Warnings: Depression and anxiety and all the stuff that comes with it!

The chapter title is sort of from "The Queen" by Lady Gaga, a truly amazing song.


"And thus," Palpatine was saying from his tall Senate Chamber podium, "It is with a heavy heart that I must regretfully inform this congress that I am being advised by my personal physician to take a short leave of absence to regain my health."

So the Chancellor was taking sick leave. Padmé listened absentmindedly, drumming her fingers on the armrest of her chair. Vacation was more like it. And, well, she couldn't really blame him, either, because at this point in the war vacation sounded nice. Relaxing, meditative, peaceful, serene...

...and completely ridiculous. The leader of an entire Republic of thousands and thousands and thousands of systems couldn't just up and leave because he was feeling a little worn out. It was irresponsible. Outrageous. And, of course, it was going to gain him support and sympathy, a hundred million get well messages and wishes of good health, because he was a tired-looking old man while she, she was just a tired-feeling young woman.

Damn. She wanted sick leave.

The Chancellor continued, "I must assure each and every one of you that while I am away, I will remain constantly available and ready to return at a moment's notice should a crisis arise. I am honored to be the leader of such a loyal body of constituents and I would never wish to abandon the Republic's needs so selfishly for my own."

But yeah, how suspicious would it be if Padmé did take her own sick leave? Two influential members of the Senate from the same planet, who both happened to be feeling extremely unwell of late? She wouldn't be able to pull it off if she tried. It would be broadcast on all news networks that some conspiracy was afoot, a deep-rooted Naboo takeover or some other ridiculous scandal that someone had probably already made up and was just waiting for an excuse to sell to the HoloNet. The Chancellor wouldn't be accused of anything, though, just her. It would be political suicide.

"I am confident that in my absence, we will all make our best effort to keep the Republic functioning at its highest capacity, and continue lending our support to the thousands of Jedi Knights who so nobly lead the campaign against the Separatists."

Suicide, huh?

Oh, no. There were her bad thoughts again. She should probably do something about that.

"I thank you all for your attention and look forward to my return in a few weeks."

And the session was over. Fine, fine. Except, Padmé didn't really feel like getting up, or moving at all. Maybe she could get away with a quick power nap on the floor of the Naboo pod, escape the hustle and bustle of government for just an hour or two, or maybe a day, or the rest of her life –

"It's time to go my lady," said a small voice from behind her.

Padmé heaved a heavy sigh, rubbed her eyes, and said, "How about you be Senator Amidala for the rest of the day, Moteé? You could take my office, my headdress, everything. Just leave me here to die."

The handmaiden walked around the pod and knelt down, making a face. "I could never be half the senator you are, milady. And look, your makeup is smudged again, let me fix that for you." She took a white cloth from the fold in her dress to dab at the black smudges.

"I wonder how that keeps happening," Padmé mumbled. When she was done, Moteé pulled Padmé to her feet and steered her toward the main hall of the Senate building. And as if on cue, Bail Organa appeared at her side.

"What do you think about this turn of events? Some political move?" he asked straight off. Padmé blinked up at him, only belatedly remembering what he must be talking about.

"I think I would like to see a doctor's note," she joked humorlessly, and Moteé let out an obligatory giggle.

Bail had a wry smile on his face. "Well, at any rate, I'm having a small get together at my apartment later and I want you to come. Breha's finally got a chance to visit, and I'm only inviting a few over. And before you ask," Bail added with a twinkle in his eye, "It will be a strictly no-politics party."

Padmé opened her mouth to respond but found herself silent, leafing through excuses not to go in her mind and finding none that she hadn't already used. It wasn't that she didn't want to go – she did, sort of, and Bail was one of the best friends a girl could have – rather, it was just that, well, she just didn't want to go.

Before she could speak, though, Moteé put her hand on Padmé's arm and said, "She would love to, Senator Organa. She's just so excited she can't even speak. Isn't that right, milady?"

Padmé nodded and faked an over-exaggerated, perky smile. "Mhm."

"Wonderful!" Bail said, clapping his hands together, the same twinkle in his eye telling Padmé he knew what the issue really was. "Then I'll see you at twenty hundred tonight!"

