A/N: Dark themes are covered in this story. While nothing is graphic it is important to know that there is rape, slavery, and torture.
Disclaimer: I own none of this.
It was just the stress, or at least that's what she managed to convince herself at first. The nausea had started just over a week after Anakin's death, which Padmé was able to tell herself was just her body's way of reacting to the loss. She felt dead inside, with her husband dead, so it made sense that she would also have a physical reaction, especially when considering she couldn't outwardly express her emotions. Nobody could see an esteemed senator mourning a Jedi knight the way one mourns a husband. It would tarnish Anakin's reputation, which was why they kept the secret in the first place. The memory of the Hero With No Fear would be destroyed and people still needed that, needed Anakin, even with him gone. His legacy sustained people, his memory gave them hope. She couldn't take that away by mourning her husband's death publicly. She still needed him but that was beside the point, with the war still spreading.
But her nausea quickly turned into vomiting and Padmé found herself leaving multiple meetings to empty the contents of her stomach. Her colleagues, notably Bail and Mon, noticed her sickness but Padmé continued insisting it was nothing. It had to be nothing, she just had a cold, that was the reason she was waking up sick and throwing up throughout the day, and why the smell of shurra fruit made her stomach churn and she would do anything for chocolate covered bantha jerky. She was peeing a lot but it had to be because she was drinking so much water to ease her nausea. Her exhaustion and fatigue was because of how much her heart ached for husband. It could all be explained away. It wasn't until Padmé was trying to tie her senatorial robe only to feel like everything was too snug that she realized her ailments might be more than disease and the symptoms mourning. Giving up on her robes she slipped into the most comfortable clothing she owned, one of Anakin's extra tunics and a pair of her casual leggings. Wrapped in the comfort of his clothes Padmé couldn't help but think of him, and then she thought of how sick she'd been. Her eyes seemed to bulge and it felt like for a second her heart had stopped. She was no longer in denial, that was for sure.
An uncomfortable feeling formed deep in the pit of her stomach, unrelated to the nearly constant nausea, as Padmé asked her handmaiden, Moteé, to call into her senatorial office to inform the staff that she would be out sick for the day. Before she even heard a response from her handmaiden, Padmé locked herself in her bathroom and riffled through the cabinet. She knew she had a spare one somewhere, she'd always had one on hand since her marriage. When she spotted the box at the back of a drawer, next to sanitary products that she just realized she had not used since before Anakin's death, she froze. This can't be happening, she thought.
Padmé's eyes scanned over the instructions for the test. A prick of blood from the tip of her finger, wait five standard minutes, and then look at the screen for the results. Those proved to be some of the longest five minutes of her life. Padmé paced her bedroom, wringing her hands and checking the clock every few seconds, the test sat on the counter in the bathroom, processing her blood. She had thought being in a different room would ease her nerves but it had clearly been false hope. When the ding of a timer announced the five minutes had passed, Padmé nearly fell from the momentum of her desperate rush. She stopped just short of the counter, scared to see the results of the test. She wasn't even sure what result she wanted. With a deep breath, Padmé grabbed the small stick and read the results. Seconds later the test fell to the ground, released from her hand, loose due to shock. Hands clutching her stomach, Padmé backed up until she was against the wall and slowly slid to the ground, joining the pregnancy test on the cool bathroom tile. The screen of the test seemed to be burned into her mind. Positive. 3 Months. What am I going to do?
She didn't even realize she was crying until Moteé knocked softly on the door and asked her what was wrong. Unable to speak, Padmé flung her arms around Moteé, seeking some much-needed comfort. Her handmaiden caught her, startled, but quickly responded, hugging her lady. When Moteé's eyes landed on the pregnancy test discarded on the ground, she understood. Gently, she took Padmé tighter in her arms before leading her lady back into the bedroom. She lay her down, wrapping blankets tight around her. The handmaid's heart was breaking for her lady, how could it not, when she knew the father of the unborn child was dead and, somewhere far away, scattered among the stars.
