Chapter Text
It’s easy to be distracted during war, in the middle of battle, while the world is falling apart all around you. You can’t fall apart too. There's too much chaos to add more chaos to it. Someone has to be the adult, somehow has to hold the world together with plastitape and verve. Someone has to do it.
Someone has to be just crazy enough to think they can. An army needs a General, not exactly the other way around and for so long, Anakin has embodied all that war requires. The willingness to throw himself into battle, the fierce loyalty to the Republic, and most importantly, the unshaking understanding that he has to win therefore he does.
Yet, back on Coruscant... that all falls away.
Anakin is just another Jedi among hundreds of thousands. A face among the crowd. The anonymity is both welcome and not. Anakin wants to be seen, but sometimes, times like these, he can see why disappearing into the background would be welcome.
The planet is quiet. The kind of stillness that echoes after blaster fire and bombs and explosions into a tinny sound in his ear. The absence of sound is almost as aggravating as the anxiety that comes from the suspense. Something has to happen. It has to happen, because it is already happening, and he just doesn’t know it yet.
Anakin is always angry these days, too. Never stops. Like a constant companion that doesn’t hear him when he asks them to leave. Control slips through his fingers, like water that he tries desperately to cup. It runs over and over and over.
He can feel himself losing it. The pain, too. Like a never ending sore. He can’t stop poking it.
His life is anger and pain and he is so very tired. The Jedi he’s told about his exhaustion and struggles don’t seem to care either. Medical or otherwise. Padme can only do so much, either, and especially not while he’s having nightmares that keep him away from the precious hours of sleep he would be able to snatch anyway.
It doesn’t help that he hasn’t slept a full night’s sleep since he killed Dooku at the Chancellor’s request. He’s not sure if it’s related, but the dreams he has can’t be. Dreams of Padme dying. Screaming out in fear and pain. Tearing him from one sleepless night to another. They get worse and worse.
Troubled, you seem. Yoda had commented.
No duh. Anakin had wanted to snap right back, but he kept his tongue in check by sheer force of will. Just tired.
Hmmm, troubled, all of us are, then. Yoda had retorted with a snort.
Even Obi-Wan’s kind words and praise hasn’t been able to keep his spirits up long. All the good in the world just keeps getting bogged down by the bad. Still. He had precious few words to hold close to his heart. Those few were mostly from Obi-Wan and Padme.
I’m proud of you.
I love you Ani.
He holds them close all the more.
There are so many people inside his head he hardly remembers what his own voice sounds like sometimes.
There is much conflict in you, Anakin.
Back for more Skywalker?
Sir, we need to go!
I know, Anakin.
The Jedi Order is your life.
He can feel exhaustion tearing at his mind. How his entire thought process is fuzzy and nonlinear. Trying to answer all the impossible questions in his head is like attempting to climb a mountain without any gear or the Force. What is he supposed to do about Padme? How can he protect everyone he cares about, the ones who are left anyway?
And when the fuck is he supposed to sleep inbetween?
He is tired.
“Anakin,” Palpatine greets amiably, like always. He is tired, too, but he is smiling, “walk with me.”
They walk together in silence. It is not peaceful. Anakin’s mind can’t stop spinning on and on and on; over a million different things. The War. Padme. His Clones. Ahsoka. Padme. Obi-Wan. The war. His Clones. Padme. The war. His mind is a broken record and he doesn’t know how to fix it.
Nothing he does works. Every move he makes is just another step. Backwards. Forwards. He doesn’t know anymore. Under it all is the simmering, flickering rage that is his constant company. Rage at the Separatists keeping him from the Jedi and his Wife. Anger at the war that keeps everything in a hazy in between, twilight.
Oh. Palpatine is talking. He should probably listen.
They are walking by the crystal clear stained plasti-glass, when Palpatine begins to really go off course, and subsequently when Anakin starts to listen.
“My mentor taught me everything about the Force, you know... even the nature of the dark side.”
Dark Side?
The words spark ill-terror-intrigue in all Jedi and Anakin is no stranger to it.
He knows Palpatine loved the history and mythology of the Jedi and Sith. They talk often about the Force. It was a curious kind of person who cared about the Force, yet who couldn’t touch it. Anakin always thought a life like that would cripple him worse than having his other arm cut off.
