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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ARTIE WOKE WITH A START.

She didn't mean to, she never did, but it was a condition of living for her; sleep was not peaceful, even if she slept beside Anakin.

His arm came to settle over her. "You're all right," he said. He always said this when he was there to say it. His eyes were still closed, voice deep and scratched by sleep. "Just dreams."

Artie made herself take a breath. The details of the nightmare were already fading, but she was sure she'd seen Mortis. Scenes of their time on that mystifying, yet loathsome planet had been coming back to her in dreams.

She sighed and ran a hand down her face. Sunlight had only just begun to sidle through the windows, though the skylane traffic shrieked on by as urgent as ever. "I'm sorry I woke you."

Anakin made a sharp noise of drowsy protest. "No, no . . . been up for hours."

"Mhm. You sound like it."

"Shhh." Anakin pulled her nearer to him. "Please don't give me sass so early."

Artie smiled. She was happy to be there. It felt as if they'd found a small pocket separate from time and space in which to hide. Such an opportunity was rarer than seeing Mace Windu actually smile. She wanted to sleep more, to cherish that she was in an actual bed and next to Anakin, which was an occasion indeed. But neither of them could ever drift off once they woke, and Anakin's newly shallow breathing and too-perfect stillness reminded Artie of that fact. Guilty, she turned her eyes on him.

"Is there somewhere we have to be?" she whispered.

"No, the Council wants you out a little while longer," he said in a voice just as low, his eyes still shut. "Master Yoda felt you had a rough go of it. He recommended I advise you to use the Force and reflect on your tribulations should we, uh . . . cross paths."

"I think we had a productive time."

"Well, you know me," Anakin said. "I aim to please."

Artie grinned as thoughts of the previous night drifted across her mind. The pull of his mouth and body like gravity, each fervent moan of her name, the shock of each touch as if she'd never known him before. He dizzied her even then. Even still. Two years had done nothing to curb her awe. It was probably dangerous all she would do for him, should he just ask.

Something occurred to Artie then, and she felt suddenly embarrassed.

"Did Padmé ever come back?"

Anakin laughed softly. "Not that I know of."

"She probably will be back soon."

"Life is cruel," Anakin agreed as he moved deeper beneath Artie's sheets.

"Ani — "

There came a happy beeping from somewhere in the parlor.

Anakin's face became somewhat smug. "Artoo says Padmé was called away after the opera by Queen Jamillia. She transmitted and told him to let us know she'd return at the week's end. There, see?"

"Stop eavesdropping, Artoo," Artie called.

There was more jubilant whirring.

With a shake of her head, she took up Anakin's right hand and pressed her palm against his durasteel one. She measured her fingers against his and traced the seam on his forearm where metal and wire met bronze skin. There were days he resented the prosthesis. Plenty of Jedi, he sometimes pointed out, managed to do their job without losing limbs, never mind the fact that there wasn't a Jedi in the Order who was thrown into combat the way Anakin was. It didn't help that the public was already uneasy about cybernetics, ever since the Confederacy had handed control of their droid army to General Grievous. That cyborgian, Jedi-hunting monster inspired nightmares across the Republic. Despite the fact that Grievous was almost entirely droid by now and no one in their right mind could compare him to the Hero With No Fear, the whole issue troubled Anakin greatly.

     "Where does the Council think you are?" Artie asked.

     Anakin watched her hands. "Middle Rim," he said, "to investigate suspected Separatist activity, or whatever."

     "So you've sent Rex and the others out on the assignment?" Artie asked. She tried to seem reproachful, but her broad smile made it less than convincing. "You're shameless, Skywalker."

"Nah, he's fine with it." Anakin took back his hand and stroked her hair away from her face. "I said I'd make it up to him. I don't know exactly how, but I will."

     "This is the kind of example you're setting for Ahsoka?"

     At this, Anakin grinned Artie's favorite grin, the one he flashed when he was equal parts bashful and pleased with himself. "I'm teaching her to differentiate right from wrong. Me playing hooky to be with you is technically irresponsible, and Ahsoka should be able to see that. It's like a test. Trust me, you'll understand when you've got a Padawan."

     "Thank you for sharing your wisdom, Master," Artie said in her haughtiest voice. "Shame that it's all based on hypotheticals."

     "But if it wasn't, that would be the lesson. 'What to do when your Master breaks the code right before your eyes.' Answer is to mind your own business about it and go do your meditations."

     Artie laughed. "Says the man who doesn't meditate."

     "I meditate, you've just never seen me do it." He took her chin and made her look at him. "And why would I, if you were around?"

