The Long Road Back

Chapter Seven: Progress?

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Padmé settled down to write. The metalworking hadn't been a good idea, so she was at loose ends at present. She'd decided to write a novel. Surely that couldn't be too difficult. She began with a brief outline of the plot. A romance would be good, she decided. Maybe she could eventually have something decent enough for publication, not to mention she could use personal experiences in the story.

Writing occupied her for many days, but she couldn't seem to stick with her outline. No, she kept writing scenes here and there and trying to stick them approximately where they needed to go. Then there was the little matter of the death scenes. She'd written about ten different death scenes for the heroine and three for the hero. Romances weren't supposed to have death scenes, were they? She'd never really read too many romances, not like Sola had, but by definition Padmé didn't think death scenes were allowed.

Perhaps she'd make the story an adventure. ID, or Ani, as she was certain it was him by now, had expressed an interest in her writing, so she sent him an outline and a sample of her first chapter. Well, the fifth version of it anyway. He returned it with several enthusiastic ideas of where she could take the plot. He suggested having the hero and heroine kidnapped and forced to fight animals to survive -- all for the entertainment of their captors. Or maybe the heroine could be marked for assassination and the hero could protect her.

Padmé abandoned the idea of writing a full novel. All her ideas were too close to home. It was said to 'write what you know' but this was ridiculous. She couldn't do it. Her story ideas all ended tragically. Still, she found she could write a good romance up to a certain point of plot, so she concentrated on that. The build-up. Sexual tension. Then the sex. And more tension and more....

~~~~~~~~~~

Boy, that 'Waiting' sure could write! Anakin sat down with her latest short story. She'd moved on from the idea of a novel and settled in to writing pretty steamy erotica. What a gift! Who cared if she didn't know how to write a happy ending? She could write erotica that didn't read like a manual.

His dreams that night were wonderful scenes of himself and Padmé, but in the dreams, Padmé was 'Waiting' -- which made no sense at all. He went with it though. It was just a dream after all, hazy and fuzzy and nothing like the dreams he'd once had, so he felt safe in classifying it as only a dream. She read him bits of her stories and they acted them out in the meadow near the waterfall.

Anakin woke late the next morning and had to scramble to make his meeting with Palpatine on time. Fortunately, Palpatine didn't notice or care that he was ten minutes late. He merely smiled and held out a small thin card.

"A little something for you, Vader."

He took the card, looked at it. A season pass to the opera house. That was nice of Palpatine. What was he up to? He never gave gifts. Not that Anakin was complaining. The choral parts of the funeral dirges were quite relaxing. "Thank you, Master."

"Since you enjoyed the performance so well. All work and no play makes a very dull Sith. Enjoy the pass. It's for an unlimited number of performances. Go as often as you like." Palpatine chortled and seemed close to choking himself with his mirth. "Now, I won't keep you. I know you have an appointment shortly."

Anakin's psychiatrist had a different reaction to the season pass.

"A season pass to the tragedy series at the opera house." He sighed. "Not to quell your enthusiasm for music, Lord Vader, but have you thought this through? Funeral dirges aren't what I had in mind."

"They're not." Anakin asked, genuinely puzzled. "But they're soothing. I even bought their performance series of the season so far. I listen to it as I'm going to sleep. 'Maiden's Lament' put me to sleep three nights this week already."

A strange expression crossed the man's face. "Uh-huh. I see."

First he wants us to listen to music and then he tells us it's the wrong kind. Where did this loser get his degree from again? He can't be a real doctor, Anakin. He changes his mind on treatment too much. Next thing you know, he'll have us submerged in water, claiming it's good therapy.

Shut up, Vader, I'm trying to figure out why dirges are the wrong kind of music.

Vader snorted.

"Let's discontinue the music therapy at present, though I suppose if you honestly like the music you bought, you may continue listening to it. However, at the first sign of melancholy, I want you to put it all away and make an immediate emergency appointment to see me." He tapped his fingers, pursed his lips, and shifted position in his chair. "All right, Lord Vader. With the music therapy aside, we have several other options open to us. I've been looking over your file again and you mention spending many hours aboard ships with artificial lighting. Here may be a cause of those depressive moods! I believe you may be suffering a touch of seasonal affective disorder."

Anakin thought a moment. He searched his memory for that familiar sounding diagnosis and couldn't place it. "What is it," he asked.

