A week passed and then another. Amidala recovered enough of her strength to begin taking care of herself without Anakin's aid. She's insisted she could change her own bandages and keep the wound clean without his help and he respected that, leaving her to her own devices. He was no expert on the recovery process from bullets but a quick Google search and some YouTube videos had given him a general guide on what to expect.
She needed to move her leg to recover her strength which she did upon his suggestion. Small laps of the living room with Anakin supporting her arm became larger laps of the apartment without his help and then, finally, Amidala demanded he let her try the building stairs. This had made Anakin sweat. The last thing he needed was her to fall and make her leg worse and lengthen her stay. It was hard enough balancing having someone here all the time and working.
But she was strong, he'd noticed that right away and she was recovering fast. He'd seen grown men twice her size take longer to bounce back from a bullet… She was really something alright. The spark he'd seen in her big brown eyes, the determination he sensed inside of her only seemed to grow each passing day. Anakin had never seen anyone like her before.
At 5pm his phone buzzed and Anakin tensed. That only meant one thing. He was being called in. Amidala was resting in the guest bedroom and he didn't want to wake her but being called in usually meant he was going to be gone for a few hours. And almost always longer than expected. Pocketing the phone without glancing at the message, he pulled on his dark jacket and snatched a piece of paper from the table to leave Amidala a note. It was polite. He doubted she'd care where he was but his mother had raised him to have manners at least…
The thought of Shmi sent a cold shudder down Anakin's spine. Shrugging it off, he penned six quick words in blue ink and left it on the table.
"Gone to work. Be back late."
He arrived at the Hutt's expensive mansion approximately forty minutes later and entered without knocking. No one was around which was normal, the kingpin of the Hutt clan, Jabba, took his meetings in the west wing of the estate well away from the centre and east wings, where the family resided. Large ornate paintings of the previous generations of Hutts hung high on the walls, larger than Anakin's apartment walls. Every one of them was large and seemingly gluttonous with dark beady eyes watching him pass by.
Anakin paid the paintings no mind, long used to the unfortunate looking criminal family's oddly sluggish appearances. It was worse in person anyway. He rounded a corner and was faced with a large black door which sat ajar as a familiar tanned skin man made his way out. He would know the man anywhere, the telltale scar below his eye would always tell of his identity. Anakin gave a curt nod, "Fett."
The man followed suit and stepped passed without a word before disappearing around the corner Anakin had just turned. Rolling his shoulders, he stepped toward the door and let himself inside. A raucous beat filled his ears, loud and upbeat, and it only made him want to turn back and leave. Music like that meant Jabba was entertaining. Why does he want me here…?
It took everything in Anakin's power not to roll his eyes as scantily clad women walked passed him with a silver tray bearing an assortment of expensive drinks in hand. It was probably all laced. He stepped further into the fold, slipping by men in suits, women in short, silky dresses and staff rushing around. White smoke from vapes and other devices filled the air making it stale and difficult to breathe. He waved his hand in front of his face as he made his way by, stifling a groan.
It was only when he saw the kingpin himself sitting high on his ornate armchair salivating over a woman dancing on a pole ahead that ice filled Anakin's veins. It wasn't hard to see the woman's eyes were dull and sunken with her mind miles away and beyond the moment. They've doped her up. His mouth turned down unpleasantly as his eyes took in the lacy red underwear she wore. It reminded him of what Amidala was wearing when he'd saved her.
Anakin's eyes flicked up to Jabba, a large and horribly obese man. Like most of the portraits, he was bald and sluggish. Every bit as disgusting on the outside as on the inside. A thick golden chain lay around his colossal neck, perhaps it was intended to draw attention away from the large, uneven pink scar across his throat… But Anakin found it only drew his attention to it more. He didn't know the full story behind the attempt on the head Hutt's life, but there were whispers of a power-hungry nephew and a failed assassination.
He'd never seen a nephew around here.
The woman ground herself against the silver pole as men around her jeered and threw bills she'd never touch toward her podium. She lifted a hand to run through her hair and Anakin's eyes caught the big black "J" inked onto her wrist. Just like Amidala. She was a sex slave too. His stomach churned. He'd never been oblivious to all this before but it'd been easier to ignore that part of Jabba's empire when he hadn't seen the damage and the pain it caused. He'd seen it in Amidala's eyes when she'd told him her story.
What's this girl's story?