      "You're already in my bed, you know," Artie said quietly with a blush and a smile spreading fast across her fae. "You don't have to be charming anymore."

     "I'm not trying to charm you," he replied, still holding her face. "I'm serious. I'm not ever gonna waste a second I have with you."

     "Really?" She thumbed the scar running down his brow bone, his cheek. "Not even when the war's over and there's nothing to do but sit around and stare at each other? You might get sick of me." Her tone was teasing, but she was only half-joking.

     "No, I won't," Anakin insisted. "I hardly see you as it is. I can't wait for the day when we have nothing better to do than sit around."

     She waited for his playful smile to return, but his face remained sincere. Artie thought back to that day on Geonosis, to the dawn of the Clone Wars, when Anakin had called her extraordinary and proclaimed his intention to know everything about her. As enchanting as his words may have been, Artie had understood they'd been about to die and he probably hadn't been thinking straight. So much of their relationship had seemed to unfold when neither of them was in their right mind. If she was honest with herself, Artie had expected him to drift away once he really got to know her. Perhaps it was her own unresolved self-loathing that nursed this supposition because even then she existed constantly bewildered that he remained in her life. Talk of marriage and a long future did not do much to reassure her, as earnest as Anakin was about such things. Artie knew words were only words, easily said and even more easily forgotten.

     Of course, not only did she expect him to grow tired of her, but she also carried tremendous guilt for having the expectation at all. How could she have so little faith in him? How could she insult him by doubting him in the way she did? Here he was, with her when he didn't have to be, when he could have anyone on Coruscant at his side, practically spelling out his devotion to her. It went against her every instinct to believe what he said to her. Everything about love, in Artie's mind, was inescapably finite. There was a limit to how long one could have it and she worried every day her time was coming to a close. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed her reluctance to marry Anakin was not the fault of the war. To marry him would be to admit how desperately she wanted him, for the rest of her life and the millennia afterward, and she feared the moment she made that admission would be the very moment Anakin decided she was no longer something he wished for. It was a largely baseless fear, but it kept her awake for hours into the night.

     "I want to apologize for what happened on Zygerria," Anakin said suddenly, wrenching Artie from her thoughts. He set his hand against her neck and slid his thumb carefully over one of the larger bruises left behind by Lysander's collar. "You never should have been in that position — I never should have put you in that position. You told me you were unsure and I didn't listen. I did what the Council asked rather than what you asked . . . and I'm so sorry."

     "I'm okay," she assured him. "I'm . . . also sorry. For acting like I was the only one it would be hard for. It was a difficult assignment for everyone. Ahsoka's people were missing, and you should never have had to go near slavers again . . . .'' Artie's eyes moved to the ceiling. "And I'm sorry for jeopardizing things in the arena. I know better than to react like that. It just . . . it scared me when they brought out Obi-Wan."

     Anakin looked at her with gentle bewilderment. "I'm not the Council, Artie. You don't have to apologize for being afraid for Obi-Wan. I was afraid for him, too."

     "But you had a plan," Artie argued. "I risked the entire mission for no reason."

     "We were found out anyway, and you'd already had Lysander to deal with before the auction started. You're being too hard on yourself. Speaking of," he added abruptly with new urgency in his voice, "are you alright? You said Lysander touched you. I'm sorry, we should have talked about it before last night —"

     Artie shook her head and he stopped short. "I'm fine."

     "Artie . . ."

     "Really, I am," she said. She sat up slowly, mindful of her burned shoulder, which she had not considered during their time together the night before. She hadn't had the capacity to think of anything but Anakin. "He didn't really do anything. Nothing more than he ever did."

     Artie wasn't looking at Anakin, but she could feel his eyes on her. "Meaning what, Artemis?"

     "He just. . . ." She sighed tiredly and wrapped her arms around herself, for the sheets had fallen away from her and the early morning was cold. "He just got in my face. He acted like he was going to kiss me. He'd already put the collar on, so I couldn't have done anything if he had. He's always . . . he's always managed to take control away from me and this time wasn't any different."

     Artie laid back down, scowling. Her fingers went to an ear, but Anakin caught her hand. He'd been helping her try to break the habit because in recent weeks she'd twisted her earrings so often that the skin around them was raw, and sometimes bled.

     They were quiet for a spell, lying there. Finally, Anakin said, "I wish I'd hit him harder."

     Artie smiled halfheartedly. "You left him in Ahsoka's cage?"

     "I did. Would have felt better to just drop him over the wall, though."

     "I think he's finally given up on me."