"Simply put, it means you have a sunlight deficiency."

"Sunlight deficiency."

Vader laughed, a great long belly laugh filled with honest mirth. This one is entertaining, Anakin. Here I thought he'd head for paint therapy or sculpting therapy, but no, he decides we need more sunlight. We're covered in this suit and we need sunlight. Amusing. You were right to keep this one around.

"You're not alone. Oh no, many of your crewmates have the disorder. If you're hesitant to go off-ship to have real sunlight, then book sessions here on the ship with the sunlights. They're wondrous, Lord Vader! Many a crewman has had his moods lifted with a session or two a week."

"What do I have to do?"

"Simply strip down and let the light bathe your skin."

He had visions of twin suns baking his skin and shuddered as that was replaced by searing heat of lava. "No thank you."

The man was silent a moment, then nodded with a knowing look. "Ahh, you're worried about burning your skin with the light."

You think, Vader asked with a touch of sarcasm.

"Something like that, Doctor."

"Oh, well we could start off small, I suppose. I'll have a lamp delivered to your quarters. All you do is wear it on your head for fifteen minutes once a day and it will begin to help. But don't wear it any longer. Fifteen minutes only."

Anakin left. Doc was good to his word. The lamp arrived that night and he began to use it right away.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dormé had gone to visit Beru and Luke, so Obi-Wan knew he'd have most of the day to meditate if he chose. He settled right down to it, but just when he was beginning to feel peace and relaxation, he heard an amused voice on his right.

"My own defiance I sense in you, Obi-Wan."

Opening his eyes, he found Qui-Gon staring at Dormé's dressing table with an expression of high humor. "You've been speaking with Master Yoda again."

"Oh yes. He blames me and my unorthodox methods for your willingness to toss aside your vows." He didn't look or sound too upset by that. In fact, he spoke rather cheerfully of the subject.

"I never tossed them aside, Master. I gave the issue of marriage much consideration before asking her. No matter how wrong our Jedi vows proclaimed marriage to be for a Jedi, it felt more so to string her along day in and day out without that state in the picture. I've been down that road before --"

"As have many of us."

He continued as though he'd not been interrupted. "--Marrying her felt right. I am not rationalizing. There was a sense of rightness when we sealed our vows to each other with a kiss."

"Can you still do your job should you be called to?"

"Yes," he replied with feeling.

"Are you so certain, Obi-Wan?" All the humor bled from Qui-Gon's face, leaving him stern and serious. "For example, if you had visions of something horrible happening to your wife, would you accept it as a possible future or would you set about trying to stop it?"

Something fervent and seeking in Qui-Gon's eyes made Obi-Wan pause and fully consider the question before replying. "Visions are not always truth. The future is hard to see because time is fluid. Little things can set a chain of events in motion that could either bring about or obliterate the initial vision." Was it his imagination, or did Qui-Gon relax just a little? "It would hurt to lose her, for I admit I love her dearly, but I believe I could let her go."

"You believe or you know? Could you live without her if need be?"

"Yes. I hope that does not happen, but if it should, I could only accept it as the will of the Force that she be taken from me."

Qui-Gon sighed, features relaxing even more. "Unorthodox my methods may be, but you certainly learned your lessons better than others ever did."

"Master?" What was this all about?

He waved a hand. "Later, Obi-Wan. I'm not ready to discuss that. Honestly, I hope your heart learned as well as your mind."

Obi-Wan stared at him a long moment. "Do you know something I don't, Master?"

Qui-Gon's grin held more than a little wryness to it. "I know many things you don't know."

"I mean--"

"I know what you mean. Remember your training on all matters." He crossed his arms, leaned against the dressing table Dormé had fashioned from metal scraps bought from the Jawas. "Above all, remember your training." His gaze slipped about the room, the humor returning to his face. "So, have you had the time or inclination to speak to your wife about her shopping addiction?"

Obi-Wan gave up the idea of meditating entirely, leaning back on his hands. "No. She enjoys shopping and it makes her happy. I'll speak with her when she becomes out of control in it."

"Thirty yards of velvet, Obi-Wan. On this planet, when will she need velvet? Did she think about that or simply buy? I believe you've reached the out of control point."

"She's thinking of future projects."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Talk with her or you'll have no room left in this house."

"She's not addicted, Master. All of these things are marked for some project or other." At Qui-Gon's skeptical stare, he nodded. "Really. Trust me. I know my wife."