When he left, Padmé elbowed Moteé in the side, but the girl just batted her eyes and smiled.


The trip home, an unfulfilling nap, and a long argument between Moteé and Ellé over which dress Padmé should wear later, and Padmé was stepping through Bail's front door. Alderaan parties were terrific, they really were, but something about the aching fatigue that made all of her limbs three times heavier than they should have been made her want to turn around, go straight back home, and sleep for the rest of eternity.

At least, that was until a quiet, very polite voice from behind said her name and when she turned around, she smiled for what felt like the first time in five months.

Obi-Wan looked tired, as always, and his smile didn't really have any of his characteristic youthful charm in it. He looked thinner every time she saw him. She said, her own voice sounding more positive than she had thought possible, "I didn't know you would be here! I've been so worried about you, how are you? No wait –" she added hurriedly when he opened his mouth to reply. "Don't answer. I can't stand it when people ask me that question, so just pretend I didn't say anything." He just smirked, put his hand on her arm for a moment, and went off to greet Bail.

Padmé spent the night trying to laugh, actually laughing a few times, and wavering very distinctly between Moteé was right this was a good idea and I need to leave right now or I'm going to flood Coruscant with my unprovoked tears. She spent time catching up with Breha, because if there was anyone at all in this universe she could relate to it was another queen; they had a late dinner which, of course, was excellent; at one point (having forsaken the no-politics rule almost immediately) she stood in a small group with Mon and Bail, speaking in hushed but strictly disapproving tones about the Chancellor's absence because really, it was a ridiculous action for Palpatine to take and she was glad she wasn't the only one who thought so. After a point, she realized Obi-Wan had excused himself from company and she went to look for him.

She found him on the balcony, looking cold and incredibly alone. Naturally, he knew it was her before she could say anything. She put her hand on his arm and they stood in silence, watching the animated Coruscant landscape for a long time.

"How is Ahsoka doing?" Padmé asked, not knowing if she would get a response.

His eyes were exhausted from all the terrible things he had seen and done in such a short time. "I'm not entirely sure," he said distantly. "It seems like she's always in motion. Trying to take her mind off things, I think. She's still exceedingly reckless, sometimes. Too often." He sighed. "I wish I could get her to slow down, but if I try to interfere she just avoids me."

"She's only sixteen," Padmé said. "That's much, much too young to be fighting in a war."

"If only I had a say in it," he responded, gripping the railing of the balcony so hard his knuckles, bruised and battered from combat, turned white.

Padmé folded her arms around herself, and not only to keep warm against the chilly breeze. "You're not supposed to be soldiers. Surely even the Jedi Council can't force you to fight in the war if you don't want to."

Thinking, he said, "Any Jedi, including me, would rather die fighting in the war than have someone else do so in our place." Then, he looked sideways at her. "I'm sure that must sound like a generic response, but it's how we really feel. If my time comes during the war, then I would be honored to become one with the Force."

Padmé didn't say anything. She didn't have the mental energy to even want to have a philosophical discussion about death and metaphysical afterlife in the Force, whatever that meant. She just wanted him and Ahsoka to be safe, and as long as the war continued they would never be that.

Suddenly, though, Obi-Wan seemed to collapse in on himself, leaning over so that his elbows rested on the railing, putting his face in his hands, taking deep breaths of the stale city air. A moment later, he spun around and looked at her with an almost wild frenzy in his normally calm face. "When I'm away, I can forget about everything. Distract myself. Maybe even pretend that – that I'll find him in his room when I come back, fiddling with some droid." Padmé's mouth fell open. Wait, huh? Where was this coming from?

Obi-Wan shuddered, continuing, "But when I'm here...He was like my brother, you know. But it feels more like losing a child..."

To steady him, or maybe herself because she was definitely shaking now, Padmé put her hand on his back and tried to think of some condolence to offer. Instead, she whispered, "He was my husband," and after an uncomfortable pause Obi-Wan looked back up at her, appearing faintly shocked. She continued, voice now thick with emotion, "We got married on Naboo. Years ago, after Geonosis." Her heart was beating so fast, and tears were in her eyes now. "He wanted you to know so badly, but...both of our careers were at stake, and he was so afraid of disappointing you, and..."

