Later:

~Anakin's POV~

"Oh. My. Gosh. We're here! Look at this place!" Shantra gasped, pulling at his arm the second they were actually close enough to the door so that she could see inside.

Anakin, tired of waiting for an hour just to get this close to the door in line, turned from his fascinating conversation to an old miner from Ord Cestus to look inside at the Flying Rotisserie.

He cocked his eyebrows, he certainly had been to some fancy places, but Shantra had been right, this was not just fancy, this was a place for rich, famous, royal, totally-set-for- life people. No wonder Obi-wan had managed to get him the tickets so fast, and without much squabble.

Inside, the theme was apparently silver and blue, for the curtains, walls, and utensils were all these two colors, unsullied and bold. Giant windows were ahead, at the far side of the room, and let in the sight of the twinkling lights of Courascant, five stories below.

Indigo curtains framed this magnificent view, along with a small band, all strumming neatly on their stringed instruments. Hundreds of tables, with pure, shining silver tables, were put into flawless rows, filled with people who were dressed much more extravagantly than they were. The waiters were even dressed better, which irked Anakin lightly.

They waltzed across the polished marble floors with debonair, noses stuck high while they delivered very tasty smelling food to their guests. Anakin assumed he had arrived in restaurant paradise. He nodded approvingly, though eyed the chandelier, speculative.

He wondered if, as a parting gift, Shantra would be overly mad if he 'accidentally' broke that. Just because everyone looked so smug.

"Do you think you can break that chandelier up there? Just because everyone looks so smug?" Shantra inquired, in a whisper as she leaned in. Anakin stifled a laugh. "We're on the same page," he assured his friend, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Speaking of Page, You never told me why she isn't the guest here with you tonight," Shantra added, flippantly. "She had other things to do," Anakin answered, his tone expressionless. Shantra looked up, studying his face for a long time, before nodding.

"I see. Well, thank you for inviting me, then. Didn't you say something about a pod-race later?" She asked. Anakin was glad she had remembered.

"Yep. I left the Twins with," he trailed off, raising his eyebrows at her. Shantra, now that she knew his true identity, had been trustworthy enough to be indulged with the secret identities and locations of his friends.

He trusted her with his life. His raised eyebrows meant Obi-wan. She nodded in understanding. "Tonight. Never told him that I wasn't going out with Padme, per se. He doesn't exactly know that we've stopped talking to each other. And I'd rather he not know," he confided in her, as they stepped closer to the front table, where a well-dressed man took their tickets.

"He'd disapprove?" She asked. Anakin smiled and nodded. "Some things, not even my big brother can help me with," he agreed. Shantra nodded, again in understanding (had anyone understood him as often and well as she did?)

"So they'll be with him all night. The intergalactic pod-racing championship is coming out on the holo-vision tonight. I thought when we got back, we could sit down and bet who wins," he suggested. Her eyes lit up. "Lid Gerashai will be the winner and you know it!" She hissed.

"I know no such thing," he hissed back, glancing about. They really should not be talking about an illegal sport inside of the Flying Rotisserie. It wasn't proper.

"Oh, right, we're in proper people's land now. We have to be high and mighty," Shantra giggled. Anakin chuckled softly. "We already are, Shantra. By the way, you look like an absolute vagabond tonight," he teased.

In truth, she looked nice. She was wearing a chocolate colored dress, to compliment her blue skin and lavender hair, which was tied into a neat bun behind her head, with a curly bang trickling down the side of her face prettily.

Long legs sprouted from under the knee-length dress. It was not as marvelous as some of the other woman he saw seated inside, but the beaming brightness on Shantra's face made up for that.

Besides, she was Shantra. His dirty and scuffed black suit didn't help matters. It set off his jet-black hair. He looked nice enough for Shantra, who glanced him over once, sniffed, and declared: "you look like a bandit," she scoffed. "I've never seen a bandit this well-dressed!" Anakin argued lightheartedly, glancing around at the stoic faced recipients.

Shantra, doing the same, made a face at a small boy sitting at a table a ways away. He giggled. "A Ninja bandit," she added, severely, over her shoulder. Anakin laughed. "You look like a reprobate," he muttered back, listening to the peaceful music.

This scene rather suited Obi-wan, more than him; but he would not just waste the tickets. Besides, it felt good to do something to repay Shantra for her kindnesses.

