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Anakin slept better than he had in years.
No nightmares clawed through the walls of his mind. No phantom flames, no shrapnel embedded in memory, no metal screaming through the Force. Just quiet. Stillness. A peaceful hush had fallen over his thoughts, so rare it felt foreign, fragile, and utterly misplaced in the midst of war.
For once, there was no dread creeping in the corners of his vision. There was no weight on his chest, save for the rise and fall of his own breath.
Anakin’s quarters were dim and warm, bathed in amber light. The air was cool against his skin. Somewhere deep below the Senate District, Coruscant traffic murmured like distant thunder, but here, here, all was still.
He hadn’t dreamt of war. He hadn’t dreamt of field reports or fractured comm channels or blurred orders. He hadn’t even reached for his lightsaber in the middle of the night. It still lay on the desk, untouched, instead of tucked beneath his pillow like a curse.
He had let himself rest. He had let himself trust.
And in the silent dark, he had let himself remember.
The memory of Kenobi’s mouth still lingered faintly on his lips.
The way he'd shoved him hard against the durasteel wall yet cupped the back of his head tenderly, shielding him from the impact.
That last half-laughing, half-desperate kiss.
The way he'd looked up at Anakin, his gaze flickering between soft and downright hungry.
“Stars, you make it difficult.”
He should’ve known then.
He woke slowly, luxuriously, like his whole way of life hadn’t ended and rebuilt itself overnight. His body ached from sleep, but his head was clear.
The smile that touched his lips was uninvited.
It felt dangerous, this calm. Like standing in the eye of the storm and pretending the rain and wind had died for good.
Then the datapad on his desk buzzed.
One soft, insistent blink.
No sender ID.
No subject line.
That was the first red flag.
The second was the encryption.
It wasn't Republic, nor was it military.
It was personal. Too personal.
And the signature was undeniable. He had become quite familiar with it in the time it’d been since he started tracking Kenobi. It was fragmented, buried in scrambled comms, tucked into corrupted data logs and intercepted transmissions no one else could make sense of. Always half-there. Always just out of reach.
This is what he’d been chasing, this ghost in the system, this whisper in the wires.
The cypher wasn't just complicated, it was intentionally so. It was a hybrid layering of Jedi structure beneath some nonstandard shielding, as if whoever wrote it had wanted to hide not only the message, but their identity.
But it was him, Anakin knew.
It was always him.
Subtle flourishes in the cypher gave it away. There were modulated frequency shifts and an asymmetric key only someone very specific and very irritating would use.
Anakin cracked it in under a minute. Not because it was easy, but because it was familiar and he was desperate.
And when the message opened, it didn't say his name or even one of the smug, infuriating, exasperating pet names he pretended to hate.
Nothing.
Just coldness.
1 New Message:
This cannot continue.
You're too close. You see too much.
Whatever you think this is— it isn't.
Forget last night. Forget me.
Delete this. Don't look for me.
Silence followed, and not the good kind.
Not the soft, early-morning kind he'd just woken up to, the kind that curled around his ribs like safety.
He was wrong. This wasn’t personal. This was colder. Heavier.
It replaced the warmth on his shoulders with weight.
Anakin read the message again, even slower than before, trying to find the lie inside it.
“I’d never lie to you,” Kenobi’s words from the interrogation flooded his mind. Anakin gripped the datapad so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Confusion washed over him.
He didn't— couldn't understand. Not in a way that made sense, because just last night, last night, Kenobi had looked at him like he meant it. He had kissed him like he was starving. Had pulled away only because he had to, not because he wanted to.
“I'll come back,” he had said.
“You promise?” Anakin had asked hopefully.
“Believe me, dear, I fully intend to finish what we started.”
His chest tightened.
Forget last night.
Like it hadn't happened.
Forget me.
Like he hadn't completely upended the galaxy Anakin thought he knew.
How could he forget the way Kenobi had kissed him like he needed it more than the air in his lungs and the blood in his veins?
How could he forget the hands in his hair, the heat of his mouth, the press of hips and breath and hunger? The way his voice had gone low and rough, teasing even as he trembled under Anakin’s touch. The way his control had cracked and something real— or seemingly so— had spilled out, sharp and needy and his.
How could he forget a man who kissed like he was starving and found salvation in Anakin's mouth?
“Finally,” he had said.
“I'll come back,” he had promised. He had whispered things against his skin that still echoed in the hollow of his throat.
And now he wanted to be forgotten?
Now he sent messages like this was a game Anakin had lost?
Kenobi had looked him in the eye, breathless and flushed, grinding his hips against Anakin’s, and with a downright filthy edge in his voice—one that sent a shiver straight through Anakin—he asked, “Does that feel like an act to you?”
And it hadn’t. Stars, it hadn’t.
Every inch of him had felt real. Every kiss, every gasp, every flicker in the Force had screamed with truth. Kenobi had touched him like he wanted him. His hands had roamed greedily, like they ached to memorize him if they only had the time. His mouth staked a claim on his skin. The weight of him, the heat of him, and the ragged edge in his voice all felt like unspoken admissions. He'd breathed Anakin in like he couldn't get enough, had whispered things into his skin that made Anakin believe—believe—that this wasn’t just strategy or false seduction or some carefully calculated Sith ploy. That his desire was something feral and uncontainable.
“I’ll come back.”
“I fully intend to finish what we started.”
And Anakin had let himself believe that meant something.
Don’t look for me.
The message felt like a blast to the chest, like the frozen bite of an unrelenting, sharp Hoth blizzard.
What was the reason for all of that? What was the purpose of pretending that it mattered?
Unless it hadn’t been pretending. Unless, worse, it had, and Anakin was just too desperate and foolish to see it.
His hands curled into fists.
He didn’t know what was worse: the thought that he’d imagined it, or the thought that it had been real, and Kenobi still chose to walk away.
He said it wasn’t a lie.
“Force, sweetheart, do you really think I— that I pretended to want you just to manipulate you? That I was faking my desire?”
Anakin blinked, his jaw locking tight. “Were you?” He asked the still air around him.
The datapad screen stayed open with that sterile, utterly final white text.
“Coward,” Anakin muttered. The word hit the air uselessly, like a pebble dropped in a crater.
He couldn't even face him. All that power, all that poise, all that Sith confidence, and still, Kenobi hadn't had the nerve to say it to his face. He could stare down generals and probably slit throats with a smile, could give Jedi masters the silent treatment while they tried to interrogate him, could press Anakin against durasteel with their mouths still connected, but couldn't look him in the eye to end it.
Whatever it had been.
“I always look you in the eye,” Kenobi had solemnly said.
Anakin wasn't so sure.
All of that, the heat, the hands, the promises, the incessant flirtations, the look in his eyes, and this was how it ended. With a message. With silence. With the unmistakable, all-too-familiar stench of retreat.
Without any closure or explanation. Simply erasure.
Like it had all been a momentary lapse. A mistake. Something shameful to be buried under layers of encryption.
Like it had never truly meant anything to him at all.
Like it had all been a lie.
“I'd never lie to you.”
“Would you?” Anakin whispered aloud, almost hoping he would hear him.
His fingers twitched over the datapad, like maybe he could summon another message, something personal this time. Something angry, desperate, smug, or at the very least, explanatory. Something completely and utterly Kenobi.
But nothing else came.
Those same seven succinct sentences stared him in the face. Those same five lines mocked him.
He set the datapad down roughly, slamming it onto the desk, nearly shattering it.
He sat for a long moment, staring straight ahead, trying not to feel like the air had gone thin around him.
Then, finally, he stood and reached for the saber on the desk, his hand closing around the hilt and tightening as if he were drawing strength from the cold metal.
He didn't ignite it. He just held it loosely in one hand, as if the weight of it would help him think. As if he needed something solid to ground him because the world had slipped sideways once again.
It was easier to focus on the feel of it. The cool metal, the familiar shape, and the years of training he meticulously etched into every groove were easier to think about than the message.
If he thought about the message, he'd have to think about what it meant.
And if he thought about what it meant, he'd have to think about what he wanted it to mean.
And if he thought about what he wanted it to mean, he'd have to admit that he wanted it to mean something.
That he'd wanted more.
That he'd hoped.
That maybe, for once, this wasn't a lie or a mission or a manipulation.
That maybe someone had seen him— really seen him— and chosen not to look away.
But of course, that was always the problem.
Anakin hoped too much.
He wanted too much.
Got attached too easily.
And when people left, he never seemed to be able to stop them.
For all his strength in the Force, for all the power pulsing through his very cells, he never seemed to see it coming until they were already gone.
Qui-Gon. His mother. Dooku. Ahsoka. Now him.
Forget last night.
The words looped again, over and over.
Forget last night.
Forget last night.
Forget last night.
Forget la—
“Argh!” Anakin grunted, slamming his fist down on the table.
He knew how this was supposed to go.
Detachment. Control. Discipline.
There is no emotion; there is peace.
He was supposed to feel nothing. That was the Jedi way.
But he didn't feel nothing. He never had.
And whatever this was between them, whatever it had been, wasn't something he could just unfeel because Kenobi had decided it was inconvenient.
That wasn't how this worked.
Not for him.
He dragged a hand down his face and sat back down on the edge of the bed.
The anger, hot and sharp as it may be, did nothing to mask the deeper, worse feelings unravelling inside him.
It felt like being left in the quiet again.
Like someone had reached inside his chest and pulled.
So he stood once again.
Not because he had a plan. Not because the datapad or the Jedi Council told him where to go.
But because he couldn't stay here. He couldn't sit still while this pain gnawed at him.
Because none of it made sense.
Obi-Wan Kenobi— Darth Vesper— whatever mask he wore— he didn't do things halfway. He didn't run. He didn't hide behind vague encryption and cowardice.
“You're toying with me,” Anakin had told him on Mandalore.
“Of course I am. It's foreplay, isn't it?”
He didn't look at Anakin like that, touch him like that, say all of those things, and save his life only to suddenly vanish behind a holowall.
