Author's Notes: I'm a
spoiler-addict. I admit it! I love spoilers! They are my life, they are what
will sustain me until Episode II! What's the point of me admitting this? Well…this
little story was written under the influence of spoilers. It's based on a scene
that's pretty much confirmed to happen in Episode II, and I loved the idea, so
I wrote it. I had to write it. Especially after I saw there were no spoiler-influenced
Ani/Padmé fics here last time I checked. In other, much simpler words, if you're
staying spoiler-free (you have great self-discipline if so), don't read this.
This spoils a very sweet Ani/Padmé scene. At least, it's supposed to, depending
on the reliability of big, spoiler-packed sites like www.theforce.net and www.aldera.net. For
those who lack that self-discipline or just plain want to spoil the entire
movie (me for one), I hope you like this. It's short and hopefully sweet.
Please excuse typos and such.
Disclaimer: I don't own
Anakin, Padmé, Padmé's family or home, or Anakin's mom Shmi. I don't own Naboo
or Tatooine or the plot idea for this story (that's own either by Lucasfilm or
an elaborate schemer out to raise the high hopes of Ani/Padmé fans). All I own
is…um…*thinks hard*…well…
An Angel With a Soothing
Presence
The clairvoyant dreams were few, but when they came, they
came with force and extreme reliability. Sketchy though they were, they offered
faint outlines of what was to come, and usually happened in times of danger.
This was an explanation as to why Anakin Skywalker had
just woken from one that morning. This was a time of danger, and his
clairvoyant abilities seemed aware of that.
Anakin tenderly pressed at his stomach, checking to see
that his ribs were still in place, strange as that may sound, because they felt
broken. In fact, every bit of him felt broken even though he still lay on the
bed, not the floor. He wondered if someone had beaten him with a club while he
slept or something.
His fingers made contact with his stomach and he sucked
in his breath sharply as pain shot through him.
"Ow," he informed the dark room, "that hurt like hell."
It offered no reply, leaving him with his churning
thoughts and aching body and no escape.
Sitting up and trying to block out the pain that wracked
his body, he glanced out the glass balcony door to assess the time. The reds
and golds peeking up over the horizon told him it was dawn, and he moaned.
Anakin had hoped to catch up on his sleep during his time
on Naboo. This could almost be considered a vacation, although it really
wasn't.
He'd been assigned as a bodyguard to Senator Padmé
Amidala after there'd been two assassination attempts on her, little time in
between them, and so far that job had entitled he stay with her at all times,
ride a ship to Naboo, meet the new Queen, and now, visit Padmé's family's home.
And sleep. Sleep in a bed in a room with no Obi-Wan over him telling him that
he needed to train, not sleep.
Heaven. Anakin almost thought he'd died and gone to
heaven.
But, no, this dream came along and reminded him that he
wasn't in heaven; he was just in his own little safe part of the world: hell
was all around him.
Eyes adjusted to the light now, Anakin hauled himself to
his feet with the help of the nightstand, and wobbled, still aching, over to
the balcony door. He unlocked it and slid it open, blinking against the pink
light and breathing in the fresh, sweet Naboo air, trying not to think about
what he'd just seen. Trying not to let himself realize it was "one of those
dreams." A dream that told the future, not a dream that involved a certain
senator parading, naked, into his room and saying, "Take me now, Ani!"
He groaned as he lowered himself down on the floor of the
balcony and crossed his legs in the meditation style. It was as natural to him
as breathing now: when you sit on the floor, you sit that way.
A lukewarm breeze ruffled his unkempt air and cooled his
burning-from-pain face.
So this was what it felt like to be beaten to death,
Anakin mused.
This thought sobered him, and, fight it as he might've,
he rifled through the dream he'd just had.
It was as hazy as most of his dreams of the future were,
but the pain had been much more real. The pain was usually gone by now if the
dream entitled it.
His mother. It had been her, that outline, and he'd known
it right from the beginning. He didn't want to believe it, though. Was his
mother feeling like this? Aching like this? Broken like this? Was she being
beaten? Or was that some cruel idea his mind had thought up? Something his mind
used to remind him that hell wasn't gone yet?
