Please see first chapter for disclaimer

A/N: A very big thank you to my beta, the lovely Lacey, who still finds time, after all these years to help a friend out :)

Chapter Four: The Most Exciting Revelation of the Century...

"I told you, I'm sorry," whispered Anakin, as Padmé dragged him to entrance to the great hall.

"This is my retirement dinner, Anakin! You couldn't even see fit to dress yourself properly!"

Anakin would have hung his head in shame but he figured it wouldn't help his situation. "I didn't mean to, I promise. Besides, you always say I look much more dashing with my clothes off," he said cheekily, hoping his smile would help melt Padmé's awful mood.

Padmé turned to him and raised her eyebrow. "You'd better hope I feel inclined you let you come home with me tonight, Anakin. Otherwise you'll be bunking over at the Solo residence."

I'd rather bunk with Count Dooku's corpse at Mustafar with a gundark.

"That won't be necessary, my darling wife. I'll be on my best behaviour."

Padmé sighed and clutched Anakin's arm. The doors then opened and they were welcomed into the beautifully decorated ball room with thunderous applause. Holocameras were going off and politicians, family and Jedi alike filled up the room with warmth and noise. He took the opportunity to wave to the masses and ignored the obvious chatter and Holocameras zooming in on his ripped boot.

Padmé finally freed his arm and took to the podium at the front of the hall. As she began her very uninteresting speech, Anakin used his Jedi stealth to expertly shuffle his way through the crowd to the bar, joining Obi-Wan.

A Jedi shall not consume either drugs or alcohol. Especially at large events. Unless you're Obi-Wan.

"I see you made it in with your other arm still attached to your body," Obi-Wan said by way of greeting as he swirled his Alderaani wine. Anakin groaned in response. "Corellian Ale," he said to the bartender as he struggled to keep up with Padmé's speech: it had a lot of long words. "Better make it a double."

Anakin downed the drink with his expert Jedi senses and ordered another as he saw his children making their way to undoubtedly annoy him. He groaned in response. Obi-Wan raised his wine glass in greeting.

"What do you want?" Anakin bluntly asked. Luke grinned in response but Leia, in a typically Naberrie fashion, simply glared.

"Have you gone completely mad?" she snapped, gesturing to his outfit and his delicious glass of Corellian Ale.

Anakin shrugged in response and downed the rest of the drink, enjoying watching his politician daughter squirm while waiting for his answer.

"Well?"

Obi-Wan hiccupped.

"That's no way to speak to your father," Anakin said pointedly, banging on the bar to order another drink. "I am the Chosen One you know," he said, puffing out his chest to seemingly illustrate the point.

"You're getting drunk at your wife's retirement dinner, dressed like a sweaty barman from Mos Espa! Have you no shame?"

Evidently not.

"It's not like you're listening either, Senator Solo."

Suddenly struck by the horrid idea, Leia quickly whipped around and concentrated on her mother at the podium, who seemed to be glaring at the group of them at the back. Luke wedged himself between Anakin and Obi-Wan.

"Have you seen Mara?" Luke whispered.

"It's not really my responsibility if you lost your girlfriend. She is the one who made me late with her stupid sparring," Anakin replied. "Still beat me here too," he muttered under his breath.

To a Jedi, honour is everything. Taking a padawan under one's tutelage is considered the most honourable act a Jedi Master can perform. However, sticking one's leg out to constantly attempt to trip over one's padawan in order to 'test their reflexes' after a Jedi Master has lost a sparring match would definitely be considered rather dishonourable.

Obi-Wan hiccupped again, earning him a slap on the back from Luke. Anakin stared at his wrist-chrono and back again at his wife. Thankfully, her big words gave way to shorter ones and within minutes, loud applause filled the hall. Anakin joined the applauding masses and plastered a huge smile on his face as Padmé moved through the crowd to him.

"That was the most beautifully crafted speech I've ever heard," he said, taking her hand and gently kissing it. Luke and Leia stared in horror. Obi-Wan hiccupped.

Padmé sharply withdrew her hand. "As if you were listening!"

Anakin felt himself blush red.

"It was a wonderful speech," Luke said, kissing her on the cheek. Leia followed suit.

"Congratulations!"

Padmé smiled in response. "Thank you, my darlings. Leia, could I trouble you to assist me in the fresher? I won't miss these ridiculous outfits, I can tell you that much."

Anakin was briefly assaulted with images of years of being the one to remove those ridiculous outfits. There was no Sithing way he was going to be bunking at the Solo residence tonight.

It was late when Anakin finally stumbled through the door. In one hand he held Padmé's heels and supported her with the other. Threepio greeted them at the door.

"Oh Master Anakin, is everything alright?" the droid asked, indicating Padmé's hobbling form.

"Go away," she moaned.

Anakin felt a moment of pride as a scandalized look appeared on his creation's metal eyes. He was a fine craftsman to have created something so life-like and so annoying.

"My word!"

Anakin dropped Padmé's death heels into Threepio's waiting hands.

"Burn them," he commanded.

"But Master Anakin, these are made by Twi'lek Dreams, they're rather expensive,"

"Since when do you have shoe factory settings programmed into you?" he snapped, helping his wife lie on the couch.

"I'm a protocol droid, Master Anakin. I am fluent in six million forms of communication..."

"Shut up!"

"...and shoe factory settings is one of them. Also, Master Anakin, you programmed me to tune in to the Coruscant Holo Fashion Daily..."

Instead of waiting for Threepio to finish, he grasped his beloved lightsaber and smoothly decimated the death heels.

"The Maker!" screeched Threepio, dropping the remains on the floor. "You nearly dismembered my hands!"

"Make him shut up," moaned Padmé from the couch. Obligingly, Anakin powered down a panicking Threepio.

"Angel, come to bed," he whispered into her ear, brushing her thick hair away from her face. "I can help you out of your final Chancellor outfit..."

He was greeted with a very unladylike snore.

He frowned, thinking back to his very idiotic son-in-law handing glass after glass of Alderaani wine to his wife.

He would be considering payback come morning. Gently picking up his wife, Anakin silently made his way to their bed. He placed her on her side of the bed and fought a laugh when she snored again, slapped his hand and rolled over.

As he pulled on his favourite sleep pants, (Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Master Elite did not sleep with a shirt on either), he faintly heard a beeping from their office. Unwilling to move from his comfortable and warm bedroom, he focused on the Force, trying to work out what was beckoning him.

Unable to concentrate, he made his way to the office. A Holo-message was waiting.

"Diagnosis Confirmed. Please activate your medical droid with the code Alpha-Seven-Beta-Zappa-Four," came the automated message.

Medical droid?

Luckily for Anakin, he mostly had his injuries treated at the Temple and usually had no need for their personal medical droid. He powered up B52-Delta.

"Remote Diagnosis Results Received," the droid told him. "Please key in your access code."

Anakin keyed in the code, wondering who would bother sending their private health records to a dusty, outdated medical droid who lived in the office of a retired Senator and a Supremely Sexy Jedi Master.

"Thank you. Patient 0-4-22-8-7-90-7-62-1. Pregnancy Test Results: Positive. Congratulations."

Kriff.