If it was over, he could say it to his face.
If he had been lying, he could admit it without breaking his gaze.
Anakin needed to hear it from Kenobi’s mouth, not from a screen, because part of him didn't fully believe it.
There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.
And he was going to find it.
Because part of him still thought there was more beneath the message. Reasoning. A hidden motive.
And that part of him… that part of him was willing to follow that thread, even if it led somewhere dangerous. Even if it led to him bleeding again for someone who’d already left.
Maybe that was what hope looked like for people like him, stubborn, unrelenting, and utterly unwilling to let go.
***
Anakin barely registered the sound of the door sliding open.
He was in one of the Temple’s lesser-used corridors, standing in the shadowed alcove near the observation deck, having let the daylight hours slip idly by. Somewhere behind the transparisteel, the city lights of Coruscant flickered like distant stars.
He didn't turn when footsteps approached. He already knew who was lurking.
“Anakin,” came the voice, warm and familiar.
Anakin turned slowly. “Chancellor,” he greeted. “What are you doing here?”
Palpatine smiled, not unkindly. “I had business with the Council. They've kept me waiting, as they often do.”
Anakin chuckled. “I won't tell them you said that.”
The Chancellor smiled. “I thought I'd get some air,” he said, gesturing to the empty hall around them. “Imagine my surprise finding you here, of all places.”
The silence settled for a beat too long.
Palpatine observed him carefully, his eyes scanning in that soft, yet guarded way of his. “You look troubled, my boy.”
“I'm fine.”
Anakin’s reply was met with a faint smile. “No need to pretend with me,” Palpatine said with a wave of his hand.
Anakin remained still.
“I know you're still reeling about what happened on Cestus,” Palpatine said, his voice dropping. “The ambush.”
Anakin’s stomach clenched.
The wreckage. The flames. The gut-wrenching, bone-deep shock of betrayal when the coordinates led him straight into a trap— juxtaposed with Kenobi rushing in, collecting an unconscious Anakin in his arms and carrying him away from danger.
“I pulled you out of that wreckage with my own two hands.”
If only that were a lie.
Kenobi had told him he hadn't known, that he didn't orchestrate the ambush, that he never would.
“You should know by now I’d never hurt you.”
“I didn't set you up.”
And Anakin knew that. He felt it. He felt it more deeply than his own heartbeat.
But it didn't make his life any easier, only more confusing.
He remembered the sharp, splintering pain. He remembered the weight of a beam across his chest, shrapnel nearly slicing his skin. The way it had felt like death was reaching for him right before he'd blacked out.
And recently, the Force granted Anakin with the flashes of memory of strong, secure arms whisking him out.
“You're alright, love. You're alright. I've got you.”
Palpatine stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back, voice low and even. “Such a terrible thing. I read the reports. It’s a miracle you survived.”
Anakin hummed in acknowledgement, his jaw clenching. He fought to keep his expression neutral, but the tightness in his chest betrayed him.
“And yet,” the Chancellor continued delicately, “there were no follow-up inquiries, no official debrief, no investigation into Lord Vesper’s falsified intel, how the most dangerous Sith in the galaxy kept track of your exact location.” His tone was thoughtful, almost curious. “It's very… unusual.”
Anakin stiffened, not answering. His fingers curled into a fist at his side. He swallowed hard, refusing to meet Palpatine’s eyes.
Palpatine’s gaze held steady, kind but probing. “Especially considering the source of the information,” he said softly. “And his… fixation with you.”
Anakin’s eyes flicked back up, sharp and wary. His breath caught, a cold knot tightening in his gut.
Palpatine gave no visible reaction. He simply paced a few steps, as if mulling something over. “Of course,” he said lightly, “I'm sure he told you he didn't know.”
Anakin’s mind raced. How did he know about—
“And you believed him,” Palpatine said, turning his head just enough to study him sidelong. “I don’t mean to insult your intelligence, Anakin. Only to ask… are you certain you know everything?”
Anakin’s pulse picked up. The question settled like ice beneath his skin.
“You’re saying he—?”
“I’m saying nothing,” Palpatine cut in smoothly.
Anakin’s teeth ground together, anger and confusion swirling beneath the surface.
“I— I hadn't thought about it like that.”
That was partially— mostly— a lie.
Palpatine gave a faint, sympathetic smile. “I apologize. I don’t mean to pry. It’s just... the Council’s silence has been odd. Disconcerting. I imagine it must feel strange, after everything you’ve done. After everything you’ve survived.”
The words settled over him like a quiet fog rolling in.
Anakin flexed his hands.
“They asked you to lead the charge. You nearly died. And when you returned, not a word. No questions. No concerns.” Palpatine tilted his head. “It almost seems like— never mind.”
“No, go ahead, what is it?”
Palpatine glanced at Anakin hesitantly. “I shouldn't say this.”
“Say what?” Anakin pressed.
Palpatine held Anakin’s gaze for a long moment, before sighing. “Forgive me, but… it almost seems as though they expected you not to return at all.”
Anakin looked away.
“Of course,” the Chancellor went on, voice mild, “the Jedi have their reasons. You're their Chosen One, after all. But I must admit... I’ve always found their treatment of you troubling.”
The words weren’t accusatory. They were laced with concern. Personal concern. As if he were speaking not as the Supreme Chancellor, but as an old friend who had watched too long from the sidelines.
“You’ve always been loyal,” Palpatine said. “Brilliant. Courageous. And yet... they second-guess your every move. Withhold information. Assign you to dangerous missions with unclear motives.” He paused. “You’re not just a weapon to be pointed and fired, Anakin.”
Anakin said nothing. He didn't mention how often he volunteered for the most dangerous missions, much to the Jedi Council’s frustration.
“You’re not disposable,” Palpatine said, softer now. “And you shouldn’t be treated as if you are.”
Silence.
Anakin’s throat worked. The words scraped raw inside him.
Because he knew the Jedi wouldn't consider their Chosen One disposable.
Maybe they lost faith he was truly the one to fulfill the prophecy after all.
He also knew that Kenobi hadn’t set him up. Knew, with every fiber of his being, that those arms pulling him from the blast zone were real. That somewhere, beneath the haze of smoke and pain, he’d been cradled against a warm chest and protected from hazardous debris by soft, dark fabric. He remembered the weightless moment of being lifted, of being clutched in strong arms, of being held like something fragile, priceless, irreplaceable. That the whispered reassurances, the “I’ve got you, just stay with me, darling,” and “You're alright, love,” hadn’t been lies.
But he had also asked him who had set the trap, and Kenobi didn't have an answer.
“You don't know,” Anakin had said exasperatedly. “You don't even know.”
And Palpatine’s voice slid into the deepest fractures of Anakin’s heart—cracks that had been there, aching and raw, long before he and Kenobi had ever crossed paths.
It didn’t take a direct accusation. Only a few careful truths from the perspective of a friendly outsider were needed to leave Anakin’s mind spiralling and his heart festering in the dark.
“You're… very perceptive,” Anakin told the Chancellor, grasping for something to say, something to fill the awkward silence with.
However, Palpatine lingered in it for a moment longer, as if weighing whether he should speak.
Then, in a voice so mild it might’ve passed unnoticed, he said, “You know… sometimes, the most painful betrayals aren’t acts of cruelty.”
A quick blink betrayed the flicker of confusion that crossed Anakin’s face.
Palpatine’s gaze stayed steady, soft with something almost mournful. “They’re acts of obedience.”
Anakin fixed Palpatine with a steady look, the slightest crease of doubt knitting his brows together.
Palpatine shook his head slowly. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? If Lord Vesper truly had a choice. If… perhaps someone else made it for him. Where his loyalties truly lie.”
Anakin didn't respond at first.
He felt hollowed out, like something inside him had shifted a degree off-center, and now every thought turned wrong. He wanted to argue, force the words into existence, insist that Kenobi wasn't like that, but his mouth wouldn't form the shape of denial.
Because Kenobi didn't have any answers, any names, or any guesses.
And Anakin had no idea if he were the master or the apprentice.
And Palpatine had done nothing but state the facts. Or… half of them, because even he, who seemed to know everything, even things Anakin never told him, didn't know the extent of their… relationship, for lack of a better word.
That was the problem. The halves felt truer than the whole. And though he believed everything Kenobi had told him, Anakin couldn't stop wondering what he hadn't told him, what he didn't know.
He still didn't know why Kenobi had been tracking his missions for years before they crossed blades on Mandalore.
He didn't know why Kenobi had all but confessed his love for him only to suddenly cut off all contact.
And Palpatine seemed to understand.
He always knew what to say.
Palpatine stepped closer again, slow and unassuming, snapping Anakin out of his melodramatic thoughts. “I don't expect you to answer. I only hope you'll consider these thoughts.”
Anakin's gaze dropped to the floor, throat burning. “I will, Chancellor.”
“I'm glad. I worry for you, Anakin.”
“Worry? Why?”
“I worry you are not valued as you should be. That they use you when it suits them, then discard you when it doesn't.”
The weight of those words echoed too deeply.
Because hadn't he felt that when he'd returned from Mandalore with smoke in his lungs and silence weighing on his back?
When the Council had looked at him not with relief, but with suspicion?
When they passed over his reports with skepticism and offered him no answers, no comfort?
He had given them everything. His youth, his loyalty, his obedience (when he wasn't breaking rules, at least). He'd given them his body time and time again, bruised and bloodied in this war. All for the sake of peace.
But then again, hadn't they given to him as well?
Hadn't they offered him shelter, knowledge and purpose? Hadn't they taken in a wild, frightened boy from the Outer Rim and taught him to wield the Force like it was part of his very breath? Hadn't he been shown the opportunity to be part of something bigger than himself?
Hadn't his young eyes once looked up at the Masters in the Council chamber, full of awe? Hadn't he dreamed of sitting among them someday?
Among them.
Among them.
That day hadn't come yet.
He now sat on the Council, yes—but not because they had chosen him. Not because they believed in him. He sat there thanks to Chancellor Palpatine. It was a political appointment, not a recognition of merit. Not trust.