"A what?" Shantra asked, glancing at him from where she was looking ahead. "I don't know. Page called me it once," he whispered from behind her. He puffed out his eyes at a woman who glared at him as if he were a scalawag she did not trust.

"Stop that!" Shantra hissed at him, sounding on the verge of laughter. "You're going to get us kicked out while we're still in line!" She told him, sounding for all the universe like she wanted to laugh.

"So? I'll go kicking and screaming. Or I'll throw something at the chandelier and then run when it breaks," he scoffed. Shantra bit her bottom lip. "Come back later and knock out the cooks, so we can steal the food," she agreed, Anakin bit back a cackle.

"Wait, wait, I've got one. What if we just ran out of the kitchen yelling like banshees and pulling down those fancy pants the waiters have?" he suggested. Shantra glanced at the said pants of idea, and her mouth twitched.

"You know what I want to do? I want to go up to that lady sitting right there glaring at us, and start eating the food off her plate in front of her. And then when she turns to say something, I'll spit the food out at her and yell 'ugh, this is nasty!'" She told him. Anakin had to hold his stomach to ease the pain of keeping in his laughter.

"What if we just went around taking all this expensive stuff in a shopping cart, like this is a grocery store?" He suggested. "Or, oh gosh, what if we blow on that man's fake beard until it falls off and then we steal it and run?" She countered, giggling a bit. They both burst into quiet cackles.

"Oh. Oh, we are so stupid. We're too old to be thinking this way," Shantra giggled, swiping away a tear. Anakin nodded. "Force, oh thank goodness master isn't here to see me this way. He'd lecture me until my dying day, and beyond," he chuckled. "This is not Jedi-like!" Shantra agreed, in a fierce whisper.

"What really wouldn't be Jedi-like is if Yoda burst in here and started spinning on his head with the musicians," he corrected. "Has he actually done that?" Shantra gasped.

"In another life, in another time, like two hundred years ago, I wouldn't put it past the eccentric old troll," Anakin chuckled, as finally they came to the stand themselves.

"Good morning," Shantra chirped, instinctively. Anakin's mouth twitched as the waiter gave her an odd look. "It's not morning Shantra," he pointed out. "Hello," Shantra corrected herself, without skipping a beat. Anakin chuckled softly, intent on teasing her later for that. "Your tickets, please," The waiter sighed, as if already he was sick and tired of them.

Anakin handed him his gold tickets. The waiter's eyebrows shot up, obviously at the gold exterior, which was worth thousands of credits. He glanced back at them, in their modest clothing, then at the tickets, scratching his head. Anakin bristled, feeling the old sting of injustice.

Shantra seemed to sense his discomfort, and laid a comforting hand on his arm. "Is there a problem?" She inquired smoothly. "Er…No, no, they're authentic, I was only…" he glanced up again, and at the sight of Anakin's stormy look, quickly stamped the tickets and handed them their menus. "Please, enjoy your meal," he hastened to say.

"We will," Anakin, declaimed, happily, as he and Shantra walked into the full restaurant. "Where should we sit? I see a deck out there," he pointed out, Shantra nodded.

"It's a bit chilly, though. I say we sit in the in one of the corner tables, just to get the full experience," by that she meant so they would be far enough away from everyone else to speak freely. He did not doubt she had a whole load of questions about his Jedi life, and bragging was a natural skill for him.

"I agree. Come on, let's…" Anakin was not quite sure what caught his attention. Perhaps it was a warning from the force. Perhaps it was the war-bred instinct that something was immediately, desperately wrong, maybe it was a combination of those two things. He had no clue.

What he had a clue about-really, too much of a clue- was that the woman who had just walked into the room as he turned, was, indeed, Padme Amidala. Or, as she was known here, Page Abner. His wife.

She was in that black dress she had been in earlier, when she brushed him off like a pathetic dog, and even better, her arm was looped through another person's. Not even a woman.

He had foolishly assumed it would be a woman she was going out with. Why would he think that? Why would Padme dress up like that if she were planning on getting a drink with Nava?

No, it was a man. A very handsome man with fuzz on his upper lip that gave him a wise edge, red-orange fire on his head that Anakin was sincerely wishing would burn his brains out by now, and very expensive and nice-looking suite, undeniably better than his.

