fools, anakin skywalker (ongoing)

thirty-two.

warning: this chapter contains a vague reference to child prostitution. it also contains a brief, non-graphic assault scene near the end. neither instance is related to the other. please read at you own discretion.

also — this is an extremely long chapter. i debated whether or not i should split it into two, but decided ultimately it did better as one installment. if possible, i ask you to please read all the way through or split this into segments and come back. this chapter is not filler. thank you.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

ARTIE WAITED IN THE QUIET LOBBY OUTSIDE THE HIGH COUNCIL CHAMBER, AN UNCOMFORTABLE NERVOUSNESS COILED TIGHT IN HER STOMACH. MASTER YODA HAD SUMMONED ANAKIN NOT an hour beforehand, just moments after Artie managed to sneak out of his quarters. She'd been only halfway down the corridor when he joined her again and explained in a daze that the Council had, by some undescribed miracle, found the location of Obi-Wan's killer.

So, she lingered. It wasn't necessary, but it made her feel better. Artie wanted to know everything the moment she could. She was reluctant to leave Anakin for very long, anyway. She paced a circle around the small, larmalstone lobby, thinking the Council couldn't possibly take any longer and if they did it couldn't mean anything good. Not two days before, Obi-Wan had been one of the twelve sitting in that room. Artie's eyes felt hot. She imagined his empty seat and fresh tears came at once. She just managed to wipe them away when the door to the Council chambers slid open, and out stepped Anakin.

Artie could not quite decipher the look on his face. He seemed furiously exhilarated and his eyes flashed in the savage way they did when he had a job to do, a job that could not be left undone.

"His name is Rako Hardeen," Anakin said as he approached. His voice came out breathless like he was already miles away. "He's a bounty hunter, and he's still on Coruscant. I'm going after him."

They started forward, to the singular turbolift that came up the spire.

"Are they sending you to kill him?" Artie asked, thinking of their conversation from the night before.

"No," Anakin said slowly. "I'm ordered to turn him over to the clones at the detention center. And I will."

Artie nodded. She should have thanked him for keeping his head, but the words would not form. Mostly she wanted to latch onto him and bury her face in his clothes and never look upon the world again, but the lobby's watchful security holocams meant that would not be happening.

"I'm taking Ahsoka with me," Anakin continued in a way that told her there would be no debate. "We shouldn't be long."

They stepped into the turbolift. Artie's cheeks still felt warm with emotion and she rubbed her eyes roughly with the heels of her hands. She wanted to tear the tumor of grief from its place in her chest. It did not belong there. Why did she feel like it did not belong? There was no finality to this nightmare, no conceivable end to this waking horror that ensconced them all. Them all. No, that was not right. Everyone had moved on just fine. Obi-Wan was dead and the Council seemed perfectly adjusted to that fact. Artie burned with a curious rage she had never felt before. She could not name it.

"What are you thinking?" Anakin asked suddenly.

Artie jumped. Of course, he would notice.

     The turbolift continued its swift, silent descent; in mere moments they would be back in the traffic of the Temple's busy center and all chances of conversation would be lost.