Chapter 12
"All we have to believe with is our senses, the tools we use to perceive the world: our sight, our touch, our memory. If they lie to us, then nothing can be trusted. And even if we do not believe, then still we cannot travel in any other way than the road our senses show us; and we must walk that road to the end."
Neil Gaimen
I sit, comfortably ensconced in my chair, as I stare blindly out the window, fingers abstractedly tapping out on odd rhythm on the arm of my chair.
Anakin has gone to bring around a speeder, and to make sure that there is no one about who might see me and report my presence to the Emperor.
My eyes drift over to the now empty pilots chair, my mind idly going over what had just occurred.
I honestly had not expected him to admit his culpability so easily. He is as at least as stubborn as I am, if not more so. So, the notion of him admitting, both out loud and to himself, that he, and he alone, was responsible for his actions, was inconceivable.
When you've been lying to yourself for so long, it's only too easy to go on doing so.
'Isn't it though,' a voice whispers mockingly deep inside my mind.
My jaw clenches tightly as I am forced once again to face that which I would prefer to ignore.
I am afraid, terrified even, and I can't even tell why. All I know is that the idea of setting foot on Coruscant again fills me with a dread so strong that I almost feel as though I will be ill.
I have not set foot on Coruscant in over ten years, and to be honest, would have been more than happy to avoid it for another ten, if not indefinitely. My eyes close in a futile attempt to calm the flock of mynocks that has taken up residence in my stomach.
My eyes snap back open at the sound of Anakin's voice calling to me.
Blinking, I bring my surroundings back into focus, and realize belatedly that my hands are gripping the armrests of my chair, the fingers white-knuckled as they dig into the soft material.
I deliberately force my fingers to unclench themselves, and rise, a trifle unsteadily, to my feet.
Breathing deeply, I brace myself, before stubbornly moving myself forward, one step, two...and then I'm at the ramp, looking down to where my husband waits expectantly.
I take another deep breath, and with a last longing look at the relative sanctuary of the shuttle, walk determinedly down the ramp, and set foot on Coruscant, for the first time in over ten years.
Anakin's hand settles on my shoulder, tentative as a lighting bird. I glance up reassuringly and place my hand over his, giving it a slight squeeze of reassurance.
I am alright, and for a moment, I think that perhaps this is true. I am fine, and everything will be okay. But as we walk to the waiting speeder, a sense of dread washes over me, and I know deep in the pit of my stomach, that once again I will be proven wrong.
Anakin's hand cradles my elbow gently as he helps me into the sleek black speeder, the door sliding shut behind me. Moments later, Anakin enters from the other side, easily settling into the drivers seat despite his large frame.
A small smile lurks about my lips as I watch him pilot the speeder away from the landing pad. The smile is in part from my own memories of our short time together, which surprisingly enough, in this moment, do not cause me much pain. But mostly the smile is caused by the feelings of exhilaration I caught from him.
Anakin always loved to fly. He told me once that when he was flying he felt free, utterly and completely. The only other place he felt that feeling of peace and freedom was in my arms, and in my bed.
He once tried to explain it to me, I remember it vividly. In fact, it was on what I suppose was technically our honeymoon, if you could call three all to brief days a honeymoon. Even so, I wouldn't trade those three days with him for the most lavish honeymoon money could buy.
We were lying in bed, replete for the time being. I was curled into his side, and his hand was absently stroking my waist. In those days he was always touching me, like he wasn't quite sure I was real, and had to constantly touch me to reaffirm my presence.
Both of us were new to this physical side of intimacy, and we were still basking in the glow of discovery. Anakin, especially. Perhaps his feelings were due to the lack of touch in his own life. After he was taken from his mother, he was placed in an environment that, while certainly caring, was not one to foster feelings of love and affection. Being an extremely physical and tactilary person by nature, Anakin felt the lack keenly.
He told me that when we were together in that way, he felt complete, sated and at peace, for the first time in his life. For lack of a better analogy, he awkwardly compared it to the exhilaration and freedom of flying.