But the way Palpatine is talking... the way he is speaking... Anakin gets a bad feeling.
“You know the dark side?”
It seems so... off.
Palpatine only continues, turning beseeching eyes on him. He can feel himself being pulled in. Can feel himself give way to listen.
Force, he just wants someone to tell him how to stop all of this.
“Anakin, if one is to understand the great mystery, one must study all its aspects, not just the dogmatic, narrow view of the Jedi. If you wish to become a complete and wise leader, you must embrace a larger view of the Force. Be careful of the Jedi, Anakin," here he pauses, long enough to pique Anakin’s true interest, “they fear you. In time they will destroy you.”
Anakin, in the privacy of his own mind, already thought they had.
“Let me train you.”
Train? What could Palpatine possibly offer to train him in? Politics? No thanks, Obi-Wan had tried already.
“I won't be a pawn in your political game.” Anakin denies, haughtily. “The Jedi are my family.”
The only family he had, for good or for ill. Even though the Jedi disliked the idea of emotions clouding their feelings, he knows this is the one attachment he was allowed. The Jedi as a whole, just not as individuals. As if him being attached to the Jedi through Obi-Wan wasn’t enough. Padme as his wife isn’t allowed, but Anakin had long been doing things that weren’t allowed.
“Only through me can you achieve a power greater than any Jedi,” Palpatine continues, his voice a low croon as he spoke, such passion and devotion. Anakin could feel himself being drawn in. Respect for Palpatine makes him listen, but interest in the subject matter keeps it. “Learn to know the Dark Side of the Force, Anakin, and you will be able to save your wife from certain death.”
Anakin freezes.
Save Padme? He was listening before, but now he is listening.
“What did you say?” Anakin demands, only this time... he knows that feeling. It seeped in through the walls, through his shields. The darkside was flooding around him. He had enough anger and fear, all wrapped up with other petty small negative emotions that it didn’t necessarily feel bad. It felt like he was being pet. Not a hit, like he was used to, or a hug, like the lightside of the Force.
It was different and altogether distracting.
“Use my knowledge, I beg of you –“
It takes entirely too long for Anakin to muddle through it all, to turn his shocked eyes on Palpatine. To see the truth for what it is. It hits him. All the little things. All the hints. It’s as impossible as it is probable.
“You're the Sith Lord!”
He can hardly believe it, and yet, it’s the only thing that fits.
“I know what has been troubling you...” Palpatine begins earnestly. “Listen to me. Don't continue to be a pawn of the Jedi Council! Ever since I've known you, you've been searching for a life greater than that of an ordinary Jedi...a life of significance, of conscience.”
Palpatine hits the nail on the head and Anakin hates him for it. He hates him, but he can’t deny it.
Yet he does.
“You’re wrong," he snarls right back.
Anakin is not an idiot, though he feels like one at this moment. All the signs are there.
In his hand, his saber is lit without conscious thought.
He is in danger. He defends.
Anakin doesn’t tremble as he holds his lightsaber to Palpatine’s throat, but oh how he wanted to. He was too well trained for an ‘accident’ but Force he wished he wasn’t. The betrayal stung just as horridly as the reveal of truth.
Palpatine looks sad. Disappointed. Anakin is struck then, the closest thing he had to a father figure was disappointed in him. Now there is hurt, too, to layer in with the anger and spitting rage directed at the man. He feels so conflicted already, this nearly breaks him.
“Are you going to kill me?”
He swallows.
It is not the Jedi way.
Yet he remembers cutting down Dooku.
It is not the Jedi way.
“I would certainly like to.”
Palpatine turns from him, and Anakin can’t help but let his lightsaber drop, his arms weak like noodles.
For all the betrayal that swamps Anakin, this is the Chancellor of the Republic. Obi-Wan would have his head if he didn’t consider the ramifications of his actions. Both for him and the Order as a whole.
“I know you would,” Palpatine sounds... proud, “I can feel your anger. It gives you focus, makes you stronger.”
It hits Anakin in different spots. Pleasure and disdain in equal measure, until all that is culminated in exhaustion.
