The evening sky was dark and heavy with storm clouds, ready to unleash themselves upon the deserted city square. Alone in the square stood a tall, menacing figure, his heavy black cape flapping in the growing winds, his demeanor matching the threatening clouds above him.
He hated thunderstorms. They reminded him of her, of their first night together as husband and wife, as the heavens dropped a torrent of raindrops that bounced off the lake right outside their bedroom. He remembered how the thunder rolled and the lightning illuminated the sky, how the very atmosphere itself was alive, how the rain smelled. He remembered the feel of her warm, soft skin under his inexperienced palms, her moans and whimpers as he explored her body, how they lay locked in a tangle of naked limbs, coming down off their highs, how he fell asleep with his nose nestled in her long, chocolate-colored locks of hair.
It's like she knew he was coming back to see her.
Every corner, every street, every sound - it all reminded him of her. The sound of the rustling leaves, of the fountains, of the distant waterfalls. The smell of honey and flowers. The soft touch of her hand. The sound of her laugh. The sweet taste of her kiss. The warmth of the summer sun on his skin.
This was home. Not Tatooine, the place where he grew up as a slave under the notoriously cruel Hutts. Not the Jedi Temple, where he spent his days meditating and learning the ways of the Force. And certainly not the star destroyer waiting for him several systems away. No, Naboo was home, even with as much pain as it brought him still. It's where he'd fallen in love, where he'd taken his Angel's hand in marriage, where he'd hoped to raise their child and make a home...
He stopped himself. That was in another life. At one time, he swore to himself he'd never come back here. That part of him died when Padmé and their child did. Still, he was here. He had to see her one last time.
Without a word, and completely alone, he walked through the darkening streets. Before him and behind him, the street lamps began to illuminate, lighting his path. It had been years since he had been to this place, but he still knew where he was going and what he knew in what was left of his heart he had to do.
He came to the set of stone stairs that led to the catacombs below the city and descended them, his heavy steps echoing against the ancient walls. Deeper and deeper he descended until he came to his love's cold, dark tomb. Gods, he couldn't believe this was real. She was truly gone.
With a wave of his hand, he opened the heavy wooden door leading into the tomb. And, in the middle of the room, there she was. His heart leaped into his throat. With heavy steps, he approached the casket where his beloved lay.
"Are you an angel?"
Those were the first words he ever said to her, all those years ago when he was just a small boy, a slave, a nobody working in Watto's hot, dusty parts shop on Tatooine. And though he had let go of the childish belief that angels actually existed years ago, he truly believed Padmé was the closest thing to one, even to that day.
And after all these years, she was still so beautiful.
Across the galaxy, she had been called the Sleeping Beauty of Theed. People told stories about how well-preserved she was. How she didn't even look dead. Even about how her eyes would sometimes flutter open, just a tiny bit, as if she were keeping silent watch on her eternal surroundings.
It was true, all of it.
But, to him, she was so much more than the stories being passed around by drunk pilots in cantinas and giggling younglings at sleepovers. No, she was his angel, his lover. His and his alone. He knew every inch of her body almost as well as he knew his own, in ways no one else in the galaxy had. And, yes, she was every bit as beautiful as he'd remembered. Her dark curls lay perfectly fanned across the white satin pillow under her head. Little white flowers peppered her long tendrils. The dim torch lights that served to illuminate the small room reflected on the metallic threads and blue sequins of her gown in sparks of blue, silver and gold.
He ran the back of his gloved hand down her soft cheek. He ran his fingers around her eyes, down the bridge of her nose, around the contours of her pale lips, down her chin and along her neck, taking in every detail he could before he left this place - and her - forever. Behind the cold, hard exterior of his mask, his own cheeks were wet with tears of longing for her and regret for what he had done.
"I love you," she cried, tears falling from her dark eyes.
But he didn't want to comfort her. He'd already seen Obi-Wan begin to exit her ship. Hot rage began to bubble up deep in the pit of his stomach. She'd brought his former master here to kill him. She turned on him. That traitorous bitch. What else was she doing with Obi-Wan behind his back? Fucking him? Was that kid she was carrying even his? Anger bubbled up within him, and he didn't even know where it was coming from, nor did he care.All he wanted to do right then was silence her lying mouth.