"Ah! Anakin!" A voice pulled him from his thoughts. "You're here. Good." Jabba's advisor, assistant and voice, Bib Fortuna, spoke up, smiling manically and gestured for him to step forward. The man was pale and thin, his skin pink and shiny enough to give the impression of slime. It made him shudder. Anakin had heard Jabba's voice only once or twice in the five years he'd been working here and it was small, raspy and barely above a whisper thanks to the attempted throat slitting incident.
As beckoned, Anakin moved through the crowd and stepped forward. The dancer on the pole kept moving, oblivious to everything around her even after the bright spotlight which had brought her to the attention of everyone in the room died. Anakin could only see her thanks to the close proximity. Close enough to see the cuff around her ankle keeping her at the pole. Sick son of a bitch… He thought as he looked back at Jabba.
The disgusting crime boss spoke into his helper's ear and the man nodded eagerly without taking his eyes off of Anakin as he waited. "Ah, yes, I see." He nodded. "Anakin, Jabba was very happy with the work you did on Mr Dooku. The payment has been given in full." The giddy man gave him a cold smile, "and Jabba has thanked you generously." Bib threw a crisp white envelope Anakin's way and he caught it with ease. He didn't need to open it to know what it was. A couple of grand in cash. Clearly with a little extra this time.
"Thank you, Jabba." He nodded toward the large man on the chair. "Dooku wasn't hard to break." In the end, it'd been a matter of how many fingers Anakin had to snap before the older man gave in. An easy day's work.
"Your loyalty and resourcefulness haven't gone unnoticed." Bib spoke slowly, "and Jabba would like to make your partnership with his family official."
Official. Anakin felt himself pale with the sinking resignation to what was inevitably coming. Jabba liked his work, liked how he hurt people in his name and got what the Hutts wanted from them. Anakin was good at it, good enough that Jabba wanted to ensure he was theirs, tied to their family for good. There was no getting out after this. He was fucked. From seemingly nowhere a black leather office chair rolled beside him hitting against his legs and hip and he licked his lips.
There's no getting out of this one.
"I'm honoured." He forced himself to say and nodded appreciatively toward Jabba. Bib gestured toward the chair as roars and howls of applause from the guests filled the room. They knew just as much as Anakin did what was about to happen. Mustering a smile, Anakin shrugged off his jacket and handed it to one of the servers before beginning to undo his shirt. He slid it off once it was open and sunk down into the chair, the back of it pressing against his chest as he straddled it backwards.
From behind him, a buzzing began, barely audible above the music and guests, but Anakin heard it. It made his stomach sink.
I just hope the needle's been sterilised.
Anakin got home a few hours later and his back was killing him. He still felt every prick of the needle gun into his skin, especially when he lifted his arms or pressed anything against his back. That was it… He was branded by the Hutts. One of them. The words had replayed themselves over and over in his head whilst the tattoo had been marked into his skin. Of course, he'd already known his time was limited before he had to get one, but Anakin was a fan of putting off the inevitable sometimes.
Now he wore the brand of Jabba's empire Anakin was part of it and until the end, there was no going back.
He'd just have to be careful around Amidala now… He was willing to bet she wouldn't react well if she found out who he worked for. More of the same, people just like the ones she'd escaped from. The tattoo was on his back anyway, it'd be pretty easy to keep away from her. Wasn't like he was planning to be shirtless around her any time soon… To his annoyance, Anakin felt heat warm up his cheeks at the thought.
Stop that! She was abused.
The thought sent guilt crashing through his stomach. It was wrong, after everything she'd been through with the Clovis', to think about her that way. It only lasted a moment before he shrugged it off and walked through his door, closing and locking it behind him. Immediately, a mouth-watering smell filled Anakin's nostrils… It smelled like food… He wasn't sure what exactly, but it made his stomach rumble regardless.
He followed the smell to the kitchen where Amidala was carefully pulling something out of his oven seemingly unaware of his return. On the counter beside her, there was a half drank glass of red wine which he noticed with a small smile, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. She'd really made herself at home here, hadn't she?
Whatever she was making smelled incredible and his stomach rumbled in agreement. The slight noise alerted Amidala to Anakin's presence and she turned her head, placing the white ceramic dish onto the counter attentively. "You're back."
"Yeah, sorry, I didn't mean to be out so late." His back gave a painful throb in agreement and it struck Anakin suddenly how domestic this was. It was a weird and foreign feeling and he pushed it out of his head as quickly as it came. Amidala didn't say anything as he wandered further into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of painkillers from the highest cupboard before reaching for a glass.
"Headache?" She asked after a moment.
"Something like that." He shrugged and filled the glass with water.
