this addition has been edited as of january 22, 2020

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ARTIE BURST INTO THE COURTYARD, INSIDES TWISTED AND HEART THUMPING. SHE LOCKED her stare on Anakin. He stood, shadow growing as the suns sank halfway beneath the flat horizon, with his back to her. Still as a statue, but he had stopped. Waited. Artie took it as an invitation.

"You have to think," she said breathlessly. Her fingers twitched and her mouth was dryer than the desert that swallowed them. "Please. You have to think this through."

"She's not dead," he replied. The wind picked up and fluttered his cape around his legs. "I won't accept that."

"You don't have to," Artie agreed. "You shouldn't have to. But you must have a plan—it's too dangerous to go alone—"

Anakin whipped around, mouth hard. "You're staying here. That's nonnegotiable. I won't put you at risk."

"Consider yourself, then!" Artie cried. "What if I don't want you to get hurt? Doesn't that matter?"

Anakin threw out a hand. "No. Not in the same way. I don't care if I get hurt—I don't care if I die—so long as it means my mother is safe. But I could never live with myself if you suffered for helping me." He took several heated steps towards her. "You cannot be put in harm's way for my sake."

For a moment they stood, staring at each other, the wind whipping at their clothes and hair. Artie kept up her gaze and refused to back down. Maybe she didn't go with him, but she would not let him storm into a Tusken camp blindly. "Aren't you allowed to mean something to me, too?" She caught his face in her hands, perhaps against her better instinct, but she had to make sure he stayed anchored, right there, in that moment. "Can't you do one thing for me, and plan this through?"

Anakin blinked. He tilted his cheek slightly into her touch and seemed to mellow, if only slightly, for the first time since Cliegg's revelation. "Yes," he conceded with a sigh. "Yes, I can do that."

"Thank you," Artie breathed. "Thank you. When . . . when are they weakest? When wouldn't they expect you?"

Anakin moved his gaze from her to the blazing binary sunset, crimson light soaking through his bronze skin and setting his crystal eyes on holy fire. "Twilight. They'll be sleeping and station fewer lookouts."

Artie stroked her hand over the nape of his neck where his hair was soft and cropped. "Then you'll wait?"

He searched her face, still smoldering like glowing embers, but softened despite the urgency Artie knew he felt. "I'll wait." Anakin pushed a piece of golden hair behind Artie's ear, fingers brushing her earrings as he did. He stepped back and Artie lowered her hands. "I need to find out more from Cliegg."

She nodded. "Go. I'll be there in a moment." She offered what she hoped was an encouraging smile. Anakin's lips curved softly. He turned around and started for the door, cloak billowing in his wake in a melodramatic and, if Artie was honest, slightly gorgeous display. He disappeared inside and she was left alone in the waning evening.

She felt marginally better. At the very least, Anakin wasn't barreling into a Tusken village with nothing but his gumption to guard him. That eased Artie, if only for the moment. What she feared now, however, is what he would find once he infiltrated the camp. Was there hope enough to believe Shmi Skywalker had survived so long in such a place? Did she share her son's resilience? Or was Cliegg right—had she likely died weeks ago? The thought made Artie nauseous with worry.

What would Anakin do if he arrived to nothing but a body?

• • •

NIGHT FELL JUST TO SPITE ARTIE'S PRAYERS THAT IT WOULDN'T. SHE PACED THE PACKED-SAND FLOOR INSIDE THE MAIN entry dome and Padmé sat nearby, gnawing on her thumbnail with a scowl creasing her pretty face. Anakin was outside, mere feet from them, readying to venture out to the nearest Tusken camp in search of Shmi. One could have grabbed the tension in the air in fistfuls.

"You couldn't stop him?" Padmé whispered from a small table inside the dome.

Artie twisted an earring until her skin stung raw. "No. All I could do was get him to wait. Kriff, Padmé, I just have this feeling that something isn't right."

Padmé rubbed her hands over her eyes and let out a shaky sigh. "I know. I have it too. These Tuskens . . . I don't know them. How bad might it be?"