His words are all truth. This man, this Sith Lord, knows him better than he knows himself. How he uses all he knows of Anakin against him, twisting his words, forcing him to confront just how much of a Jedi he really is not. He hits every weakness Anakin doesn’t know he actively needed to shield against. Every weakness he should have.
He thinks, perhaps, the worst thing is that he is the kind of Jedi that a Sith clearly saw worth in.
When he had been a slave, he remembers the helplessness like a thorn in his side. The memories never faded, only getting sharper and more prickly if he ever were to pick it out of his heart. When he was a young learner at Obi-Wan’s side, he knew he had been needy, pushing boundaries, a hellion, but Obi-Wan had taken it all in stride. Now, as an adult, he feels older than his twenty years. Looking into the face of evil, into the face of what the Jedi had touted as the ultimate evil, Anakin could only see a reflection of his desires.
In the end, he knows his path. The path of a Jedi.
To be a Jedi, meant to deny oneself of all things like this.
Things like his wife. Things like Palpatine. Things like the Darks side.
This is a trial.
Life is a trial, but this is a test.
“I am going to turn you over to the Jedi Council." He tells the Sith, unable to think of the man without being absolutely seething mad about it.
He is tired. Oh so tired. Yet his anger keeps him sharp. It’s all he has in this moment. No Jedi code, no Master at his side facing against their ultimate evil. Just his anger and this Sith; both familiar friends.
“Of course you should,” Palpatine agreeing is the last thing he needs, “but you're not sure of their intentions, are you? What if I am right and they are plotting to take over the Republic?”
Palpatine hardly has to sow his seeds of discord and distrust within Anakin. He knows well how Anakin feels.
Foolish, Anakin curses himself. So very foolish.
He turns to go, his heart beating as if he had battled a great beast, as if he was in a great conflict.
“You have great wisdom, Anakin.” Palpatine couldn’t help but call out as he walked away, his back half turned to him. “Know the power of the dark side. The power to save Padme.”
Anakin knows temptation. Knows anger and fear. Knows so few truly good emotions he had to lock himself down tight, keeping his stride, ignore the blossoming want to turn back.
He finds Master Windu in the hangar bay, walking quickly in the direction of the Council Chambers. Anakin falls into step beside him, much to the man’s consternation. He gets a side eye for his effort, but he’s still trying to figure out how to say what needs to be said, how to admit that the Council is right, how they’ve been right this whole time.
His silence speaks for him.
Windu must feel that he needs clarity, because he doesn’t push.
There are only five Masters and no one calls a full meeting as Windu takes his seat. Of course they wouldn't. Obi-Wan is currently in pursuit of Grievous, Yoda is on Kashyyyk, and everyone else is in the middle of their own kind of encounter. Anakin doesn’t feel right taking the seat which is ‘his’ and instead stands in the center. His rage was somewhat satisfied when he realized that the Master’s took some manner of significance from that.
Saesee Tiin sat up straighter.
“Speak your piece, Skywalker,” Fisto demands.
Anakin takes a deep breath. Finds the courage to say what needs to be said, even as he wishes to shut up.
“The Chancellor is the Sith Lord.”
A variety of emotions, of reactions, fill the space with the full power of five Jedi Master’s behind it.
“Sithspit,” Windu curses.
“Hellfire and skyfall,”
It is the very first time that Anakin can remember them not questioning first before cursing. Usually he and his Master give them a run for their credits and force them to really question things before the expletives come out.
Padme never made him explain himself so extensively.
This war had gone on for so long.
“Anakin...” Master Windu looks... defeated. “Are you sure?”
Anakin bows his head. “Yes.”
They take him at his word.
It’s... startling. This isn’t the first time they’ve heard something about the man to distrust him, sure, but this is Anakin bringing the information. Anakin isn’t blind, or stupid, or ignorant. He remembers when they had asked, through Obi-Wan, for him to spy on the Chancellor. Remembers how very skeptical they always were of the good news, especially when it came from the Chancellor himself.
He takes a breath, still so very pissed.
How did he never see it before?
Anakin is not stupid or blind, but he has been blind sided and betrayed; it smarts like any wound of its calibre.
“If what you have said is true, then we don’t have time to wait. We have to arrest him. Now .”
If what you said – well fuck you too Windu.