~~~~~~~~~~

Dormé smoothed the last of the items she'd decided to sell and closed the boxes, carefully double-checking the shipping addresses. She wanted to make sure the clothes got to the people who'd ordered them from her. She wasn't about to keep clothes that Obi-Wan hated on her, even if he was too polite to tell her. Besides, the shopkeeper had been most rude in her letter, unwilling to even take returns as stated in her policy, and Dormé didn't see the sense in continuing to patronize her shop. Really, it wasn't like she'd asked who the woman had been! She'd just wanted to know if there were more clothes from that estate. The shopkeeper had reacted as though Dormé was trying to steal her stock.

She hated to give them up, but to keep Obi-Wan happy, she would. She'd weeded out the ones he'd tried the hardest not to make a face at and made up an ad. Even now, she couldn't believe how many people had responded. She'd meant to sell them only for what she'd paid, but the bidding on the pieces had spun out of control and she'd ended up making quite a profit, despite the damage on a couple of the pieces.

Pausing a moment, she sat on the bed. She needed to organize the house again. For awhile now she'd been completely uninterested in doing so, but that old urge was resurfacing the more she looked at her purchases piled in their boxes along the walls. Obi-Wan had left them, knowing full well that she'd take care of it someday.

Wise man. She now had her final project to take care of before she started in on the baby's room. Dormé had a wonderful idea for painting the walls....

~~~~~~~~~~

When Obi-Wan arrived home two hours later, he found Dormé organizing and Qui-Gon watching her with an expression of awe.

"Now that is in interesting meditation technique, Obi-Wan. I've never seen such concentration apart from a Jedi. She's been organizing that area for hours, completely calm and focused on the task. Not a thing stops her. Most impressive. I've seen her do this before, but never stopped to really watch her. She's...in tune."

Chuckling to himself, Obi-Wan left Qui-Gon watching Dormé and went to fix dinner. He knew Dormé would not budge until she was done, so it was up to him to make dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~

Anakin liked the light. He felt so energized after fifteen minutes. Why not do it two times a day? What could it hurt?

Sitting down to read Waiting's latest letter, he reached for the light and strapped it on his head. He hadn't felt this alert in months!

He began reading, delighted to find she'd sent him another story. Soon, he was engrossed in it, getting warmer by the second. She sure could write! He'd said it before and he'd say it again. This woman had talent. She could write this stuff professionally.

Two weeks later he was feeling very optimistic about everything. His burgeoning relationship with Waiting, his work, his chances of offing Palpatine and running away with Waiting to some peaceful planet. He was even optimistic about his therapy, though why in blazes couldn't he seem to quit talking a mile a minute? He found that whenever he spoke to anyone, he talked and talked and said anything that came to mind.

Unfortunately, Vader was rising more to the surface. He could feel him there, evidenced by those bursts of temper he'd been having. Anakin couldn't sleep anymore either, despite being tired.

Strange. Maybe if he added another ten minutes to the light sessions?

It didn't occur to him to tell his doctor.