The Long Road Back

Chapter Five: Insight

~~~~~~~~~~

Fishing was soooo relaxing.

Padmé adjusted the pillows behind her head and propped a foot on the side of the boat. She'd been fishing for twenty whole minutes now and was as relaxed as she could get. Reaching down beside her, she lifted her travel mug and took a dainty sip, grimacing slightly at the taste of the ale.

She wasn't much of a drinker and didn't really care for alcohol at all, but the man in the fishing supply shop had told her all the really serious fisherman drank ale. Of course he'd only told her that after spending ten minutes telling her how stupid she'd been to plant ivy. Unfortunately, it wasn't looking like the story of her war with the ivy was going to die down. Indeed, it appeared to be gaining speed. With any luck, something would happen soon to someone else that would eclipse her war with the ivy.

She'd decided she was going to be a real fisherman and drink ale. Go all out. Give it her best. A real fisherman. Well, aside from all that cleaning and gutting stuff. She'd be sporting and just catch them and then....

Oh my, she thought, smothering a yawn. I'm getting sleepy. Maybe I'll close my eyes for a minute.

An hour later, she was rudely awakened to the sensation of floating in water. She was floating. The boat had sprung a leak and was sinking.

With a roll of her eyes, Padmé left her supplies to the fishes and swam for shore.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Lord Vader, you have an anger problem."

Under the cover of his mask, Anakin rolled his eyes. Yeah, that's obvious. Where did this loser get his degree from? But, he didn't seem interested in getting Anakin to talking about his childhood, his mother, Padmé, or how he felt when looking at Padmé's grave, so that was a good thing. This man had arrived right after his last doctor died and was the only one left who'd consent to treat him. All the others claimed they had a full load of patients already.

"What you need is to learn how to work through your rages in a healthy manner."

Healthy manner, Vader snorted. Choking people who annoy us isn't a healthy expression of our ire towards them?

He sighed and tamped down Vader for the fifth time that morning. No, he told Vader. Choking people isn't a particularly good idea.

Look on the bright side, Anakin. We have it down to a minute maximum for death. That must be some kind of record. Maybe not the sort recorded in the Galactic Book of Records, but one to be proud of....

No, no, no. Anakin grimaced. Vader was hard to ignore this morning. Maybe he shouldn't have skipped breakfast to save time. He always was grouchy in the mornings. Not to mention the lack of reply from his mystery woman was beginning to fray his nerves. He'd sent her five letters and received four replies. The wait for a reply to his last letter was interminable. Had she decided not to write to him after all? Had he been to pushy in again asking for a picture? Or maybe he'd scared her off with his enthusiastic questions about her hobbies? Was he coming on too strong? Or not strong enough? Was five letters in two weeks too much? Or too little? Maybe he should write to her every day.

"I have just what you need, Lord Vader." The doctor pushed a datapad across the desk. "Take a look."

There was a schedule on the screen, dates one week apart stretching for three months. Anakin frowned. "Explain."

"You are in luck. We have one opening left. Our anger management classes are quite popular. We teach basic control techniques--"

Basic? Didn't he need something a little more extensive? After all, he was good at losing control. Didn't he need an advanced class or something? "Basic," he asked.

"Just fill out the form and show up. We'll teach you all you need to know."

All? Well, that sounded good. Maybe he'd sign up as Anakin now that he was breathing better. They finished the session by discussing the complete imbeciles he had to work with and Anakin left feeling much better. He didn't even have the impulse to choke anyone until after dinner.

Reaching his quarters, he was delighted to find a letter waiting. Anakin again tortured himself, taking a leisured shower and eating a light snack before settling down to read.

"Dear In Darkness,

I know my reluctance to speak face to face or share a picture of myself must be frustrating for you. You, though, have not exactly been forthcoming of your appearance either except to mention that you bear physical scars from your job. I am curious of you as well. Are you blond or dark haired? What color are your eyes? These are things I wish to know.

As for myself, I shall give you a description if you shall return the favor in your reply. I am small of stature, petite of frame and while I am not excessively curvy, neither am I without curves. I make time for exercise daily so I am toned and trim. I have a healthy tan from the time I spend outdoors, and my hair and eyes are brown. I have been called attractive. Does that suffice for now, my enquiring suitor? Or have I merely increased your thirst? I fear I am not good at looking in a mirror and describing myself."

Anakin sighed and closed his eyes. Why wouldn't she send a picture? She wouldn't explain her reluctance, dancing about the issue. Oh, who am I to talk, he told himself. I do exactly the same thing.

"Thank you for your continuing interest in my many varied hobbies. Yes, my garden is growing well. Like a weed, some would say. I try to work in it every day and sometimes will spend an entire afternoon tending the yard. Such fun I have! No, the fishing didn't turn out to be a good idea after all. I'd barely started when my boat sprung a leak and I ended up having to swim for shore. I lost all of my equipment and fervently hope the fish are enjoying it all. As for my other hobbies, I'm making progress on several projects and have discovered that not even the local wildlife will eat my cooking mistakes and they'll eat anything. I'm afraid that as a gourmet cook I'm a great debater."