It prickles, of course it prickles, that he doesn’t merit the same kind of blind obedience as the rest of the Council does. Luckily, Anakin is honestly too freaked out to care. The Sith Lord had just admitted to him who he was, had just tried to entice him to his side with words he wished desperately to believe in - but can’t. He can’t believe them, because they are lies. The Dark Side is the other side of himself he keeps hidden and stifled and weak and...
Hungry.
His anger flares. He hates so strongly that it should scare him, but it doesn’t. Strength and power are all Anakin has ever known. This is just... another bump to get over.
What else was he to do?
Who else was he to tell?
Still, he wished a friendly face was around, to tell him he was alright, to reassure him. Obi-Wan wasn’t here. Neither was Padme.
Blind panic hit him when he thought of her - she’s pregnant, what if something happened?
His visions are so very real in that moment. Fire and brimstone are nice thoughts when compared with his dreams, his visions, his nightmares. Her death on his hands.
... What if Palpatine happened to her?
His dreams haunt him.
Palaptine knows all about them. Him. Padme. The baby. If Palpatine knew, then he could - No. What’s done is done.
The Council taking charge is easier to accept than his own fragmented thoughts.
“It’s true. It’s all true,” Anakin tells them.
Of course they take charge, take initiative to go after the Chancellor, but still Anakin’s heart drops into his stomach, down to his feet at the words, as they discuss how to begin. At the way they believe him, and yet not. He was condemning the man who understood him most in the Galaxy.
Have you ever considered that we may be on the wrong side? Padme’s voice, always a comfort, came sharply to him.
The only thing he knew was that he knew nothing.
One betrayal for another. Palpatine’s lies beget Anakin’s betrayal of the man. He can’t think about anything else.
Shakily he nods along.
“He’s in his office right now. We can catch him –”
Windu’s hand came down on his shoulder. Made Anakin jump. When had he gotten so close?
“Us. Not you.”
Anakin stops talking, his words stumbling to an abrupt stop.
“But I –“
“You’re too close to this, Skywalker. Too close to him,”
Of course I’m close! He wants to yell.
This is his friend. This is his mentor. This is... this is Palpatine. His anger sparks, but he can feel nothing but kindness, projecting from Windu. It’s infuriating as much as it is a relief. How can it not be? To know you don’t have to pull the trigger?
Out of all the days, of all of the lifetimes to be kind to him, Anakin thinks unkindly, now is when Windu decided to treat him as an equal?
He says none of that, though he is sure it shows on his face. Even as he hides it.
“Listen, Masters, I have to –”
Windu shook his head.
“He told you, Skywalker, what he was. He opened up to you. Search your feelings, Skywalker, you know that he wants this from you.”
He does. Palpatine was never transparent about his... monopolization of Anakin’s time. Younger Anakin needed it like water. Teenage Anakin had thrived upon it. Now, as an adult, Anakin couldn’t help but wonder if he could ever live without it.
Anakin slumps. He can’t stop himself. He says no more, because what words are left?
He is betrayed and betrays in turn.
“Stay here, Anakin,” Windu tells him, firmly, a command.
He can’t. He has to go with them -
“Please.”
The ‘please’ stays his feet. The ‘please’ stops him from moving. The ‘please’ halts him, and he lets them go.
Alone at last, Anakin’s mind is not quiet. It runs away with him in all kinds of directions.
Palpatine is the Sith Lord.
The Council Master’s are going to arrest him. Right now. Padme is safe for now... but doomed otherwise. His visions, his dreams, the same kind of nightmares that once shared his Mother’s fate flash behind his eyes, showing Padme’s fate.
And that was it, wasn’t it? The whole crux of the matter.
Palaptine had power the Jedi couldn’t even imagine. The power to keep someone alive, from the brink of death. The conversation was still fresh in his mind, enticing. Anakin could hardly believe it. Palpatine told stories, and that’s all they were. Stories.
Right?
He leans his head back.
But all stories had some kernel of truth within them. Palaptine has told him many stories. Each story of his had a point. With Darth Plagueis the Wise... was it the conquering life? Conquering death? Was it just a story of a Sith, who’s practices he could learn? Was it all lies? Was it simply a proverb to warn that no matter if you save someone, there is always a required sacrifice?