Shock hit him, in the gut, at the same time that panicked jealousy blasted him in the heart. Padme had her eyes closed, and she was grinning as the man leaned in to whisper something to her. The force around him, it was wrong.

It was wrong in a way that Anakin refused to think was his own clouded emotions. This…This…This person, whose lips were way too kriffing close to Padme's ear, had a force signature not of darkness, and not even of light. It felt like most other non-force sensitives.

Spattered with mistakes, and flaws, yet glowing with honorable intentions. This imposter had no right intentions. He just had the stains on top of whatever light was underneath. Anakin wanted to kill him, Padme and himself all at the same time. He was so stupid.

"Alright," he heard this blasted…Personification of all things evil and vile and completely dishonorable say to his field of flowers, his angel. "You can look now," he said, as they walk past the man at the counter.

Padme opened her eyes, and let out a small shriek of delight, her eyes lighting up in a way that made his gut roll, when her eyes took in the scene. "The Flying Rotisserie? Jiro, this is incredible! I'm speechless!"

When did Anakin start walking? Because right now, he was walking. Charging, more of, towards the couple standing by the door, arms still linked, Jiro still grinning down at Padme with that man's possession in his eye. Smug, kind, he chuckled at her face, split in two by an enormous grin Anakin had not seen in months.

He did not hear a thing but his own heartbeat, pumping against his ears. Who is this? What are you doing here with him? He yelled, in his mind. He only kept walking, stopping occasionally to let a waiter pass by, or another couple looking for seating.

So close…He would rip the head off this man's shoulders and stuff it down the deepest, darkest, most vile hole in the….

"Oh, Jiro, thank you! This is just what I needed!" Without further ado, Padme threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him square on the cheek. Yep, well, that heart thingy that had been beating in Anakin's chest not even twenty seconds ago? It's dead. It died.

With it, went Anakin. He stopped, dead in his tracks, breath leaving his lungs in a long whoosh, not even twelve feet away.

It wasn't…It wasn't even a brief kiss on the cheek like she would have given Bail, or like she would give Lux or Obi-wan or something, that was a quick tap of affection, a tender way to greet someone. Politicians used it often. He was used to it. He was forced to do it too.

But this…That…It was long. She was still kissing his cheek, even though he had turned as red as his hair, and Anakin wondered if a delicate tongue had flicked out to touch his cheek.

No. NO. Force, kill me, kill me now. Just do it. He thought staggering backwards into the waiting form of Shantra, who had seen the spectacle.

She grabbed his arm and hauled him after to her to the corner. Anakin wasn't breathing. Take me. Kill me. That didn't just happen. Is she still at it? He turned to look, but Shantra grumbled something about him having to keep moving, not looking back, and tugged harder.

Anakin jerked after her, and let her force him to sit down at a table. She knelt beside him, large yellow eyes worried. "Was that…?" She asked softly. Anakin nodded emphatically. So, she saw it too?

"And she…?" He Sighed. "And…" She glanced over his shoulder. "She's still at it. Ouch," she said with a cringe. Ouch? Ouch? His heart felt much worse than just ouch. It felt like sting, burn, destroy, death, despair, horror, jealousy, rage.

Oh, and defeat.

He felt his shoulders slump. "Please, can we…Can we just go?" He asked and it does not escape his attention that he sounds utterly, completely defeated, so unlike he was on the battlefield. He could take wartime defeat, but this…He didn't even know what this was.

He just felt like he had lost something, without even losing to death, or even a declaration. After all, she had only kissed the other male on the cheek, but Anakin still felt betrayed, like she was already gone, had already been taken from under his nose and now…Now he was just seeing what exactly he had lost while his head was turned.

Shantra should understand. She always did. She should agree that they leave, immediately, tickets aside, but no. She squared her shoulders, set her jaw, her eyes flame with hurt and anger on Anakin's behalf -for had not he told her of his love for Padme?

Hadn't he poured out to her how much he was terribly and irrevocably in love with this woman?- and grabbed his arm tightly. "No," she decided, with finality.

That shocked him more than Padme. "No?" he echoed. "No," Shantra said again, with even more conviction. She glared at Padme, her eyes narrowing, calculating. "Girls stick together," she explained, mercilessly.