Obi-Wan looked back out at the city, unseeing, and breathed, "Married..."

"Please," she said, "Please don't think of him badly because of it. It was both of our decisions to lie about it, and he loved and respected you so much. Sometimes, you were all he would ever talk about. He was crazy about you."

Obi-Wan just shook his head back and forth. "What else didn't I know?"

That he slaughtered a tribe of Sand People in cold blood, Padmé thought immediately, but no way in hell was she ever going to say those words aloud, to anyone ever.

Her chest hurt so badly, and her throat was too tight to speak, so she just wrapped her arm around his shoulder.

Obi-Wan looked at her again, as if seeing her for the first time. "I am so sorry, Padmé."

"Me too," she whispered back. "I miss him so much."

"Me too."

They held each other for a long time. Resting her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes, Padmé tried not to pretend it was Anakin holding her, instead of Obi-Wan. It was only once they had remembered exactly where they were that they broke apart. Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair and said, not looking at her, "I should probably go."

She didn't want him to. Still, she nodded. "Please be safe, Obi-Wan."

He squeezed her hand once, left her out in the cold, and when she returned to the party she tried to pretend she wasn't shaking.


If Padmé considered the last few months in terms of good days and bad days, today had to be a bad day. One day, one day after the Chancellor's departure to who-knows-where and already she was swamped, bogged down in meetings for hours on end, drowning in bills and paperwork and memos and comments and questions and never, never in her years and years of work as either queen or senator had she ever felt this overwhelmed. And everything had to be done perfectly, because if it wasn't the queen would catch on that Padmé couldn't do her job, and then she could get fired, and then she would be trapped inside her own head for the rest of eternity and the war would rage on and society would crumble and it would all be because she couldn't fill out some stupid form without crying all over her desk...

She told herself, think of all the bad things that will happen if you don't fill this form out right now. Well, for one, someone would look for the form by the deadline date and find that it wasn't there, and probably be severely annoyed. Then they would trace the disappearance back to her, report her to her sovereign leader, who would bring Padmé back to Naboo, where she wouldn't be able to help with the larger war effort and as a result people would starve to death, and everywhere she went for the rest of her life everyone would stare at her with looks of unbridled disappointment because she was such an incompetent public servant and why did they even elect her as queen in the first place? What a mistake that was, they would think.

On second thought, she said to herself, don't think about it. Don't think about anything at all.

Tears welled up in her eyes, just like they did every day. Fill out the form. Just fill out the form. Fill out the stupid form –

Actually, she decided, taking a nap in her office sounded like a much better idea.


A week later, the pointless form a distant memory (that constantly jabbed at her self-esteem like a red-hot poker because hell, if she couldn't fill out a form what could she actually do? probably nothing), Padmé pulled a small wooden jewelry box out from underneath her bed. It was a rectangular thing, innocent in appearance, the box itself originally belonging to a beautiful blue gemstone necklace, a gift from her father's mother. The necklace had been lost years ago by a young and irresponsible politician soon to be named Amidala, but the box now contained two newer relics of the not so distant past. For a few minutes, Padmé held the box in her lap, staring down at it, considering. Then, she opened the metal clasp and took a deep breath.

Besides two years of love and an uptight protocol droid, the japor snippet and the Padawan braid were the only two gifts Anakin had ever really given her. But, Padmé thought as she took the necklace by its rope and hung the snippet around her neck, they were enough. The markings on the wooden trinket were foreign to her, understood only by a community of slaves on a desert planet, but if she closed her eyes and dreamed hard enough, she could imagine the little boy staying up late the night before his big race, carving symbols into the wood and thinking about the teenage girl who had showed up at his junk shop looking to repair her starship.

Looking back in the box, she considered picking up the braid, too, but decided against it. It was too pristine, too perfect to risk snagging the hairs, too personal even for her to touch. Instead, she bit back her tears, closed the box, and thought, happy birthday, sweetheart. I'm so sorry.


