In Dreams

The wind whipped painfully against her face, causing her to wince against the sand and smoke. She could barely see the landscape racing by. The roar of the engines was deafening; if the crowd was cheering or the announcers were talking she couldn't hear it. She felt as though she were in complete sensory overload.

This was insane.

And that's why he loved it. Because as long as you lived to tell about it, it was the most exhilarating experience you could have. Sitting in the absurdly cramped cockpit, trying to keep track of a million readouts, keeping your hands on a multitude of controls. All why flying practically blind and deaf through nature's most difficult obstacle course.

Anakin, of course, didn't need to see or hear anything, at least not through traditional means. He simply felt everything. That was enough for him.

But it wasn't enough for her. She was terrified – certain every moment would be their last, that every rock, every turn would mean the end. She didn't understand how they could be in the same cockpit at the same time, but didn't really care. She just sat back and hoped that Anakin wouldn't get them both killed.

She hated podracing.

Anakin swerved around two competitors as they completed the first lap. She sensed nothing from him except determination. She struggled mightily to keep her fear in check.

Amidala had never truly understood his fascination with this blood sport. Flying? She could see how that was fun, and challenging, and maybe even addictive. She knew he loved it. But there had to be better ways of expressing that love – ways in which the pilot had at least a fair chance of coming out alive.

Anakin abruptly dodged several sniper attempts by Tusken Raiders camped out above. As a result of the sharp swerve, he accidentally bumped into the racer next to him, sending it careening into the side of the canyon.

It was an accident, wasn't it?

Anakin didn't seem the least bit concerned about what happened, and they were going so fast that Amidala wasn't able to turn around and assess the damage before the crash was out of sight.

No wonder he had simply laughed gently and ignored her when she expressed her concerns to him about these races. To him, what just happened was normal, and she was utterly horrified.

Besides, he did things a thousand times more dangerous every day as a Jedi. He never understood why she was so focused on this. And a part of her wondered too.

Maybe it was the unfortunate circumstances that surrounded her introduction to podracing. What torture that Boonta Eve event had been; she watched it with her stomach twisting painfully and her heart aching in concern. How could she have ever faced her people if she didn't take her one opportunity to get off Tatooine and help them? But how could she have possibly faced Shmi if Anakin got so much as a scratch on him? How could she have faced herself in the mirror in either event?

Amidala frowned. The explanation made sense, but that wasn't it. There was more.

A brilliant explosion directly ahead jarred her violently. Pay attention, she admonished herself.

Anakin drove them straight through the fiery aftermath of the blast, as though he were oblivious to his surroundings. The sweltering heat, soot, and debris completely overcame her for several excruciating seconds…she thought she could almost feel Anakin smile...triumphantly?…then they came through it, and continued the race. They were in the lead, and the explosion helped slow down the two pods still left in contention. They began the third lap.

She – he – felt for something underneath the seat. She wondered what it was for a second, before inexplicably tossing it out from the pod.

What? Why did I do that? What –

The thought ended abruptly. Not because she knew the answer, but because she realized that she didn't care. He didn't care.

A loud crash sounded behind them. Anakin stayed focused, determined, centered on winning. The wrench tossing, the accident – he had already forgotten them. He led them into the precipitous, gut-wrenching drop of Beggar's Canyon, with the sole remaining racer directly behind them.

Amidala sensed that Anakin had at least one more trick up his sleeve; that he was going to do something to lose – kill! – this pilot as well. She tried to fight against the apathy he emoted at the prospect, tried to get through to him.

Anakin, you're killing them! Stop this!

He ignored her. Either he couldn't hear her or he didn't care. He was going to win this race.

You're hurting me, Anakin. I can't stand to see you do this.

The pod swerved momentarily, causing them to nearly run into the side of the canyon. He righted the craft and resumed his course.

Amidala screamed at him in a panic. You don't have to do this! Please, Anakin, you don't have to do this!

In answer, the racer increased its velocity, swinging wildly from side to side as Anakin fought angrily to keep it under control. The last racer was gaining on them because of this confusion…No, he wasn't about to slow down now, not even for her.