"Awful," Artie said immediately. "They're vicious, especially when provoked . . . and Anakin is distinctly provocative."

Padmé swore and went back to her thumb. Artie threw her head back and groaned, frustrated and anguished, a horrible image of Anakin torn bloody on the ground at the feet of a Tusken crossing her mind over and over. Could the Chosen One die in such a way? Would he have immunity until the Force decided his work was done? Artie didn't think it a theory worth testing.

Suddenly, Artie caught the hum of a speeder bike starting. She flew up the stairs two at a time and burst outside. She found Anakin waiting. "Leaving and not saying goodbye?" she tried to joke, but her voice shook.

"I was going to come down," he replied, brow heavy. "I wouldn't just go." Anakin closed the space between them and gathered Artie tightly against him. For a moment, she was stunned, taken aback by his closeness, the firmness of his grasp. Her instinct was distrust, doubt, but she decided it was no time for old fears. Artie slid her arms about his neck. She could feel his heart beating into hers.

"Please be careful," she said into his shoulder. "Please."

"I promise." His lips brushed her neck as he spoke.

"And you'll comm if you need us?"

Artie felt him chuckle. "I promise." He held on to her for a moment longer, then let her go. "I'll be back in a few hours, all right?"

Artie barely nodded. She watched, staggeringly helpless, as he mounted the speeder bike, cast one last look at her, and sped off across the flat sea of crimson sand. Her eyes trailed him until he was nothing but a pinprick on the flaming horizon. After a few moments she felt Padmé materialize beside her and tuck an arm through her own. "He'll be all right," she said gently. "It's Anakin—what's the worst that could happen?"

Artie chewed the inside of her cheek. "I don't . . . I don't know. It's Anakin."

Padmé sighed and dropped her head against Artie's shoulder. "Have faith, flower. I'm . . . I'm sure it will be all right. He'll find Shmi."

Artie blinked away tears that came suddenly to her eyes. "For his sake, I hope you're right."

• • •

CLIEGG OFFERED PADMÉ AND ARTIE A SMALL ROOM WITH TWO NARROW COTS TO rest in, seeing as they would be stuck on the homestead until Anakin returned. No sooner had Cliegg shown them to the room did Padmé push Artie inside and insist she try to sleep.

"You haven't had a full night's sleep in a week," she said. "Don't think I didn't notice on Naboo when you couldn't even hold a conversation. You need to rest, you've hardly stopped to breathe since we left Coruscant."

"You're overreacting," Artie groused, but she was already stooping to lie on the cot.

"I'm not," Padmé said and folded her arms, "you're just too busy kissing people to have any perspective."

Artie wrinkled her nose. "I've kissed one person. And he started it."

"Could you please not argue?" Padmé stood over her, eyebrows raised. "For once? Just do as you're told?"

"I want to be awake when Anakin gets back," Artie insisted (argued), fidgeting with her sleeve. "I—"

"I'll wake you," Padmé promised as she pushed Artie gently onto her back. "I will. You won't miss him for a moment."

Artie stared up at her teacher, her dear sister, who certainly had never broken a promise before. Her worry ebbed a fraction—this was Padmé, after all. She wouldn't lie or cause Artie any upset. And sleep was calling her, tempting her, seduction unlike anything. Artie's eyes fluttered. "Okay . . . Okay. Thank you."

She was not even awake long enough to see Padmé leave the room. It was dark nothing for many moments, still, soundless. Peaceful, if you could go as far to say. But suddenly hands rose from inky black shadow, marred, clawed, and they tore into the quiet and wrenched Artie beneath darkness as fearsome as wild space. Screams. Not human, far from human—animals, creatures, howling in rage and pain and terror. Pierced the murky silence. Odd clashes of bright blue light shattered this onyx landscape. Void would crawl across her mind again only to be torn by more screams, more anguish, more arcing sky blue light. They were calling her name. Artie. Artie, Artie!