The Corellian Sunrise was really, honestly, truly the best alcoholic beverage on this side of the galactic core. It was this delightful shade of orange, and although she had never seen a Corellian sunrise in person, Padmé knew that one day (when she was significantly more sober, perhaps) she would have to hop on over to the planet and see if it really was as beautiful as the drink. And okay, sure, all right, maybe drinking herself into a coma wasn't the best way to cope with her husband's death – murder – it was her fault her fault her fault – but that certainly didn't mean it wasn't a viable option.

From somewhere she couldn't see (because her eyes had closed against the ethereal swirl of fruity-tasting bliss) C-3PO's nagging, worrisome voice was saying, "Mistress Padmé, don't you think you've had enough of that foul liquid by now? This is your third glass tonight."

"Noooooo, Threepio," Padmé slurred, wheeling around to face him. "You can go shut down or, whatever you do. I am perfectly – hic – capable of – proceeding along my present course alone – hic –"

"Dear oh dear," Threepio said, shuffling away with that mechanical sound he made when he walked, and she downed the rest of her glass. Stretching, she stood up to go get herself another drink, made a few wobbling steps towards her liquor bar and –

– the next thing she knew it was morning, she was in her bed, and she didn't entirely remember what had happened the night before but it must have involved her head being hit repeatedly with a giant metal hammer because there was nothing else that could have explained this headache, oh boy...


At work, her eyes skimmed over the same sentence for what felt like the thirtieth time. It wasn't anything too complicated, just a dissertation on the public expenditures of neutral systems during wartime, so she couldn't understand why she was having so much difficulty focusing. If she was going to address the controversial government spending of neutral but trade-heavy planets like Mandalore to her constituents and the toll that the war had taken on the galactic economy as a whole, she would need to be well-read on the issue at hand. Unfortunately, she was yawning every three minutes and kept glancing over her shoulder to lazily watch Coruscant through the window, distracted and uninterested in the discourse before her.

Padmé couldn't understand why she felt no interest in anything anymore. All she wanted to do was watch bad HoloNet features and lay in bed. It was unlike her and terribly inappropriate for a distinguished Senator such as herself.

She sighed and put her head on the desk. Her headdress was knocked askew despite how carefully Ellé had pinned it to her head this morning. If it wouldn't have left her looking like an undead creature from the depths of the Coruscant underworld, she would have just taken the thing off completely.

The comm unit attached to her desk buzzed and she fumbled around, trying to find the button without looking. When she heard the click she uttered an, "Mmm?"

"Senator, Representative Binks is here from Naboo."

"All right," she mumbled, lifting her heavy head up as Jar Jar entered, decked in the regal senatorial robes he always thought were unsuited to him.

"Hi, Jar Jar," she mumbled as he sat down. "Thanks for coming."

"Mesa happy to be helpin' with whatever yousa need!" Jar Jar said cheerily. Padmé tried to smile for him. "What can mesa do?"

"I'm just so tired, Jar Jar," she said, leaning back. "Naboo needs my help, and with the Chancellor away there's so much that I need to do to make up for him being gone. I don't want to ask you to take on all my responsibilities, but...I was wondering if you might – I don't know –"

Jar Jar put his hand to his chest. "Mesa would be honored to take on yousa burdens, Padmé," he said seriously. "Yousa done so much for Naboo and the war, mesa thinken yousa deserve a break."

She frowned. "You do?"

He nodded. "Mesa know what yousa been goin' through. Mesa miss Ani too."

Padmé was too tired to feel more guilt. The weight from it had already crushed her and left her for a pile of goo seven months ago. Still, Jar Jar was one of the first friends Ani ever made when he left Tatooine as an energetic nine-year-old with a haunted past. She remembered the little boy and the Gungan sitting quietly with no one but each other for company as the politicians and the Jedi took care of their Important Business. She remembered concealing her identity from them and trying not to look longingly at these two strange figures who knew nothing of the planet they had been deposited on.

She sighed and then looked gratefully at the Gungan before her. "Thank you, Jar Jar. I really need this."


If it weren't for Jar Jar's help, Padmé was certain she would have been fired by now. After all, if Queen Neeyutnee had any idea that a certain Senator Amidala was lying on the couch of her main room with a blanket draped unceremoniously over her, staring at a holodrama with swollen eyes, her majesty almost certainly would have taken action already. But really, Padmé couldn't help it – she physically, no matter how hard she tried, couldn't seem to do anything at all. And because of it she hated herself so much that it hurt to even be alive.