I teased him about that mercilessly, pretending to be offended that he would compare his time in my bed to flight. In truth, it didn't bother me in the least. When he spoke to me, with that light of joy and wonder in his eyes, I understood it for the compliment it was.
Even when he realized that I was teasing him, he insisted on making amends in his own way. He promised that the next day he would take me flying, and show me what he meant. I laughed it off and it was not long before we were eagerly entwined once again.
Anakin kept his promise, and the next day we took my speeder out into the hills of Naboo. Anakin had me take the controls, placing my fingers on them with his own hands covering mine, his chest flush against my back.
We flew together, our hands moving till I scarcely new who was guiding whom. For the first time, he opened himself to me completely. It was almost overwhelming, being surrounded by the intensity of his love, but at the same time it was also reassuring. As we flew, his exhilaration flowed over into me, filling me with a sort of buoyancy. The passion that flew between us mingling with the exhilaration and joy of the day, to create an feeling I have never, to this day, been able to reclaim.
It was only a day after that when Anakin first had to leave me. It scarcely seemed fair that we only had those few precious days together. It never was, of course.
I reminded myself, again and again, that I knew going into this marriage that things would be this way. Still, in the early days, it was bitterly hard.
Thinking on that has no purpose now...still I can't help allowing my thoughts to return to my memories of our time together.
In those first days, we loved with the innocence and curiosity of new lovers, learning each other until we almost knew the other better then ourselves.
Anakin made love to me with an unflagging joy and passion, an innocence that was endearing in its tenderness. His eyes were clea,r filled with passion and love. There were no secrets between us, no awkward silences. In those days, we were as yet unskilled and too new to each other to contemplate much else.
Later, when Anakin returned from the wars, that innocence was lost- yet another casualty of a pointless war.
The first time I realized that it was gone was on one of his all to infrequent furloughs. He came to me and loved me almost desperately. The passion was, as always intense. Still, I couldn't help but feel something was missing. It was not until later that night that I realized what it was. The bright eyed innocense was gone, and that night I wept silently into my pillow for the loss of the boy I had married.
Still, his loving was intoxicating, single minded, focused completely on the task he set for himself. He loved me then, with a passion that was almost unnerving at times, the intensity almost to much to bear.
During our last days together, when he loved me, the possessiveness he had always exhibited grew to almost disturbing lengths. It was as though he were more claiming me, possessing me with a ferocity born of some deep seated need, or fear.
It is only now that I realize that this claiming was yet another desperate attempt to hold on to me, to keep me from slipping away from him.
I do not know why I think on this now, Maybe it's being on Coruscant again. Or maybe it's just being in his presence. Usually, thinking on this vein, remembering, only makes me mourn bitterly for what was lost. Now... now the pain is still there, but not as bad as before, more of a dull ache than a stabbing pain.
My head snaps up with a jolt as the speeder comes to a stop, and a pervasive sense of familiarity echoes hollowly through my center.
As Anakin opens the door and carefully helps me from the speeder, a ball of ice begins to form in my stomach. I'm afraid that I know all to well where we are, where he is taking me.
The buildings that surround our landing pad are dilapidated, the once gleaming exteriors scarred and pitted. Windows and sections of walls are missing, leaving them with an oddly haunted appearance.
Bracing myself, I turn to follow Anakin, my eyes drawn against their will to the building in front of us.
It too has the look of the long abandoned but, unlike the others, there are no marks of obvious vandalism. The walls are aged and scarred with time, but aside from that, it is untouched.
I begin to understand why when Anakin stops in front of a keypad, and for a moment the air in front of us shimmers with the glitter of a dissolving energy shield.
Stepping into the hall is something of a surprise. I had expected it to be as worn and dilapidated as the exterior, but it is remarkably well kept. While certainly somewhat aged, the corridors we pass through seem to have more of a feeling of graceful weathering than true disrepair.