"Liar! You were with him!"
She looked back at her ship and, to her horror, Obi-Wan was indeed there, walking down the ramp to confront Anakin.
"No! Anakin, I swear -"
"Shut up, you bitch!"
Before she could even form a reply, he reached out his hand and, with the Force, lifted her small form into the air as if she weighed nothing at all. She began to claw at her throat, her manicured nails drawing blood in a desperate attempt to remove the invisible noose tightening around her neck. Droplets of blood ran down the front of her neck, staining the brown fabric of her tunic.
"Let her go," Obi-Wan said sternly, continuing his descent down the exit ramp.
Her dark eyes widened in horror and her face turned beet red. Her lips began to turn a sickening shade of purple, then blue. Tears of sadness turned into tears of panic as she realized her efforts to free herself were proving futile. Feeling Padmé's life slip from her was giving him a sickly satisfying feeling that was unfamiliar to him, and his lips curled into a smile as he watched her writhing form fight for life. He could snap her neck right then and there if he had the inclination. Perhaps he would, perhaps he would kill the cheating whore and the bastard spawn she carried.
"ANAKIN. Let. Her. GO."
Instead, with a flick of the wrist, Anakin threw her against a nearby pillar. She landed against the stone with a thud and several sickening cracks before crumpling to the ground, lifeless.
His loud, heart-wrenching cry echoed off the stone walls of the mausoleum.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Padmé!"
She didn't answer him.
His hand traveled down to the swollen belly that would forever house their unborn child, the perfect manifestation of their love. He let it rest there, for a few moments, hoping to feel their baby move once again. Fresh tears began to well up in his eyes as he realized his hopes would be for naught.
He never told Padmé, but he wanted a little girl. He'd hoped she'd have the same dark, curly hair and dark brown eyes as her mother. Gods, she would have been so beautiful. Tough as nails, like him. Brilliant, like her.
She took his hand and placed it on her belly.
"She's been very active today, Ani. It's like she knew you were coming home to us."
He pulled his hand away. He'd fought countless battles across the galaxy, getting hurt or almost dying in the process more times than he could count. He'd raised a padawan. But the thought of having a baby – a real, live tiny human – was kriffing terrifying to him. How Padmé could be so calm about it – especially since she was the one who had to push it out at some point – was truly beyond him.
She giggled, her brown eyes twinkling.
"Don't tell me the big, tough war hero is scared of his little baby girl."
"Of course I'm not," he lied.
"Then put your hand back," she said, taking his hand and returning it to her belly.
He gingerly moved his hand across her belly, trying to feel something. Then she kicked. Slight at first, then stronger. Their child. Their beautiful, perfect child. His light blue eyes welled up with tears as they met Padmé's. It was in that moment that it was all real for him. It was the three of them now. They were a family.
Her soft hands, the same ones he held walking in the countryside, rested above her belly. In them she grasped the japor snippet he had made her all those years ago, when he was just a boy. He'd worked hours on it, making it as beautiful as he could for his Angel, to bring her good fortune.
"I don't need this to remember you by," she'd told him.
But after all these years, she'd still held onto it.
He grasped the pendant between two fingers and untangled it from Padmé's cold, unmoving hands. He turned it end over end, over and over, in his gloved hand, running his fingers over its curves. He made a fist around it, wanting to hold onto it forever, and placed it in the pocket of his robe. It was the only piece of her he'd ever have again.
He ran his hand across her cheek one last time.
"I love you."
And with that, he turned away from her and walked out of her tomb. Step by agonizing step, he made his way above ground once again. Thunder rolled and lightning lit up the sky as the rain fell from the sky, soaking his cape. Under the impenetrable mask, his eyes welled up once again.
With a final look around, he began the long walk back to his ship in the pouring rain, the japor snippet keeping its own rhythm against his thigh.