Dormé came over and started smoothing her hair. "Senator, please tell me what's wrong," she said gently.

"I killed my husband," Padmé whispered, choking on the words.

Dormé knelt down beside the couch. "Milady, Count Dooku killed your husband. I don't think anyone would believe for an instant that you intended for this to happen."

"Doesn't matter – what I " No, she couldn't even finish the sentence, it was too hard to even speak. Instead, she sputtered, "I miss him."

"I know you do," Dormé said, rubbing Padmé's back in soothing motions. It should have helped, but it didn't. Nothing could ever help. There was no way she would ever, ever, ever feel better...


Ahsoka was over, propped on the railing of Padmé's balcony with her legs dangling back and forth. She was saying, "Look, I can't imagine how hard this must be for you, but...I mean, we're all having a really hard time, it's not just you. Maybe you just need to sink yourself deeper into your work or something. That's what I've been doing."

Padmé, slumped against the wall, covered her eyes with her hand and looked away as the tears slipped out. And that was why she hadn't told anyone exactly how she was feeling before now. It's what they all said. Get deeper into your work. Look on the bright side. Just smile. Think about work. No one understood, not at all, not even a little bit.

It wasn't really Ahsoka's fault that she'd say that, Padmé knew. The Padawan had never been depressed with a capital D before, but honestly, what more could Padmé do? Did she look like she could wish away these feelings? "You don't understand," she whispered, her voice catching.

"I guess not," Ahsoka said quietly. "I'm sorry. I really do want you to feel better. Have you tried any kind of medication?"

Sniffing, Padmé shook her head. "I don't trust these Coruscant doctors," she said. "The last thing I need is for someone to hear a rumor that I'm clinically depressed. No one would ever take me seriously again."

Ahsoka hopped off the railing and knelt down in front of her. "Padmé, I'm going to say this as your friend. Your wellbeing is more important than anything."

Before she could stop herself, Padmé blurted out, "I don't deserve to feel better."

"Yes, you do." Ahsoka leaned in, and put her hands on either side of Padmé's head so Padmé couldn't look away. "You deserve so much better than this, okay? And I know you're beating yourself up about that decision, but look at what's come out of it. Grievous is dead, the Separatist army's lost it's main commander. As an army officer myself, let me tell you that that's a big deal."

Padmé wasn't sure, and it must have been obvious on her face because Ahsoka continued, "Listen, I've fought with Grievous, and believe me, he was scary. I've seen battlefields in his aftermath, and I've been to planets that the Separatists colonized. We're so much better off without him, Padmé."

"So you think I made the right choice?" Padmé asked, skeptical.

"Don't put words in my mouth," Ahsoka said coolly, leaning back. "I'm just saying that you don't deserve to be feeling like this no matter how much you think you do." Then, Ahsoka's face took on a different, muted expression. "And I'm probably part of the reason you feel this bad. Again, I'm sorry. I wish I could make it up to you."

"You already have," Padmé said, taking her hand.

Ahsoka tried to smile. "And about Anakin, well...listen, if there's one thing I've learned from Master Kenobi, it's that sometimes, we have to make decisions and take actions that kill us inside, but are for the greater good."

Padmé leaned her head back against the wall. If only she could make herself believe that applied here, no matter how true it was. She said, "If I can manage it, I'll try to find a doctor I can trust."

"Good," Ahsoka said, looking reassured and confident. She leaned against the wall, and nudged Padmé gently in the side with her elbow. "I just don't want to lose another friend. After all, who else is going to hook me up with gourmet Naboo cuisine?"

Padmé faked a smile.


She had been expecting the call from Queen Neeyutnee for weeks, and it had finally come. Padmé was being called back to Naboo, where her majesty had some "Important Matters" to discuss. A part of Padmé wished the queen could have just said it, those two magic words, you're fired, because it was going to happen anyway and there was nothing she could do to avoid it and she might as well just start planning for her future now...