Our path is blocked momentarily by two security droids, but they respond almost immediately to Anakin's command to stand down. I glance at Anakin with a questioning look, and he simply shrugs awkwardly in response.
As we continue further into the building, I can't help but notice the almost tomblike emptiness. The building is unnaturally silent, the only noise the steady sound of our footsteps echoing hollowly through the halls.
Finally Anakin comes to a stop in front of a door that I know all to well, and my heart feels as though it will pound through my rib cage.
Anakin bypasses the security and steps into the room, instintively scanning for any threats that might be waiting. Satisfied, he looks back at me and extends a hand, waiting expectantly.
A frisson of disquiet crawls down my spine, but I square my shoulders and take his gloved hand in mine, allowing him to pull me into a world I had never thought to see again.
Stepping through the door is like stepping into the past. I am hit by a sense of deja-vu so strong that a cold shiver crawls down my spine and tears prick at the back of my eyes.
Of all the places he might have brought me, I do not know why he chose this place. Why here? Here, where the very walls cry out for what should have been, and never was.
My hand slips from his as I step further into what was once my apartment, the closest thing that he and I had to a home.
The painfully, awkward silence is broken by the oddly mechanical sound he makes as he clears his throat. Blinking steadily, I clear the tears from my eyes before turning to face him, my disquiet carefully concealed for the time being.
"There are a few matters that I must attend to. Will you be alright here?" he queries, his voice sounding oddly dissonant in the stillness of the apartment.
Every fiber of my being wants to cry out, that no, I am not alright, and that I don't want him to go. But the words seem frozen in my throat, so I say nothing.
He speaks again, mistaking the source of my disquiet.
"You will be safe here. This part of the city is no longer inhabited, and the building is secured by several security units..."
Shaking off my fear and paranoia in disgust, I nod firmly, in acquiescence.
He moves toward me slightly, and begins to say something, but catches himself.
"I...I will not be long."
His dark cloak twitches as he turns and steps back out into the hall, the door sliding shut behind him with an ominous hiss. I can hear the locking mechanism snapping into place, but what should have been a reassuring sound merely heightens the dread in my system.
I stand for a long moment, staring at the door blindly, before slowly turning and walking further into the past.
The apartment feels cold and empty, though I know that the chill is only in my mind. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be truly warm again.
I wander idly, moving from room to room, the only sound the steady padding of my feet on the tiled floor.
The apartment was- is, I remind myself,- separated into two levels. The first, designed for entertaining guests and diplomats, and the second for personal use. So while I often worked and entertained on this level, it is the second where I really lived.
I come to stop before the lift, this thought foremost in my mind as I carefully key the controls to the lift, listening as it hums to life.
A noise echoes behind me, loud in the stillness, and I whirl around, heart in my throat, to find a maintenance droid.
I press my hand to my palpitating chest, breathing deeply. The droid either not noticing, or ignoring my presence, continues about its business, busily polishing the floor.
I am not a fearful person by nature, but there is something jarring about being startled like that. Foolish perhaps, but an essentially human response.
Shaking off my disquiet I turn back to the lift, and press the sequence that will take me to the second level.
I had not expected to walk these floors again. It never occurred to me that I might be returned to this place, even less so that I might find it unchanged.
Part of me feels a kinship with it in this, like the stories told to Nubian children about people who sleep for a hundred years and wake to find everything changed but themselves. In a way, that's how I feel. In many ways, I have not changed at all, like this place. On the surface, we are both the same, but underneath... that is where we are different...some intrinsic shift deep inside, that alters everything and nothing at the same time.
I think when I left that day, I knew deep in my heart that whatever happened, I wouldn't be returning. Fate is funny, isn't it?
The lift comes to a halt, and the doors slide open with a slight screech of metal against metal.
A wave of nostalgia washes over me as I step into what was once my private sitting room.
My fingers absently trail over an end table as I reminisce, taking in the simple contents of the room, and the discarded remnants of my former life.