"Artie!" Padmé's voice collapsed it all. "Artie wake up!"

She woke with a shout. The room was spinning. Her skin was slick and warm with sweat. Her heart thrummed so hard she could feel blood pulsing against her neck, her temples. She met Padmé's eyes and knew at once something was horribly wrong. "Where's Anakin?"

"He's . . . he's outside. But Artie . . ." she sniffed and half-covered her mouth with a trembling hand. "She didn't make it. She's been killed."

Artie brought the back of her hand to her lips as tears arrived swiftly. Torrents. Oh, no. No, no, no. She grabbed Padmé's arm and her shoulders bounced with quiet sobs. His mother. His mother. Her heart broke as Anakin's had. It shattered for him. She understood quickly that his agony was siphoning to her through the cursed Force, but it didn't make feeling it any different. No abyss, no pocket of starless space had ever felt emptiness such as this. No one in the eons of galaxy before them had felt anguish so deep, cut straight to the bone. How can he bear it?Artie thought as her heart split itself in half. "I have to talk to him," she managed to croak between her tears.

Padmé watched her, eyes round and wary. "What's going on?"

Artie inhaled sharply and another sob wracked her body. She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes and bent over her knees until she could breathe properly again. "Whenever . . . whenever he's in pain, I feel it. Through the Force." Artie lifted her head slowly, vision splotching. "I can control the Force."

"I—what?" Padmé gawked at her. "What—how? Since when?"

"Yesterday," Artie said with a sniff. "It's a long story, but . . . I feel his emotions. I suppose he must sense mine, too. I haven't asked."

"Just his?" Padmé asked. "Or other's, too?"

Artie thought for a moment. Through the devastating cloudburst that was Anakin, she could catch Padmé's worry. Her absolute terror and confusion. Artie took her hand. "I . . . I can feel yours. And if I concentrate . . . there's something to everything. I can't explain it."

Padmé looked awestruck. "You're . . . you're like Ani, then. Will you . . . what, will you become a Jedi? Could you become a Jedi?"

Artie climbed to her feet, still shaking, still sodden with tears. "I don't know. I don't want to. I swear I'll talk more about it all, but—"

"Say no more," Padmé said and joined her. "One thing at a time."

They stepped outside. The suns were high, Artie realized—she had slept through the night and Anakin had been gone just as long. She spotted him immediately upon a distant dune with Cliegg and Owen, Anakin crouched near to the ground. A grave, Artie realized and her very blood went cold. In his arms was a bundle of cloth . . . no, more than that. Artie tried to look closer. A body. A small frame swathed in roughspun. The first and last she'd ever see of Shmi Skywalker. Anakin lowered his mother beneath the sand, and a phantom fist slammed Artie in the chest. Maybe it wasn't fully her grief, but how did that matter? The universe had cracked itself in half and she'd fallen in the resulting chasm. Or, Anakin had. It was hard to discern the difference. Perhaps there wasn't one. Pain was pain, after all.

Artie and Padmé stood and watched Anakin kneel at Shmi's grave long after a miserable-looking Cliegg had retreated inside with Owen. A rare breeze stirred the sand and for what seemed like eons the only thing Artie heard was that dry wind rushing past her ears. But then—

"Maybe you should go up there," Padmé whispered. "He should talk to someone."

Artie considered it, then balked at the idea. "What could I say?" she mumbled.

"Weren't you the one so eager to see him as soon as he got back?" Padmé argued. "You'll think of something. Kriff, Artie, if you're sharing his emotions it shouldn't be that hard—"

"All right, all right," Artie hasted, all moxie and confidence long lost. She hoped against hope she wouldn't somehow make everything worse. She hiked up the dune and shielded her eyes against the haze of swirling sand. Anakin did not move. Just gazed, on his knees, at the grave marker that offered the only punctuation in the dead sea of yellow. Tentatively, Artie sat down beside him. "I'm . . ." she tried, but her voice couldn't carry. She cleared her throat. "I'm so sorry."

