[It's the one deck of living quarters he's had no personal experience with, but it's hard to get lost once you've been stuck in the same space for several months. He leads, perfectly capable, but he's in no real hurry to get anywhere. The hand on his arm is warm, and there's no loss of feeling in it. It's like a steadying anchor when he hadn't even been aware quite how adrift he'd been.

There's Obi-Wan, of course, an anchor in his own right, but Anakin is like the embodiment of Tatooine's twin suns; no single anchor will do.]

I think I can manage. Even if it means running up and down between decks all day.

[There's a laugh there, but he means it. Every word. It's a sense of completeness here, and he's not keen on taking it for granted. Not now, not in the future, not ever. He's still scared, fearful of what lingers in the periphery and just out of his sight, but his heart is lighter. When he smiles, he means it. Every millimeter of it. This love is an embodiment of right, and there is no one who could say otherwise. No one who could ever change his mind.

Love isn't a weakness. It's a lifeline. You said the biggest problem in the universe is that no one helps each other. And that's what love does. It isn't blinding, it isn't inhibiting, it isn't wrong.

This is how you change the galaxy.]

And this time, Obi-Wan won't even mind.

[Which is perhaps half-true. Obi-Wan would likely mind a good deal. Stopping him, however, is a different story altogether.]