He remembered the conversation that happened just before he settled in here in his silent brooding.
“You want me to spy on the Chancellor?” Anakin had said to Mace Windu in the Temple corridors, disbelieving. “But that's treason.”
They hadn’t even granted him the rank of Master.
Not even after everything.
They had made him a symbol, not a peer.
He was a pawn on the board, and they expected him not to notice.
It wasn’t the seat given out of obligation that stung. It was what it meant. What it didn’t mean. He could feel it in every sideways glance, every half-swallowed remark, every secret kept from him, every subtle shift in the Force whenever he entered the room. He wasn't one of them. Not really.
And maybe he never would be. With each day that passed, the clearer it became that that moment might never come at all.
They always seemed to cast a shadow of doubt over him, no matter how hard he tried to stand in the light. No matter how much energy he expended fighting the darkness, they kept him at arm’s length. When he wasn't out on the front lines bleeding for their cause, their collective cause, they watched him too closely, as if waiting for him to prove their senses right.
The Jedi were good.
Anakin reminded himself of that like a mantra, like a truth so deep-rooted it must still be there, even if he had to reach deep into the Force to feel it. They were peacekeepers. Guardians. They had saved worlds, prevented tyranny, and protected the helpless when no one else would. The Temple had raised him, trained him, given him a name and a path and a purpose. Without the Jedi, he would have been left to rot in slavery or die anonymous in the Outer Rim.
He had seen the good they could do.
Dooku occupied a special place in his heart for everything he had taught him. Master Yoda, seated in quiet contemplation, offered everyone around him wisdom with no expectation of reward. Master Plo had always greeted him with kindness. Even the rigid and unbending Mace Windu had taught him discipline, had sharpened him into a blade that could cut through the chaos.
There was good in them. There had to be.
Maybe they were cautious. Maybe they didn’t always understand him. But that didn’t mean they wished him harm. They were wary of darkness because they had to be. Because they had seen too many of their own fall.
He closed his eyes and held on to that truth. Tried to believe it still outweighed the doubt. That the Order, in all its distance and rigidity, had meant to protect him, even if they’d never quite known how.
“That’s not fair,” Anakin said quietly. “They've given me everything.”
Palpatine’s voice lowered, smooth as oil. “I only want what's best for you, Anakin. Always have.”
Anakin exhaled slowly, offering a tired smile to the Chancellor. “I know, Chancellor.”
When Palpatine spoke again, it was quieter than before. “They’ve made you doubt yourself. Question what you feel. What you know. But your instincts… your instincts are stronger than any Council decree. That’s what makes you powerful.”
Anakin looked down. The burn of it all sat low in his chest, hot and miserable.
“You know the truth, even when they won’t say it aloud,” Palpatine murmured. “You see what they refuse to. And that, my dear boy… is not a weakness.”
Anakin didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
Palpatine’s smile was faint. “All I ask is that you keep your eyes open. That you trust yourself. And if you ever need guidance… you know where to find me.”
He rested a hand briefly on Anakin’s shoulder. Then he stepped away, and the corridor felt colder.
Anakin stood alone beneath the golden flicker of Coruscant light, trying to remember what exactly he was fighting for.
***
His quarters were dim, the cityscape of Coruscant bleeding a muted glow through the tall windows. The silence hung heavier than usual, wrapping around him like a chain.
Earlier, Padmé had stopped by briefly before rushing off to urgent Senate matters. She hadn’t said much, only pressed a data chip into his hand with a tense look and a quiet, “I think this is for you.”
The message had come through her private comm channel, encrypted tight by someone even she couldn’t bypass. All she knew was that the holodata was addressed to Skywalker.
She hadn’t asked questions. He hadn’t given answers. He didn't have any to begin with.
All she had done was offer him a concerned look and a pat on his shoulder before departing.
And all Anakin knew was that there would be a lot to talk about later.
He crossed the room to his datapad—surprisingly still intact despite his earlier anger. He should check his mission briefings, ground himself in routine. But the thought bored him to no end.
Now, as he slid the chip into the pad and watched a blinking symbol pulse in the corner of the screen, he already wished he hadn’t.
INCOMING MESSAGE – ENCRYPTED SIGNAL – ORIGIN UNKNOWN
Anakin’s stomach twisted into a cold knot.
His breath caught, hitching somewhere between fear and anticipation.
For a heartbeat, he froze, fingers trembling before finally peeling open the encrypted message.
The screen flickered violently. Static washed over the frame in bursts, obscuring the face that appeared—Kenobi’s, distorted and glitching, barely visible through the interference. The audio crackled with digital noise.
“Anak—kssht—you can’t trust—zzzt—danger—he’s not—ghhhh—please—listen—”
Anakin leaned in, heart pounding, but not from fear. From a simmering frustration that tightened his chest.
“Darl— you're not safe—
“I'm sor— involved her— wanted this to com—kffft— someone you trust.”
“You think I’m being cruel. I know you do. But there are f—krrrrff—in motion, Anakin. Ones you don’t see y—zzt—I’ve tried—Force, I’ve tried—to keep you away from them. Away from h—”
The image warped violently—Kenobi’s face stretching and folding back on itself in time with the static.
“H—ssssssssssht—not what— seems. You think you know—you don’t—ksshhkt—you’ve never known—love, you have to listen—”
Anakin’s throat tightened.
“I didn’t know, not at first, not until—sssssht—I swear to you— kkkk—swee—but—shtttttttttk—been circling you since the beginning.”
The feed skipped.
“I should've— that's why I've been— krrrrrrrrrt—”
There was a crackle of energy in Kenobi’s voice. Something unhinged and terrified and so real it made Anakin’s skin prickle.
“Don’t be alone with—krrrrt—turn you into—”
And just like that, the message was swallowed whole by static.
Gone.
Anakin stood, his limbs stiffening. His pulse was a drumbeat in his ears.
He stared at the blank screen, unable to breathe. White-hot fury had been pumped into his veins.
What the ever-loving kriff was that?
A sour taste rose in his throat.
No context. Barely any explanation. All he had were scrambled remnants of Kenobi’s paranoia and his wrecked voice sounding like a dying transmission from the edge of the galaxy.
And still it got to him.
Because despite everything, despite his anger and the aching silence left in Kenobi’s absence, hearing his voice again simultaneously created a flutter in his stomach and lodged a shard of glass deep in his ribs.
He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, breathing hard. He wanted to believe there was a reason for the ambiguity. That Kenobi was running. Hiding. That this was the best he could do. But the bitterness rising in his throat wouldn’t stop.
Of course Kenobi had left things unsaid. He always did. That was the problem.
That was always the problem.
He cut Anakin off. He sent him a message like he meant nothing.
Maybe he hadn't.
Forget last night. Forget me.
And now he wanted to warn him? Now he cared?
“You think I’m being cruel. I know you do.”
No kriffing kidding.
And warn against what? Some faceless threat? A nameless danger? What was he supposed to assume Kenobi meant? A place? A person?
The Council? The Senate? Himself? The whole Order?
The message didn’t clarify anything. It only reopened every wound that had barely begun to scab over.
Typical.
So kriffing typical.
He played it again.
And again.
He strained to hear, trying to catch a word or signal, something he might have missed.
Nothing.
Just the same warped voice. The same scrambled face. The same plea for trust.
“Of course you didn’t say what or who,” Anakin muttered aloud, bitter. “Why would you?”
“Force, I’ve tried—to keep you away from them.”
Anakin bristled when replaying that part of the message. “Is that what you call stalking me across the galaxy?” He hissed. “Protection?”
His head dropped forward, elbows on his knees. He felt tired in a way he couldn’t place his finger on.
Was Kenobi lying? Was he trying to manipulate him?
“I never lie to you.”
“Force, sweetheart, do you really think I— that I pretended to want you to manipulate you? That I was faking my desire?”
“Teasing is a different genre entirely.”
“Tell me, Anakin, do you still think I'm pretending to desire you?”
Or… was he telling the truth? A distorted, unspeakable truth, buried too deep in static to hear?
“I didn't set you up.”
“Someone must have known your vector.”
“No game. Not with you.”
“I would never hurt you, darling. I'll keep telling you that until you believe it.”
Disorganized memories from their multiple encounters flooded Anakin’s mind at once.
Moments burned into him. Memories. The breathless confessions, the urgent touches, the panic in Kenobi’s voice when he carried him out of fire, the unbearable tenderness.
And still…
Still there were things he didn’t understand.
Maybe Kenobi hadn’t betrayed him. Maybe he’d never meant to hurt him.
But this message wasn’t just about the past. It was about something else. A warning. A threat.
A fear.
And fear had a shape. Even if Anakin didn’t know what it was yet.
He didn’t think Kenobi was lying.
But he was still keeping things from him.
Maybe that was the same thing.
***
The doors opened with a hiss, and Anakin stepped into the Chancellor’s private office. The room glowed faintly, dim light reflecting off of polished obsidian walls. He spotted Palpatine at the far end, sitting behind his desk, his back facing Anakin.
Anakin’s jaw was tight and his mind was racing.
Windu was with Grievous. Vesper was gone. The Council was in a meeting. The message— what the kriff was that message?
He couldn't get Kenobi’s voice out of his head. He couldn't decide what or who the warning was about. He couldn't determine whether to be furious or terrified. He couldn't figure out why, despite his years of training, he couldn't squash his emotions as easily as he could summon his lightsaber from across a room with a flick of the wrist.
There is no passion; there is serenity.
Kark. He hated this. He hated how shaken he was. Hated that his pulse still jumped when he heard that voice in his head— the silken darlings and sweethearts and worst of all, the Anakins.
“The holos don't do you justice, darling.”
“Anakin, love, I can feel your heartbeat from here.”
“Well done, dear.”
“Focus, sweetheart.”
He forced the thoughts down and approached the Chancellor.
“Chancellor, we've just received a report from Master Windu. He has engaged General Grievous.”