Anakin took in a shaky breath. He did not look at her when he spoke. "I loved her more than anything." Artie had never heard him sound so broken. So undone. "I didn't come back when I should have. I shouldn't have listened to the Council—I shouldn't have listened to Obi-Wan. If I'd just . . . if I . . ." He did not go on. Tears snaked silently down his cheeks and fell to the sand with soft pats. "Artie . . . I've done something horrible."

Suddenly it was no longer grief, but guilt. Shame blacker than graphite. Anger. Confusion. Fear. Fear so strong it seemed to be alive. Artie couldn't help but shudder. There was something vile in the air. "What?"

"The Tuskens . . ." Anakin croaked, still staring straight ahead. His jaw tightened, face contorted against a memory, and Artie thought she'd never seen someone in so much pain. "The whole camp . . . I killed them. Men, women . . . the children." The last word seemed to hurt him; he flinched like someone put a knife in his chest. "I slaughtered them all . . . I wanted to. So I did, and . . . I can't bear it. It's the worst thing I've ever done."

Artie couldn't move. Her arms and legs were cold and stiff and she may as well have been carbon-frozen. He'd slaughtered an entire village of Tuskens because they'd killed his mother. How was she supposed to react? Was it nobility or madness? Should she console him or condemn him? The Tuskens were mindless monsters that preyed on the helpless—so was this a victory? A relief, for there was one less clan to worry about? Maybe that would be the simplest way out . . . but something about Anakin's reaction told Artie this was nothing they could take lightly. He had done this in anger. He'd wanted vengeance. Payback. All the things Jedi were supposed to be above. She knew, deep in his heart, it terrified him. It terrified her.

"Let's . . . let's go inside," Artie said gently. Warily. She took his hand and guided him to his feet. She assumed Anakin would let go of her fingers, but when he didn't, she took it as an invitation to hold on tighter. "You need to rest."

"I'm not sleeping," he said at once.

"I didn't say sleep," Artie assured him softly. She led them down the crumbly slant of the plateau. With every step, Shmi's grave shrunk until you couldn't see the marker if you glanced back. Artie fought to keep calm. "We can talk about this. Really, you can trust me. I can listen."

Anakin's jaw twitched and he did not meet her eye. "I know. I do trust you." He went quiet for several moments. "But you'll feel different about me if I tell you everything. You'll think I'm insane."

"I won't," Artie insisted immediately. "Of course I won't." She wasn't sure if that was true, but honesty didn't seem to be what Anakin needed right then. "I just want to help you."

"You can't," he said. "No one can. I can't take this back."

They walked on silently; Artie could not think of a thing to say. He was right, after all. Nothing could reverse what he'd done. Nothing could change anything—bring Shmi back, bring the Tuskens back, nothing. Fate was fate and it was the only constant in the galaxy, and she could not help but wonder . . . what did this mean for Anakin? Would the Council find out? If they did, would they punish him? Expel him? Suddenly Artie shared his worry profoundly—they weren't even supposed to be on Tatooine.

They made it back to the homestead and no one said a word as they approached; Padmé was sitting quietly in the courtyard, a cup held daintily in her hands and a deep furrow in her brow; Beru sat across from her, explaining what Artie overheard to be how Cliegg fell in love with Shmi. Objectively, the story was pleasant, a sort of Who Woulda Thought? tale, but something about it didn't sit right with Artie. No matter how one phrased it, Cliegg had bought Shmi Skywalker. Before she was anything to him, she was property. Subhuman. No part of that brought romance to mind, and the look on Padmé's face told her she agreed.

Cliegg and Owen were a little way away in one of the garages, so Artie ushered Anakin through one of the doorways and into what looked like a common room. It was snug and sweltering but at least there they wouldn't be overheard. Anakin ventured past Artie as she stayed near the door for a moment, peering through a window to make sure no one had gotten curious and decided to follow them. Satisfied that no one had, Artie turned around. She was met with Anakin holding the hilt of his lightsaber out to her.

