since Cordé's murder two years ago. "Not when it's him. I don't know if I can bear that."

     Artie didn't know how to answer. Mace Windu had sent a hologram to the whole of the Order saying that they would lay Obi-Wan Kenobi to rest in another thirty minutes' time. Padmé had come all this way for something, though Artie did not want to insist she sit through anything that sickened her so horribly.

     "Stand with me," Artie said at last. "You can hide your face if you need to. The processions usually . . . usually don't last long." She'd been to her share of Jedi funerals in the past two years — she knew.

     Padmé stared at Artie for several moments, dark eyes glistening. Even while sodden with tears, her former teacher was beautiful. Artie wished she could shield her from all the terror the galaxy had to offer; if there was anyone entirely undeserving of it, it was Padmé. She broke her quiet with a shaky laugh. "Oh . . . listen to you, comforting me. I'm so sorry, Artie. I should be — I shouldn't be so fragile about this. These are times . . . times that require strength."

     Artie blinked numbly. Suddenly more hot tears were falling in torrents so unexpectedly she could not staunch them. "I don't want to be strong anymore," she said. "Please . . . I can't. I just — I just want Obi-Wan back."

     Padmé held her tightly. "I know. I know."

      "I spent the last — the last two years lying to him. He never lied to me. And I went behind his back all this time. And I can't ever make it right."

She knew what her words implied the moment they left her lips: that she regretted ever indulging Anakin, that she regretted the nature of their relationship. It must not have been lost on Padmé, for she shifted and made Artie look at her.

"Artie, what do you mean? Would you have done things differently?"

Artie wiped her eyes with the edge of her hand. "No, no, that's not what I'm saying. I wouldn't change anything. I just . . . I wish there could've been a way not to betray his trust. I wish he could have known without knowing."

In truth, she had always planned on telling Obi-Wan about her and Anakin someday. Maybe after they were married, because there wasn't anything to do about it. The Council could expel them, but not dissolve a marriage (she'd checked to make sure). She often imagined what Obi-Wan's face would look like the moment she told him: he was never angry, or even very surprised. He would smile softly, a bit saddened by the fact that he could never truly get through to her or Anakin, but ultimately things would be all right. Artie had held on to this fantasy more tightly than she wanted to admit. It was an excuse that quieted her guilt.

Padmé looked at her with all kinds of pity. "I don't believe he would begrudge you one another. In his heart of hearts, he'd know it was the way things have to be."

Artie was hit with a sudden bout of hatred for herself. How could she stand there and feel sorry for herself as one of her best friends lay dead nearby? All her thoughts were a writhing tangle she could not navigate. Her regrets and confusion had no place in that moment, so why could she not silence them?

     Before either of them could speak again, Artie's comlink beeped. There was no message, but its purpose was clear.

     It was time to say goodbye.

• • •

     HER EYES FOUND THE BODY BEFORE HER MIND COULD WORK OUT WHAT SHE was seeing. He laid there on his back, face and body shrouded in heavy ivory linen. A silhouette.

     But it was unmistakably Obi-Wan.

     Artie fought back the urge to get sick again, but it took all her might. Each step forward was dizzying. Each step towards the pyre meant further agreeing that Obi-Wan was gone, forever.

     In the vastness of the round room, rows of cloaked Jedi took their places around the perimeter, faces hidden by the heavy shadows cast by their cowls. A band of warm light glowed beneath Obi-Wan's pyre and illuminated those assembled closest to it. Master Plo Koon stood with hands clasped behind his back, his head bowed. A slender woman with pale yellow hair stared down at Obi-Wan's body, both hands held to her mouth and her frame recoiled away as if the sight stung. Beside her was Ahsoka, her cloak drawn tightly and her large green eyes wide, and unblinking. To Ahsoka's right . . .

Anakin stood at the head of the smooth stone pyre. He was motionless to the point where Artie could not tell if he was breathing. The heavy hood of his cloak pushed stark black shadow over his face, so she could see only his mouth twisted in a fierce, tight grimace. The Force was coiled with rage and grief all around him, so potent that Artie was sure every Jedi present could sense it. Rage and grief, two things Anakin was supposed to have conquered and relinquished long ago. But even if he had, they would be back now. Even if Anakin had been the most undoubting, most practiced Jedi the Order had ever seen, no amount of discipline could have diluted the loss of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Artie was sure of that.

Artie and Padmé made their way to the pyre. The blonde woman, who Artie finally recognized as Duchess Kryze, was openly weeping now. Her cries echoed through the otherwise-silent chamber, and she seemed quite shameless about it. It made Artie wonder.

     After another moment or two, Master Yoda appeared from the shadows and hobbled to the center of the floor and began speaking, though Artie paid little attention to what he said. It was almost certainly more of what he always said at these services: a brief recognition of the Jedi that had passed interspersed with the Order's dogma, pulling together to essentially say Don't get too choked up about this.

