Disclaimer: No, I do not own Star Wars.

Summary: Padmé Amidala's death is a sudden, but not entirely unexpected. They are at war, and she is a public figure. However, the consequences of one senator's death may bring about the end of an era.

Or

Obi-wan fumbles in the dark when his former padawan disappears without word.

Relationships: Obi-wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker. Past Anakin Skywalker/Padmé Amidala.

Warnings: Mature content. +Major property damage à la Skywalker. Oh, and miscommunication, it is Obikin after all.

AN: This takes place during the 'Crisis on Naboo' episode, the deception arc. This is when Obi-wan fakes his death and attempts to infiltrate a criminal circle in order to prevent an attack on the Chancellor. Instead of Padmé running to their aid after Dooku gets away, an explosion is set off inside the building.

Her funeral was held in Theed, Naboo. It was an outrageous affair, people lined the overfilled streets as they took farewell of their senator and former queen. Only Padmé could create this feeling of intimacy amongst a crowd. Only she could, despite the state of the corrupt Republic, bring all her people together, make them gather on the streets as her coffin was brought down from the palace and then drifted along towards the mausoleum.

When he saw her lying on the satin bedding, in that fragile glass-coffin, it felt as if the force was gripping at his throat, restricting his breathing.

It had been created just to display her beauty for the people of her home. For them to honour her and marvel around her corpse as if she was merely a means of entertainment. Or perhaps she was meant to be a symbol: a paragon of virtue–hah!- or martyr defending the Republic; defending democracy.

As she was brought down the murky lit streets, tears fell down his cheeks. He did not wipe them,

(unrepentant, unashamed)

because there was no point in hiding. There had never been one.

Mandalorian wind blossoms decorated the dark hair that was spread out across the bedding. She appeared like a sleeping angel (the irony) as she had so many times before, when he had been by her side. But her skin was terribly off-colour, pasty white, not the fine porcelain that he had dragged his fingertips across just weeks before. This was an artificial creation, an unreal presentation. The thick material of her gown concealed the injuries her body still sustained: the mangled lower-body and the sheer physical damage that had instantly killed her. All realities had been covered up in falsehood, as if to give death an appearance of beauty and tranquility. As if to say: 'do not fear, our enemies might kill us but we will have the last laugh in death; in beauty' and Anakin despised it. But it was a typical Nabooian idea.

Death was not serene. It mattered little whether one joined the force or not. Death was messy, bloody, physically revolting. But worse than that, was what it did, what it took. It stole pieces of who you were, until there was nothing left. His wife had been everything. She had been his life.

As a child love had been his only freedom, his only choice. Love had been the only thing that he had that was his. It was immaterial, but it was always there. His mother's love and his own. Becoming a Jedi had stunted and restricted. It had taken the reason to breathe from him. When he had married Padmé he had been bursting with life. For once, his life had been surrounded with colour brought on by truly feeling, by living entirely. Love could never be ephemeral, it was a constant, ever-lasting road to travel. It meant everything. More than travelling to all stars in every galaxy, because love was being everywhere at once. And therefore, everything was nothing without Padmé.

She had freed him. From slavery. From the pain of not loving. And here she was, brought down the street with flowers decorating her corpse, mocking who she had been,

(beautiful, even in the stillness of death)

what a luminous and loving person she had been.

He hadn't known how to handle being a Jedi. It had attempted to destroy who he was: who all of them were (or could have been). Obi-Wan might believe in the code, but it was ridiculous! All people loved. And with it they grew and shaped, and became.

Love was everything. To Anakin, love made life worth living. But now, his reason to continue on was gone. His hope for the future had diminished into nothingness. Only death and destruction would come with this war, with Dooku and the Separatists.

What had he been doing when she–? Playing his role in the game. Being a Jedi. A supposed peace-keeper that were forced into battle and into situations that had nothing to do with them. But the Council insisted on being a part of everything. On always playing nice with the politicians. He knew that they always gave way to the Republic law, even when said law directly went against their beliefs.

He had been playing his role by protecting the Chancellor. Anakin had been mad, raging over Dooku's tactics, over the Council's deceptions and his own master's cruelty.

How could he put me in that position? How could he make a mockery of this–of death, of the absolute divide of our souls? How could he use me like that? Do I mean nothing to him? Of course not, Obi-Wan Kenobi was first and foremost a Jedi.

And then life had stopped. After Dooku managed to run off, an explosion had extinguished the only light in his life. The building had shook with the blast of it. And Anakin, for all his strength and all his accomplishments, had collapsed as he felt her instantly disappear from the consciousness of the world. He had not been able to protect his wife, or his mother for that matter. He hadn't been able to save the slaves. Why? Because he was fighting a war for the republic. Because of Dooku. Because he was a Jedi.

Dooku had been responsible. As he always was, taking his troopers from the living world and now his own wife.

When Anakin managed to get to her, she hadn't been breathing. He had been screaming, the force had crushed columns around him, bringing them down on them all. Obi-Wan had spoken to him in a soothing tone, attempting to placate.

But Obi-Wan was dead

In the end, he had placed a hand on Anakin's cheek, having the force put to him sleep. When he woke, it was to a nightmare. To a grey speckled reality devoid of her, of love.

And it was Dooku's fault.