Accismus⋆౨ৎ˚⟡.• Anakin Skywalker⋆౨ৎ˚⟡.•

20.

The workshop was dark besides the lights from large buttons and scanners on the panelled walls. The light from the outside sun seeped in as far as the doorway would let it, before the cool dim of the underground room occupied a majority of the space.

Sol stopped at the entrance and saw Anakin to her right, aimlessly turning a screwdriver in the shifter that Padme hadn't been able to pull him away from. Sol wasn't hopeful to be able to succeed where Padme failed but would try anyway. Her palms were sweaty underneath her gloves as she remembered the last time she had spoken to Anakin. But with the knowledge Sol now had and the state of the situation, she had already let go of the hurt she once felt and would take whatever Anakin threw at her in the grief of losing his mother.

'The shifter broke...'

Anakin's voice was baseless and distant. It was more words that Sol had thought she would be able to get out of him, but they were barely of substance. He didn't look up, and his arm sagged as it turned the screwdriver. Sol bit her lip and wondered if she should have brought him some food ahead of lunch. He hadn't eaten since the previous night and was probably starving underneath his heavier emotions.

'Life seems so much simpler when you're fixing things,' he said again. A mumble threaded his words, but Sol understood them as if they were clear. 'I'm good at fixing things, always was. I could...'

Anakin didn't finish. Sol racked her brain for a thought of what to say. She knew Anakin was hurting and his attempt at filling the silence was mostly for her benefit. He acknowledged her presence, that was more than Padme received, but it only hinted at what he was really feeling.

'Fixing things is a way of bringing life to things,' she tried, her voice gentle and quiet. 'In a way, you're putting the Force into things that once had it.'

A humourless laugh left the male Padawan. He raised his head and looked at Sol, the bags under his eyes purple and deeply set into his skin. Sol didn't like to see a side of Anakin that wasn't one of mocking and jokes. Sol wouldn't admit it, but the slow-learning Padawan had grown on her, and being around him always put her in a better mood. 

But this Anakin held a cloud over his head and his mood made the workshop slightly colder. His cheeks were hiked up to his eyes in an attempt to hold back tears that were already forming, and Sol didn't know what she would do if he ended up sobbing in front of her. She was never good with emotions, yet Anakin was full of them.

'You would say that...' Anakin looked down again, a hint of genuine joke in his voice, but it was gone soon enough. 'The Force didn't help me... not this time. I still couldn't save her...'

'Sometimes, we can't save things that weren't meant to be.'

It irked Anakin to hear the wise Jedi words that he had heard all his life, but Sol was right. If the Force willed something, it happened. If Anakin's mother was meant to die last night, then it is part of the bigger destiny. Anakin hated this, he hated not being in control. It was his destiny, his life, his mother's life; why did the Force get to decide?

Anakin had turned from the shifter and faced his back to the woman who had walked further into the workshop. He stopped at the other side of the room, looking down into another panel on the island of shifters. This allowed him to hold back his tears for longer as the sight of Sol's concerned face made it harder to be strong. But he couldn't get away from her as she stayed behind him, looking at his broad shoulders and sensing his gloomy aura.

'Remember, Ani, that we're peace-makers, not miracle workers,' Sol said with the same softness as before. 'We're not all-powerful-'

'Well, I should be!'