Disclaimer: Thank you to George Lucas, who created and owns the idea of Star Wars. I am a mere fic writer.

Life after confession

The streamline star fighter shot through the Geonosian atmosphere like a bullet to space. Ripples of the wrinkled terrain below grew fainter as the vessel commenced its return voyage to Naboo. At the control panel sat the planet's young senator, upright and alert, her glance shifting at intervals from the empty blackness ahead of her to the withdrawn figure at her side. Anakin, engulfed in the nurturing curve of his chair, was cradling his recently-severed arm. The wound having been sealed with a strong metal cap, the bleeding had ceased but the shock was very much still alive. His thirst for risk had taken its grandest toll yet.

Anakin rose and strode over to the sofa lining the back wall of the large cockpit. He slumped down on it and tried to focus his interests instead on his view of Padmé. The conversion was surprisingly easy.

Transition through the atmosphere successfully completed, captain Padmé switched the ship onto autopilot and slipped out of the seat, careful not to allow the leather back of it to come in painful contact with the gashes slashed across her back.

"Someone needs to see to those," Anakin said, watching in concern.

"I'm fine," Padmé stated, assuming an air of responsibility. "Besides, there's much more important things to be seen to at the moment."

"More important than treating gaping wounds? OK, what could that be?"

"Well," she grasped for thoughts to throw at the approaching Jedi. "We need to transmit news of the war to Naboo, and of our arrival. And we need to keep an eye on the ship route," (Anakin glanced out into the empty space they were currently flying through) "And," Padmé raised a pointed finger, highlighting the fact that she had come up with three whole reasons, "C3PO looks desperately in need of a clean."

Anakin smiled. She was so irresistible when she was defending herself from his playful jests.

A procession of creaking was heard behind them as C3PO entered the room. "Did somebody call for me?" he inquired, his head jerking loftily.

Anakin hesitated, then mischievously replied, "Yes Threepio, would you kindly fetch the First Aid Kit from the storage cupboard?"

"Of course, Master." The droid shuffled off obediently.

"Anakin!" Padmé exclaimed, while smiling in spite of herself. "My, you have persistence." Yet, she mounted the bench seat and lay patiently with her chin resting on her folded arms. Anakin pulled a nearby chair over to the bench and started one-handedly extracting tools from the kit placed before him. Padmé looked on in silence.

"And a basin of warm water!" he called after the exiting C3PO, and a moment later, was presented with just that. The young Jedi craftily rolled up a washer in his single hand, dipped it into the basin at his feet, and raised it to Padmé's damaged flesh. As he padded the gashes with moisture, Anakin let his fingers extend over the washer and caress her soft skin. All up her back, she erupted in goosebumps. Her head turned to watch, rather that supervise, the movements of his arm. He glanced unsurely at her. How do you act towards someone who says that they love you, thinking it is the last thing they'll ever say?

And as he sat there stroking her skin, a warmth broke into him, a warmth of acceptance and requited love. He silently thanked the Force, thanked It for sparing them both, and it occurred to him that perhaps this wasn't against fate after all. It had given them an opportunity, disguised in the midst of threat. And without threat, there is no grasp of opportunity.

Anakin's intense gaze caught Padmé's; motionless and tentative. Her strength and grace seemed to radiate from her broken body, flooding through his very veins. He had become a reptile – dependant upon her warmth. How could laws even attempt to deny him that which he needed most?

I truly, deeply, love you. Her blessing words resonated in his head.

"Padmé," Anakin's voice was so soft it was almost as if he were praying, yet he did not break their gaze. "Will you marry me?"

Padmé raised herself slowly as her wide-eyed expression tried to grasp his words. "Anakin..." A flicker of the old hesitation passed over her face, but was swiftly overtaken with an overwhelming joy. This was the moment to end the famine. "Yes…yes!" she declared, beaming contagiously. And she pulled the young Jedi towards her, cutting his chuckles short with her lips.

His saviour had once again shone her grace on him, saved him from a life of uninvolvement and torment. And as they soared through space and across the stars, both were filled with a complete sense of love, and faith in what they would share in their near future on Naboo - a love for each other: as best friends; as fiancés; as soulmates.