A gust blew his Padawan braid up against his face, and,
slight as that was, it reminded him that he was a Jedi, after all, and the
"Chosen One," for that matter, whatever that meant. He became aware of how his
legs were crossed, and, sighing because he hated this part of being a Jedi, he
closed his eyes and reached inside himself.
Anakin was horrible at meditation. He and Obi-Wan had
tried to work on it for ten years now, and Anakin still hated doing it. He got
only so far before something broke inside him and he couldn't find out anything
more than he had when he'd started.
Still, he tried. If there was any moment for meditation
and thinking, this was it. He loosened his body, focusing on relieving the
phantom pain, and slowed his breathing. The cold sweat on him from the dream
dried in the wind as he moved more deeply inside himself.
His clairvoyant dreams were always remembered. They never
faded. They had a certain formula to them, one that helped Anakin identify them
and their reliability: they weren't clear, they felt real, they were always
remembered just as they happened, and, somehow, they surged with the Force.
Anakin could always feel it, weaving through his very self, strong and
prominent, when he had those dreams.
The more reliable dreams always pertained pain of some
sort, if it be a broken arm or a broken heart. The more intense the pain, the
more reliable the dream.
"And, damn," Anakin muttered ruefully, "I feel like I was
just run over by a whole herd of banthas."
He sunk inside himself, deeply analyzing, and the further
he got, the more uneasy he felt. There was something wrong. Something having to
do with his mother and pain. Not a good combination.
His heart thumped strangely against his ribcage. It felt
kind of like it did when Padmé was in his range of vision. He'd thought only
she could make his heart do that…
What he thought was only five minutes proved to be more
like two hours. He was in a trance, something that was supposed to happen
because of meditation but never happened to him because he never went far
enough.
What jogged him out of this trance, though, was a voice
and the sound of movement. "Anakin? You in here?"
He suddenly became aware, again, of the breeze and now,
the sun falling over his face. He opened his eyes and saw that it had risen and
that now it was around eight in the morning. And that voice and sound of
movement was Padmé.
He felt her presence now, coursing through him, and the
realization usually would have made his heart speed up. But he was too worried.
He felt sick with anxiety for his mother, now that the pain was gone, and
wondered, desperately, if that pain would ever leave her like it had him.
He shut his eyes tightly, trying to focus again on his mother;
he could see Padmé later, but his mother's pain seemed to contradict that
thought about her.
"Ani?"
In his mind, he saw her peek out onto the balcony, saw
her see him sitting there. "Um, Ani? Mom has breakfast…"
He didn't reply, but he felt better with her standing
there. The anxiety lessened and his heart slowed down. Maybe his mom was okay.
Respecting the fact that he was meditating and obviously
didn't want to be disturbed, she turned to leave. "You can eat later if you
want."
"Don't go," Anakin said in a weirdly strangled voice. "Please."
Padmé stopped and glanced quizzically back at him.
"Your presence is soothing," he explained softly, eyes
still clamped shut.
Pausing, obviously startled a little bit, Padmé watched
him silently, considering. He felt her thinking as though her thoughts were
solid, but then, suddenly, those thoughts just seemed to vanish and she sat
down on the floor, so closely next to him that their legs were touching.
He felt immensely better, and, seeing her clearly with
his mind's eye, reached out to take her hand. She permitted it and squeezed his
comfortingly, not questioning because she saw he was hurting and respected
that.
Her hand felt soft and tiny and fit perfectly into his.
She wove her fingers through his much larger ones, and sat quietly next to him,
accepting him without question.
He was reminded of all the times he'd woken up in the
middle of the night, crying from a horrible nightmare, and his mother had
rushed to his bedside and held him until he felt better.
Except his mother was on Tatooine, in danger, in hell,
and he was here, on Naboo, in heaven, woken up from another horrible nightmare
that wasn't just a dream, with his angel, not his mom, holding his hand and
soothing his aching and worrying heart.
Feedback is something
very greatly appreciated by me. May I have some please?