“Let us hope Master Windu is up to the challenge,” he said calmly. “Though I must admit… I had thought you would be the one to finish this war.”
Anakin’s mouth twisted. He looked away. “I should be there with him.”
“It's upsetting to me to see that the Council doesn't seem to fully appreciate your talents. Don't you wonder why they won't make you a Jedi Master?”
Anakin paced, his arms crossed stiffly. “I wish I knew. More and more I get the feeling that I'm being excluded from the Council.”
“They don’t trust you,” Palpatine said. “They see your future. They know your power will be too strong to control. And worse—” He paused. “They know how deep your attachment runs.”
Anakin blinked. “What do you mean?”
Palpatine stood, approaching Anakin slowly. The two of them walked toward the towering window, where the city glittered in the dusk like a field of dying stars.
"It's a pattern, isn't it?" Palpatine said, voice low. "You care too much. You always have. First your mother. Then your senator friend. And now..."
He didn’t finish.
Anakin stiffened. “That’s not—” He swallowed. “He’s a Sith.”
Palpatine’s eyes glinted with something unreadable. “Yes. And still, you're… confused. You're afraid. Because you don’t know where he is. Because, my boy, as much as you think you do, you don’t know what he is. And because—Force help you—you care.”
Anakin turned away, suddenly cold. His brow furrowed.
“That message…” he whispered. “He was warning me about you.”
The pieces were sliding into place now, each one heavier than the last.
Palpatine said nothing. He didn’t need to. The glint in his eyes was answer enough.
“Of course he did,” he murmured after a long beat of silence. “Because he knew I would tell you the truth. And he didn’t want you to hear it.”
“You’re twisting this.”
“I’m revealing it,” Palpatine said gently. “You think he's protecting you. But one day, Anakin… he will destroy you.”
Anakin flinched like he’d been struck.
Palpatine stepped closer.
“Let me help you,” he said. “Let me show you the full nature of the Force. Only then will you have the strength to see things as they truly are.”
Anakin’s breath caught in his throat.
“How do you know the ways of the Force?”
“My mentor taught me everything,” Palpatine said. “Even the nature of the Dark Side.”
Anakin’s heart kicked.
“You know the Dark Side?”
“If one is to understand the great mystery,” the Chancellor replied smoothly, “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.”
Anakin’s mouth was dry. “I’m not like you.”
Palpatine’s voice softened. “You’re more like me than you know. Be careful, Anakin. The Jedi fear your power. They’ll come for you. Or worse… he’ll come for you.”
Anakin’s hands curled into fists.
“Only through me,” Palpatine said, “can you achieve a power greater than any Jedi. Learn to know the dark side of the Force, and you will be able to protect yourself from certain defeat.”
Anakin froze.
The words hung there, quietly, mysteriously.
“...What did you say?”
“Use my knowledge,” Palpatine urged, stepping close. “I beg you.”
Palpatine continued, almost mournful. “He is not loyal to you, Anakin. He’s loyal to the one who commands him.”
Anakin looked up sharply. “What?”
The Chancellor gave a faint, pitying smile.
“Oh, Anakin. You still don’t see it, do you?”
A long pause.
“He serves me.”
And something inside Anakin cracked. A fault line split open beneath his ribs.
His lightsaber snapped to his hand with a hiss, blue blade flaring to life.
“You’re the Sith Lord.”
Anakin began to pace, circling Palpatine, who matched his steps.
“I know what has been troubling you…” Palpatine’s voice rose. “Listen to me. Don't continue to be a pawn of the Jedi Council!”
Anakin froze, meeting Palpatine’s eyes.
“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 pivoted slowly, offering his back like a lure, daring Anakin to strike.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“I would certainly like to.”
“I know you would. I can feel your anger. It gives you focus. Makes you stronger.”
His voice was impossibly low and gravelly. His words echoed like a death knell.
Anakin’s chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven bursts. The lightsaber remained lit, but his arm had begun to shake.
“You've lied,” he breathed. “All this time. You've been behind everything.”
Palpatine gave a slow, deliberate nod. “I have. And still… here you are.”
Anakin took a step back, the walls closing in, the shadows pressing tighter.
“They’ll destroy you,” he said. “The Council will never let you live.”
Palpatine’s voice was soft. “And do you think they will let you?”
Anakin froze.
“They’ve seen your darkness, Anakin. Felt it. They talk behind closed doors—I've heard them. Mace Windu. Ki-Adi-Mundi. Even Yoda. They whisper about what you could become.” He took a slow step forward.
“They fear you.”
“No—”
“They fear your power. Your rage. Your attachments. Your love.”
Anakin’s breath caught.
Palpatine stepped closer. “Tell me, Anakin, if they knew the truth about what you feel, what would they do?”
He didn't answer.
“They would strip your title. Exile you. Brand you a traitor.”
Anakin swallowed.
Palpatine’s voice dropped impossibly lower. “And what would he do?”
Anakin’s head whipped up, ready to open his mouth before Palpatine continued.
“Would he run with you?” He asked. “Defy me? Die for you?”
Anakin was silent.
“Or would he obey, as he always has?”
“You don't know him,” Anakin said tightly, and even as the words left his mouth, he knew how wrong they were.
“I made him,” Palpatine snapped.
Anakin flinched like he'd been struck. For a moment, he seemed to forget that he was speaking to a Dark Lord of the Sith, as all he could feel was a strong wave of shame wash over his body at Palpatine’s tone. It was sharper than anything he'd heard from the Chancellor before. Not anger, not quite. Disappointment.
And it hit somewhere deep.
He remembered being younger, first a youngling, then a Padawan, and then newly knighted, lost in the churn of the war and the sudden disappearance of his master, straining for purpose. Chancellor Palpatine was a constant in his life, a comforting person who seemed to genuinely care about his well-being. And as of recent, had told him he was special, that the Council was blind, that he was meant for more.
Palpatine had never raised his voice to him before. Not once.
The shame burned hot behind Anakin’s ribs, that same old ache, the desperate need to be good for someone, to be enough.
Not to be too much, too little, too loud, too reckless. Never to be the wrong shape in someone's hands. Just enough, for once, without having to shrink or swell to fit.
And he wasn’t sure which felt worse, disappointing Palpatine, or realizing how much his opinion mattered to him, even now.
Palpatine stepped closer, voice inscrutable now, and somehow that was worse.
Because he was a Sith.
A Sith master.
Who lied.
To him. To everyone.
And yet.
And yet.
Even now, part of him still wanted to make the man proud.
It was sick and twisted. He knew that. But the shame burned through him all the same, flaring hot as a dying star. The same shame he felt when he could no longer deny his feelings for Kenobi. The shame he would feel when he disappointed his masters. The same aching need to be good, even for someone who had all but told him he was the enemy.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi was my creation long before he entered your life. And yet you want to believe he would choose you? No, Anakin. He was there to watch you. Mold you. And when the time came, he wanted to destroy you.”
The words hit like blaster fire.
“You're lying,” Anakin whispered, but it was too quiet to believe. “He wouldn't—he wouldn’t hurt me—”
“He doesn’t need to,” Palpatine said, softly triumphant. “He only needs to obey. And if I said kill him, do you think he’d hesitate?”
Anakin’s thoughts scrambled in tumult. Part of him screamed to reject the words, to dismiss the shadow of doubt creeping in, but another, darker part felt the cold sting of truth. He wanted nothing more than to just raise his saber, to strike Palpatine down then and there, to silence what he hoped was poisonous manipulation and not candor before it took root. Yet, hesitation clawed at him, twisting his heart with confusion and pain.
What was real?
Who could he trust?
The answers slipped through his fingers, leaving him lost in an uncertain, chaotic storm.
There is no chaos; there is harmony.
Anakin wasn't so sure.
“But you…” Palpatine’s voice was a whisper now.
“You could stop it. You could end the cycle. Take the power. Take your rightful place. And when he kneels before you, Anakin— before us,— begging for mercy… then you’ll know what was real.”
Anakin’s knees hit the floor.
He didn’t remember choosing to kneel. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe his body had just given out, like the rest of him.
His mind was a blur. His breath became shallow and ragged. The galaxy crumbled into a deafening silence, crushed beneath the weight of a thousand almosts and what-ifs.
“Stop me, Anakin.”
“I’ve got you, I've got you. Just stay with me, darling.”
“You should know by now I'd never hurt you.”
“Stars, they undersold you.”
“I have a soft spot for beautiful disasters.”
Did it all mean nothing?
Palpatine’s words spun through his head, winding through the cracks.
“He wanted to destroy you.”
“He wanted to destroy you.”
“He wanted to des—”
No.
No, that wasn't—
But it could be true. It could be.
The doubt was a blade twisting in his gut. And the shame— Force, the shame. He felt filthy with it, as if every thought he'd ever had were suddenly being laid bare.
“When you're ready, remember who has always believed in you.”
“You trusted someone… and they failed you.”
“You could end the cycle.”
Palpatine always saw him. He always knew what he could be.
But then, what about Kenobi? Darth Vesper? He didn't want to kill him.
What if Anakin could save him?
The thought came from nowhere, wild and desperate.
What if he just learned this power, just enough, just in time? What if he took the darkness into his hands and used it for something else? What if he knelt now, and—
It made no sense. But madness and hope— if he were foolish enough to believe there was some left— were the same thing now.
The Jedi Code stated that there was no ignorance, only knowledge. Maybe this desperate grasping at darkness was just another form of seeking truth, a different kind of wisdom.
Maybe this was the right path after all. Maybe he wasn’t falling, but fulfilling his destiny by pursuing what was necessary. Doing what the Jedi were too afraid to do.
And in that case, wasn’t he actually being true to the Code?
Not by waiting until the Council saw his worth.
But by learning everything.
Even this.
Even the dark.
“The galaxy is never so simple, Master Plo. But I enjoy the role of the lone wolf.”
Kenobi had his own motives. His own agenda. How was he both bound to the order of his master yet also a self-proclaimed lone wolf? Would he raise his blade to Anakin if he were told to? Would he choose his independence? Or the Sith Code? Were those things one and the same?
