"I can't believe they let you teach."

There were some dates that, even though twenty years had passed, were just going to stick with Anakin.

The anniversary of Padmé's death was one of them. Before the sun came out, he slipped out of the apartment and made his way down to the shore of the river. Orienting himself to face towards the fading star that pointed the way back to his galaxy, he suppressed any feeling of embarrassment and began speaking aloud.

"It's not like I'll be getting anywhere near Naboo," he murmured, looking up, "and I'm not sure what I would do with myself even if I did." He swallowed hard. "I miss you. I have for twenty years. I'll miss you for twenty more. But I'm happy again. I think you would have wanted that."

He took a moment to collect himself, staring down at the strewn bits of rock around him. "Rory knows everything. Sometimes I wonder if you and I would have worked out differently if I hadn't been such a stubborn, stupid little boy. If I had told you..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter now. You're one with the Force, far beyond caring what I'm doing with my life now."

A small smile quirked up his lips. "But you would be so damn proud of our children, Padmé. They're going to fix an entire galaxy. That they get from you. And because of them, despite everything that went wrong -- and there isn't enough "I'm sorry" in the universe to make up for what went wrong -- I don't regret what we had together."

The rising sun began blotting out the twinkle of the star. The muscles in Anakin's jaw clenched as he fought through a wave of pain and guilt. "Goodbye, Padmé," he whispered. "I'll see you here next year."

[OOC: 'stablishy!]

Anakin was in his office before workshops began, sipping coffee and staring into space.

Literally.

He'd gotten his miniature version of his galaxy up and running again.

If he seemed to be spending a great deal of time staring at a small volcanic planet, then at the calendar on his desk, well, he wasn't going to explain himself.

Anakin hadn't really moved from the spot where he'd been sitting for the last two days, except to pull out his comlink after his children had left to stare at it for a good two hours, debating whether to call or not.

As the minutes ticked by, Anakin finally picked up the comlink one final time and called Rory.

[OOC: For Rory, plz. Conversation NFB, people involved totally up for grabs.]

Anakin, if anyone was paying close attention, was banging parts of the shuttle together with slightly more than necessary force.

And was fixing something that 1) didn't need to be fixed and 2) for the fifth time that week.

He was sporting some pretty serious circles beneath his eyes hidden under the grime on his face.

Oh, yeah, he was going to be a joy to hang around with today.

[OOC: For the one what goes on shuttle rides on Mondays.]

Anakin walked into his room from a long day moping brooding hiding doing terribly important yet strangely nebulous things, slowly shut the door and slid down it until he rested on the ground with his head down on his knees.

He was 43 years old today.

He felt much, much older.

( He wasn't alone for long... )

[OOC: preplayed with the lovely and brilliant master2_whiners, conversation to continue in the comments once SPN stops being on the television...broadcast-y squirrels are free to say that Anakin was having an animated conversation with himself :)]