"I've been on her side until now. Now, I'm going to end this before it begins. I am going to make that woman fall helplessly in love with you again if it kills me," she sounded so much like a Jedi, so full of determination and wrath, that Anakin almost mumbled, "yes, master."

He sat up. "What's your idea?" he asked, hesitantly. He did not like the spark in her eye. It was something other than the fun-loving, jovial Shantra he was used to. Now-now she was serious, and as deadly as an adder.

"Nothing-and I mean nothing, drives a woman more irate than jealousy. It will make sisters stab each other in the heart. It will make mothers poison their daughters. It's the sick reality of chitchat and narcissism," she told him this vital, and somewhat debatable confliction.

"So, we're on a date," she planned. "Us?" Anakin repeated, confusedly. "Yes, us, clout head. You pretend to like me, Padme will show up, see this, and get jealous, you with me?" Anakin nodded. "Yes, but I don't think…" She interrupted him.

"She'll probably attempt to tell me off, you pretend to be impressed and by night's end she'll be convinced she won you back in her word's arts, and she'll cart you away as possessively as a squirrel with a mouthful of nuts," she said. Anakin sighed.

"Shantra, this is not some dramatic soap opera. We're adults. This idea of yours is ridiculous, and frankly silly," he began. "Do you want Padme back or not?" Oh, he did, he so blasted did. Anakin looked behind him, where Padme and Jiro were searching out a table, laughing joyfully.

His heart flickered with fire, and he turned back to Shantra. "Let's do it," he agreed.

~Padme's POV~

Padme had been to the Flying Rotisserie once before. It had been a Birthday gift from Bail and Mon Mothma one year, while her heart was heavy from having Anakin away.

She had absolutely adored it then, and could not wait to smell the fresh seafood, the warm and crumbly rolls, or the sweet wine…Her mouth watered hungrily.

And the fact that she was having dinner with a favored friend was nice, too. She walked, her arm through Jiro's through the restaurant, enjoying the feeling of everyone's eyes on her as she passed, in her dress, and on Jiro, their heads held high.

Their opinion did not matter to Padme, and in another life, one she had outgrown a few short months before; she would have been revolted at herself for her love of this attention.

Attention she had not felt in a long time. She was a senator, a queen that had given time, blood, sweat and tears to help save these people, she deserved their attention, if only for a moment. She was only human.

She would accept nothing less.

Then she heard it. Or, rather, him. Anakin. His laugh. She had not heard his laugh in so long….It made her heart lift, just a second.

Then Padme looked over, and saw who exactly was sitting beside her husband. That heart that had just lifted a second ago? It died. It's dead.

The second Padme saw them; it just stopped. She stared at the woman-Shantra, again?- As she sat at the side of her Ani, laughing as she doted on his every word like some sort of pigeon.

And Anakin-her Anakin, notably- was puffed and preening as a rooster. Padme's face burned with rage. "Page? What are you….? Oh, you didn't tell me Ace was coming here," Jiro exclaimed, surprised. "I didn't know," Padme replied, tightly.

How did he even afford the tickets? Why didn't he tell me? Why did he invite her, unless there is something going on between them? No, Anakin would never disrespect her that way, despite their problems, would he? It…It was just implausible to her.

He's mine. Oh, blast it I can't lose him, not like this. Death, betrayal, even if he didn't love me anymore. I can't let him go, not without the fight. I will fight and die for him. You can't….You can't just take him from under my nose! Just in case, though…

"We should sit with them," she suggested, lightly. "If you think it best, I guess…Wow!" Padme grabbed his arm and hauled him, none too gently, on her heels to the table.

If she guessed it was best? She knew it was best! She had to bring him back, she had to…Had to…Prove something-anything-in order for him to see the love inside of her heart.

She needed him.

"Hello," she chirped, when they were close enough to the table. Anakin chuckled at something Shantra had said, looked up, and when he saw her, his head cocked. "Hello, Page," he replied, casually. His eyes flicked to Jiro, and some emotion stirred in his pupils, but vanished before Padme could see it fully.

"Ah," Shantra said. "So you're the notorious Page Abner. Well met. Please, come sit with us," Padme had been about to seat herself anyway, but nodded as Jiro pulled out a seat for her.

She sat across from them, tucking her dress in and settling herself firmly. Jiro took the seat beside her. "And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?" Padme asked, conversationally.