Amidala sat back, dreading the outcome of this race, whether or not they managed to win.

Anakin let an exhaust tank open, and thick, black smoke trailed out behind them, undoubtedly smothering the other racer.

What is he doing? Amidala felt sick. He was no different than Sebulba, and Anakin had resented that Dug for most of his life. Didn't he care that he was using the exact same brutal and sadistic tactics?

Sadistic. Yes, that was it – that was what she always had hated about these races. That essential element of viciousness that applied to all who participated. All except Anakin, supposedly. He was so talented that such an approach had always been unnecessary…why did he feel it was necessary now?

Finally, she heard an explosion behind her. That was it. They were home free from here on out.

The pod again began rocking back and forth perilously, violently, almost spinning out of his control. Amidala frowned.

She was no longer afraid of what would happen…in fact, she felt a dull wave of annoyance at him. He had gotten exactly what he wanted – all his little schemes had worked. He had ignored her completely in his relentless pursuit of this goal, and now, now, when he was so close, he was going to falter?

Now he had doubts?

Now he had regrets?

No, it was too late for that.

She felt Anakin starting to panic; she felt his confusion. The pod lifted up far above the ground – Anakin's efforts to bring it back to manageable heights did nothing. This wasn't the way this was supposed to work out. Something in his plan had gone wrong. Terror ripped through him until he felt compelled to call out for help.

She heard him yell, heard him cry, but did nothing.

It was too late for that.

The last thing she heard was Anakin screaming as he realized they were headed right into a boulder.

Amidala felt her seat eject, and she was shot high into the sky, far away from the racer. A parachute opened, floating her away to safety.

Amidala woke up without the normal adrenaline rush she felt after most dreams…she felt relatively calm, and that was wrong. She should have been furious at herself for not helping when he asked for it. Wasn't that what she so desperately wanted him to do?

But no, she had simply sat there, and let him crash.

Crash. Crash? Wait a minute.

He hadn't crashed.

He hadn't crashed. There was no sound of an explosion, no smoke, no fire, she felt no pain from him – she should have seen or heard or sensed something while she was floating in the parachute.

Maybe he had escaped somehow. Maybe he made it.

Maybe it wasn't too late after all.

Was it possible that he could still avoid…this? Could she still save him? Could he still save himself?

Maybe. Maybe, despite everything, she still had hope after all.

Maybe they both still had hope.

She couldn't give up on him yet.

**********

**********

Anakin stood in the large crowd facing the far-off stage. If he squinted, he could just make out the podium, could barely see her surrounded by her handmaidens and advisors. Someone unimportant – at least, unimportant to him – was speaking some nonsense. He had been talking for way too long. When was she going to get up to speak?

On every side of him, people were packed in tightly, way too close for any kind of personal comfort. They jostled each other slightly, every person trying to get just a little more space. It was pointless, of course, and did nothing more than further irk an increasingly irritable crowd. People exchange dirty looks muttered under their breath at one another. She had better start speaking soon.

And, to top it all off, it was hot. The sun beat down on them relentlessly, and the close quarters they all stood in only made matters worse. Anakin, though, wasn't bothered by the heat much at all – the cooler days on Tatooine had been much hotter than this. To be honest, the weather couldn't have been more cooperative…it was actually a very pleasant day once you got out of the mob. But it seemed that no matter how big or empty a space she chose to do this in, the crowds inevitably were too large and too cramped.

Anakin sighed, squinted his eyes again, and tried to concentrate on her. So, she was dreaming of home. That wasn't surprising. She was dreaming of her royal duties…after that last dream, it was heartening to see her return to more regular concerns.

Finally, the man who had been talking for too long paused dramatically. Anakin still couldn't hear the words, but he knew that was a signal that she was about to come to the forefront. The crowd sensed this as well, and began clapping and cheering. Despite his urge to join in, he simply stood there silently, watching without any excitement.

Amidala had loved these appearances, despite the controversy they had caused early on. Most Naboo monarchs were kept a certain distance from the masses. They were held accountable, through election cycles, but the same traditions that required she hide behind make-up and costumes also held that she remain aloof. Planetary addresses were done from the throne room. Edicts were handed down by governors from the steps of the palace.