Maybe this was the only way to stop it. Maybe there was never a choice. Maybe it was always going to end— or begin— this way.
Maybe he was never good enough for the light. Maybe Vesper was wrong, and Anakin wasn't as bright as the last star in the sky. Maybe that was just another lie.
Anakin’s heart pounded against his ribs like it was trying to break out.
He thought of Padmé, the sweet, innocent face of his best friend, who used kindness, intelligence, and instinct far better than any Force user could dream of.
“It serves certain interests to keep him mythologized.”
“Are you alright?”
“What if he didn't lie?”
“Are you alright?”
“He's following you.”
“Are you alright?”
Was he alright?
He thought of the way Vesper’s eyes had looked in his cell, the fading gold flecks when he touched Anakin’s cheek like he'd meant it.
He did mean it. He told him. He showed him.
“I meant it. I meant it.”
“Does that feel like an act to you?”
“I pulled you out of that wreckage with my own two hands.”
But then he thought of the way Vesper disappeared after that moonlit night on Coruscant after he'd kissed the very breath out of him and promised he’d come back, but instead left him a cold message reneging on that vow, the way he had vanished like it all meant nothing.
Whatever you think this is— it isn't.
Forget last night. Forget me.
Forget me.
Forget me.
Forget me.
He thought of the way Palpatine had never flinched from what Anakin was—had only ever told him he was more.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He didn’t know who the apology was for.
Slowly, with the grace of a falling star, he bowed his head. And then, louder, he choked out, “I will do whatever you a—”
Suddenly, the doors exploded open with a thunderous crack.
“Get. Away. From. Him.”
Like a demon, Darth Vesper stalked into the office, cloak flared around him like smoke as he discarded it. His red saber was drawn, his eyes were gold, and his expression was wrecked with fury. Anakin’s stomach jolted and he nearly doubled over from where he was knelt before Palpatine, Vesper’s presence crackling in the Force like fire shattering through ice.
A flicker of something— surprise, possibly— crossed Palpatine's face, so quick Anakin wondered if he'd imagined it.
Palpatine didn't move. He simply smiled. “Welcome, Lord Vesper.”
Anakin barely lifted his head; it felt weighed down, like his calves were buried in stone, anchoring him to the ground. His eyes met Vesper’s for just a moment.
He expected coldness. He expected indifference.
What he saw was terror. Terror laced with fury, eyes so gold that barely any blue peeked out. The gold began to fade as he gazed at Anakin, broken and bowed at another man’s feet. “No,” he whispered.
The word hit like a crack of lightning.
“Anakin, get up,” Vesper said, low and frantic. “Come here. Now.”
“Why?” Anakin croaked. “So you can leave again?”
Vesper flinched as if he'd been struck.
Palpatine stared at Vesper. “Ah, my prodigal apprentice returns. Just in time to watch what he left behind be reforged into something greater.”
“You twisted him,” Vesper spat. “You poisoned him.”
“I revealed him,” Palpatine said calmly. “And he is magnificent.”
A flick of Vesper’s hand. Something dark gathered at his fingertips—
And then Palpatine flew backward.
He slammed into the wall with a growl.
Vesper didn't seem to care. He was already moving, dropping to his knees before Anakin, gripping his face in both hands.
“What did he do to you?” He breathed. “Tell me. Tell me.”
Anakin blinked at him, stunned. He could barely speak. “You— you shouldn't be here—”
“I should've never left,” Vesper cut in. “I should've taken you with me when I had the chance.”
His hands cupped Anakin’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones with a slow, yet urgent tenderness.
“I thought— I thought you didn't want m—”
“Sweetheart, don't finish that sentence.”
Anakin’s breath stuttered. His eyes burned. The heat of Vesp— Keno— Vesper’s touch and the tremble in his fingertips overwhelmed him. After weeks of absent hands and cold words, it was too much. Too much kindness, too much softness, too much more than Anakin deserved.
A low chuckle echoed from across the room. It slithered around them, oily and entirely too patient.
Vesper didn't move. His hands remained on Anakin’s face, steady even as the air stilled.
And then there were footsteps. Slow, precise footsteps. Palpatine rose as if his collapse had been nothing, his Senate robes pristine, his face far too calm.
He was smiling.
“Touching,” he said. “Truly.”
He crept closer, not rushing or stomping the way Vesper had. His steps were careful. They were deliberate. He looked at Anakin, pleased, eyes never leaving his. Anakin’s heart rate picked back up.
“But he doesn't need your affection. He needs power. He needs strength. He needs someone who sees what he truly is. What he’s meant to be.”
He paused just a few feet away now. “You think he wants your pity, Vesper?” His voice was soft, almost gentle. “You think he wants to be coddled like a child?”
Vesper’s gaze hardened, the blue in his eyes slowly fading once again.
Palpatine tilted his head, his expression sharpening. “Or is that what you want, Anakin?” he said, quieter now, the words slipping in like a dagger. “To be forgiven for your weakness? To be told it’s alright? That you were only confused, only tired, only used—”
Anakin trembled, every word landing like a blow.
Vesper took a step forward, saber raised, voice shaking. “This ends here.”
“Oh, I quite agree,” Palpatine said softly. Then he looked down at Anakin. “Rise, my boy.”
Vesper’s voice cracked with sudden sharpness. “Don't call him that.”
Anakin didn’t move.
Palpatine’s voice darkened. “Rise.”
Vesper took another step. “Anakin, don’t—please, darling—don’t listen to him.”
“I said rise.”
Anakin’s limbs burned as he rose. His legs moved like they weren’t his. He staggered to his feet, caught between the two Dark Lords of the Sith, between the voice he had a deep, unavoidable attraction to and the voice he had all but pledged his allegiance to.
He stood, his hands shaking, his breath short. The only thing that made sense anymore was action.
Staying still meant drowning in thought, in fear, in the relentless replay of everything he wished he could forget. Every beat of his heart seemed to hammer the same truth into his skull, that if he didn't move now, it would be too late. That he would lose control.
The room seemed to contract. Like the air itself had shrunk, drawn tight between two pulsing powers. It swayed, but Anakin's legs carried him forward anyway.
Anakin’s eyes were blown wide, lips parted, caught between every word that ever had been thrown at him. Every touch. Every lie. Every omission. Every promise. Every half-truth.
“I have to prove myself,” Anakin whispered to no one in particular.
Make it stop. Make it end. Make it mean something.
Anakin ignited his lightsaber.
“Anakin,” Vesper breathed, his eyes wider than Anakin had ever seen them. “Darling, no. Don't.”
“You want to destroy me. Then by all means, try.”
“I don't. I wouldn't. I’d never—”
“Don't lie to me!” Anakin exploded. “I felt it. I felt it in you—”
He lunged.
Vesper caught the blow, but he didn't fight back.
“Stop this,” he said softly. “You don't want this. I know you don't.”
“You don't know what I want,” Anakin growled, twisting free. “You never did. All you've done is lie to me.”
His technique— if one could even call it that— wasn't clean or graceful. It was the inverse of everything Dooku had taught him, an absolute mockery, even, opposite of how skillfully he fought in combat with the Separatist droid army. It was frantic and jagged and full of pauses where he nearly dropped his blade. There was no elegance, and not a trace of an attempt at precision. Only pain.
Vesper evaded him. He twisted away, blocking without striking back. His eyes never left Anakin’s face.
“Fight me!” Anakin snarled, slashing downward with a reckless blow. “Fight me!”
“I won't,” Vesper said quietly.
“You have to!”
“I won't.”
“I need you to—” Anakin’s voice cracked into a sob he tried to bite back. “Just fight me—please—”
But even as he swung, even as he pressed forward, some part of him, deep and buried and screaming, was begging him to stop.
He was right. Anakin didn’t want this. He had no interest in the recoil of Vesper’s hands or the sorrow in his voice or the quiet refusal that felt so much like the love he’d always craved. But Anakin didn’t know how else to be heard. He didn’t know how to ask for help without blood on his hands.
The thought of hurting him made him sick to his stomach. But he needed to prove something. That he was strong. That he couldn’t be abandoned again. That he wasn’t some trembling boy who could be loved only when he was quiet and good and soft around the edges. He needed to show Vesper that he could fight, that he was more than what he feared. That he could stand on his own, even as he was crumbling.
But Vesper wouldn’t give him what he wanted. He wouldn’t strike back, wouldn’t give him permission to fall.
And Anakin didn’t know if that made him want to scream or cry.
Another swing. Another dodge. A stumble, a pant, a whimper tangled in rage.
Vesper deactivated his lightsaber, then dropped it.
It hit the ground with a clank.
“I’d rather die than raise a weapon to you.”
And that was it.
Anakin’s saber faltered in his grip.
His knees buckled.
He dropped to the floor once again, fists hitting the duracrete as the rest of his body gave out. The lightsaber rolled away.
Vesper was beside him in an instant, reaching out, but Anakin jerked his head sharply. “Don't… don't touch me.”
His voice crackled, rough and desperate.
But the fight drained out of him like a tide pulling back too fast, and Anakin let himself be caught.
He let himself fall into strong, warm arms that didn’t hesitate. Arms that still—still—held him like he was worth something.
Anakin shook his head against the solid chest, tears breaking free despite himself, rage and grief tangled in every shuddering breath.
He sobbed. Wailed. Clutched at Vesper like he was trying to tear him apart, crawl inside his skin, or simply remind himself that he was real.
“You left,” Anakin choked out, voice barely more than a whisper. “You left and you lied and I—I didn’t know what was real anymore.”
“I know,” Vesper murmured, tilting his head up to look Anakin in the eyes. “I know. I’m here now.”
Anakin buried his face in his shoulder.
He didn't know what he was mourning. Only that it hurt.
Vesper shifted, lifting Anakin’s head gently. Tears continued to spill down his cheeks, vision so blurry he could barely make out the sad blue eyes in front of him.
“Don't cry, sweetheart,” he whispered, fingers brushing beneath Anakin’s eyes. “I can't bear to see you like this.”
