"To suffering there is a limit; to fearing, none." -Sir Francis Bacon, Essays (1625) "Of Seditions and Troubles"

A/N: You guys! Ha! This initially started as one of those drabbles back in 'A Pod-Racing Jedi and a Queenly Senator,' but I was asked by two people to continue with it, and there's an idea I've been tossing around in the back of my mind for quite some time now, so we'll see where this is really headed shortly.
Initially I had no idea where I was going with this (and I still do, is it that obvious?) and it was much, much short when I first thought of it. . .

Painful Anakin/Padmé love in some respect, if you tilt your head far enough and squint.

This is only the Prologue, and I have a feeling this story is going to take some sort of darker turn at some point...
Or at least, there'll be a few near-death experiences. Those are always fun. |:

If you'll excuse me though, I have no idea when the next chapter is coming. (To some regard, I think I'm sort of making this up as I go along.)

-In all honesty, feel free to skip this, if you'd like. As important as it may eventually prove to be, I'd like to think the story gets better as it progresses.
That said, I still hope you enjoy this AU either way.

Prologue - Also known as 'We'll Get There Eventually'

There were very few things Anakin Skywalker chose to believe in. Death was not one of those more hopeful prospects.

The dried breath that passed through his lips did little to voice his opinion on the matter and it passed through the cracks in his lips in a degrading and pained manner that only further enunciated his given circumstances and the crippled body he carried alongside his own.

Put the ship down!

He cringed and tried to clear his parched throat, choking on dust and grime and the knowledge that if didn't make it to the rendezvous point soon he never would. Obi-Wan's perplexed expression wavered through his mind's eye momentarily before turning to lecture him once more.

Don't let your personal feelings get in the way!

Lower the ship!

Fighting back the memory Anakin stumbled in the sand, refusing the drop her into its depths as he shuffled onward, his lower body lacking the strength to truly lift his legs any higher and farther. Again his Master flashed before him, silently demanding his haste and answers.

I can't take Dooku alone! I need you!

For a moment, Anakin feared what it meant to be truly alone.

What would have happened had he voiced his inquiry as to whether they were there yet?

I don't care! Put the ship down!

It wasn't that Anakin didn't care, it was that he couldn't. How could he care about the rest of the planet let alone galaxy when he had most of his focus on the dying woman in his arms?

His promise of everything turning out well was slowly fading.

I can't leave her!

He couldn't. He hadn't.

He had made a promise to come back for her and blast if he hadn't kept it. A bruise or two had been expected, but there was a wound or two and the bleeding wouldn't stop because he wasn't a Medic so what was he supposed to do; the most he was capable of was maybe a bandage and some spit and the notion that someone else could take care of it later.

Maybe she didn't quite have until later.

Come to your senses!

Out in the middle of the desert and on his own, Anakin didn't have any senses other than direction (as far as he hoped). He wanted nothing more than to stop and rest but he knew that he couldn't and he really just didn't have it in him at the time.

"Ani,"

The harsh whisper against the sleeve of robes and he wasn't even sure if the blood was his or hers or maybe even theirs. It hardly carried over the next gust of wind, and somewhere in the back of his throat he could already taste the pre-formed dread that came before the impending sandstorm. "Ani. . ."

"Everything's going to be all right." He cut in, perhaps more for the sake of his own sanity than anything. "Don't worry. It's going to be all right."

It's okay, I've got you, I've got you. It's okay. I promise it's okay.

"No, Anakin—" He stumbled and shook the next few loose syllables out of her mouth. "Put me down, you don't need to carry me anymore."

"I can fix this."

He didn't want her to speak because it meant he didn't have to think, but he didn't want her to be silent because he didn't want to remember. But he was in control wasn't he, so why did she have to infringe on the moments that he thinks that well maybe everything's going to turn out all right.

But perhaps she had nothing to say that would be heard.

"I know Anakin, I know. I trust you, love, but I need you to believe me when I say you can put me down."