     Anakin ran his knuckle over the apple of her cheek. "That's a good thing, isn't it? What makes you say that?"

     Artie pondered it for a moment.

     "Because of you," she said finally. "I don't believe Lysander thinks he can get to me in the same way as before. I never had anyone in my corner, no one ever wanted to protect me . . . and he had power, Ani. He was ruthless and the Hutts loved it. They gave him whatever he wanted."

     She paused. She thought often about her time alone on Tatooine but seldom spoke about it, even with Anakin. All the time and love in the galaxy hadn't made the subject much easier to face.

     "He would try to starve me out until I begged him for help. More than once, I did, and he beat me for it. He learned my disguises and made it so no one would hire me for anything, and no slaver under the Hutt name had permission to claim me. It was him or nothing. When I tried to steal from Padmé's ship, that was . . . that was the most desperate I've ever been. I would've rather been put in prison than keep living the way I was."

     Artie glanced at Anakin, but he didn't speak. He kept petting her face, scowl deepening with every word she said.

     "But," she went on, "it's not like that now. It's not just me looking out for myself. I have comrades, and friends. I have you. Lysander saw it, too. He said you'd get me off Zygerria, and when you did he'd never come after me again. For once, I believe what he said."

     They were quiet for several moments. Artie's words hung in the air, left alone and allowed to settle wherever they may. She took in a few deep breaths. It's not like that now.

     Eventually, Anakin said, "I'm sorry you ever had to live like that, Artemis. I'm sorry you ever had to endure him, even for a second." He shifted and sat up slightly, an intensity in his face that Artie couldn't believe was for her sake. "You never deserved anything like that."

     Suddenly she felt very young. She blinked as his words fell over themselves in her head. "I . . . I know I didn't. It doesn't always feel that way."

     "What could you have done that warranted everything he did to you?"

     "Nothing, I suppose. I didn't do anything."

     But even as she said it, Artie felt a frown spread over her face. How could she explain the feeling to him? How could she explain the guilt that seemed to have no source but never subsided? How could she articulate the suspicion that every horrible thing she endured was penance for who she was? To Artie, there seemed to be some part of her that had earned the abandonment, the torment, the loss, because she could not fathom why else she faced them in such abundance. There had to be a reason.
But she didn't deserve it, Anakin said. Padmé said. Even Lysander had apologized, so why couldn't she shake the shame that threatened to snap her in half?

     It had something to do with her parents, that much Artie was positive of. All of her angst surrounding Lysander was difficult to navigate, but she found peace in the fact that she had never willfully done what he'd wanted. She'd stayed away from the syndicate and suffered more than what he'd thought she could tolerate. No matter the beatings and the threats, Lysander had never fully won.

     But Artie missed her parents more than anything.

     For most of her life, she'd practiced indifference. But she wasn't indifferent. She was angry yet incapable of molding that anger into armor, like Lysander had. She didn't want to be angry and even more than that, she did not want to hate her parents. Did she hate them? There were times Artie thought she did, and times she was unsure. Master Yoda's explanation as to why they abandoned her had given Artie peace for a short while, until she thought on it with more intent. She understood her parents must have been the greatest of cowards to let fear poison them against their own daughter. Though she had no children, Artie knew it was something she could never do. It was the most basic condition of parenthood that her mother and father were incapable of upholding. Fear, Yoda had blamed, as if fear was something unconquerable. It was one of the things Artie disliked about the Masters, their acting as if once one failed, once one fell short, there was nothing to be done about it. You might as well be dead for all the use you were. Her parents should have loved her despite their fear, and even if they still found themselves too weak to stay with her, they should have loved her enough to leave her with a fighting chance.

     But they hadn't, and from that fact budded all of Artie's doubt. There were two people in the galaxy meant to love her unconditionally and they couldn't do it. Could they have, if she had been different? If she had somehow not been herself? It was another thought that kept her awake at night. Artie felt as if her mother and father had known something about her, something she herself could not see, and in due time anyone who got close to her would discover it and flee. Master Yoda had insisted it was simply the Force, and it was too daunting a prospect for superstitious backwater peoples to appreciate, but Artie wasn't convinced.

     She felt Anakin settle back beside her, and then heard his voice: "What if I left?"

     Artie turned to him, scowling. "What? You want to go?"

     "Huh? No, I don't mean leave here. I mean . . . if I left the Order. What do you think would happen?"

     Artie's heart was in her throat. "I don't . . . I don't know. Why do you ask?"

     "Dunno. I've been thinking. Wondering about our future." He paused. "Artie, when you say you're gonna marry me . . . do you mean it?"