From behind them came a slow, deliberate clap.
Anakin flinched and turned to see Palpatine standing closer than before, his smile thin, voice smooth and cold. A shiver ran up Anakin’s spine. “You always were the most sentimental Jedi,” he said, eyes flicking to Vesper with icy disdain. “So afraid of power. Of what you could be.”
Anakin’s mind rebelled. That wasn't true, he thought idly. He wanted more. He always had. He wanted to do more, be more, and felt limited at the hands of the Council. That was the whole point.
“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.”
The contradiction seemed so unlike Palpatine.
What have I done? He thought, stiffening.
“I—” he started, but he didn't know what to say. His fingers clutched the fabric of Vesper’s robes.
Palpatine tilted his head. “Is this what you want, Anakin? To fall into his arms? To weep at his feet?” His voice turned razor-sharp. “You think he loves you? He hates you. He’s ashamed of you. He would have left you again the moment you became inconvenient.”
“That’s a lie,” Vesper said, low and dangerous, his arms tightening around Anakin.
“Isn’t it?” Palpatine purred. “You had your orders, Lord Vesper. And you obeyed them, didn't you?”
Anakin looked at Vesper sharply.
“…Orders?”
Vesper didn't answer. His jaw was clenched.
Palpatine smiled. “He didn’t tell you? Of course not. That’s what he does, Anakin. He keeps things from you. Tells you half-truths. Just enough to keep you tethered, but never enough to let you choose.”
Anakin’s breath hitched.
“And now look at you,” Palpatine continued. “Groveling. Clinging to a ghost of who he pretended to be. But you, you’re alive. You’re the future.”
He stepped closer.
“You can still claim it.”
Anakin was shaking again. The words from before rattled in his skull like thunder.
“He was there to watch you. Mold you. And when the time came, he wanted to destroy you.”
“It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? If Lord Vesper truly had a choice. If… perhaps someone else made it for him. Where his loyalties truly lie.”
Something inside Anakin lurched.
The pieces fell into place, sudden and brutal, like a puzzle snapping into its final shape with blood on its edges.
“He's following you.”
“Either he wants you dead—”
“—or something worse,” Anakin had finished for Padmé.
It all made sense. Why he'd been watching him. Why he'd been lurking through his mission log for years. Orbiting him.
He was monitoring him.
Keeping tabs. Reporting back.
From the moment they locked eyes on Naboo, it hadn't been fate. It had been his orders.
He wasn't watching Anakin because he wanted to. He was watching him because someone told him to. Because Palpatine needed him to.
“I shouldn't have been there. I had a mission. I didn't mean to linger, but I couldn't take my eyes off of you.”
Tears pricked Anakin’s eyes once again. What was the truth? What was he missing?
Was he just a piece in some larger game?
“The galaxy is never so simple, Master Plo. But I do enjoy the role of the lone wolf.”
A lone wolf. Bound by orders.
He was meant to watch him. Perhaps that was the mission. But something changed. Something had to have changed.
Anakin’s breathing grew shallow. Maybe Vesper had figured it out— that Palpatine meant to replace him. That Anakin was the next piece on the board.
So Vesper made his own move.
He wanted Anakin for himself. He wanted to weaponize his power. The Chosen One. The Hero With No Fear. To use him, use that to dethrone his master.
And then what?
Would Anakin have knelt? Let himself be wielded like a blade? Or would he have been eliminated once he became too powerful?
Was that not what was happening right now?
It had never been about protecting him, had it? It had always been about winning. About survival.
Vesper’s, not his.
Palpatine's?
Did he ever really have a choice?
Anakin pulled away from Vesper, eyes wide. “Did you…” His voice cracked. “Did you come here to use me against him? Or kill me?”
Vesper looked at him, agonized. “Anakin, no—”
“You did.”
“No. I disobeyed him. I came here to stop this.”
“But if he told you to—”
“I won't. I’d never.”
“And if he told you to kill me right now?”
Vesper was silent, with his lips parted and brows lifted, disbelief rippling through his features like a dropped stone in still water.
Palpatine smiled. “You see?” He whispered. “He hesitates.”
Anakin stared at Vesper.
The man whose arms were still wound around Anakin despite Anakin’s pulling back.
The lightsaber hilt was still on the floor.
Anakin's hand twitched toward it.
Vesper’s arms tightened.
“Anakin,” he murmured breathlessly.
Anakin pushed back. “Let me go,” he demanded.
“No.”
Vesper’s voice was soft. Too soft for this makeshift battlefield, too soft for the fury splitting Anakin’s skull open. Vesper’s hand slid up the back of his neck, fingers trembling. Anakin shoved against him, but Vesper didn't let go. He just pulled him closer, his voice low and ragged near Anakin's ear.
“Anakin, please. Look at me. I'm not your enemy.”
“Stop lying to me!” Anakin’s fingers curled around the hilt.
Vesper didn't stop him. He didn't flinch, and he didn't raise a hand in defense. He just knelt there, steady and unarmed, his eyes wide and blue and unbearably sad.
Anakin still found himself staring. He still found himself transfixed.
Still, he found himself getting lost in them.
Still, the man was beautiful— ruinously so— and still, the arms around him felt like safety.
“I've never lied to you,” Vesper said softly, cutting in before Anakin could scowl.
“I won't fight you,” he continued. “But if you need to strike me, if that's what you believe, I won't stop you either.”
His voice didn't shake. Anakin reached for the Force, searching Vesper for fear. He came up empty.
Somehow that terrified him more than if he hadn't.
He couldn't breathe.
Anakin rose. His fingers clenched tighter around the hilt, knuckles whitening. The air was thick with heat, Palpatine’s presence pressing in around him, dark and suffocating, but Vesper stood still as he leaned over him. Calm. Open. Not a hint of defense in him.
It made no sense.
“Do it,” Palpatine said. “He's already betrayed you. You owe him nothing.”
“Why aren't you afraid?” Anakin rasped, barely able to get the words past his teeth.
Vesper stood without breaking eye contact. “I am,” he whispered. “But not of you.”
Something twisted inside of Anakin at that. He stepped forward, not sure if he even meant to.
“Then what?” He snapped. “What are you afraid of?”
He didn't know what answer he expected. Maybe lies or manipulation, but not—
“Losing you,” Vesper said.
And Anakin hated him for it. Hated how the words landed in his chest like a pulse of light through the cracks as if Vesper weren't a Sith Lord, as if he weren’t the embodiment of darkness, as if they weren't fighting on opposite sides of a war. Hated that somewhere deep down, past the rage and fear, he still believed him.
Because this wasn't any ordinary Sith, if such a thing even existed.
No, this one was something else entirely.
A normal Sith wouldn't drag out a duel for the thrill of it, just to watch him sweat. A normal Sith wouldn't smirk at his fury and purr, “Focus, sweetheart.”
A normal Sith wouldn't light up when Anakin’s hood slipped back, wouldn't tilt his head and condemn the Council for “keeping all the pretty ones for themselves.”
Wouldn't let himself be captured, wouldn't press kisses to Anakin’s face in the twilight hush of his cell, murmuring things too soft for an enemy’s mouth.
Wouldn't run headlong into flames and cradle Anakin’s unconscious body like precious cargo as he rushed him to safety.
And he wouldn't— shouldn't say things like “Lovely boy, ridiculous temper” or “Does that feel like an act to you?” or “I fully intend to finish what we started.”
As if they were lovers.
“If you're going to insist on getting prettier by the minute, the least you could do is let me look at you properly.”
“There's always a point, sweetheart. For instance, seeing how many times I can make you blush before you walk out. I've already lost count.”
“Come here, sit. It's alright.”
“I never had any intention of harming you. Not from the moment I saw you.”
“I would burn the whole galaxy, every system, every star, if it kept you breathing.”
“Strike him down,” Palpatine said again, more insistent now, almost… gleeful. “Do it. Take your rightful place by my side.”
Anakin didn't move.
He couldn't.
Because that wasn't what this was supposed to be.
He hadn't… he hadn't wanted this. He hadn't fought, bled, burned for this. The whole galaxy had turned sideways the moment Vesper stepped into his life, but…
He liked that.
He craved it.
And he could feel the fear radiating off Vesper in waves, though his stance never faltered. His lightsaber remained deactivated on the duracrete floor, hands still, shoulders squared.
It wasn’t fear of him.
It was fear for him.
The longer Anakin stared at his saber, the longer he let Palpatine’s words ring in his ears, the heavier the weapon felt in his hand.
He didn’t want this.
He never had.
Yes, he had wanted to beat Vesper. He wanted to match him, surprise him, prove to himself that he wasn’t still that frightened nine-year-old boy desperate for validation.
To be his equal.
But he had never wanted to… to—
“I never had any intention of harming you. Not from the second I saw you.”
The memory rose, unbidden. And as the echo of Vesper’s low, certain voice took up seconds of time neither of them quite had, Anakin finally knew: he hadn't either.
Hurting him had never been the goal. Striking him down would mean tearing something essential apart inside himself, something already fraying at the seams. Hurting him would mean hurting himself, and Anakin was tired of being hurt. He was tired of being wielded like a weapon, tired of sacrificing pieces of himself in the name of peace, freedom, justice, and security.
Because those things came with a hidden clause.
Obedience.
And anyone who knew Anakin knew just how terrible he was at that.
With mounting horror, it became increasingly more clear that this betrayal wasn't sudden. It had been stitched together, thread by thread, for years. And Anakin had worn the cloak willingly.
His instincts were correct. He hadn't been wrong about being manipulated.
He’d just been wrong about who.
The Jedi hadn't broken him. Not really. Not intentionally.
They'd just failed to see it happening.
It was him. The one who whispered in his ear. Who fed every doubt and poured salt in every wound. Who promised to lend a kind ear and a safe space while setting the fire beneath his feet.
Palpatine had known— always known— exactly what to say, what to offer, what to take away, how to make Anakin crumble at his feet.