That changed with her election, and particularly after the battle with the Trade Federation. She had been there, at the celebratory parade, in a minimal amount of coverings, smiling and laughing with her people, shaking hands with the Gungans, making herself open and available in their moment of triumph and unity. Anakin hadn't understood it at the time, but what she had done was rather extraordinary.

And she continued so throughout her reign. She insisted on these special public appearances, all over the planet, where she could be seen and heard and even touched in person. She felt it was important to reach out to her people in that way, to try and make real connections with them, to find a basis of understanding over the people she ruled, in order to serve them better.

Anakin felt he could see her a little more clearly now. She was radiant, as always, basking in the adulation of the crowd, waiting for them to quiet down enough to begin speaking. He wished he could hear her – how he missed the sound of her voice! – but that had never happened, so there was no reason to think this dream would be different.

So, instead of listening, Anakin tried to figure out what was going on in her head to create this set of circumstances.

He – or at least the "he" that was in her dream – was slightly annoyed, and hadn't joined in the crowd's euphoria at her appearance. He found himself rolling his eyes at her "platitudes" and sneering at the crowd for buying this staged display of concern.

And that was simply wrong. Whenever he had attended her speeches, he was always seated right next to her on the stage. He was constantly overcome by pride for the reverence she inspired, and for the gentle touch with which she wielded that power. His only problem in those days was that he couldn't quite decide to train his total attention on her, or to watch the reactions of the crowd.

He loved to see their smiling faces. And to see them clapping. And to see them strain to reach out and shake her hand.

She said something else, and the crowd laughed. He didn't. He began looking around to see if there was a way out of there, if he could possibly push his way through…what did she know anyway? After this little sideshow, she would go back to her perfect life in her palace, where she could more properly look down upon the masses from her throne…

/Damn it./ Anakin was getting annoyed. Why didn't he ever act the way he should in her dreams? The way he wanted to? He wanted to head towards the stage, to be a little closer to her, if nothing else. But no, to her, in her vision, he was just another ingrate.

Yes, that's what he had thought of them. Ingrates. Those few people who shunned her, who rejected her offers of kindness, who mocked her, who fought her politically – how shortsighted they all were. How could they look at her and not see what he saw? How could anybody?

She gave such critics little attention. Amidala hadn't gotten where she was without learning the difference between legitimate opposition and petty jealousy. She understood that not everyone would like her, and it didn't really bother her. Though Anakin could tell there was something else there…that she felt a little sad that she could reach, or touch, or help everyone. That was why she had gotten into politics in the first place: because she thought – she knew – could help others. It felt a bit strange to her that some would reject her, and wouldn't let her make things better for them.

The crowd cheered wildly again, as Amidala finished up her speech. She began walking along the edge of the crowd, chatting with various people. The rest of the mob began to disperse, most talking excitedly about whatever she had said.

Anakin felt a dull ache in his chest. He knew there was no chance that he would walk over to her. Indeed, he felt himself begin to walk away.

Is this what she thinks? That I'm rejecting her? He had never done such a thing…he couldn't. He wanted her with him…he needed her with him.

Anakin closed his eyes tightly against the agitation he felt buzzing in his head. He felt a little woozy…

Yes, he had rejected their previous way of life. But it wasn't a rejection of her. And yes, his decisions had caused damage to things they had previously held dear. But he wasn't trying to hurt her. And maybe this future he was creating would be a difficult one to adjust to. But he wasn't trying to make things harder on her.

There were decisions that had to be made, things that had to be done. That was all.

But how was she supposed to see that? Or know that? She should know that he loved her…but she wasn't blind. She had seen the results of what he was doing. How was she possibly supposed to understand?

He cringed, feeling his chest constrict painfully at that thought. She had to understand. She had to.

She can't. And you know that she shouldn't.

Anakin stopped walking. He suddenly didn't have the strength to move. Unsure of what else to do, he sat down on the ground, and let the crowds pass by him.