It was only the second time she had seen Naboo since she had knowingly and mercilessly abandoned Anakin to his death, but even so, Padmé had to admit she was happy to see the rolling grassy plains and the rumbling waterfalls, and to smell the sweet aroma of flowers that blew throughout Theed. If she really had to retire at the age of twenty-six, at least she could do it on the most beautiful planet in the entire Mid Rim.

The queen received her in the throne room with that familiar masked expression on her painted face. Beside the throne stood the queen's own handmaidens, so like Padmé's own, silent until called for.

Neeyutnee spoke first, but what she said came as a surprise. "How are you feeling of late, Senator?"

Padmé's mouth fell open involuntarily. An unexpected inquiry, to be sure. And it would be so, so wrong to lie. So wrong...she cleared her throat. "I'm doing well, your majesty."

Skepticism was, apparently, one of the emotions that could make it through the queen's makeup. "The reason I ask is because recently, I have been concerned about your ability to fulfill the demands of your position. Are you having difficulty coping with the amount of work? I understand you have asked Senator Binks to assist you in many duties."

Padmé looked at the floor, too ashamed to meet Neeyutnee's eyes. Shame stabbed at her like a knife. "Yes, I have been having trouble."

Neeyutnee said, "Senator Amidala, you are an excellent representative for the needs of this planet, its people, and our sector. There is not a single piece of legislation that you have pushed for that I have not supported. That being said, if you feel you cannot continue to serve Naboo to the best of your ability, then I will have to ask you to do something that I would rather not."

Padmé realized she was shaking. Just fire me. Fire me, please, that would make everything so much easier. Or harder, I really don't know. "Forgive me, your majesty," she said, bowing her head.

"I am not removing you from your post, Senator." What? "Queen Jamillia believed you to be the best representative for our planet, and I agree with her judgement." It's not true, though, it's really not. Honestly. "I had hoped that asking you to return to Naboo might help remind you of what you fight for in the senate, in contrast to the harsh atmosphere of the capital. Perhaps some time away will be healthy for you."

Padmé gaped at her. That was so kind, so thoughtful. She didn't deserve that sort of kindness. "Thank you, your majesty," she said genuinely. "I am honored that you have so much faith in me. I promise I will not allow myself to become so unfocused in the future."

Neeyutnee stood and said, "There is no need to thank me, Senator. I simply do not wish to lose a representative that is as good for Naboo as you."

A second chance. Padmé was getting a second chance. On one hand, the heaviness of it all felt like it was going to squish her into the ground like a boot squished a bug, leaving nothing but a barely alive pile of goo that couldn't move and wouldn't die. On the other hand, maybe if she could just find the energy, she could make the queen – and herself – proud and finally fix this galaxy from the bottom up. Maybe...


When Padmé rang the doorbell to her childhood home that afternoon, she wasn't sure what she would find. Avoiding the entire planet for seven months straight had meant indirectly avoiding seeing her family in person, and even now a sick part of her wanted to run away while she still had a chance. Even the stone walls and the well-maintained plants on the front steps couldn't calm her racing heart, or tamp down the sureness that she would be met with looks of stern disapproval from her parents and betrayal from her nieces and –

The door opened, and before she even knew what had happened her older sister had swept Padmé into her arms. "Where have you been?!" the woman squealed, releasing Padmé and holding her at arms length to look her over. Sola was, as always, beautiful, with glowing skin and a soft velvet dress and that shining, beaming smile on her lips.

In response, Padmé just shrugged. "Severely depressed."

Sola pulled her inside and shut the door. "Mom and Dad are out with the girls, so I think we have plenty of time to talk. I want to hear everything."

"I'm not sure you know what you're in for when you say that..."

"Everything."

So Padmé spilled. About the Senate, and how she couldn't cope, and how Queen Neeyutnee was two seconds from forcing her into an early retirement; about her feelings, and how much she maybe, sometimes, occasionally wanted to get hit by a passing speeder; about the fact that, well, remember that cute Jedi boy she had brought home that had been her bodyguard that one time? Yeah, well, they had gotten married and, oh, he was also dead and she was a widow and it was her fault that he was dead and she couldn't stop thinking about him for one second and it hurt so so so so much and Sola...