Anakin felt her gaze as he dropped two pills into his mouth and swallowed a generous gulp of water to flush them down. He hadn't mentioned anything about his work but she was a smart woman, Anakin didn't doubt she'd start having suspicions soon enough. Then what? She was free to leave any time she liked, she'd asked him to stay after all, not the other way around. Maybe it'd be nice to get his apartment to himself again.
Or maybe she'd try to kill you if she found out.
Anakin looked at her for a long moment catching her warm gaze and wondered if she was capable.
"What're you cooking?" He asked instead.
She tore her eyes away from his and Anakin wished he felt relieved. "Chicken casserole. I hope you don't mind, I noticed you bought groceries and I didn't want them to go to waste."
He nodded despite the fact she wasn't looking at him but he didn't take much notice. Everything about this was odd. Amidala was standing in his kitchen like it was the most natural thing in the world, cooking away as if she owned the place… Nobody had cooked for him since his mother… His throat choked for a second until he forced a small cough to clear it. No, don't think like that.
"Have you eaten yet?" Amidala asked suddenly, turning back around to look at him and Anakin shook his head. He hadn't realised how hungry he was until getting here and smelling what she'd made. At that, she smiled and nodded, standing on her tiptoes to reach the plates. He watched her for a moment, realising suddenly just how short she was. It brought an unwelcome swell of affection into his chest. Watching her struggle to reach things was actually kind of cute…
Without thinking, Anakin stepped closer to her and grabbed two places from where her arm was outstretched. She had no chance without his help. From his new close proximity, he could tell she'd showered not long ago. Her hair was still slightly damp and curly when it'd always been straight before. To his surprise, Anakin found that he liked it… She looked good. And he could smell a faint waft of his body-wash and deodorant coming from her.
Damn.
His throat felt tight and his mouth was dry. It was only when she went stiff against him that Anakin realised what he was doing and stepped back quickly. What the fuck was he thinking? He thought of the woman from Jabba's place and hated himself. Amidala was a victim, just like that girl. It wasn't right to invade her personal space like that. He cleared his throat and looked down to his boots awkwardly, holding out the plates with one hand.
The silence spanned for a few moments until Amidala gave a small chuckle, pulling Anakin's eyes back to hers. "You know," she started with a smile, "nothing in this apartment is friendly to short people."
He barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. "That's because you're the first short person to ever come here." It was only then Anakin realised what she was wearing. A pair of his black boxers and her white shirt. His mouth went drier than before. Fuck. Something about it appealed to him strongly, she looked better like this than she had in the skimpy underwear he'd found her in. Against his wishes a hot flush of desire washed over Anakin and he tore his eyes away and looked at the floor again.
I'm a monster.
Later, when they were both sitting by his small table with the food Amidala had cooked Anakin caught her looking at him curiously. "How was work?" She asked.
His stomach sank when he noticed her eyes linger on his split and bruised knuckles. That'd been from getting Jabba's money from Dooku. "How's your leg?" He asked in quiet retaliation and took another mouthful of food.
Amidala's eyes fell away from him and down to her food. "It's alright. A little painful from being on it for so long today."
He rolled his shoulders and winced. The pain from the tattoo had returned which was going to make sleeping a real pain in the ass tonight. "Me too." He answered her original question and reached for his water. When her eyes lingered on him expecting more, Anakin sighed. "It was a long day."
Wanting to change the subject, he looked back down at his plate and voiced a question that'd been nagging at him since he got home. "So, where'd you learn to cook?" Was that okay to ask? Anakin had to admit he was curious… He knew for sure that cooking wasn't something the Hutts taught their girls; maybe the Clovis clan was different? Maybe Amidala was just different?
She gave him a tight-lipped smile and looked down at her plate for a second or two. "Oh, my mom taught me when I was a little girl. I haven't been able to do it in so long… It was nice to feel normal for a change."
Anakin felt like a piece of shit.
"I… I'm sorry." He muttered guiltily.
Amidala met his eye with a truer smile, bigger and real. "No, don't be."
They were quiet for a little while after that but not uncomfortably so. It was actually kind of nice. He hadn't had someone in his apartment or at his table in… Well, a long time. He hadn't realised just how starved for company he really was until now. This job had taken up too much of his time.
When they'd finished, Anakin gathered the dishes together to load into the dishwasher while Padme watched. He felt her eyes on him and tried to ignore the warmth that followed the knowledge. "Anakin? What happened to your knuckles?" She asked.
Fuck.
"Went too far at the gym." He mumbled and shut the dishwasher over hoping his answer would be enough to appease her.