Late into the day, when the warm early evening light coated her bedroom with a honey hue, Padmé rose from her bed, clutching her small snippet of japor. The tears that had raced down her cheeks were long dry and a determination had settled deep in Padmé's soul. She was going to do this. "Moteé, I need you to schedule me a doctor's appointment."
"Of course, milady." Her handmaiden replied, not telling her lady that she already had done so.
"Threepio," Padmé called, when the droid came in she instructed him, "I want all of the wine and brandy removed from my apartment, could you do that for me? And once that's done collect as many holobooks you can on human pregnancy," She paused for a second and added as an afterthought, "And any on single parenting." As the droid puttered out of the room, Padmé nodded to herself and moved to her balcony. A hand drifted to her abdomen and she laid it gently above where she knew their child rested. He was gone but he had left her one last gift. Anakin would never know about their baby, about the life they created through their love, but she knew and she was going to be the best mother possible. She was going to do it, Padmé was confident. As she stood, looking over the endless city coated in the golden fading light of the sun, Padmé smiled, a soft barely-there curve of the lips, for the first time since Anakin's death.
Padmé's first week knowing she was pregnant was her first happy week since that dreaded holoreport. Her nausea and vomiting, despite being uncomfortable, felt like a gift. It meant her child was growing. Their child. With Anakin dead she had lost her everything. She had no holos of the two of them, all their pictures were stored in Artoo, who was most likely scrap metal beside Anakin's distant grave. All she had left of him was the japor snippet, the necklace that spent every moment resting against Padmé's heart or cradled in her hand and his padawan braid, tucked safely in a box, hidden below her bed. But being pregnant meant she had more. She had a piece of Anakin with her always. A piece of Anakin growing and changing and keeping her strong. A piece of Anakin that in six or so months would be in her arms, living evidence of their love. It wouldn't be a secret anymore, Padmé realized. She also realized she didn't care. Damn the consequences, she had already lost Anakin, she wasn't going to hide their love from their baby, from the galaxy, not without him by her side.
Bail commented on how happy she looked one afternoon at the end of a meeting. It took all of Padmé's strength not to blurt out that she was expecting, it was too early to tell. But she did skim her hand over where her baby grew and smiled in reply, "I'm feeling happy, Bail," She replied honestly, "I'm feeling happy."
His eyes twinkled with kindness and he placed a warm hand on her shoulder as he said, "That is good to hear, my friend, after the news of Knight Skywalker's death… I know how close the two of you were."
Padmé's own smile faded a little at Bail's words, "We were close," Padmé said as diplomatically as she could, "And I will miss him greatly, but I cannot let his death put my own life on hold." For a moment, Padmé expected Bail to say more on the subject but instead he suggested they go out for dinner with Breha, his wife, who so rarely left Alderaan and was visiting him for the week. Graciously, Padmé had to decline. While she would have loved to see Breha, she knew that seeing such a happy couple would only hurt her, so close to Anakin's death. As they parted, Padmé reminded Bail that she would not be in the senate building the next day due to personal matters, meaning her first prenatal appointment.
Part of Padmé considered just seeing a medical droid, but she knew if Anakin were with her he would want the best care possible for their baby, and only a sentient doctor could provide such care. She was nervous entering the medical center and as she waited to meet with her doctor. Her heart clenched as she filled out the necessary paperwork and, for the first time since her marriage, was honest about her relationship status, as she checked off the widowed box. She bit her lip as she handed the datachip with her medical and personal information on it, knowing that from that moment on, even if it wasn't instantaneous, her marriage to Anakin would be revealed. Someone would connect the dots and even with laws in place protecting patient confidentiality, both her and Anakin were too high profile for no one to be willing to break the rules. Even then, she had written her name as Padmé Naberrie Skywalker. The nurse would announce to the entire waiting room that they were ready for her. The news would be out. And, surprising even herself, Padmé wasn't worried. She wanted people to know about her marriage. She had spent months worrying about hiding their marriage to protect his legacy but their baby was the only legacy that mattered. She'd lost him and she never got to claim him, so with their baby one day carrying his name, she wanted the galaxy to know he was hers, even for such a short time. Padmé ghosted a comforting hand over her abdomen, it was the right thing to do, it was what she wanted to do. There was no longer a risk of Anakin being expelled from the Jedi Order. The only damage would be to her reputation and, frankly, the holonews would probably portray her as a broken-hearted widow carrying the grief of raising a child alone and would most likely improve her approval rating.