"You're injured." He bluntly stated, trying to keep his gaze on the ever-growing horizon rather than the worried gaze burning a hole into his cheek.

"It's only a flesh wound; we need to worry about you more." She tried to reach toward him if only to offer a reassuring touch when a bolt of pain shot down her arm and she tried not to think too much of the fracture that had taken up residence in her wrist. The sharp intake of breath captured his attention fully and he only briefly paused in his step to glance down at her with an expression that lacked any I-told-you-so smugness.

Any spiteful remark was bitten back as she found herself staring into his blank eyes, drowning in pain and anger and sorrow and the defeat that was slowly snaking its way in as he avoided accepting the fact that maybe things weren't going to be okay after all.

Against her better judgment she flinched away from his gaze, choosing instead to burrow her face into the small hollow between his arm and side when she realized that his robes were still damp and increasingly so.

"Anakin, your side," She pulled away and tried to roll out of his tightening arms, trying to ignore how her cheek was now slick and her husband was steadily losing his pallor.

"It's a flesh wound Padmé, I'm fine."

His voice rasped against her eardrums and she found herself confounded by the blurred image of a man in black enveloped by fire. Pushing the thought aside as she pressed her palms to his shoulders and fought with the screeching pain in her arm and shoulder along with the resolve that clearly stated she would not be released at all costs.

"No Anakin, no you're not." Padmé gingerly touched her fingers to where she assumed the wound was and received a hiss of pain as confirmation.

"Love, I'd rather you. . .didn't." He ground out, choosing to focus more so on the destination that seemed to be crawling farther and farther away and his wife in his arms because if he didn't it gave time for his mind to wander and for the pain to become more than just bearable.

"Anakin, we need to stop for a moment."

Now it hurts and the pain—Force it hurts and why can't they just be there already and why did he have to get shot at and why did Dooku get the opportunity to meet his mark and he's tired and he's still bleeding and it hurts it hurts it hurts—

"Ani—"

"We'll be there soon, angel. It's just a little further to where I told Obi-Wan I'd meet him." Anakin took a breath and dug his heel in the sand to propel himself further, trying to be sure to lift his foot a little higher next time so that his toes didn't catch—would there be a next time?

Padmé choked back a grunt as she hit the ground rolling, the nerves in her body screaming as her center of balance flipped and her husband collapsed into the sands without much promise of getting up. She groaned as she twisted onto her stomach, instinctively reaching one hand toward her belt for the nonexistence blaster dropped during the scuffle and for the hand of her unmoving husband.

"Anakin?" She croaked as her voice cracked, sore fingers grasping dirty air and clutching at Anakin's still hand. "Oh, Ani, no. . ."

Padmé Amidala was a strong woman full of will-power; Padmé Skywalker was a married woman fearing for her husband's life.

She grasped his hand and all but pulled him toward her crawling form to meet her half-way as he groaned quietly in protest. Hoisting herself onto her knees she tentatively turned him over onto his back, attempting to don a mask of indifference to his of muted pain. He uttered a gurgling sound from the back of his throat, releasing a dribble of saliva and blood into the heel of her palm as she shifted his head into her lap.

"Where does it hurt most, Ani?"

Padmé chewed at her lip to the beat of the dull throb in her temple as he haphazardly ghosted his fingertips over the wounded flesh of her head in an attempt to flip their positions and reassure her. His smile was broken as his attention turned back to the pain he'd been forcing himself to ignore for however long he'd been carting his wife through the desert with only one thing on his mind.

"Everywhere."

There were two things in life Anakin Skywalker found it hard to accept: death and failure. His wife was not about to let him submit to either.

"I've had better weeks,"

She blinked back the tears she wasn't willing to admit had formed as she reached for her husband's outstretched hand, giving him a small smile herself if only to confirm the fact that she was still by his side.

"I'm going to make some of the pain go away."

Her words felt wrong and forced even to her, but she hadn't known what else to say in that moment and Anakin obviously was a bit worse for wear and not about to make any smart comment with the wound in his side that was now quite a bit more than just a dull ache.