"The gym?" Amidala repeated. "How'd you manage to do that at the gym?"
Good question. "Boxing. I do boxing." The lie came to him quickly, rough and not well thought out. Boxing meant using gloves and safety equipment designed to avoid leaving damage like the cuts and bruises on his knuckles. Hopefully, she wouldn't know that. Anakin met her eye as if he had nothing to hide and after a moment or two, she nodded.
"My leg is starting to strain a little; I should probably get some sleep." She made to move past him but paused, tipping her chin upwards to look him in the eye. "Goodnight Anakin."
"Goodnight."
Anakin watched her walk toward the spare bedroom which had quickly become hers and frowned. She'd been standing on her leg cooking for at least a couple of hours… The wound was a few weeks old now and could handle the strain but it would be painful by now. She barely limped. This woman could handle pain far better than most people Anakin knew including men twice her age and size… Her kind of resilience was rare.
Who are you Amidala? He found himself wondering. His mind went back over her story again and just like before Anakin was left feeling like the beautiful, strong woman in his apartment was hiding something from him. That feeling did nothing to get rid of the pull he felt toward her though. It was maddening. She was different. He'd never felt attracted to any of the girls held in Jabba's brothel or the dancers he hired to entertain at his parties… Neither had any girl outside this world, free women, who were oblivious to everything Anakin knew about the world. None of his encounters with them had captured his interest either.
But Amidala? God, he was drawn to her. He was like a moth to a damned flame for her. Desire warmed his blood as the memory of her in his boxers and that tight little shirt flashed before his eyes.
And worse, it wasn't just lust that she brought to his mind either. Anakin spent most of his days thinking about her, about her recovery, trying to piece together the truth of her past and captivity inside the Clovis' mansion. It was almost like… Like part of him was starting to care about her. And that was dangerous. The last person he'd cared about was his mother and she…
Damn it.
Anakin fell back into his seat by the table and ran a hand through his hair.
He was fucked.
Padme slowly blinked herself awake and let the remaining sleepiness fade away peacefully. It was nice to be able to just lie here and not worry about what came next. There was no rush for once and she enjoyed it. Eventually, she couldn't keep laying there and threw back the covers and carefully stepped out of bed. Her leg didn't hurt so much anymore, but still, Padme was careful with it. She had to recover if she wanted to get away from Clovis and his cronies once and for all.
After making the bed and throwing on one of Anakin's shirts and another pair of his boxers she left the bedroom to find the apartment was empty. A glass of water and painkillers sat on top of a folded piece of paper in the kitchen and Padme crossed the room to pick it up.
"Gone to work. More painkillers are in the bathroom if you need them. I moved the plates and bowls down a bit so you don't starve, Midget."
Despite the little insult, Padme laughed. Properly and truly laughed for the first time in what felt like forever. The sound and feel where so foreign to her it brought tears to her eyes. Her fingers traced over the pen marks which made up the letters and read it over three more times. Anakin was an enigma. He was kind enough to take her in and help her; he stitched up her wound and gave her his clothes… He knew who and what she'd been and hadn't treated her like anything less for it. And most importantly, he hadn't tried anything with her. The only time he'd so much as entered into her personal space was to help her reach the plates last night.
But on the other hand, Padme wasn't blind. She knew he was troubled. She wasn't an idiot; nobody came home with bruised and bloody knuckles from boxing at a gym. Something was going on with him but she wasn't sure what exactly. And it wasn't her business anyway.
Her leg was doing better and she couldn't stay here forever. The smile fell away from her face at that, but it was true. There were things she had to do, important things that fell to Padme now that Dorme was… Her throat tightened suddenly.
There was no more avoiding it or pushing to the back of her mind to focus on healing. Dorme was dead. She was gone forever and now Padme had to shoulder the responsibility they shared. She just… She didn't understand how it'd gone so terribly wrong. Everything had been planned meticulously down to the finest details. But somehow, she'd failed. She'd failed Dorme and everyone who was depending on her. It was time there was no more avoiding it.
She had to contact Obi-wan.
But in order to do that, Padme needed a phone. Anakin had one but it was a cell phone and he wasn't home so it was almost certainly with him. She hadn't noticed a landline anywhere in the apartment but maybe she'd just missed it? Maybe he had a spare sitting around?
Padme spent the morning searching the apartment, rifling through everything but nothing turned up. Not a phone or a landline or even a laptop! She'd never known anyone who had as little technology as Anakin. It was blood boilingly frustrating. Eventually, there was only one room she hadn't searched.
Anakin's room.
