this is a disclaimer.
by disillusion's glow
There was nothing new in the idea of a military base being a deeply uncomfortable place to spend a week or two, but this one in the outer fringes of the Hoth system beat everything. Padmé had never thought of herself as being particularly demanding when it came to accommodation, and even she had blinked a little when Admiral Renton had shown her and the rest of the Senate delegation to their quarters: little better than glorified barracks, so small you could almost describe them as cells and have done with it. Apparently the heating systems had been damaged in the recent raids and were slow to return to their full operational capacities, so the bed had been piled with blankets and her breath was steaming a little in the cold air.
Padmé looked around the room with a grimace, and then felt a stab of guilt for doing so. She was here on official business to supervise Renton and determine if he deserved the arrest and sentencing the Senate and the media were demanding for him, not to enjoy a luxury weekend away. People less fortunate than she had been sleeping in worse places and enduring far harsher conditions than this all their lives.
One person in particular...
She suppressed the thought with ruthless, practiced efficiency, and sat down to comm Luke.
"Mommy!"
"Hey, you. How's your week of independence?"
"Real good," Luke said seriously. "Sabé lets me watch more holomovies than you do. But," his little face scrunched up in regret, "you tell better bedtime stories."
Padmé laughed. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. When I get back I'll tell you two a night for every one I missed while I was away."
Luke nodded thoughtfully. "That's fair."
"I'm glad you think so," she said, smiling.
"Did you catch any Rebels yet? I went hunting for them on the veranda yesterday, but they all got away."
"Oh, no!" Padmé exclaimed. "You better make sure you lock all the doors and windows tonight, just in case."
Luke frowned. "But then I wouldn't get to meet them," he pointed out.
Padmé sighed. Suddenly, she knew exactly where this conversation was going, and it hurt her heart more than she could ever put into words. "The question is, why would you want to?"
"They have adventures, Mommy," Luke tried to explain, but Padmé wasn't having it. Even a six year old's curiosity about the Rebellion could be dangerous in Imperial Centre, and this six year old in particular...
"Luke, enough. The Rebels are dangerous criminals, criminals and terrorists, and you shouldn't joke about that sort of thing. Understand?"
Luke looked upset and rebellious and far too much like his father for her peace of mind for an instant, but then he huffed and nodded, although the pout stayed put. "I'm sorry, Mom."
"I'm sorry too, sweetheart. You be good for Sabé, all right? I love you, my darling boy. I'll be home soon."
Luke blew her a kiss. "I love you too, Mommy. Say hi to Threepio for me!"
"I will."
Padmé cut the transmission and propped her chin in her hand with a soft groan. She'd have to be more careful about Luke, what he saw on the Holonet and which books he read. Try and make him understand how dangerous it was to ask about the Rebellion, especially for a Senator's son.
Try and stop him from ever becoming curious about a certain Rebel Leader whose name was never spoken on Imperial Centre without the addendums "terrorist" or "traitor" attached.
Abruptly she became aware of something moving in the fresher behind her: creak of a leather boot, whisper of cloth all too noticeable in the cold silence of the room. Padmé shot to her feet, almost toppling the chair, and drew a breath to scream – she should have tried harder to find a way to smuggle a weapon in her luggage, not that it had even been brought up here yet – but when her visitor stepped into the doorway her whole body froze up and her heart skipped a beat and her legs were nowhere near as steady as they should have been.
"He's getting to be quite a handful, huh," her husband said softly, meaning their son.
"Anakin," Padmé whispered, and then he'd somehow crossed the space between them without even seeming to move, so little time did it take, and she was in his arms.
"You idiot," she gasped between kisses, clutching at his upper arms as his hands ran into her hair and held her head steady, lips brushing over her forehead eyelids nose mouth. She couldn't get close enough to him, dropping her hands to his hips and then pushing up under his heavy jacket to wrap her arms around his waist and align their bodies perfectly, pressing so tight that not a breath of air could get between them. "What are you doing here?"
Anakin chuckled, lips curving against hers in a wicked grin. "I had to see you, Padmé –"
"It's too dangerous –"
"I know, angel – I'll leave at once –"
The very idea made her clutch him closer. Padmé was fairly certain he was bigger than she remembered, heavier, shoulders broader, but he smelled the same, leather ozone engine grease, and he held her with the same surety, and his kisses were as fierce and as loving as ever.