"Mrs. Skywalker," A nurse called, her eyes were down at the datapad immediately darted up to look for who shared a name with the Hero with No Fear, as did all the other pregnant woman waiting for their turn, "Oh my, Senator Amidala. Right this way." By the time I'm done with this appointment everyone between here and Tatooine will know about our marriage, Padmé thought as she followed the nurse into an examination room. The nurse puttered around, doing basic tests such as taking her temperature, her blood pressure, weight, and all the other exams that can be conducted without a doctor. "Doctor Ack-shah will be with you in just a moment, you should change into this gown while you wait," The nurse said as she was leaving. She paused in the doorway and added, "Congratulations, Senator, and… I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," Padmé said, her eyes getting misty when she realized it was the first words of condolence she received from someone other than a handmaiden.
Forty-five standard minutes later when Padmé left the doctor's office with her bag weighed down from pregnancy pamphlets, her eyes were misty for a whole different reason. How was she supposed to raise twins alone?
The first months on Zygerria were the worst months of his entire life, bar none. It was worse than the month when the war started, when he lost his mother and his arm within the span of days, because at least then he had Padmé, he had hope, he had freedom. Now he was alone and enslaved. It was a necessary trade, his freedom for the lives of Ahsoka, Obi-wan, and Rex, but it still was brutal on Anakin. But he had been presented the choice between sentencing his friends to a life of slavery and most likely death or freeing them by swearing loyalty to the queen. Doubting that the Jedi would risk their resources to save them, Anakin saw no other choice, and agreed.
His work for the queen consisted of standing guard. Wherever she went, he was instructed to follow, his head held high despite the force restricting cuffs, dressed like the lavish jewelry of the queen, that adorned his arms. Anakin remembered his mother always walking tall, being able to maintain dignity despite an entire life in slavery. He felt like a pet led on a leash, the queen parading him around as her prized protector and captive Jedi wrapped into the perfect package of the attractive Hero With No Fear.
Every time the queen, call me Miraj when we are alone, came near him, Anakin had to suppress a shudder. She disgusted him in so many ways. Her entire empire, her rulership, was built on slavery. Equality was a joke to her and the rights of sentient beings mattered not. All that mattered was money for her and her people, for the success of the Zygerrians and no one else. She was the antithesis of Padmé. Padmé who supported democracy, freedom for everyone, who fought to end slavery and end conflict. Padmé who he loved. Her differences from Padmé, so disgusting and glaringly obvious in every way, made her actions towards him so much worse.
She invaded his space, tracing a claw gently down his cheek, his arm, his chest, every time she passed. When walking she had him stand close to her, too close, as if he was her looming shadow. The worst was the end of the night. Every night when they would reach the ornate doors to her personal quarters she would turn to him. She would slowly trace a pattern across his armored chest or his exposed arm and bring her mouth close to his ear, whispering a request for him to join her. Every night he refused.
"Soon, my dear pet, you will join me," She would always purr, tracing one final line down his bicep, before slipping into her room.
Every night Anakin would return to his own lavish quarters, a thinly veiled cell, and resist the urge to vomit. Once his nausea, solely from his disgust for the queen, faded, Anakin would lay down his bed, armor tossed to the side, and scratch another tally mark in the stone wall. Sometimes he would try to reach out in the Force to Padmé, to Obi-wan, to anybody, but the cuffs never let his message go past the walls of his own mind. Sometimes he would scratch the design from the japor snippet he had given Padmé so long ago into the wall. Most nights though, he would simply fall into a restless sleep, his mind struggling against the Force blocking of his cuffs and his heart aching to be home. His work should have been easy, but bearing the emotional toll of it all was the hardest thing Anakin had ever faced. But by the end of the sixth month it was easy, for he had grown numb. Slavery had become his life once more.
A/N: All following chapters will have the same format as this, a section from Padmé's point of view and then one from Anakin's.