A sense of decency and propriety had kept her away thus far but as Padme stood outside his door now, desperation began to overpower that. It was wrong to invade Anakin's privacy; he'd taken her in and helped her… But she needed to contact Obi-wan. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Padme wasn't sure what she was expecting but a normal bedroom seemed like a bit of a disappointment. A double bed sat against the wall with pale blue sheets, it was made but not neatly, and Padme stepped further inside the room she realised it wasn't so different to her own bedroom only it was more lived in. By the side of the bed, a dark set of drawers sat and she curled her fingers into fists and then uncurled them. She had to do this.
She got to work, searching the room as quickly and efficiently as possible. There was nothing to find in the wardrobe or drawers so Padme moved onto the bedside table. Pulling the drawer out, there was very little inside. A photograph caught her attention and she picked it up. A dark-haired woman with her hair twisted up into a bun smiled joyfully into the camera with a small blonde boy in her arms. Was this Anakin? Was that his mother?
She smiled at the picture warmly and traced her fingertips over his little face. He was a cute kid and his mother was beautiful too. Her kind face radiated warmth and gentleness. Padme was careful when placing the picture down again and continuing her search. Just when she was ready to give up, her fingers scraped the bottom of the drawer and the sound perked her ears. Carefully, Padme rapped her knuckles against the wood and was hollow!
A false bottom? What was he hiding?
It took Padme a few moments to find the edges of the fake drawer and pull it out, carefully depositing it and its contents onto the bed. Turning back, her eyebrows shot to her hairline. What? A black Glock caught her eye first and shot a cold shudder down her spine. Clovis always carried two of those on him at all times. Without touching it, Padme could see the safety was on but still… Why did Anakin have a gun?
Think! The more rational part of Padme's brain screamed, think! There were hundreds of reasons he could keep a gun hidden away in his drawer. It was perfectly legal so long as he had a licence. This city was notorious for gang-affiliated crime, maybe Anakin just wanted a little bit of protection?
Beside the gun was a worn brown leather book and Padme's shaking fingers reached for it. Dread began to seep into her stomach as she carefully opened it and flicked through the pages. It was a diary designed to help keep track of schedules and events. Normal enough. But the contents certainly weren't. There were meetings listed with names she didn't recognise and appointments such as "pick up payment from Windu. 9:00 am before he leaves for work. 120 Cleveland Street."
Remembering Anakin's roughed up knuckles, Padme looked back to the day he'd come home looking like that. Sure enough, there was something listed. "Dooku's payment due. Final visit."
Final visit? What could that mean? She had a sinking feeling she knew but Padme desperately wanted to give Anakin the benefit of the doubt. That was until she saw it. Her entire body froze and she almost dropped the book.
"Meeting with Rotta and Clovis. Clovis estate. 5:00 pm."
"Amidala?" A voice startled Padme out of her thoughts and she whipped around to find Anakin standing in the doorway. Fear shot through her entire body at the sight of him. He had a meeting with Clovis! He worked with them! What if it was about her? Was he only keeping her here until Clovis wanted her back? Padme's survival instincts kicked in and without thinking, her hand reached back for the Glock before turning off the safety and pointing it straight at Anakin.
"You work for him?" She spat. "All this time and I thought… What was this? Some sick game of his to let me think I'd gotten out?"
Anakin edged further into the room holding up his hands defensively. "Amidala, listen to me… Put the gun down."
"Don't!" She cried. "Don't come any closer."
"I don't work for Clovis." Anakin spoke calmly, "he's just having a meeting with my boss' son. I have to be there."
Lies. He's lying.
"I don't believe you." Her voice trembled and she placed a finger on the trigger something Anakin's keen eyes didn't miss.
"Wait! Hey, Amidala, just wait! Alright? I don't work for Clovis… I work for the Hutts!"
If there'd been any colour left in Padme's cheeks it would have drained away then. She knew all about the Hutts… Everyone did. For every bad thing Clovis and his crew had done, the Hutts had done something far worse. They were the cruellest people in the city and their head, their kingpin, had a strict no mercy policy. Clovis had told her all about them in far more detail than she'd known before and he was frightened of them.
If Rush Clovis, the vilest and most evil person she knew was afraid of the Hutts then they were truly terrible people.
And Anakin was one of them.
She'd worked so hard, given so much to take down men like Clovis with Dorme. They'd gathered evidence and given everything to see them destroyed. Dorme was dead so that men like Clovis and Jabba would be gone… Men like Anakin.
All that in mind, Padme aimed the gun and fired.
