fools, anakin skywalker (ongoing)

thirty-one.

little disclaimer before we begin! i know chapters have been a bit slow recently, and there's been mostly character development rather than plot development, but i promise after this chapter we return to the main clone wars arc that we're covering right now. this addition is a lot of angst and hurt/comfort with artie and anakin, which is what i've been in the mood to write lately. in the next chapter, we will definitely get back to the action and badassery.

i take this story very seriously and i aim to do right by artie's character, as well as everyone else, so slower bits like this are unfortunately necessary. i only ask for patience. i also have a very special chapter in mind (if you hear wedding bells . . . maybe you do)

as always, thank you so much for reading!

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

ARTIE WASTED NO TIME IN MAKING HER WAY TO ANAKIN'S ROOM. SHE HOPED Padmé would guess where she'd gone and not come looking for her — Artie hadn't thought to say goodbye. By the time she remembered, she had already made it to the Temple's Accommodation Sector without any run-ins; she wasn't about to traipse all the way back and risk getting held up again.

She passed the Temple's crèche and the Padawan dormitories, and so came the endless hall of individual housing, each little room identical to the one before it and discernible only by count. Fifty-six, Artie thought automatically as she passed her own chamber's narrow gray door. It wasn't far from Anakin's.

     A few moments later she came upon it and stopped short. One more step and the door would slide away at her approach. It was just like any other, any of the countless tiny abodes carved into the Temple walls, except for the living maelstrom it sheltered. Artie took five seconds to compose herself. Five seconds to steady her racing heart. She stepped forward.

     The door gave way, and there was Anakin.

     In all truthfulness, Artie wasn't sure what she had expected. She'd envisioned him on his feet, perhaps, out of the Council's sight and free to rage against the galaxy and all its unfairness. He usually had to burn through his anger to get to the heart of his problem, which in this case would be grief beyond measure.

     Artie did not expect quiet. Stillness. But there he sat on the edge of his narrow bed, elbows on his knees and head bent low. No raging. No pacing. She reached into the Force and found that fierce, molten emotion still coiled around him, yet outwardly he betrayed nothing. Artie found herself wishing for an outburst, for some display of passion. A newly realized fear had wormed its way into her heart and Anakin's perfect calmness gave it legitimacy.

It seemed quite possible that Obi-Wan's death would be what finally did Anakin Skywalker in. Not a Separatist nor a slave-master, not a lucky battle droid, not Grievous or Count Dooku, but the loss of his best friend. Artie was unsure if someone could die of heartbreak, but she was certain it could cut so deep as to immobilize. Paralyze. It could carve the fight right out of you, and she worried it was happening before her eyes.

She stepped deeper into the room. The door slid shut behind her. Artie exhaled deeply, let the Force truly move through her, and with a wave of her hand overrode the lock mechanism on the wall panel. It gave a long beep, and they were sealed in. It was against Temple regulations to lock doors (Jedi should have no secrets, no thoughts or habits that needed hiding) but Artie thought just this once, it would have to be all right. She'd never in her life risk someone waltzing in on the conversation they were about to have.