She arched up a little, bending her upper body back and smiling when his arms shifted around her and he stepped forward, taking her with him, pressing her gently back against the wall, towering over her. Breathless little moan as his tongue swept into her mouth that she barely noticed making, too intent on the feel of him around her again, his heat and strength. They kissed for an eternity, completely wrapped up in each other, until Anakin tasted salt and realised she was crying.
He drew back, brushing her tears away with his thumbs. Several still-shaky, steadying breaths followed.
"Ani, you'll be killed if they catch you," she said, flushed and trembling, hair a mess where his fingers had run into it and tear tracks glistening in the harsh lights.
Never had she looked so lovely.
Anakin smiled faintly. "They won't catch me – no, Padmé, they won't. Renton's aide is one of ours, I've got all the codes to the base. And besides –" he leaned back slightly. Padmé glanced down at him and realised he was wearing an Imperial uniform.
"General, huh."
"It's my rightful rank, love."
"Ah. There's your gorgeous pride."
"You love it."
She sighed contentedly, pressed a kiss to his jaw, stubble and a half-healed cut like a shallow knife wound that she brushed her lips across, softest of caresses. "I do."
Another kiss, gentler this time but still tearful.
"Luke, he sounded –"
"Amazing, like his father. Leia?"
"Amazing, like her mother."
Padmé smiled tremulously. Better that that burst into tears over the daughter she didn't – couldn't – know. "Did you get what you came for?"
Anakin smirked. "A squad of fighters, and a kiss from you."
She cupped his cheek in her hand, rested her forehead against his. Their noses brushed.
"I love you," he murmured. "I miss you more every day."
"I love you too," Padmé whispered back. "Not a day passes that I don't wish..."
"I know. I know."
They must have lost ten or twenty more minutes standing there necking like adolescents, slow but passionate, setting a fire in her blood Padmé had almost begun to believe she'd never feel again. Anakin's thigh had inserted itself between hers, his arm tight around her shoulders. She let herself relax completely for the first time in years, clinging to him as if the rest of the galaxy no longer existed: as if they had all the time in the world to spend together. He tasted like mints, and under her palm his heart was racing.
An old memory wandered through her mind: the last night they'd made love, still on Coruscant. She'd been so heavy with the twins, wound up and snappish, and he'd taken her to bed and touched her swollen belly with such awe on his face, hesitant to make love to her for the first time in their entire marriage, worried about hurting her, hurting the babies, at that late stage of her pregnancy. Padmé had cursed him for a tease and made him laugh into her mouth and bite gently at her lips in retaliation and if she'd known then it would be the last time –
"It wasn't," Anakin said softly. "You hear me? It wasn't the last time, love. Someday. Someday, we'll be together. All of us."
Padmé realised she was crying again. Her hand tightened in the folds of his jacket, knuckles catching on something he was carrying in his breast pocket.
Anakin drew back, hands cupping her face, and smiled at her through his own tears as she tugged it out: a holoprojector.
"Oh," Padmé breathed, staring at the image of their daughter: messy dark curls, little feet swinging off the floor, nose scrunched up in concentration as she read.
Anakin took it from her and kissed her hands and tucked it into her own robes, gestures slow and firm. He had the memory of their son's face and voice and that petulant look that was exactly like his sister's; Padmé would have the holo of their daughter.
It wasn't enough.
It had to be enough.
"I have to go," he said at last, the words a struggle like nothing short of watching her walk away from him at Polis Massa, like meeting the sorrowful look in Bail Organa's eyes before their shuttle left for Coruscant, like handing his baby son to his wife and knowing it would be years before he saw either of them again, let alone got to hold his boy. "Renton's aide knows I'm meeting a contact, no more – he'll get suspicious..."
Instantly, Padmé moved out of his embrace, always the one with the more self-control, the greater concern for his safety. "Yes – go on – " she pushed him back but followed to kiss him after all, herding him towards the door, words punctuated with kisses. "If you – get caught – because of me – I couldn't bear it –"
"Worth every second –"
"Don't say things like that –"
He caught her by the shoulders in a desperate grip and hauled her close, one last devastating kiss to last them – how long? Another six years?
Another decade?
"Goodbye, my love."
"Go," Padmé whispered, smiling at him, determined his last sight of her would not be of her tears. Brushed her fingers across his lips. "Go. I love you. Go."
Anakin smiled back. Kissed her fingertips. "I love you too."
The door slid open behind him, and he stepped through and was gone.