     "Of course I mean it!"

     "Then why won't you?"

     "I —" Artie stopped herself short. She had the feeling this was a shatterpoint moment. There was genuine hurt in Anakin's voice and it was a knife in her chest to know she caused it. "I'm scared to."

     "Why?"

     Artie gave a small groan and covered her face with her hands. If there was shame in doubting him, it was nothing compared to the embarrassment of admitting it out loud.

     "I'm scared," Artie began slowly, "that once it's done . . . you'll change your mind about me. I'm scared I won't be what you expected."

     Anakin went quiet for several beats. Then he laughed.

     Artie frowned. "What?"

     "Artemis," Anakin said through a massive grin, "that's the most . . . I'm sorry, but that is one of the funniest things you've ever said."

     "It's how I feel!"

     "But why?" he asked again. He moved her hands away from her face. "Artie, I'd like to think I know you well. We've seen each other in some pretty bad moments. I'm sorry to break it to you if you thought otherwise, but you're not exactly a mystery to me. When I say I want to marry you I'm fairly certain of what it entails."

     His words were surprisingly pragmatic and Artie had a hard time accepting them; she'd been rather prepared for an emotional conversation.

     "Look, I know we haven't talked about it all that much," Anakin went on, "and I don't mean to be pushy about it. I'm not trying to lock you down or anything like that, I just . . . I just want to marry you. Because it's you. So, if we do end up married and the worst thing that happens is you act like yourself, then I've just gotten all I could've asked for."

     Artie really could do nothing but stare at him. She didn't dare try to speak. For a few moments she couldn't even move until shakily, she sat up and put her arms tight around his neck and pressed her heart to his. Anakin moved his arms around her waist, and Artie felt his mouth on the slope of her neck and shoulder.

     "Thank you," she whispered, "for everything you say . . . and everything you do for me. I don't always know how to handle it. I don't always show gratitude well, but . . . but I am more grateful for you than I have ever been for anything in my life. You're so extraordinary and there's not a thing about you I don't love."

     "You're just saying that because I'm the famous and adored Chosen One," Anakin said. But he hugged her tighter. "I love you, Adhara."

     Artie felt something loosen inside her, like a wire cord released from around her ribs. "I love you, too," she said. "Thank you for always being here."

     Anakin smiled and gathered her even closer.
"I'll always be with you. No matter what."

• • •

     REX DIDN'T ALTOGETHER UNDERSTAND WHY he was the one tasked with delivering the news.

     Granted, it had been General Skywalker's request, and Rex wasn't one to shirk orders. It felt strange, nevertheless. He hadn't been there when it happened. He'd only arrived after Skywalker commed for help, and all help had been too late.

     Rex always kept his helmet on while within the Temple because it was proper and customary, but that day he was glad for the cover. He didn't want a soul to see his face right then, and that included Artemis Adhara.

      As he marched down the vast hall it occurred to him that he had not the faintest idea where she was. Rex had heard she'd been gone for a few days after they escaped Zygerria, and after General Skywalker had implored him to take over a patrol in the Outer Rim it hadn't been difficult to figure they were together. It must have been nightmarish for Skywalker, going from that to his current situation.

     Rex knew he'd been the one to carry back the body.

     Rex was supposed to find General Adhara, but once he did it was no relief. Her yellow hair flashed in his peripheral and he turned sharply to find her grinning, and heading his way.

     Oh, he could've been sick.

     "Hey!" Adhara waved happily and hurried over. "How are you? Ani made you go all the way to the Outer Rim on assignment, huh? I'm sorry, if I'd known he was gonna do that I would have stopped him. He's so —"

     "General," Rex interjected with a small wince. "I uh, I don't mean to interrupt. But I've come with . . . I have news."

     Adhara blinked. "Oh. Yeah?"

     "It's . . . well, it's not easy to say."

     Rex hated not having words. He was a captain, a soldier, and everything that came out of his mouth was supposed to be succinct and informed. But he was so . . . stunned at this latest catastrophe that the discipline woven into his genes seemed to have vanished.

     "Rex?" Adhara said, dread creeping into her voice. "What happened?"

     Rex knew what he must look like. The helmet gave away nothing. He cleared his throat.

     "It's about General Kenobi, ma'am. There was an accident about twenty minutes ago." He felt dizzy. This was not something he knew how to do, at least not this way.

     "What happened?"

     She could not see his face, so Rex closed his eyes. "He's dead, ma'am. General Kenobi has been killed."

note.
hehe sorry