Artie jumped back slightly. "What—"

"Take it," he said.

Artie looked from him to the saber. "What are you doing?"

"I don't deserve to have this right now," Anakin murmured, eyes intent on her. "I need someone I trust to hold on to it until I've . . . until I've worked through everything."

Artie's heart hammered. What was he asking of her? "It's not that simple," she protested. "You're not thinking straight. You're—you're in pain, you feel guilty . . . you can't give me your lightsaber. It's—"

"My life," Anakin finished for her. "I know." His free hand grasped her arm and he leaned in closer, face urgent and eyes pleading. "I know what I'm asking. But I need you to do this. I . . . acted out of hatred at the village. And I still . . . feel it. I hate those . . . those animals. But I—"

"Don't say you shouldn't hate them," Artie interjected. "They killed your mother. You have a right to."

"Not to do what I did!" he raised his voice, gripped her arm tighter. "Do not try and justify it, because I'll believe it. I'll believe you. You didn't see what I left behind, it—" he broke off. Anakin shut his eyes tight for a moment and placed his lightsaber in Artie's palm. He closed her fingers around the cool metal. "Please. I don't trust myself right now. But I trust you."

Artie knew she must look terrified. Well, she was terrified. His life in my hands. It didn't make sense. They'd known each other for little over a week—what, they kiss twice and now she's the only person Anakin trusts? He really couldn't be thinking right. It couldn't be her. She wasn't special. How could he possibly put so much faith in her?

She swallowed hard. "I . . . what if something happens? What if you need it?"

"I only need it in a fight," Anakin replied, "and I'm not looking for one."

Artie shifted and clutched the saber with both hands. Up close, she realized the details, the craftsmanship of it. It was distinctly Anakin in a way she couldn't explain, constructed carefully, patiently. Built to last. Strangely, the canister was warm to touch, like the kyber crystal inside never really deactivated. Always ignited, always ready. Yes, distinctly like Anakin.

Artie sighed. "Okay. I'll hold on to it. So long as you trust me."

Anakin looked considerably relieved. Even smiled slightly. "Thank you," he said, "really." He gathered Artie against him and despite her shaking, she held him just as tight. Her hand gripped the folds in his cloak as she tried to anchor herself to the moment. What kind of mess was this? It was all ridiculous—Artie would never see him again once they returned to Coruscant. He'd be swept up by the Order, she'd be whisked off back to the Senate offices, and that would be that. But here he was handing off his lightsaber—his only possession—and acting like they had a lifetime left together.

So Artie fought to stay in the moment, pressed close enough to him to feel his heart withering inside his chest.

• • •

UNFORTUNATELY, THE MOMENT COULD NOT LAST. EVENING CAME, WITH IT A PAINFULLY QUIET SUPPER, and to cap the day off, Artie realized in their haste to leave the ship she had left her bag onboard. Anakin had offered to retrieve it, but Artie was eager for a few moments alone. Lightsaber awkwardly pocketed, she set off for the ship.

Artie had assumed she'd use the walk to organize her thoughts, and yet the opposite happened—she went completely absentminded. She did not even notice when she actually came upon Padmé's ship until her toe struck a landing leg. So disoriented was Artie's thinking that she did not realize behind the ship's breadth was a stranger's airspeeder. She did not hear the extra pair of footsteps, did not see a second shadow cross hers. Not until it was far too late.

Artie didn't even see who bludgeoned her on the back of the head. She only felt splitting agony and her knees gave out but did not meet hard-packed sand. Careful arms caught her, turned her over so the suns basked upon her face. A hand moved hair away from her face. Artie opened her eyes what little fraction she could manage.

"My Artemis," Lysander Auletes said softly, shifting her body in his arms. He put one arm under her knees and the other beneath her shoulder blades and lifted her off the ground. "Home at last."

His pointed face and ash blonde hair were the last things Artie saw before darkness folded over her eyes and she was gone from the universe.

note.
ooohohohohooho lawd