Kriffing hell. Anakin is used to being a sacrifice. To be one for Padme was no hardship. Gladly, so gladly that he knew the Jedi would disapprove, he would throw himself on his sword for her.
A world without Padme isn’t a world he wished to see thrive.
And yet, he’s allowing Palpatine to be arrested right now. He’s allowing his Jedi upbringing, his Jedi ‘brainwashing’ as Palpatine calls it, his Jedi life taking over in place of anything else. Allowing his one chance to slip farther and farther away.
Chance for what? He has to ask himself, seriously, frowning at the intrusive thought. A chance to save Padme? A chance to leave this life behind? A chance to end this war? A chance to be better than this simple, humble life?
Fantasy and fairy-tale both, yet Anakin wants it. Even knowing he’s being strung along, even knowing the Sith lie and lie and lie, it means nothing to that little part of Anakin Skywalker that wants more. All their conversations, all their talks, Palpatine knows exactly what to say to keep him interested, to keep him in his grasp. To hold something over Anakin.
That’s it. That’s what it is.
Power. Those who have it are afraid to lose it, wise words from the traitor himself.
It’s that power that makes Anakin realize he has to let the Council go by themselves. The longer he sits, awaiting news, the more he realizes just how much he can’t do by himself.
Scoffing at himself, he actually shook his head.
Him. Anakin Skywalker. Waiting. What was the world coming to?
Then the smile slips from his lips and he closes his eyes tight, his flesh and metal hands dragging through his hair against the sudden flash of memories, of memorized dreams. Padme screaming behind his eyes, her voice taunt and high and pained and -
He gets up and storms to the window. He clenches his fist over and over again. The rhythm and pressure soothing. Hydraulics hissing. Machines didn’t lie, and it told him he was alive, in this moment.
It isn’t enough.
He opens his eyes, to see the world. Ground himself in the reality that is staring at him.
It is a beautiful day on Coruscant, though Anakin has long since been unable, or perhaps unwilling, to see physical things as such. His flesh hand touches the transparisteel, pulling up the weather outside on the display. Brisk, windy this high up, but nothing to the cold of space.
Anakin’s fingers dig in, metal scratching the thick clear transparisteel, and he feels that rage take hold all over again as he looks down at the bustling city. A city ignorant of the war. The ships and transports flitting below, going about their lives, as if nothing had changed. As if they were unaffected by the war, by the Jedi’s efforts.
By Anakin’s sacrifices.
They don't trust you, Anakin.
Except that was a lie. Anakin knows it is a lie. Of course the Council trusts him.
They just don’t like that they were forced to trust him.
It would be better to say Anakin didn’t trust them.
How could he? Why would he? When had he ever been given leave to trust them?
When had the Council ever earned his trust? He could count on one hand the number of times the Council agreed with his course of actions, his plans. He argued as much as, if not more, than Obi-Wan and yet they took exactly none of his arguments to heart.
It’s like hitting his head over and over and over against a wall.
They don't trust you, Anakin.
“Shut up." He demands of his own mind, and, like the coward he is, he twists back around to start pacing.
He looks at the chrono, and notices that only ten minutes have passed. It already felt like hours, but Anakin is used to that. To the never ending waiting. The twitching of his muscles, of his need to move, to do something, but being unable to. He was a menace during hyperspace travel before a conflict, and he knew that if there had been anyone to see him he could say it would be exactly the same. That same energy. Same restlessness.
Same sacrifice.
Stay here, Anakin.
What right did they have to demand stillness of him?
He can feel the roaring anger, like a dragon beneath his skin, and he looks to the door.
Seeing your own future isn’t something that happens. Anakin knows this from lesson after lesson after lecture. Seers the Jedi are not. They can see some futures, bits and pieces, but it’s never the whole picture. Often it is a self fulfilling prophecy. To follow a vision, to ignore a vision, both are equally as likely to lead to ruin.
Or so he’s been told.
Yet he thinks he can see his future now.
He knows that if he starts, he won’t stop. He knows he is going to start walking. He is going to leave. He is going to go and help the Council, hope that he is not too late, that he can entreat Palpatine to teach him. Hope that the Council is doing something wrong, something that he can stop, something that he can ensure Palpatine’s freedom with.
Clarity sucks.
