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Chapter 7
More than a few angry motorists cursed Anakin's speeder that night, though their shouts fell on deaf ears traveling too fast to hear them anyway. By the time he screeched to a halt at the apartment balcony at 2100 hours, he'd left enough disgruntled citizens in his wake to fill an entire star destroyer.
Except for the faint glow of some phosphorescent plants in the living area, the apartment was dark. Anakin swore under his breath and killed the engine.
The soles of his boots didn't make a sound as he crossed the patio to open the balcony doors. Even quieter still were his footsteps on carpet, carrying him like a ghost across the room. And with the ethereal senses of a ghost, he heard the soft, steady breathing of someone sleeping nearby.
He approached the lounger from behind, knowing exactly who he'd find lying on the other side.
The delicate fabric of Padmé's nightgown draped over her every curve, the most prominent of which was the belly on which one of her hands rested. Feeling his knees give out at last, Anakin dropped to kneel beside her, choking as a dam of emotions finally burst.
Force…
He was almost afraid to reach for it, fearful the roundness would collapse the moment his hand made contact. He'd quickly discover this was just a dream, a hallucination triggered by his concussion. But if this is a dream, at least let me savor it, he decided at last, slowly raising his right hand before dropping it.
No. The hand that touches it should be human.
The ungloved, flesh palm of his other hand drew closer until he could feel her warmth with his fingertips. With his hand mere millimeters above the impressively swollen sphere, he drew a final breath to steady his nerves.
The last thing he'd expected was to have her belly come to his hand.
The kick had been strong enough to actually push his hand back.
Mouth hanging open, Anakin let his palm fall at last, the sensation sending a shock through him. Another kick thrust in the same spot, forceful and insistent as if aware of greeting its father for the first time. It wasn't out of the question, he realized as he cheeks grew warm. Not if it had inherited even half of his force sensitivity.
Force, he inhaled sharply. I made this. The last time I was home… The memory of Varykino seven months earlier came back to him in a rush. How appropriate their child should be conceived at the very place they were married. On the same bed they'd first shared together as husband and wife, no less. It was so poetic, so–
Something jarred him from his reverie. He sensed another presence, a hidden force signature tucked behind the one kicking his hand. Tentatively shifting his palm to the other side of Padmé's belly, he gasped. There was no mistaking it. There were two inside.
No wonder she looks like she's about to burst, he thought with amazement. Oh Padmé …
When she began to stir, Anakin wondered if he'd said her name out loud by accident. He quickly withdrew his hand and willed her to stay asleep.
"Don't wake up Padmé, you need your rest," he passed two fingers above her forehead, hoping she'd succumb to Jedi influence while semi-unconscious. Strong-willed and resistant as she was when awake, he couldn't be entirely certain it would work even now.
Thankfully it did. Breathing a contented sigh into her pillow, Padmé slipped back into a deep slumber, blissfully unaware of her husband's presence. Anakin smiled with relief before rocking back on his heels, and then frowned. That lounger couldn't be comfortable. She shouldn't subject herself to such mean accommodations, not when there was a perfectly good bed just down the hall. No pregnant wife of his was going to spend the night on a piece of living room furniture.
The trick would be transporting her to the bedroom without waking her. He stood to assess the physics of lifting her. Rubbing his chin, he had to admit it posed a challenge. Any angle he might use would jostle her belly and cause her to wake. A playful smirk crept across his face when he realized there was only one option – one which would make Obi-Wan extraordinarily grumpy if he were present.
Many would have found the situation comical. A woman with a bloated stomach floating through the air did look rather absurd, but Anakin levitated her to the bed without laughing. Lowering her onto the quilted blanket with the softest touch, he let his shoulders relax with a weary smile. She hadn't been much heavier than anticipated, but the day's action had taken its toll. He hadn't been completely dishonest with Obi-Wan and the chancellor. He was exhausted.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he removed his boots and then his belt, tossing it all in a heap next to the nightstand. The mattress embraced his aching back as he surrendered to it. For several minutes he simply stared at the ceiling with hands folded over his chest. Despite every cell in his body feeling drained, he couldn't close his eyes.
He rolled onto his side and sought out Padmé's bulge in the dark. Just to verify one last time that it wasn't a figment of his imagination.
It was still there. He was still going to be a father. To twins.
And the many implications of that still had to be explored, much less reconciled.
But there would be plenty of time for that later. Tonight he wanted nothing more than to drink in his wife's closeness, for even in sleep her presence was soothing. Especially now that her presence contained the better half of their family.
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Dawn was peeking through gauzy curtains when Dormé knocked gently on her mistress' door. When there was no reply, she peered inside to make sure Padmé was well.
"Oh…!" she gasped quietly to herself.
Seeing Anakin's massive form crowding the bed with his feet hanging over the edge, Dormé promptly shut the door and stepped back. Her services clearly weren't needed that morning.
She was long gone by the time Anakin stirred from the remnants of sleep. He stretched both arms slowly, feeling his neck spasm from sleeping in one position all night. His head still ached, though not as fiercely as yesterday.
Yet it wasn't physical pain that tainted the sunrise outside their window, but the haunting echoes of a dream. A nightmare, one as devastating and soul-chilling as those he'd suffered years ago about his mother.
The only difference was it had taken him five times longer to fall back asleep after this one.
That, and he was five times more anxious to share it with Padmé this time around.
Anxious not only for her reaction, but for their mutual distress over not knowing how to change the outcome.
His brow furrowed as the vision replayed itself with grotesque clarity. He saw Padmé's face contorted in agony, bathed in perspiration and screaming for him… nothing but a gray void surrounding them, ready to close in at any moment to claim her in death… the faint cries of an infant that grew more and more distant as he strained to hear it.
Until there was nothing. Nothing but the shapeless gray void. The screams simply vanished along with the crying.
A shudder ran through him at the disturbingly lurid memory. Pushing the heels of his palms against his eyes, he forced himself up and glanced at Padmé still sleeping next to him.
He swore she'd never looked more like an angel. No less pure and innocent than the two lives she carried.
And never more in need of protecting at any cost.
Obi-Wan couldn't be more wrong, he thought while stalking to the fresher, hoping a shower would cleanse some of the dark recesses forming in his heart. He says nothing has changed with our commitment to her safety. If that's what he thinks, he's the last person I can count on for help.
As if anyone in the Order could or would help, for that matter. They'd just as soon hand him and Padmé over to the Separatists than accept their marriage. They'd take one look at her swollen middle and erase every letter pertaining to the Chosen One prophecy, or at least never speak of it again. The collective shame he'd bring upon them wouldn't exactly earn any sympathy for his plight.
He sighed, letting the water sting his skin with more heat than he preferred. It was doing a decent job with his muscle aches but had minimal effect on his frustration.
Distracted as he was, he didn't hear the soft footsteps of his wife approaching before she knocked on the fresher door.
"Ani?"
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I always found it absurd Anakin couldn't sense there were twins. So I corrected that. ;)