He thought that over a minute. Unfortunately, the mention of debating brought forth images of Padmé and he vowed to ask what, if any, political experience Waiting had. Then he thought on it some more and wondered who had done the cooking when she was married if she wasn't very good at it? Had her husband cooked? Or had either of them had the sort of income to allow for help? Another question he might ask later when he knew her better.

"But, practice makes perfect, as I am well aware. Some day I will make a palatable stew. Until then, I suppose I'll eat cheese and crackers and anything already made up. This cooking stuff is harder than my mother makes it look."

Ah-hah! Her mother was still alive. Anakin smiled. He'd learned something new about her.

"Now tell me, what is it you do exactly? I'm always interested in the jobs others hold, but I'm afraid you'd find my job history tedious and boring. I began my career in the field of public relations, then had a desk job for years that was quite frustrating and stressful most days. Sometimes, I thought I'd never accomplish a single thing. I was forced into early retirement, but don't let that scare you. I'm only in my thirties. It was a downsizing matter. I simply wasn't needed anymore.

I can't wait to read your reply.

Affectionately, W."

He considered the question she'd posed to him with all seriousness. How could he explain without explaining what he did? It really wasn't the thing to tell her he was Darth Vader, henchman to the Emperor and pet apprentice. That might really scare her off. Well, unless she was like all the women that kept replying to Tarkin's ad. Anakin was amazed how many freaks there were in the galaxy who found Imperial uniforms sexy. Tarkin could barely schedule them all into his evenings.

After several tries, he had a reply that he thought skirted the issue nicely.

"Dear Waiting,

You asked what I do and the answer is a simple one. I work for the empire. What more can be said of that? I have a job I've come to despise that has brought me more grief than joy from the outset. This position lost me things and people dear to me, for who remains near the empire if they do not have to?

Your response, I will anticipate to that, is why not quit and leave it all behind? Why not go away somewhere? Well, it's a bit complicated. I can't simply leave no matter how I now wish it so. I am stuck here and see no way out of it. When I think of spending the next ten, twenty, thirty years of my life here, I can't breathe. I feel claustrophobic, trapped by my own decisions.

Not many people would fully understand a living hell of one's own making, but that is where I am. For example, I was married once, with a child on the way. I made a decision I thought was good for our future and it was disastrous. I'd made the decision in a moment of weakness and lost both of them as consequence. A hell of my making and I live with that every day.

So you see, Waiting, I am a damaged man and somewhat bitter about my past transgression. Still, I am changed from the man I was then and I do hope for the better. I will not continue as I was. I must become new, reborn from ashes.

Yours, ID"

Okay, maybe he sounded a little creepy, but was it too much? The whole 'reborn from ashes' line smacked of gallows humor, considering how he'd ended up on Mustafar. Before he could second guess himself, he sent the letter, and spent the next three days in agony until her reply arrived.

"Dear In Darkness,

I sympathize with the loss of your family, for I too lost a child. Two children, actually. The pain of that is tremendous. We share that, you and I.

As for your job, you are correct in my question. Why not leave? If it is killing you -- and it sounds as though it is stifling the life from you -- then you should turn from it before it destroys you completely. Consider this -- there is responsibility and there is sheer unapologetic stupidity. You wrote that you are stuck there, that it is complicated and you can't leave though you want to. Ask yourself why you are stuck? What are those specific complications? What is it exactly that keeps you chained to a job you despise?

Responsibility is making decisions for your life and accepting the consequences of your choices without blaming others. It's making a living. It's doing things you don't always want to do, but are necessary. However, stupidity is doing the above when it harms yourself and those around you. It's self-destructive and if you are truly wishing to 'be reborn' then you must leave that job to save yourself.

From what you have told me, staying there is stupidity. Get out of there before it really is too late. You're a good man. Don't stay there.

Affectionately, W."

Her reply stung more than a little. It was as though she knew all the things he'd done; from the younglings, to Padmé and beyond.

Stupidity is doing the above when it harms yourself and those around you. It's self-destructive and if you are truly wishing to 'be reborn' then you must leave that job to save yourself.

She was right and he knew it; had known it. Still, it stung to have it come from another person. He'd made a misguided attempt at responsibility and ended up wallowing in her definition of stupidity.

Ouch.

He could not remain Palpatine's apprentice, for Palpatine was the reason he was stuck there. Kill Palpatine and his problem was solved. He could leave. Killing Palpatine would also end much evil in the galaxy. He no longer had doubts that Palpatine was evil.

Kill Palpatine. Vader stirred. That's a tall order, Anakin. He's kept us too occupied in other areas to make a decent attempt on his life. I'm willing to try though. Have you a plan?

He ignored the voice, staring at the letter.

She called him a good man. Did she know him well enough through these few letters to make such a judgment? And if he was a good man, was it his duty to rid the galaxy of Palpatine's brand of evil?

Anakin wept.

