Author's Note: Anakin is a soldier in the US army. Padme is his wife who is left at home. This is a series of little vignettes about how they cope with the separation, and the toll the war plays on Anakin. A little story about how the bonds of love and family can bring a man out of even his darkest places. Warning: Will get quite dark in later chapters. May contain possible triggers.
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look into my eyes, that's where my demons hide
...
Padme shivers. It's summer, a beautiful, glorious morning, but all she feels is cold. Her entire body is frozen, not even her mug of coffee can warm her hands. Sipping at it timidly, she stares out the window, listening to the sound of Anakin having a shower. It's the last time she'll hear that noise; that comforting patter of water as it hits the cold tiles, the deep hum of Anakin's voice as he sings to himself, like he always does. It's the last time she'll be able to join him, to fuck like horny teenagers, or to wash each other like gentle lovers. Both of those options have been stripped from her now, and there's nothing Padme can do about it.
He appears a few minutes later, miles and miles of gorgeous tanned skin exposed for her viewing pleasure with only a fresh towel wrapped loosely around his waist. His blonde hair is adorably disheveled and damp, sticking up at odd angles from where he shook his head repeatedly, like he always does. Padme takes the opportunity to drink him in, the beautiful form of her husband, of the man she loves. She makes sure to memorise every inch of him, from the colour of his nipples, to the shape of his lips, to the brilliant hue of his beautiful, blue eyes. It's pointless, really, because she's already committed him to memory, knows him inside and out, but there's this burning pressure that weighs down on her, as though if she doesn't re-familiarise herself with him, then maybe she'll forget what he looks like.
He smiles her favourite smile, the one that makes the corners of his eyes pinch and crinkle like tiny folds of paper and crosses the room in two long strides. Standing before her, he bends to kiss her cheek and hums, "Good morning, Angel," in a soft, affectionate voice. Padme shudders again at the words; it's the last time she'll hear that simple greeting, and the realisation makes her want to cry.
She keeps herself together though, for his sake, and smiles weakly up at him, handing him his own mug of coffee. He takes it from her, sips at it, and then leans up against the kitchen counter, studying her. His gaze is white hot against her skin, she can feel it, and she turns her head away, so she doesn't feel the full brunt of his worried stare. Once again, she stares out of the window of their perfect little house, into their perfect little front yard and their perfect little street. She'd thought that she had finally done it, made herself the perfect life – that if she'd found herself a nice little house to live in, in a nice little neighbourhood, that she wouldn't feel as lonely when Anakin was gone. It had been a foolish thought. No white picket fences, or amiable neighbours, or delightful rose gardens can ever hope to replace her husband. He makes her life perfect, and without him, she is empty.
"Do you have to go?" she whispers quietly, barely audible, and she wonders if he even heard her at all.
The response is instantaneous. At once, his hand is on her shoulder, warm, roughened fingers massaging her narrow bones gently. "Padme," he calls to her and she can't help but glance up at him. Concerned blue eyes meet her own, miserable brown ones and she sinks her teeth into the cushion of her bottom lip to keep it from quivering. "Look at me." His hand moves up her shoulder to take hold of her face. "It's only eighteen months," he reminds her, trying for optimistic, but it fails. "I'll be back home to you before you know it."
She whimpers and her self-control disintegrates as she blurts out her greatest fear, "But what if you don't come back?"
A firm grimace thins his lips and he places his mug on the counter, before pulling her into his arms, smothering her in his warm, slightly damp skin. Her frame moulds to his as tears leak from her eyes and rain down against his bare chest. She basks in his embrace, holds him for the longest time, because it's the last time she can do this, and she never wants this moment to end.
Anakin presses his lips to her hair and rubs his hands soothingly up and down her back. "I will," he vows and she tips her head back to look up at him. "I promise you, Padme. I will always come back to you."
Though sweet, his promise is empty and they both know it. There's no certainty that he will return. Wars are terrible and horrifying and young soldiers die every day. Still, Padme decides to deny that fact and simply stretches up on her toes to kiss her husband's soft lips for the last time.
"I love you, Anakin," she whispers her own promise into his mouth as her hands move up his back to twine in his still-damp hair.
Because it's the only thing that is true. He might not come back, there is no certainty of that, but she will always love him. Always.