There is an unfinished cup of caf sitting on the table, it's contents long since dried and cracked into a hard powder at the bottom of the mug. A partially knitted baby jumper lies haphazardly on the arm of the lounge chair, where I left it when...when Obi-wan arrived to tell me what had occurred.
I can feel a lump rising in my throat as I tenderly pick up the tiny garment. I was never particularly good at knitting, yet another skill my mother despaired of my ever mastering. I was never patient enough to sit and finish something, and I was forever dropping stitches.
I can feel tears pricking at the back of my eyes as I run my fingers over the tiny garment. It's obviously not the work of a skilled knitter, one side just a little longer than the other and a small knot under the right arm.
I remember when Anakin first caught me working on it, I had dropped the sixth stitch in as many minutes and was cursing rather volubly in frustration, when he walked into the room.
He just managed to catch the garment as it went sailing toward his head. I can still remember the look of surprised amusement that was written across his face.
I miss that smile. At the time though, I was not inclined to appreciate it. I was angry and frustrated, and just plain ill humored.
"It's not funny!" I cried indignently in response to his soft laughter. "I'm a terrible knitter, and I'm going to be a terrible mother, I can't even make a simple jumper!"
Tears had begun to trickle down my cheeks at this point. Anakin, a wise man at that time, bit back his laughter, wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. He told me that he thought I was doing a great job, and that I would be a wonderful mother.
Once my tears had quieted, he leaned back and smiled at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Now what would the Senate have to say if they heard the distinguished Senator Amidala cursing like a Correlian smuggler? Those were some pretty nasty words, Senator." He said the last, barely containing his mirth as he chuckled at my expense.
I merely looked up at him and smirked, "They should be. I learned them from you."
The memories melt away, and I am standing alone in the small sitting room, a lopsided, half finished baby jumper clutched to my chest, and the echoes of memories dancing behind my eyes.
Who would have thought, who could have conceived, that only a few short weeks later everything would end in an inferno of rage that swept away everything we had once treasured, as though it was little more than chaff in the wind.
Tears begin to course down my cheeks, and I sink to my knees. They begin to come faster and heavier, until I am sobbing in earnest.
Everything that has occurred since I woke up in the medical bay of the Executor has had an oddly dreamlike quality to it, as though I was slightly detached from what was going on around me. This was good, because I was able to keep many of my emotions at arm's length, pushing things away to be dealt with later.
That has backfired tremendously.
The world around me melts away as I sink deeper into myself. I am assaulted by a torrent of emotions and memories as my fragile shields and barriers crumble around me, forcing me to come face to face with all of the things I had successfully buried for so long.
It is all too much...too much. The cold has returned, drowning me, threatening to pull me under once again.
I could not say how much time has passed, locked in the depths of my mind. Minutes pass like hours, and hours like seconds.
I am floating in a sea of my own creation, one that threatens to pull me under with every breath.
Through the icy fog that surrounds me, I can hear a voice calling to me. It's familiar, bringing thoughts of warmth, light, and safety, but I feel as though I'm swimming through quicksand, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot reach it. The waves pick up, battering me and threatening to consume me completely.
This time, I don't have to fight. This time, I am saved by two strong arms wrapping around me, anchoring me, in the tempestuous sea of my mind. I can feel the tenuous touch on my consciousness, the gentle offer of comfort and relief. Instintively, I respond, latching onto him almost desperately.
As I return to myself, becoming aware of my surroundings once again, I find myself wrapped securely in Anakin's strong arms, my face pressed snugly against the leather of his chest. Tears are streaming down my cheeks and I can feel his hands moving soothingly on my back as he murmurs to me softly in his own tongue.
We sit this way for some time as I struggle to regain control of my shattered senses.
It is as I sit here that I realize that I am going to have to tell him. There are things he needs to hear, and things I need to tell.
And so, gathering my courage to me like a shield, I begin to speak.