~~~~~~~~~~

I am the worst husband in the galaxy, Obi-Wan thought, slugging down the drink Dormé had brought him. She had loads of new clothes she was trying to model for him and all he could think of was Padmé. Padmé here, Padmé there. He put a hand to his temple and rubbed. For the first few minutes of this impromptu fashion show, he'd been quite enthusiastic about Dormé's clothes. She loved clothes and he loved having her happy. Or rather, she loved shopping, and he loved having her happy. But then one piece brought back a memory and from there on, he'd been imagining Padmé.

The really perplexing thing about it was that the imaginings weren't the romantic sort. Well, except the ones he had when Dormé had on that nightgown with the pearls. Those images embarrassed him. He always saw a happy, smiling Padmé then, that smile teasing and flirtatious. No, the rest of the imaginings were heaped with sadness, as though there was nothing else in the world. Indeed, in the galaxy.

Which wasn't Dormé's intention. She'd bought these clothes in part to please him. He knew that, but Obi-Wan couldn't be enthused about them. He was too distressed by his continuing imaginings of Padmé. Why was he seeing her all the time in his mind?

I really am the worst husband in the galaxy. My beautiful wife is having our child and here I am thinking of her best friend. It's not right. Get a grip on yourself, Kenobi. He shook his head. Was it possible the clothes had been Padmé's? Maybe, he thought. Her family was on Naboo and they would be in charge of her personal effects. Dormé did shop at a store on Naboo. That was a possibility and it would explain why there was a sense of familiarity to several of the pieces.

He watched his wife through the doorway as she changed back into what she'd been wearing earlier that day. Did it even matter if the clothes had been Padmé's? Really? No, he told himself. What matters is that Dormé is happy. You are not the worst husband in the galaxy and you will ignore those strange imaginings. They are nothing. That's final.

Course of action decided upon, he smiled as Dormé emerged from their bedroom holding a silky, next to nothing slip of fabric against her.

"Okay, Ben. Now imagine me wearing this in a few months, when it will actually fit over my belly." She struck a pose, her arms held out and up, the fabric slithering to one side, leaving her growing belly uncovered. Dormé frowned and tugged it back, then tried to strike the pose again. Again, the fabric slipped to the side. "Hmm. This isn't working. Come here and hold it in place, will you?"

He got up from his seat and walked over to her, holding the fabric as directed. It was easy to imagine her in this slip of nothing, stretched out on their bed with her hair long and loose. Releasing the fabric, he cupped her face and pressed a long kiss to her mouth.

"What was that for?" She tossed the gown onto the nearest chair.

"You are the most beautiful woman in the galaxy." The comment made her blush. He loved that he could make her blush without even trying.

"You're teasing me." One hand pushed her hair from her face. It had long ago escaped the braid she'd put it in and he liked it like this, slightly messy. Disheveled.

"I would never tease you, my love."

"Liar," she said, but the remark ended with a smile and a twinkle in her eyes. "Do you like the clothes?"

"Some of them. Others I'm not crazy about."

"Which ones? I can return them."

Obi-Wan ran a hand through her hair, enjoying the texture, the sensation. "It doesn't matter if I like them. If you like them, then keep them. I am not the one who'll be wearing them." He embraced her.

Dormé straightened his tunic. "You'd look pretty silly in them, that's for sure." Leaning close, she rested her head to his shoulder. Her hand slipped inside his tunic to rub at his chest. "I'm hungry. What's say we have an early supper?"

"We just had lunch an hour ago, before you began trying on that mountain of clothes."

"Oh." Dormé pulled back. Her smile faded away. She touched her belly, smoothed a hand over it and tried to tug her shirt down over it. The hem scooted up as soon as she let go of it. "Only an hour? I could've sworn it was later. I'm dying of hunger here."

Not only had she become hot all the time, she was hungry all the time, constantly nibbling on something. She'd jokingly referred to it as grazing like a shaak, but he'd noticed the tears starting to come whenever she tried to make a joke about it anymore. Nothing he said could convince her she wasn't huge. "We'll picnic," he told her. "Spread out food on a blanket and sit on the floor. I'll read to you. Something fun."

She cast a glance at the floor. "I might not be able to get back up."

"Now you're jesting, Dormé. You're spryer than I am." That held truth. She claimed to be lumbering and slow, though that was far from the truth. Actually, the only thing different about her to look at her was the bit of belly she had now. She still moved with her usual lithe grace and had nowhere near the waddle she claimed. If she wore a structured top of some kind instead of the stretchy shirts she favored, it wouldn't be obvious she was even pregnant. "We'll picnic and that's final."