title Ahsokan Farewell
author patientalien
word count 1,872
rating M for dirty talk
summary Communication is important in a relationship
notes citizenjess wrote me a hilarious fic, so I tried to return the favor. Corellia/Padme, Interrupted-verse. She also provided the title, based on the song "Ashokan Farewell" featured in the documentary The Civil War. I strongly recommend listening to it while reading this fic.
Communicating with one's secret wife was, Anakin Skywalker discovered not long into the war, a difficult prospect. Separated by vast distances and forced to keep their relationship hidden from public view, creativity in correspondences had become something of a game.
While Anakin would far prefer to talk to his wife via commlink, it was not always possible. Connections were not always encrypted, and there was not always enough privacy. Sometimes he was able to tight-beam a pre-recorded message through Artoo-Detoo, but that felt impersonal, hurried.
Padme's first hand-written letter, on actual flimsi, had surprised him, but soon they were writing back and forth frequently. Paper-mail was exceedingly rare, but it was difficult to trace, and the novelty added something to the experience.
The trouble, Anakin soon realized, was that he was not very good with words. Nor did his handwriting, spelling, or grammar lend itself to legibility. After several responses from Padme saying things like "What do you mean 'it is very hat and i am very sweety?'" or "I'm not entirely sure 'contraptulization' is a word", he almost gave up the endeavor.
Instead, he got a Padawan. A Padawan who was, to his immense chagrin, instantly able to see through his "Senator Amidala and I are just special friends" ruse and who, surprisingly, had volunteered her services as scribe for his letters. He'd had to pay her, since she said her hand cramped and it took time out of her day, but it was worth it to escape from the accusations that he never tried to contact Padme while he was away.
"Alright," he said to Ahsoka one day while they were on their way to yet another far-flung battle. "Ready?"
Ahsoka sighed and made a huge show of pulling out a piece of flimsi and a pen - Anakin couldn't remember being that melodramatic when he'd been fifteen. "Ready," Ahsoka replied after she'd finished her theatrics.
Anakin cleared his throat loudly - not for any particular reason, just because he felt like he should. "Padme," he said, hands behind his back, pacing behind Ahsoka, "Thinking about you makes me totally horny but I can't do anything about it because Ahsoka's here. I could ask her to help, but I think there's a rule against that."
There was a muffled squeak of protest from Ahsoka, but she recovered quickly and read aloud as she wrote, "Dearest Padme, I find myself yearning for your gentle touch. Nothing can compare with your limitless beauty; all other beings pale against your radiance."
"Battles are hard, but I think I'm doing pretty awesome at them," Anakin continued, "I'm pretty sure I made a Seppie general crap his pants the other day. He stank, anyway."
Ahsoka sighed. "The battlefield is treacherous, but the enemy is being pushed off world after world. The thought of you gives me the strength I need to go on."
"I can't wait to get home and plow you hard. Don't fuck anybody else while I'm gone," Anakin concluded.
"I long for the day I am holding you in my arms. My love for you is absolute and endless. Forever yours, Anakin. Dictated, not read."
Anakin nodded his approval as Ahsoka sealed the envelope.
Padme Amidala did not get much mail. Sure, she got HoloNet mail all the time, constantly, so much that it sometimes made her head hurt. But actual mail delivered by a living being - or 'droid - was rare, and when it arrived, she almost certainly knew who it was from.
She tore the envelope open and read the letter contained within hungrily; she knew Anakin wasn't actually the one writing them anymore - for one thing, the penmanship was much better, and Ahsoka didn't use terms like "motherkriffing son of a slutty bantha", but she liked this fake version of Anakin better.
She poured herself another glass of wine and rose from the couch, calling for See-Threepio. "I need you to take a letter," she informed the 'droid haughtily.
"Of course, Mistress!" Threepio exclaimed, obviously happy to be of assistance.
Padme had started her correspondance with Anakin writing the letters herself, but as time went on, she decided she could do other things while just telling Threepio what to write. Today she didn't have much else that needed doing, but Threepio had been whining for something to do all day.
"Dear Ani," she said, "I hope this letter finds you well. I look forward to hearing of your exploits, and it is with a heavy heart that I learn you will not be back to the Core this rotation. I long for your lips on mine, I yearn for your presence and your safe return. As always, I will endeavor in the Senate to bring a swift, diplomatic end to this conflict so we may once again be together. Love forever, Padme."
There was a whirring as Threepio finished writing. The 'droid's stiff fingers made such a task arduous, but Padme didn't really care. It was better than giving herself a callous on her finger, after all.
"Hey Snips!" Anakin called as Ahsoka limped to her tent. The battle had been incredibly draining, and she'd sprained her ankle and really just wanted to go to bed.
"What?" she replied, trying not to snap at him. It wasn't his fault - except it kind of was, because she'd sprained her ankle tripping over his dropped lightsaber.
Anakin was looking cheery, which Ahsoka took to be a very bad sign. "I need you to help me write another letter," he informed her.