"This is my friend, Shantra," Anakin replied, in the same tone. "I'm surprised we haven't come across each other before, Page, I've met everyone but you so far," Shantra remarked, his eyes locked unto Padme's with something like a challenge. Padme met her gaze silently, making her point clear.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ace," Jiro began, cordially, to Anakin, who watched him with hard yet thoughtful eyes. Padme surveyed Shantra, who sat there, slowly stroking Anakin's palm with her thumb. He did not seem to notice.

"Page has spoken much of you," he said, his eyes twinkling to finally be speaking to Anakin Skywalker. "Interesting," Anakin observed, glancing at her. "Page has said nothing of you," he said. Padme pretended not to have heard that. Anakin leaned back in his seat.

"Shantra and I were merely discussing a common sport. Tell me, how did you two come to be here?" he asked. "How did you?" Padme piped up, in accidental challenge. She did not want to fight, not now, but did he really have to let Shantra stroke his palm? Was it necessary?

Was he trying to break her heart? Because Padme was not breathing, not much. She was more of lightly panting. She wanted it back to the way things were; when she felt safe in his presence, when she laughed just because he laughed. When there was no Shantra, no Jiro, no Sith, just them and their forbidden love and their beautiful twins.

Anakin narrowed his eyes at her.

"I've been saving up," Jiro assured them, jovially. He cast her an assuring glance, and she settled. "I thought it'd be a nice treat for her," he did not specify. Anakin nodded and crossed his arms.

"I see," he remarked. "So what sport were you two discussing?" Padme inquired, politely, still wondering whom Anakin had cheated to get money to arrive here. Anakin and Shantra exchanged glances. Padme did not like those glances; she sipped her water, waiting.

Anakin cleared his throat. "Pod-racing," he admitted. Padme choked. Jiro's eyebrows shot up. "Isn't that illegal?" He croaked. "On some planets," Anakin stated, mildly. "But the laws do not dictate whether something is wrong or not, now do they?" Shantra added. Padme wondered if this women were insane. "Yes they do!" Padme gasped.

"Do not," Shantra scoffed. "They just tell us what rules we have to follow," Padme, who had never encountered such blatant fantasies, gawked. Jiro cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Laws and rules insure order," he pointed out, kindly.

"They do, and they are essential," Shantra agreed. "But that doesn't mean they're always right. Pod-racing is a perfectly principled sport. I won the Pantoran competition when I was twelve," she boasted. "She pulled off a move I still can't do," Anakin admitted, his eyes gleaming as he glanced down at her smug form. Padme shook her head slowly.

"That's impressive," Jiro said lightly. "Are you the youngest to do so, then?" He inquired. Padme saw the small vein in his neck twitch, with either irritation at her boasting or disregard for their chosen profession. He had not even met any real critics yet. Shantra was polite compared to them.

"No. That prize goes to that Jedi everyone thinks is a traitor nowadays. Anakin beat me at nine, the conqueror," she harrumphed. Padme glanced at Anakin, and offered him a small smile of congratulation. He ignored it, instead clasping Shantra's shoulder.

"Some defeats are just inevitable, old friend," he snorted. "Whatever. You still can't beat me in pod-racing simulations!" Shantra laughed, slapping away his hand. Anakin winked at her and chuckled. "So," Padme began again, quickly, just to take Anakin's attention off Shantra.

"Didn't that Jedi have a wife, too?" Shantra intervened, interrupting her curtly. She was looking at Anakin, who shrugged. "I think so," he replied. Padme glared, daring him to try this.

He dared. "What was her name again? Amidala something?" Shantra asked; with no real interest. Padme opened her mouth, ready to correct, but Anakin beat her to the jibe.

"No, it went something like Shaka-laka-laka, or something of that nature," he said. Padme blanched. Jiro gasped lightly in his drink, and thus coughed it back up. "Don't choke there, fellow," Anakin remarked, sounding very much like he did not mean it.

Shantra burst into laughter. "That is not her name!"She sputtered, leaning on his shoulder as she laughed. Anakin chuckled lightly with her and shook his head.

"It went something like that. You know those politician types always have long names, or simple ones. She couldn't just stick with Bertha or Ruth. Pretty names, them. She had to go all out," he snorted.