How to make him misidentify the hand that stoked the flames.
So, he straightened. Lifted his head.
And he turned, too quickly, too sharply, his method rooted in instinct and no thought whatsoever, his grip still locked around the hilt of his lightsaber.
Palpatine cocked his head, smiling still, but it didn't seem to reach his eyes anymore.
Maybe it never had.
Anakin’s blade ignited with a sudden, brutal hiss that split the air.
Palpatine recoiled, and Anakin sensed not fear emanating from him, but fury. The curve of his lips, which had always seemed so gentle, paternal, and reassuring, twisted into a grimace of anger and disgust. “You dare—”
He didn't finish the sentence.
Anakin attacked.
Palpatine flipped in the air, narrowly missing the burn.
“You fool,” Palpatine spat, voice dropping, warping, reverberating with dark power. “He's lying to you.”
Anakin didn't respond. He had no interest in words now, only action. Only winning.
He stared wild-eyed, chest heaving like he'd just breached the surface of deep water, a lifetime of drowning, and Palpatine knew.
Knew what choice had just been made.
Knew that he had failed.
And for the first time, he didn't have the upper hand.
“So be it,” he hissed. “If you will not be mine…”
The darkness cracked open.
Lightning exploded from his fingertips in a blinding, convulsive flash, arcing toward Anakin before he could so much as breathe.
He caught the electricity on his blade, the impact jarring through his arms as the current surged.
The Force screamed around him, louder than it ever had before, furious and tangled and deafening.
And Anakin was angry.
He was angry in the way only he could be, with the grief of a thousand losses, the weight of never being enough, the fear of being too much. Angry like the raw, jagged skin of a wound that never closed, only scabbed and split, over and over.
Because now, now, he could see it.
Palpatine hadn't just offered him power. He had studied him, meticulously. Every move, every wound. He picked at each one, and waited to see which would bleed.
It turned out to be all of them.
And Anakin had bled. For the Jedi, for the war, for the galaxy, for his mother and his master and his legion and his friends and his padawan.
And he was still bleeding.
Palpatine paused, only for a heartbeat, then redoubled his assault.
The lightning intensified, wild and uncontrolled, a torrent of power that lit the chamber in violent white-blue pulses.
Anakin staggered, muscles locking under the pressure, teeth clenched, struggling to hold the blade steady. His knees began to give.
Then—
Another blast.
Too much.
Anakin slipped.
"NO!"
Vesper's voice.
He Force-threw himself across the room and collided with Anakin hard, the saber skidding from Anakin’s grasp and deactivating as it clattered to the floor.
The next bolt of lightning missed by inches.
It cracked into the wall instead, shattering stone and searing through durasteel.
Anakin hit the floor flat on his back, wind knocked clean from his lungs.
Vesper landed half on top of him, shielding his body with his own, his arm thrown out like he could hold the storm off by the sheer will of the Force.
Maybe he could.
Maybe they could.
Everything smelled of smoke.
And static. He could feel Vesper above him, warm, trembling, and alive, and an inexplicable ache formed in Anakin’s chest.
For a second— just one— they were still.
They were breathing.
They were alive.
But Palpatine was already gathering another wave.
The scent of ozone hadn't even faded before Vesper was moving again.
He rolled off Anakin and surged to his feet in a single, furious motion.
Anakin gasped, trying to pull air into his chest. His limbs felt leaden, not just from the impact but from something pressing down on him, thick and almost inescapable. The Force coiled around him like a vice, invisible and immovable. His body refused to rise.
Vesper’s abandoned lightsaber flew to his hand with a snap-hiss.
He didn't ignite it right away.
Not yet.
“You tried to kill him,” Vesper said, voice low.
Palpatine stood at the far end of the chamber, hunched and breathing hard, fingers still twitching with residual lightning.
“I gave you everything,” Vesper growled. “I bled for you. I destroyed myself for your war. And you tried to kill him.”
Twin crimson blades lit with a roar, louder than the pounding in Anakin’s head. Red as fury, red as blood, red as betrayal.
Apprentice against Master. Sith Lord against Sith Lord.
Traitor against traitor.
Anakin twisted, or tried to. His spine protested the movement. The Force still held him, heavy and consuming. He couldn't tell if it was protecting him or praying on his downfall. His fingers clawed at the ground. The hilt of his lightsaber wasn't far, but it might as well have been across the galaxy.
Palpatine flew through the air, closing the distance between him and Vesper. “He turned on me,” he snarled. “I reacted.”
The duel exploded into motion. Vesper lunged first, fast and unrelenting, every move executed with purpose. His strikes were far from the elegant yet idle maneuvers he used with Anakin on Mandalore and Vulpter. The blows forced Palpatine back, step by step, metal screeching and sparks flying.
“And you nearly electrocuted him.” Vesper snarled between swings, punctuating the words with a brutal, overhead strike.
Palpatine parried it, boots skidding on the duracrete, crimson blade catching the blow at the last second.
Silence stretched for a heartbeat as their sabers locked.
Then Palpatine tilted his head, almost pitying. “If you hadn't interfered, Lord Vesper, he'd be at my side now.”
Vesper shoved forward, teeth bared, gold irises boring into gold irises. “Yes, and you would've fed him every lie you fed me. Molded him. Broken him.”
The clash resumed, faster, hotter, and more destructive than before.
Anakin watched through gritted teeth, sweat beading on his brow. His body shook with the effort to rise, but the weight only briefly lifted before dropping once again.
“You set up the ambush on Cestus,” Vesper hissed, voice poisonous as they spun apart and circled. “You knew how much I— you knew, and you wanted to drive a wedge.”
Something flickered inside of Palpatine. “He had to let go of you eventually. I simply… expedited the process.”
Vesper's blade slammed down with a spark. “You could have killed him.”
“He was never in any real danger. There was always a plan to extract him,” Palpatine replied smoothly, pursing his lips even as their sabers locked again. “I needed him alive. You’re the one who panicked. You interfered. You stole him away from me.”
Vesper’s voice cracked with rage. “He isn’t yours.”
Palpatine blocked another attack. “If you won't give him up, my apprentice, then I will simply take him.”
Vesper faltered for half a second, just long enough for Palpatine to twist, let out a shriek, redirect the lock, and send him skidding across the floor.
Anakin stirred where he lay sprawled across the floor, body aching, head pounding. As he glanced between the two Dark Lords of the Sith, a sudden truth struck him with chilling clarity. He didn’t know who held the greater power anymore. The master or the apprentice. The mentor or the weapon he’d created.
Palpatine straightened his robe like the circumstances bored him. “You forget, Lord Vesper. I know how you think. I know your indulgences, your weaknesses.” He glanced deliberately at Anakin. “Every irrational, ridiculous attachment.”
Vesper didn't answer. Not with words, at least.
Another series of savage strikes commenced, something closer to brawling than finesse. Form became frenzy. They moved in a blur of red against red, as sparks flew and lit the chamber in flashes of rage and smoke and tears and blood and darkness.
“My attachment?” Vesper exclaimed incredulously. “You've had your claws in him since the day he was born!”
Palpatine parried once again. “Of course.”
“You used him. You set him up.”
Anakin blinked, still trying to fight the invisible force pinning him to the ground.
It was like trying to scream with no lungs. Like trying to swim through stone. He pushed and pushed, through pain, through fury, through betrayal, but the pressure only mounted. His heart beat like a war drum, pounding frantically and uselessly. He was the most powerful person in the room, the Chosen One, the Hero With No Fear, so why couldn't he move?
With that, Vesper slammed him back with a burst of Force energy. Palpatine staggered. It wasn't far that he traveled back, but it was the first time that he seemed to genuinely weaken.
Vesper’s voice dropped to a near whisper, so low Anakin could barely hear it.
“You wanted him to hate me,” Vesper said, voice shaking now—not with fear, but fury. “You let him think I abandoned him. You wanted him to fall.”
Something cracked behind Anakin’s ribs, something much more painful than bone. The unbearable agony of truth. He didn't want to believe it. But Palpatine’s voice echoed, I simply expedited the process.
Now Vesper was fighting his master.
For him.
In the Force, Anakin sensed a subtle pulse beneath the surface, a deep ache that began beneath his skin and echoed through the marrow of his bones.
Vesper’s breath was coming faster now, the tempo of his strikes unrelenting. Precision had given way to something sharper, something forged in fury and desperation. Ferocity honed into wildfire.
He was still holding the line. Still winning, maybe. But it was too much, too fast, and it was costing him.
If anyone knew what that meant, it was Anakin.
And that was when he realized that the weight pressing down on his chest wasn’t violent. It wasn’t meant to harm.
It was a shield.
Protective. Familiar.
And futile.
Because Anakin Skywalker could not be kept down for long.
Not when someone he loved was suffering.
Not when that suffering was for him.
Not when he was the Chosen One.
The barrier trembled. Then cracked, splintering apart in a surge of Force energy that rippled outward like a shockwave.
His hand slammed to the floor.
And finally, he rose.
His limbs straightened. Power thrummed in his veins and sung in his blood.
The air around him crackled.
Palpatine struck again, a jagged slash of red meeting Vesper’s saber with a thunderclap of light.
Vesper shouted over his shoulder without looking. “Stay back—”
Palpatine lunged.
Vesper blocked with a snarl, blade catching the strike just inches from his face. “Stay back, baby—please—I am not asking.”
He drove Palpatine backward with a brutal press of power, sabers locked between them like a furnace. The window beside them shattered, spiderweb cracks splitting across the transparisteel from the pressure of the Force.
Thunder boomed overhead.
Or maybe that was Anakin’s pulse, thundering louder with every step.
Palpatine staggered, robes scorched, lips pulled back in a furious snarl as he half-collapsed against the wall.
The chamber went still, alive with static, heavy with smoke and silence.
Vesper raised his lightsaber, the tip angled down.
“You’re finished,” he growled.
Palpatine’s fingers twitched.
“You forget who makes the decisions here, my apprentice.”
Blinding lightning erupted once more in a raw, relentless, jagged mess of voltage.