By the time her parents had come home, the crying had stopped. She felt so drained, but still she swept Sola's two adorable daughters into a big hug and pressed a million kisses to their cute little braided crowns before moving onto her parents, clinging to each of them in turn like she herself was a child again.

When they separated, Jobal, her mother, said, "How long are you staying?"

"I'm not sure," Padmé said. "Not long."

"You're staying the night at least?" her father, Ruwee, asked, already heading into the kitchen to start a feast. "We have four courses planned!"

Padmé laughed, again kneeling down and hugging Sola's daughters. "At least."

That evening, they settled into the most delicious dinner Padmé had ever had, and for just a little while she could forget about the pain.


Later, Padmé sat on the front steps of their house with her mother's arm wrapped around her shoulders. They were looking up at the stars. There was nowhere on Coruscant one could see the stars from. Maybe a few every once in a while, but the light pollution was so great it might as well have been perpetual daytime. The air was so much cleaner here, too, and everything was quieter, and she wished more than anything right now that she didn't have to go back.

"I still think you're overworked," Jobal said quietly into her ear, stroking Padmé's hair. Padmé felt a little like a child again, but in the best way. "You look exhausted. Drained. You should stay here for a while."

"I can't, Mom," Padmé murmured. "The queen called me back here to give me a formal reprimand because I've been neglecting all my responsibilities."

"Well one day, when Queen Neeyutnee is a mother, maybe she'll understand how much it grieves me to see you in so much pain." Padmé looked up at her. "That's right, I know. I can see right through you. I don't know what happened, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to – but I just want you to know that we're always here if you need to talk. All of us." Jobal smiled warmly. "You will always have a home here, Padmé."

"Thanks, Mom."

They looked back up at the stars.


Before she went back to Coruscant, she got a prescription for antidepressants from her old Theed doctor. It could take a few weeks, she was told, before they started working, and honestly Padmé wasn't quite sure she would make it that long, but honestly, it was a relief to have a diagnosis to cling to. Well, it was better than living with the nagging idea that maybe it really was all in her head. Somehow, she was finally managing to convince herself that maybe everyone else was right. That somehow, for whatever reason, she actually did deserve to feel better.

It just sure as hell didn't feel like it.


A month later, it was still hard. Some days, Padmé woke up after already sleeping too late, rolled over, and put her head back in the pillows until Moteé gently forced her to get up. Those days, it felt like the stars had gone out and there was no reason to get dressed because there was a war going on and civilization was crumbling and no one in the Senate seemed to care. Those days, she fought tears when she looked at the Jedi Temple from her balcony and felt sick to her stomach when she realized Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were out there fighting a war that they, like Anakin, might not survive.

Other days, she woke up and she was happy to see the sun. She was eager to put on her headdress and go to the Senate and speak up because hey, there was a war going on, the economy was struggling, people were dying every day, and she needed to do something about it. Peace wasn't going to happen if she just stood by and watched the Republic crumble. Peace wasn't going to wait for her to get over her feelings about widowed at the age of twenty-five. Peace wasn't going to rebuttal against all the calls for more clone troops and more deregulation of government services and more powers to a Supreme Chancellor that wasn't even present on Coruscant at the moment. Peace needed her to get her head in the game.

Never, though, would Padmé forget the color of Anakin's eyes or the way his face lit up when he saw her across a room. She wouldn't forget their wedding day or their wedding night or any day or night since, nor the touch of his hands and the feeling of his hair in her fingers and the tingling she felt when their bare skin touched. Her memories would remain within her but the feelings brought by them would not rule her. With or without Ani, she would always be her own person, and maybe that was enough.


A/N: Thanks for reading honeys! I hope you're all doing well. (Padmé deserves to feel better, pass it on) (I'll fight you if you disagree) [puts up fists] Also, no I will not update any faster than two weeks at a time, sorry!

Your comments mean so much to me, I can't even tell ya. And because y'all are so good to me, here's a hint for chapter 8: a certain cutie who happens to have amnesia and all sorts of other problems will soon have his name changed to something that starts with a V. Wow, how ambiguous!

Until then, have a safe, possibly Halloween-filled, mentally healthy next two weeks!