a/n: A little idea that stuck with me for sometime. And I am definitely not a romance writer, but given the source material it can't be worse right?
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Pale light streaked the grey sky as the first sun broke the horizon. Padmé closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, she enjoyed the buzz of Mos Espa beginning to wake. It was one of her very few luxuries, to simply stand in the last moments of stillness.
A baby began to cry out and two men drunkenly guffawed past her, breaking the trance.
She hefted the waste bucket over the ledge and into the trough below her. The day had begun.
"Did you hear?" Ze'ena announced her presence, a water basket slung over her shoulder. The twi'lek woman leaned in seriously, "Nilla is pregnant."
Padmé's eyes widened, "Again."
Ze'ena nodded stiffly, the implications weighed heavy between them. Padmé swallowed dryly and clasped her friends hand, "May the suns guide and protect her."
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"Good afternoon, milady."
"I'll be punished if Ronan catches you," she sighed, not looking from her work.
"Ronan wouldn't dare, you're his best looking girl," Anakin said.
Padmé didn't respond and focused on scrubbing a stain out of the carpet. She didn't care what Anakin claimed, Ronan would have her hide if the stain wasn't gone by dusk. The lanky boy walked over to her and leaned against the pinned up carpet.
"Aren't you going to ask why I'm here?" he asked.
Padmé fought a smile and fixed him with a patronized stare, "Why are you here Anakin?"
"Watto gave me the afternoon off," he grinned, "And I haven't seen you in ages."
"Poor boy, how you've suffered."
"It's agonizing."
Anakin straightened up. He towered over her now, his looks bearing little similarity to the nine-year-old she had met days after being sold to Ronan. His smile though, wide and bright and just the same as it has been for all these years, it was impossible for her keep a straight face when he smiled at her.
"Padmé?" his clear blue eyes were burning.
"Yes?" She felt a bit breathless. Oh this was silly, he washer best friendand he was still just a boy. But no one stayed a child on Tatooine for very long.
Anakin looked like he wanted to say many things, but instead his face tinged pink and he said, "I should go."
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The air was very still and the sand had settled, the buildings were dark and the people within them silent. Padmé stayed frozen in the street, their screams still burned in her ears. It was a random raid, these things happened, and tomorrow the masters would be spitting and muttering about how this had hurt them.
"Come inside," Jain grabbed her shoulder.
Padmé shook her off. "I can't," she choked, because they had beat the tears away years ago.
Jain's eyes became sympathetic, "We'll survive, we always do."
"But we won't live," Padmé's voice was hollow.
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She found him in a shed behind his hovel and it's all she can do to not throw her arms around him.
"Ani," she said instead, and walks slowly over to him.
He spins around and his eyes are dark and she can feel the pain within him. "She's dead," he rasps, harsh and unfeeling.
"I know."
"I should have saved her, I could have saved her."
"You're not all powerful, Anakin."
"I should be," he spat, turning away from her again.
The clutter of the shed began to rattle, physically effected by Anakin's anger. Padmé inhaled sharply and took his hand. Almost instantly, the rattling subsided. She remembers being young and Shmi's kind words soothing her in the depths of the night and Shmi's smile whenever Anakin hurried over to show them something.
"I miss her too."
And this would have happened sooner or later, don't pretend otherwise, Ani.
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His blood mixes with the sand and Padmé runs to him after his body has been kicked to the side and falls on her knees beside him. The slaves that had crowded to watch began to dissipate. Kitster stands at her shoulder.
"Ze'ena is bringing the salve."
Padmé nods, barely listening as she watches Anakin's shallow breath.
She smooths back his sun-bleached curls and presses a kiss to his ashen lips. Her breath hitches when she examines his mangled arm and the torn flesh across his chest.
His eyes slide open, foggy with pain and his brow scrunches in confusion, "Padmé?"
"Yes?" she cries desperately, silently pleading with gods.
"You're a queen what are you doing here?" he wheezes before sliding back into unconsciousness.
The statement gives Padmé some pause.
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Marriage is not an option for slaves. But they exchange whispers of love and devotion and as far as they're concerned, they are.
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"Are you all right?" Anakin walked over to her, "You're trembling."
"I'm pregnant," her voice was hard.
He swallowed and Padmé watched his expression carefully. And then his face broke into a blinding smile, he whooped and spun her around. She was smiling too, despite the terror that seized her. When he set her down, she looked at him seriously.
"What are we going to do?"
Anakin ran his hands through his hair and didn't stop grinning. "We're going to be parents, Padmé," he told her, like he couldn't quite believe it. Didn't he see? He had been born and raised in the desert, surely he— and she couldn't take it anymore.
"But they won't be our child," she cried, "They'll belong to Ronan or Watto and we might never— might never— Nilla's babies aren't with her anymore!"
Anakin bent down to rest his forehead against hers, "If Ronan or Watto think they can take our baby away then I'll— they wouldn't dare."
Padmé shut her eyes and pressed herself into his chest, her eyes becoming wet for the first time in years. "We aren't going to worry about anything right now, my love," he murmured into her hair, "This is a happy moment. The happiest moment of my life."
"I don't know how you can be damn optimisticall the time," she sighed wearily, but truly, honestly believed him and she could feel the brightness within her growing.