     Artie had no interest in hearing Obi-Wan reduced to that.

She stared down at his body until her eyes burned. Her mind could barely accept that it was Obi-Wan laying there. Every few moments she would think He's running very late, only to remember that Kenobi was the subject of the procession and that he was right in front of her. It just did not seem correct at all, but what could she do? Deny that her friend was dead when two of the people she trusted most in the galaxy had watched him die? Artie was not quite so mad.

Suddenly, the pyre shifted. The indiscernible warbling that had been Master Yoda's speech on the edges of her attention stopped. Artie's chest tightened and new tears sprang into her eyes; they were going to burn the body.

Only, they didn't. No one came forward with a torch or even an explanation as to why the tradition was not being observed. The floor opened up around the pyre that was no longer a pyre, and it descended several feet. The floor sealed shut again and a bright beacon shot up from a small marker in the stone. The finality was chilling.

Obi-Wan was gone.

Before Artie could continue thinking very deeply about this, Ahsoka appeared at her side. Her eyes shone with tears and at that moment she seemed eons older than her seventeen years.

"I'm worried about Anakin," Ahsoka said quietly, staring directly ahead. "He's barely spoken since it happened."

Artie took in a deep breath. "I'm sorry you were there. Both of you. That's something you never should have had to see."

Ahsoka didn't appear to have heard Artie or otherwise did not care to react to what she'd said. She swayed slightly on her feet and wrapped her cloak more tightly about her. "Could you try to talk to him? I gave it my best shot, but . . . maybe he'll listen to you."

Artie shut her eyes for a moment. Force above, she was about to have to lie over Obi-Wan's grave.

"I don't know if he'd want to talk to me about this sort of thing," Artie said with as little emotion in her voice as possible. "He'd do better to go to someone on the Council."

Ahsoka gave a short nod, her teeth clamped down on the inside of her cheek. "Please just try. It couldn't make things any worse."

     Artie followed Ahsoka's unwavering stare and tried to see what she was seeing. Through the viewport, there was nothing new, just the restless cityscape brilliantly aglow with light from a million skyscrapers, buzzing like a Geonosian hive with the hum of a million airspeeders. Their new world was so different, yet strangely unchanged.

     A dull throbbing began on the underside of Artie's forehead as if her brain was testing an escape. "I . . . I'll try. Of course I'll try. I'm sure he'll be all right in time."

     Even as she said it, Artie knew it was a lie. Her words had the bitter flavor of the untrue. Anakin probably wouldn't be all right, not in this life, but how could she broach that reality to his devoted Padawan who more than anything, possibly more than she grieved Kenobi, wanted her Master to be okay? 

     The onlookers to Obi-Wan's funeral began to filter out of the dim, round room. In her peripheral, Artie saw Anakin take a step towards her, but he was intercepted by Plo Koon. The Master began speaking, a hand on Anakin's shoulder, voice low as to not be overheard. So Artie was forced to move on, and make her way out with Padmé and Duchess Kryze.

     They emerged back in the cavernous Temple hall, a small crowd now gathered. Most of those still lingering were Jedi, but Artie spotted Senator Bail Organa amongst them; he looked entirely devastated.

     "I'll just be a moment," Padmé said suddenly, touching Artie's arm lightly. She left them and made her way to Senator Organa.

Artie stood there for several moments in a stupor, saying and doing nothing until she remembered with a jolt that she was essentially in the presence of royalty, and doing a fantastic job of ignoring said royalty completely. She turned to Duchess Kryze and offered her a quick bow.

"Your Grace, I apologize for not introducing myself before," she said as regretfully as she could. "My name is Artie Adhara. Before I joined the Order, I trained under Padmé and studied much of your material. I wish we were meeting under different circumstances."

The Duchess smiled, albeit it was strained. Her long, angular face was still wet with tears. "Call me Satine, please. You must have been quite the diligent student to sit through my ramblings. In my early years, you could not call me concise." Satine's expression turned thoughtful. "You met Obi-Wan through the Order, then? You're a fresh face, I hope you don't mind my saying."

Artie nodded. "I was inducted two years ago. I met Obi-Wan about a week before I joined."

     "When Senator Amidala's life was threatened," Satine agreed. "He told me of that particular escapade. If only we'd known . . . what it would all lead to."

Fresh tears sprang into her pale eyes and she turned her face away. Artie was not sure what to say, and this was worsened by her intense curiosity about just what Satine and Obi-Wan's relationship had been. She wanted so badly to pry.

     "Of course, it does nothing to dwell on what we can't control," Satine said quickly. She looked back at Artie. "At least, that's what Obi would say."

     "He was wise," Artie whispered. "I fear he tried often to get through to me . . . I never made it very easy for him."

