Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. It all belongs to George, except for the title, which is of course from the Credence Clearwater Revival song.
Note: This fic is an exercise in minimalism and telling a story through silences. It's somewhat experimental, so I welcome feedback.
Also, if you're curious about Hisra, see my AU fic "Clone Wars GI" for a bit more about what happened there.
Fortunate Son
In the days that follow Hisra, General Anakin Skywalker is granted three full weeks of leave. The official record states that the troops need time to regroup after a difficult but critical and ultimately successful mission. The enemy has been neutralized and Hisra remains a Republic system.
The leave notice is issued five hours and seventeen minutes after the cessation of hostilities on Hisra. Five hours and thirty-six minutes after the battle, Anakin Skywalker is en route to Coruscant.
He contacts Padmé first. There's a secure channel, encrypted seven ways, that he set up himself, and she always answers it. It isn't a scheduled leave, so he tries not to expect too much. When she tells him sadly (but with determination, too) that she can't be there for the first week, he tells himself he isn't disappointed.
She has to go. She has a meeting with the Queen and it can't wait. He understands.
He sits for a long time, alone in the blue-white swirl of hyperspace, and tells himself again and again what he will do on leave. He keeps the com and the broadcast both on silent.
(But he knows, all the same. It's unavoidable.)
He can still smell Hisra.
He has a week before Padmé returns from Naboo. Obi-Wan had suggested he spend his leave time in meditation, and troona, but he's actually tried. He really has.
It's just the smell. He can't stand the smell.
On the third day of his leave, Chancellor Palpatine invites him to a performance at the opera. He decides to go because he has nothing better to do, and because he barely slept the night before and his hand (the one that's no longer there) is throbbing.
This is how it happens: the Chancellor says, "You might find it a pleasant distraction."
Anakin says, "Yes, we don't get much entertainment in the field." He even laughs a bit. This is how this sort of conversation goes. He knows the script.
Chancellor Palpatine is better than most of those he talks with, though. He doesn't press, and he doesn't make any jokes. He just drops it. Anakin is grateful.
The newsfeeds say that Hisra is a vital world and a pivotal moment in the war. They describe the heroism of Jedi General Skywalker in near-glowing phrases. And, at the end of the feed, there is a brief mention of collateral damage and regrettable loss of life. A footnote tacked on to the strategic importance of the battle, and the preservation of freedom.
A mistake, and unfortunate. The Separatists, of course, are ultimately to blame.
Anakin neither sees nor hears the reports. In the Temple, he gives his own report to his Masters, and in Padmé's home, there is no talk of the war. It's a rule they established very early on, the first time he got leave.
When Padmé returns from Naboo, they don't really talk for the first several hours. She smells like rain and flowers and not a trace of smoke or blood. He almost forgets about the little girl with the missing foot. He almost forgets the smell.
When they do talk, the first thing Padmé says to him is, "I've been reading Kanim, you know."
He makes ralthin. She tells him it's the best he's made yet. They spend the three weeks laughing and making love and talking about literature, of all things, and not talking about the fact that Anakin sits up every night with a pot of tzai in the kitchen. If his hands shake sometimes, she never mentions it.
"They're calling you a hero, you know, my boy," the Chancellor says. His smile is warm and benevolent.
"It's nothing," Anakin says, because that's what you're supposed to say.
"It is," says the Chancellor, warm and encouraging. "Your bravery in defense of the Republic has saved many lives."
"Thank you, sir," he says. He doesn't say anything else.
The air in the Chancellor's office smells of acid and smoke.
Padmé doesn't ask when he'll be back again. It's another thing they don't talk about.
When he ships out again the next morning, it's the Chancellor, not Padmé, who sees him off.
"The Republic is grateful for your service," he says, then adds, "I am grateful." He makes it sound significant, as though a slave boy from Tatooine really has something to offer him.
"Thank you, sir," Anakin says, and even manages a smile. His metal hand clenches at his side.
The Chancellor steps off the platform, and Anakin readies his fighter and rockets away, back to the war.