Vesper caught it, arms locked and teeth clenched, his entire body bowed beneath the onslaught. Sparks danced around him, light fractured across the floor. Step by step, it drove him backward—
But he didn’t fall.
Not yet.
He held the lightning with gritted teeth and trembling hands, the crimson of his saber nearly swallowed in the white-hot current. Anakin sensed Vesper’s pain, every muscle in his body screaming.
After being momentarily distracted by the symmetry of the moment, Anakin stalked forward, steps sure despite the thunder in his skull.
“Don't.”
Vesper whipped around, head snapping so fast his hair, usually immaculate, lashed across his face in loose, wild strands.
“Stay back,” he spat again, voice too raw to be cold. The words cracked like a whip.
Anakin kept walking.
“Darling,” he gritted. “Do you ever listen?”
They both knew what the answer to that was.
Anakin watched Palpatine's lips curl, taking in the sight of Vesper straining under the storm of lightning, Anakin stalking toward it like an unsheathed blade.
“Interesting,” he mused at Anakin, voice serpentine. “Maybe you're not lost after all.”
That comment seemed to add fuel to Vesper’s fury. He gripped his lightsaber tighter, tilting it forward. Palpatine’s lightning crackled, distorting his features with unnatural force. His skin puckered and tightened like overripe fruit left to wither in Tatooine’s twin suns, his wrinkles deepening into harsh crevices and his veins darkening beneath translucent flesh. His face twisted and contorted, shriveling into something grotesque and ancient, a withered husk that seemed to have aged decades in seconds.
Anakin couldn't afford to focus too deeply on it. His eyes stayed fixed on Vesper, the man holding back death itself, as if sheer force of will could wrestle it into submission. The man who'd sleuthed and fought and bled and broken for him.
And was still doing it. He was still standing between him and oblivion, or a fate worse than it. Still pushing forward, bones screaming for mercy, face contorted in pain.
Anakin couldn't bear it.
He was well aware of risk. He understood, quite acutely, what cost was. He knew now, how easy it was to submit. To fall. He knew intimately that feeling of giving all of yourself to an ideology only for it to slap you in the face and tell you you're not worthy.
And Vesper had been through it twice. First with the Jedi, and next with the Sith master who manipulated them into thinking he was above it. That he could save him from the dogma and the well-intentioned ignorance and the pain that accompanied repression.
And because he knew all about cost, he couldn't watch Vesper pay it alone.
He moved before thinking, because that was how he worked, how he— much to the very justified chagrin of his masters— always worked when it mattered. Instinct, heat, want.
Attachment through and through.
The air snapped with static as he advanced.
With a roar, Anakin leaped into the fray, lightsaber igniting, a fiery arc cutting through the chaos. He threw himself at Palpatine, a desperate bid to distract him from his torturous onslaught against Vesper. Palpatine’s eyes flickered to him, a smug smile playing at his lips. The lightning ceased, and the room echoed with the sudden silence of its absence.
Anakin began to wonder if Palpatine really were as weakened as he was letting on.
Vesper’s hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He held off the current the same way Anakin had, through sheer strength and stubbornness.
Suddenly, the shrill, relentless, piercing blare of the Temple alarms screeched through the chamber. The bone-deep siren wailed through the corridors, echoing off the ceilings.
It was a sound that Anakin knew intimately.
A call to danger.
A call to arms.
A call to war.
But here, in the haze of ruin, it felt like a funeral bell.
Vesper flinched.
It was a mere hitch in his breath and a falter in his stance. But it was enough to lose the upper hand.
Palpatine struck.
His lightning surged.
Anakin barely had time to move.
No time for thinking.
No time for calculation.
“Vesper—”
Throwing himself forward, the bolt of Force lightning crashed into his chest.
Anakin hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs in one ragged choke, the world seizing in white.
Pain tore through him, unfiltered and blinding, his limbs jerking against the stone. He gasped, arching up as if it might help him breathe again. It didn’t.
“Anakin!”
Vesper’s scream cracked like a whip, something raw and inhuman behind it. He recognized the sound. It was a Force scream, a shattering wave of rage, amplified and unleashed through the Dark Side.
The air broke.
Palpatine staggered.
The Force rippled in a shockwave of raw anguish erupting from Vesper’s chest and detonated into the walls.
His eyes widened, and for the first time, Anakin saw genuine fear flickering behind the yellow. He wondered if it were the first time ever that the cold, calculated Sith Lord had been caught off guard.
The chamber screamed with pressure. The Force twisted, air warping around the explosion of power radiating from Vesper’s scream.
Finally, the ceiling gave way.
Chunks of stone and durasteel snapped free from the beams overhead. A groan, deep and metallic with an air of finality decorating it rattled through the Temple walls before the entire far side of the room collapsed inward with a deafening crash.
Palpatine didn’t even have time to scream.
He vanished beneath the rubble in a haze of dust and static, the air still humming with the remnants of lightning.
Silence fell.
Or at least, something like silence. The building moaned. The temple alarms wailed.
And then just their shallow, stunned breathing.
Anakin’s vision blurred at the edges. He pushed himself upright, chest aching, one hand still pressed to the scorch wound on his ribs.
And then Vesper turned.
Bolted, more like.
Straight to Anakin.
His saber slipped, clattering against the floor beside them as he dropped to his knees, sitting back on his heels, with his hands already reaching for him. “Anakin—Anakin, look at me, love, come on—”
Anakin tried to sit up, breath catching. “I’m fine,” he lied.
“You’re not,” Vesper snapped, voice breaking. “You’re not, you—what were you thinking—”
“I was thinking,” Anakin rasped, “that you looked like you needed help.”
“Were you trying to make me lose my mind? What part of ‘stay behind me’ translates to ‘get up and make yourself a target?’”
Anakin just gave him a crooked, weakened half-smile. “Figured you could use the company.”
Vesper’s mouth fell open. No sound came out.
“You’re going to give me a stroke,” he muttered finally, pinching the bridge of his nose. “A full-blown, Force-induced stroke. Right here. In this blasted chamber.”
Anakin’s grin widened. “You’d miss me if I didn’t keep you on your toes.”
Vesper stared at him, then huffed a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a growl. It was hard to tell. He shoved a hand through his hair and muttered something unintelligible under his breath, then turned away, hiding his shaking hands.
Anakin saw them anyway.
A wet laugh burst from Vesper’s lips, sharp with disbelief. Vesper pressed his forehead to Anakin’s for half a second, just long enough for Anakin to feel his warmth, and then drew back, eyes wild. “You’re insane,” he whispered. “You’re so—”
“I know,” Anakin said. “So are you.”
They might’ve smiled.
If the alarms hadn’t been screaming.
If the building weren’t crumbling.
If they weren’t both covered in bruises, blood, and the aftermath of terror.
But for one second—just one—they breathed.
Together.
They might've stayed there forever.
But forever was a luxury they didn't have.
Because the alarms were still blaring.
And people were coming.
Anakin felt it first, the distant thunder of footsteps. Of boots. Of reinforcements. Of Jedi. Of his masters.
He went still.
Vesper must have felt it too, because his breath hitched. His hand didn't leave Anakin’s cheek. His fingers only curled tighter.
He leaned forward and captured Anakin’s lips, fierce and urgent. For a moment, Anakin forgot everything. The alarms, the danger, and the impossible weight of their situation all seemed to fade away.
But then, his mind cracked through the haze. Gently, reluctantly, Anakin pushed Vesper back, his heart shattering at the way Vesper chased his lips.
“You have to go,” Anakin whispered, but the sound barely made it past his throat.
“No,” Vesper breathed. “No, not yet—”
“You have to.”
“I'm not—” Vesper’s voice caught. Twin pairs of blue eyes met. Vesper stared at Anakin like this might be the last time. “I'm not leaving you here.”
His voice was unraveling. He shook his head once, then again, faster. “I won't. I can't. I don't care if the whole Temple comes down— if the Council’s out there— I'm not leaving—”
“Hey.”
Anakin reached up and cupped his face, fingers firm and warm on his cheeks.
Vesper froze. His breathing hitched.
“Look at me,” Anakin said, low and steady, grounding him like an anchor in the middle of a storm. “You’re not. You're not.”
They clung to each other like lifelines, like that might somehow stop time. Sirens howled through the crumbling walls. Remnants of smoke spiraled in the air, bathed in shades of silver.
The footsteps were louder now. Closer.
“Come with me,” Vesper said suddenly, fiercely.
Anakin blinked. “What?”
“Come with me.”
His grip slid down Anakin’s arm, hand pressing against his side like he could physically hold him up, keep him up. He had before, Anakin remembered. “I'll get us out. I'll take you to my ship. We’ll leave Coruscant. We’ll disappear.”
Anakin hesitated, but only for a second. The second it took to realize what he wanted, and who he was willing to fight for.
He nodded once.
That was all Vesper seemed to need.
He stood, tugging Anakin with him, still wrapping his arm around his waist. “There’s a hidden entrance through the Archives,” Vesper said, already pulling him forward. “It leads to a hangar—off-grid, very hush-hush. No one knows it exists.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
Vesper stroked his cheek. “My dear, save the commentary for the part where we don’t die.”
Another boom shook the floor. Vesper turned toward the crumbling entryway, crimson saber flickering to life again. His free hand flicked backward, pulling Anakin’s saber back into his palm before pressing it into Anakin’s grip.
Anakin clipped it to his hip. Then, he reached out.
His hand was open in an offering. A choice.
Vesper’s gaze traveled from Anakin’s open palm to his face.
Anakin sensed the fear and love and guilt flickering behind his eyes.
Then he took it.
Their fingers locked.
They moved as one, slipping past the wreckage, ducking through the gap as footsteps edged closer and alarms blared in their ears.
They wove through shadows and kept to the blind spots between the security holocams.
With their shoulders pressed together and their steps in sync, neither of them spoke. They didn't need to.
The passageway sealed behind them with a hiss.
Whatever waited ahead, they would face it together.