Ahsoka sighed. "Can't it wait?" she asked, inching towards her tent. "I'm really tired."
"We might not have time later!" Anakin whined.
Finally, Ahsoka decided the only way to get Anakin to leave her alone was to do what he wanted - which was probably exactly what he'd had in mind.
They entered her tent together and as soon as she'd gotten her writing supplies out, he began speaking. "Paddles, I jerked off thinking about your boobs yesterday," he announced, and Ahsoka bit back a moan of irritation.
"My darling Padme, you are constantly on my mind," she corrected automatically.
"We just had a big battle, and I have to piss really bad but I wanted to write to you first."
"Everything else takes a back seat to my desire and love for you," Ahsoka wrote instead.
"When I get home, I'm gonna hump you senseless," Anakin announced, pantomiming the motion against the edge of Ahsoka's desk.
"Our reunion is much-anticipated, and will assuredly be a wonderful experience for us both," Ahsoka wrote, pushing Anakin away with the Force.
"I know I say it all the time but seriously, don't fuck anybody while I'm gone. You're hot and I love your tits."
Ahsoka sighed, and concluded, "As always, my love for you is boundless. Forever yours, Anakin."
"That'll do, Snips," Anakin said, patting her on the head, "That'll do."
"Three-Threepio!" Padme called, tottering from the kitchen to the living room, leaning against the arm of the couch for a moment. "Where the kriff is that 'droid?" The last was mostly to herself, into the wine glass she'd been refilling continually for most of the afternoon.
"Senator Padme!" a voice exclaimed, causing Padme to jump. "Yousa sent Threeso to get munchies," Jar Jar Binks, the Gungan representative who, for some reason, was in her apartment, reminded her.
Padme blinked blearily at Jar Jar. "Oh, right," she said, draining her glass. "I - I need you t'do something for me, then," she said.
"Yousa bet!" Jar Jar replied, cheerfully.
"I need you t'write a letter for me. Jus', jus' write exactly what I say." She poured another glass of wine from the box on the low-slung coffee table, spilling only a few drops.
Jar Jar seemed elated to be included in her affairs (such as they were), and drew himself up with as much dignity as he could muster. "Mesa honored to be assisting yousa," he said, sitting his lanky frame at her delicate writing desk and curling his fingers around her dainty ink pen.
"Ani," Padme began, sipping her wine. "I know you're not th'one writin' those letters t'me. Thas okay, I know you're all busy and import'nt an' stuff, but you know what? I'm busy an' important an' stuff too, an' I don't sin... think is fair that you have Asho... Ahsoka write your lett'rs an' I haveta write my own." She gulped down the rest of her wine and burped, glancing over at Jar Jar to make sure he was following along. He had his tongue between his teeth in an expression of extreme concentration.
Refilling her glass once again, she continued until she could no longer articulate words and Jar Jar had run out of flimsi.
"Get a load of this," Anakin exclaimed, waving Ahsoka down in one of the Resolute's expansive hallways. "You're good at reading - what's this?" He handed her a multi-page letter on dusty pink stationary, spattered with what looked suspiciously like red wine stains.
Ahsoka scrunched up her face and tilted her head to the side, trying to make sense of the writing - worse, somehow, than Anakin's. Once she got past the handwriting, which looked like it belonged to a dyslexic Gungan, the content of the letter itself became clear. Well, clear-ish. From what she could tell, it was Padme, and she had been dictating to someone (quite possibly a dyslexic Gungan) who did not know not to soften the actual words or to not include onomatopoeiaic representations of hiccups or vomiting.
"It's from Padme, and it says she loves you very much," Ahsoka said, finally. It actually said nothing of the sort, but she'd become very good at parsing out the meaning behind pointless, often drunken, rambling.
"Well, good," Anakin said, tucking the letter back into his utility belt. Ahsoka just sighed and went back to her day.
After six long months, Anakin was finally back on Coruscant. He and Padme had forgone letter-writing for quite some time; Ahsoka had said she was tired of sugar-coating his perversion, whatever THAT meant, and Padme had sent him a quick holo-recording shortly after her lengthy love note expressing her desire to focus her attention on political matters. That had pissed him off somewhat, but he had plenty to keep himself occupied. He just hoped she wasn't fucking anybody else while he was gone.
After extracting himself from a Council debriefing, he went to 500 Republica, ready to participate in some *different* debriefing. Once at Padme's door, Anakin paused, an uncharacteristic rush of nostalgia washing over him. He dug around in his utility belt and pulled out a crumpled piece of blank flimsi and a pencil.
"Padme, I'm home, let me in so we can fuck," he scrawled. Pleased with the result, he slipped the note under the door, and knocked.
After a long few moments, where Anakin had convinced himself that she WAS fucking somebody else and was about ready to break down the door, another note got pushed under the door towards him.
Flowery handwriting informed him, "The door's unlocked, idiot. Get in here already. Love, Padme."
Anakin grinned, and pushed the door open.
-the end-