"You already do." He murmured, turning his face into her stomach as he tried to turn his attention to somewhere other than the blood pooling between his wife's fingers as she applied pressure and tried to staunch the bleeding. He even found himself biting into the perspired cloth coating her stomach.

"I stained your cloak," Anakin ground out into her abdomen, unaware of the delicate eye roll Padmé hadn't been able to withhold.

"I have more important things to worry about, Anakin."

"Obi-Wan probably got lost." He grumbled, gingerly pressing his own free hand to his wound while Padmé tore at the battered cloak he'd wrapped her in before dragging her out into the dunes. "Didn't hit any major organs though."

"How do you know that?" The Senator shot out, much too perplexed and agitated to watch her tone.

"'Cause if he did I wouldn't be here with you right now." Anakin stated bluntly, his gaze zoning in and out of focus as he tried to locate his wife's eye.

She paused in what she was doing, her mask flashing between a grimace and fear. "Keep talking like that and maybe you won't be."

Whatever string of words he uttered were lost on her when the winds kicked up and carried their meaning off with it, his eyes seeing red and his body feeling nothing but a throb and burning it didn't know what to do with. Had he been any closer to the man, Dooku's lightsaber would have truly impaled the Jedi, his blade already doing enough damage—what with the bruised ribs and numb arm that he'd struggled to carry Padmé with.

The fact that he'd already been injured pre-duel hadn't helped matters any.

"It's going to be all right Ani, I promise." Padmé whispered, trying to feel the warmth from the liquid coating her hands and dripping from her fingers into the indifferent sands that had brought them there.

"I was born in sand and I'll die in sand. Kinda poetic in a sick, ironic way." Anakin said, one of the first full sentences he'd been able to manage following Padmé's insertion of digits into his burned skin.

"Stop talking," She whispered again, not truly looking at him.

"I was late." He continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "I'm sorry."

Padmé held back what would have sounded like bitter laughter. "You may have quite a few things to atone for, Anakin Skywalker, but your inability to tell time isn't one of them."

"Mmh," He hummed in response, almost amused as he allowed his eyelids to slide down a bit. "I love you Padmé, I'm sorry."

"You're such a sap," She replied, trying not to show too much otherwise weak emotion as she let out a cracked chuckle. He remained muted for a moment, and her heart thudded in her ears as her subconscious jumped to the worst possible conclusion, oblivious to the albeit unsteady beat of his heart against her hands.

"Don't you dare die on me, Anakin Skywalker." Padmé suddenly called out, staring down at him with malicious eyes that failed to hide her fear.

"'M not dying, 'Mé." Anakin mumbled, sliding deeper into blissful unconsciousness because that meant the pained stopped and all he had to think about was Padmé so why was she crying everything was going to be all right just like he promised.

Promises are meant to be kept, are they not?

"Then stop acting like it," She stuttered, studying his closed eyelids and nearly missing the fairly large and dark shadow that thundered over them as she bent to protect what she could of his body from the elements.

Glancing up she followed the cause of the shadow's trajectory, passing a cracked smile as she recognized the forms and figures and all but cutting off any circulation to Anakin's hands before her grip traveled to his hair and glossed down the sides of his face.

"Anakin, Anakin they're here. . ." She breathed, pressing her forehead to his and offering a chaste kiss to a mass of hair scarred by sand and burns. "Anakin they're here."

There were a few beats while her ragged breath toyed with his hair.

"Anakin. . .Anakin no. . .Anakin." She pulled herself back just barely, staring uncomprehendingly at his peaceful yet perplexed expression. "Anakin! Anakin!"

She'd been so caught up in screaming his name that she hardly noticed the fingers of Obi-Wan digging into her shoulders and prying her off of the wounded man while he shouted her name, nor did she take into account the way Anakin's back arched with a bloodcurdling outcry that sent the medic tumbling over himself.

Anakin had made a promise to save her, so who was she to not return the favor?