Please.
Make a choice, he tells himself, as his feet feel like they want to run.
And yet, he doesn’t step forward.
Long seconds come and go between his decision to stay and his decision to go.
In the end, he knows it is too late. He convinces himself it is too late. If he left now, Palpatine would already be arrested. It is too late. He must stay.
He returns to Obi-Wan’s chair and flops, trying to breathe through the anxiety beating through his chest.
It is too late.
His first thought after Palpatine is Padme.
Should he warn her? His head leans heavily against the back of the chair, staring at the beautiful designs on the ceiling. Would she be bothered if he called her? Where is she? He doesn’t know her schedule by heart, often because he is not on the planet and it is a hard schedule to follow with the changing of the weeks.
Probably in a meeting, he thinks hysterically. A meeting. The Chancellor is the Sith Lord and the Senate is still piddling around. It’s as hilarious as it is heart wrenching. The very reason for this war and they’d all sat and had tea with him at least once in their lives.
She does not answer. A meeting. Busy. He doesn’t know, he just knows he can’t stay silent when the last beep rings.
“Padme," he leaves a message. It is all he has. He’s not sure what to say and so he wavers as he speaks.
What do you say to a loved one in the middle of a conflict of unknown proportions?
“Things are happening, love. Please be careful. The Chancellor is..." he took a breath, shaky. What was safe to say over comm? What would he legally be forced to keep under wraps until trial? What would she believe? “He isn’t who we thought he was. Nothing is. Please.”
His hands together, cradling the comm, and pressing it to his forehead he pleads.
“Please call me back when you can.”
Her voice doesn’t call out to him from the comm. She doesn’t call back.
Silence is his friend as he waits.
He’s never been good friends with silence or waiting. Any Jedi who has ever met him knows that. The war had sharpened his impatience into action that equally saved and destroyed lives. He had learned at the knee of war and experienced how seconds were the difference between life and death. With every second that passes he finds his resolve strengthening. To stay. To wait. To... listen?
He breaths out a rough breath, closing his eyes, trying to settle himself as he never could before. Meditation. Finding himself. He reaches for the eddies and the flow of the Force, letting himself sink in. It’s a bit of an oxymoron, because the Force is in all things, and he feels it all the time, he can feel it right now.
This is more like... special attention being paid. A conversation without end.
The Force, as it has been since the beginning of the war and as it shall remain for the foreseeable future, is all muddled. Not like mud, because he can still see, he can still feel, but it’s all the more useless and slow than it ever has been before. It doesn’t speak to him, it keeps its secrets well hidden, but he can make sense of much of it.
He opens his eyes, looking at the communication display on the floor, waiting for it to activate. Closes them again.
One minute. Five minutes. He tap-tap-tap’s his fingers and toes, desperate for motion, but keeps his eyes closed.
Nothing happens. No sign. No signal. The Force is action, and he can feel something is happening, but that’s not a surprise. Palaptine, a Sith Lord, is being arrested at this very moment. If ever there is a moment for balance to come, it is now.
The prophecy of the Chosen one rings in his ears.
He feels no need to leave the room, now that he is certain of staying. There are precious few Jedi he would search out on his own. All of them are not on the planet at this moment. This chamber is as close to any other room in the temple.
How sad is that, that he’s never been attached to these places, that he could simply think nothing of it?
He waits ten more minutes before getting up and pacing, going towards the window. Quick to face towards where Padme’s apartment is. Facing it, he can feel her bright light, her soothing presence. He presses his flesh hand against the glass, breathing deeply, trying to reach out for that small bond he has with her. It is negligent compared with his bonds with the Jedi, but everything.
Small, but infinitely precious.
He feels her. Feels the baby inside her. She is worried. Always, she worries. Not for herself though, no, but for the Republic, for the Galaxy, for their child. She is too kind hearted for this world. Which is why she, out of every light in the world, deserves to live. Not him. His fingers twitch to call her again, but he stills himself. She got his message, or she would, and then she would return his call.
Her worry infects him, but he can’t move. He can’t. He has to stay put.
At first, he knows it was his choice, but the longer he stays the more he knows it’s less of a choice and more of an action he can’t take back. Big things are happening. He is helpless to stop it.
Like usual.