      Satine touched a hand to her own cheek. "As rigid as he was, he collected nothing but rebellious company. His Master and his Padawan were so much alike — all their recklessness taxed him, but it was good for him. Obi-Wan . . . was eager to follow orders, I'm sure you know. Perhaps to a fault."

     "All in the name of the right thing," Artie agreed. "It used to frustrate me so badly, how he could only think of one way of doing things, but now . . . if it meant having him back, I'd do everything his way. Every time."

     Satine looked at Artie with gentle intrigue. A small smile returned to her. "You were closer to Obi-Wan than most others, weren't you? I see some of his Padawan in you. You would not let him keep you at arm's length and neither would Skywalker."

     "I can't say we were quite as close as he and General Skywalker were," Artie said. "But I cared for him. He did a lot for me when I first joined the Order, when a smarter man would have saved himself the trouble. His attention validated my membership. It's still hard to this day . . . I can't imagine what things would be like if he hadn't helped me."

    "He loved," Satine said with sudden insistence. "No matter how he tried to smother it, he loved others. I . . . I know he did . . ."

     She began to cry again. A hand covered her mouth and she dropped her chin to her chest.

     Artie's mind raced so quickly it almost drowned out her grief. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. How did you and Master Kenobi know each other?"

     It took Satine a moment to gather herself. "He and his Master were assigned to protect me shortly after my appointment as duchess," she said at last. "Those were unpredictable times. We spent a year practically on the run. I governed as we moved from place to place."

     Artie's mind leaped to an outlandish conclusion, though one that provided every explanation she needed. It had the potential to be greatly insulting and she couldn't say it outright, especially not at Obi-Wan's funeral, but she knew she must try to get it across to Satine that she understood.

     "My lady," she began tentatively, "I know we've only just met, but I feel the need to . . . to tell you that I am not . . . I'm not a good Jedi."

     Satine looked a bit caught off guard. "My dear . . . what do you mean?"

     "I mean to say that I'm no good at being a Jedi. I . . . have always found the Code to be particularly challenging. Perhaps because I knew a life before the Order. I have . . . deviated . . . in ways that would displease the Council. They would say I harbor dangerous attachments."

     Satine's eyes shone suddenly with new alertness, narrowed with new thinking.

     "So if there ever was a time when you knew Obi-Wan," Artie kept on, trying to emulate the way so many politicians said everything while still saying nothing, "when the same thing could have been said for you . . . or him . . . it would be a subject I am versed in. In such deviations."

    Satine blinked. She was wordless for several moments, staring at Artie like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Artie knew what she risked by even implying . . . but Satine's anguish was beyond anything Artie had expected, and if she could offer her this small shred of camaraderie she would.

     "There were times," Satine whispered, "I believed my life . . . and Obi-Wan's . . . would look quite different. If things had gone such a way he would still be here." She wiped her eyes and met Artie's gaze. "I loved him. I loved him because I knew him. I knew him better than anyone did, at one point in time."

     Artie had no time to respond. Satine took her hand in her own and gave her a small, sad smile. "I'm glad we met. As you said, I wish the circumstances were different. Nevertheless . . . you seem to me like a smart girl. You say you nurse attachments, but I will go as far as to call it love. I will not pretend to know its object or nature, but hear me, child. Protect it. Covet it. We have so little these days." She released her. "May the Force be with you, Miss Adhara."

     Artie did not realize she was crying again until she tried to speak. "May the Force be with you," she echoed, but the words barely formed. Satine was already on her way.

     Artie stood motionless for a great many minutes. She knew she ought to think over Satine's words, but her head had gone quite blank, and her body quite numb. She watched the duchess go, faint anger blooming in the back of her mind. She had never thought Obi-Wan capable of disobedience, but it certainly seemed like he'd once flirted with the idea of it. Had he and Satine made plans like the ones she and Anakin had in mind? What had made them fail?

     Wait. None of that was important. The mere thought of him set her back into motion.

     Anakin was waiting. The Force told her he had stowed himself away in his room in the Temple, grief and fury still swarming. Artie's heart kicked in her chest; a part of her dreaded how she might find him. It would be a lie to say she didn't fear he might do something rash, like what he'd done to the Tusken camp after they killed his mother. But they hadn't had each other then. Not like they did now.

If there ever was a moment Artie could be of true help to Anakin, it was upon her.

note.
hey guys! i hope you all enjoyed this chapter. i was sorely tempted to include artie and ani's big talk because i think it's really good, but before i focused on ani's reaction to obi wan's death i wanted to let artie have her moment. this was sort of filler, so please stay tuned for the next update because that is where the GOOD GOOD stuff is gonna be.

full disclaimer: the "blindfold me and i'll tell you who laughed" is from the TCW stealth gambit, it's not my line. but i figured if the kenobi show could copy paste ahsoka and vader's confrontation then i could use this line xx

as always, thank you for reading!!