Padme wondered if he was aware that she was right there. Even if he forgot, she intended to remind him, right now. Jiro cleared his throat, a third time in the hour. "Oh, yes, I know of whom it is you speak," he gallantly declared.

"That traitor Jedi, isn't it? He married Padme Amidala. I feel sorry for her and the children. I wonder if he killed them," Right on, Jiro. Padme grinned as Anakin's entire face burned with fury.

Shantra put a comforting hand on his arm, stilling him, and smiled graciously. "He isn't a traitor," she told them, confidently. "He's been seen gallivanting about killing villages," Padme pointed out.

Anakin rolled his eyes and went silent, glaring. Oh, that hurt, did it? Guess what hurt more, when you showed up with her! How could you do this? Padme thought as they glared and Shantra and Jiro continued.

"A Sith clone, probably. Anakin Skywalker would never do such a thing. He is an honorable man," Shantra raised her chin a bit as she said that. "Besides, if I recall, he's the one who saved Naboo since its queen was disinclined," she snorted. "What?" Padme and Jiro demanded in unison, shocked.

"He did?" Anakin echoed, looking down at her with some confusion. "He did," Shantra affirmed, without looking up. She folded her chin in her palms and met Padme's eyes head on. Padme did not back-down.

"The whole universe knows it. She was such a coward she had a double-up do all her dirty work. Even lead her raids. That was not Padme Amidala, that was her unfortunate double-up who I bet she bribed. And the poor nine-year-old had to go and be the hero because she couldn't step up and do it herself," oh, heck no. Had this…Was she…? NO.

"Listen here…" she began, enraged. "Queen Amidala was a woman of principle and bravery," Jiro stepped in, leaning forward. His eyes, never so intense before, were the eyes of a hawk now, fierce and none too benevolent.

Shantra shrugged. "Maybe in her mind she was," she replied. "But in the end? It was the boy's heroism that saved everyone," she snorted.

"And the Jedi," Anakin added, neutrally. "Them too," Shantra popped, copying Anakin's stature so that she was leaning back, her own eyes buzzing with ferocity. "Well that hero is currently a traitor to everyone," Padme placed her hands on the table.

They wanted to argue about this? About her homeland and the sacrifice's she had made for it? That was low, and she could go lower. Fine, she'd argue her living innards out.

"Maybe," Anakin suggested, tightly. "That traitor would have turned-I'm still of the opinion he hasn't- because his wife queen shaka-laka-laka was conceited, single-minded and never respected his input," he suggested. Padme met his eyes square on.

"Perhaps she never respected his all-mighty input because he didn't understand it himself, he just wanted to be overbearing," she hissed back. "Maybe he was overbearing because he loved them!"

"If he loved them so blasted much he wouldn't be a Jedi, now would he? He doesn't understand what terror he strikes in his family's hearts when he goes to war!"

"She doesn't understand war for a Jedi! There is no backing out now. And she could be just a little sympathetic to the fact that all he wanted was to be happy with her!"

"She can't be happy at all if he controls every kriffing second of her life!"

"He wasn't trying to control her life! He was trying to help theirs. She is too selfish to see that her life involves other people!"

"He thinks that just because he's a hot-shot general all around the galaxy means that he can order everyone around like he does his troops, and they'll obey!"

"Do you think he tries to be a hot-shot general? Do you know how often he almost gave everything for that stupid title?"

"He liked it!" Who were they addressing, who was it for which they spoke? Padme knew not their names. Padme Amidala and Anakin Skywalker would never have done this.

"So what? What does his hot-shot title have to do with anything?"

"Everything! He just does not understand! He's becoming something…Different,"

"Do you think he doesn't know that? That the whole kriffing Jedi Order doesn't know that? They're becoming what is called Generals!"

"No, it's called monsters!"

That silenced them both. Padme and Anakin, neither of them ones to argue civilly or quietly, were inches from each other's face, hands spread on the table, leaning forward, their chest puffed up proudly, muscles locked in defense; and eyes ablaze. They both looked like monsters.

Padme guessed that was what they had both become. Him with his avariciousness and she with her self-reliance, which side was nobler? Which cause should win? Because if she was wrong, she would back down. She would accept it, admit it, and break all ties to that part of herself. However, she did not feel as if she were wrong.

Only rage and pain dominated her mind, leaving no space for guilt or logic. Padme's saw the same battle in his eyes, inches from hers. If only she could capture those eyes and immerse herself in them forever… Which side should bow?

In the end, neither.

"Ace, can you help me with my button…Over here?" Shantra suddenly asked, clearing her throat. Will you turn from me, and go to her? "Sure," Anakin growled deep in his throat. "Page, may I speak to you a moment?" Jiro added, sounding slightly displeased.

Will you break your ties with me and speak only to him? "By all means," she answered. Anakin's jaw clenched subtly, his eyes darkened, and he turned on his heel crisply, arm in arm with Shantra.

Padme sunk into her seat and watched them go, her emotions ranging from rage, jealousy, pain, anguish and loneliness, exquisite, burning, empty lonesomeness. For who else will understand you, if not your own heart?

~Anakin's POV~

"That went well," Shantra observed sarcastically as she yanked him over to a different secluded corner farther away. She turned and gestured to the buttons at the back of her dress. "Pretend to be buttoning those," she instructed. Anakin obeyed, silently.

He felt as if he were on a doomed ship, promised perfect skies and clear winds by the ocean, which had risen up and were thrashing him anyway. Back and forth, tearing apart his ship, the wheel spinning, without any direction which he wanted it go and the wind freezing his hair, the rain pelting his skin like jagged pieces of ice. Anakin pressed his lips together firmly to keep in a scream of pained frustration. What was happening to them?

"I thought you said this would work!" He hissed furiously. Things had only gotten worse! "I thought so. She's quite a Gundark, isn't she? Not very nice, either. I expected a small, sweet and homely woman, and I get that for jealousy material," Shantra muttered back. "I warned you," Anakin sneered, peering at Jiro and Padme, talking. "I'm done," he whispered.

He did not mean it. Not really. He could never really mean it.

"Yes, well…Ow! Don't pinch so hard, blasted man! You aren't done until you win the prize," she replied. "The prize is already taken," he muttered. Padme had already been won, and the prize had been stolen while he slept at his post. Blast it all, he was fortune's fool!

Yet what could he do?

He felt as if it were already over.

~Padme's POV~

"He's not at all what I imagined," Jiro remarked, coolly as Padme glared at the two in the corner. Anakin began twiddling with the back of Shantra's dress. Padme imagined that, in some isolated corner of their room, those nimble fingers might have been working on unbuttoning the dress, urging it to fall away.

She shuddered. "I warned you," she answered coldly. "Padme…You didn't seem at all the loyal and loving wife during that…Debacle," he finished, studying her closely. "I haven't been that person in a long time, Jiro," She felt as if she were on a doomed ship, promised perfect skies and clear winds by the ocean, which had risen up and were thrashing her anyway.

Back and forth, tearing apart her ship, the wheel spinning, without any direction which she wanted it go and the wind freezing her hair, the rain pelting her skin like jagged pieces of ice. Padme pressed his lips together firmly to keep in a scream of pained frustration.

What was happening to them?

"I certainly won't subject you to another one of those, if you don't like. I can take you home right now if you wish it," Jiro offered, his eyes never leaving hers. Padme crossed her arms and gazed over at Anakin and Shantra.

Auburn hair, azure eyes, pert lips, childish face, endearing smile, fiery temper, loving demeanor….VS red hair, gray eyes, thoughtful posed lips, welcoming face, charming smile, amenable temper, and relaxed demeanor.

One had already broken her heart, and part of her wished to stay, to force him to mend what he had broken with his too-tight constrict on her heart, but another part…

It yearned to follow the outstretched hand of the other, and fall into his embrace, let his compassion stir back the ruffles of pain into tranquil seas. She would not have to fight Jiro to build what had been broken.

Besides, it was not fair, for the former had another that had replaced her in his heart. She had always feared Anakin would find someone better, and it appeared he had.

Padme would not step into the way, for she loved him too much for that. She would always love him. Yet if he did not love her, then, she would have to fall into the latter's embrace to heal the wounds of leaving.

"Take me to your house. I'm done here," she instructed, and Jiro nodded, without complaint. Padme searched for an alternative, numbly, but found none. She felt as if this war, whenever it had gone from argument to battle to war, were not one she could win.

And even if she could have, she felt as if it was already over.