Coming from the Cracks
By aznJEDI13
Notes: I write this to avenge all those Ami/Obi fics. I just have to say DIE!!!! I detest those fics terribly. Not really, but they are beginning to irritate me.
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns everything in this story, Anakin, Padme, Obi-wan and other characters, settings, places, and things. The only thing I own is the plot line.
Coming from the Cracks
'…Baby I can't help it, keep drowning in your love…"
"My beautiful Ani."
I hear my voice, but I am not talking. I see my thoughts, but I am not thinking. I feel my breath, but I am not breathing. I am utterly speechless. No words could describe this moment.
This moment of pure unbelief and shock, pure and utter shock.
I stare at him for a second. He is all that I remember; he is just like I remember. Sharp, cunning, conniving cerulean blue eyes, eyes that lit up the room, could always see into the depth of my soul, and captured my mind and stole my heart.
Fascinating, wavy short golden curls, blond and brown, mixing together in a way that did not seem humanly possible and yet it was. It was a beautiful combination, perfectly made in every way. Curls waiting for my fingers to run through them, yearning to feel my touch once again. Broad shoulders, that allowed him to carry his self with confidence, stature, and strength. His finely toned chest and abdomen, that, though I could not see it through his thick robes, I knew it was there. I had memorized every intent and every crease. There was no hint of imperfection.
He had asked me once if I were an angel. Though he had always been the true angel. Always.
There was one thing that I had memorized more then his beautiful features. There was one other thing that I had vowed never to forget and to this day I have never forgotten. One thing that had never ceased to plague my dreams, to haunt me day in and day out and that was his voice. His deep and robust voice with a slight accent from being around Obi-wan too much and a growing hint of Nubian. It was a husky, intense, aggressive voice at times of intimate passion and potent situations, but it was also compassionate and gentle for instances of love and friendship. All my life, I have never heard such an amazing voice before and I likely never will.
And when he spoke, in that voice I had longed to hear for so long, I knew for sure it was Ani.
My Ani.
It quivered slightly, shaking inevitably. "My Padme."
It was as if he were a ghost. He stood there, studying me, watching me, but he denied himself more than that. I wanted to reach out, to take him into my arms. But my body would not move, I just stood there and felt the tears fall down my cheeks. Salty tears fell one by one, I wiped some off, others escaped down my porcelain cheeks to the wisp of my curly hair. Only tears fell, my eyes refused to leave his, my feet refused to move, my heart refused to beat.
I felt goose bumps crawl up my arms as tears wet my skin. I refused to blink away the tears, afraid that if I closed my eyes even for a split second he would slip away and I would lose him again for eternity. By now my hand had dropped from his shoulder and we continue to study each other, stare into the depths of each other's souls; reach for each other's heart.
Both unsure of what we saw was for real, what we see is for real. To be sure it is not the surreal dream that we had been living in and longing for so long.
Then on impulse, I take his hand in mine and then, as his touch electrifies through my body, burning me to the ends of my heart, to the cores of my soul, I bring his stalwart hand up to cup my cheek. "Oh, love." I whisper, my voice shaking and quivering, afraid, unsure, scared. His hand is really there. It is real. He is real. It is not a dream. He is not a dream. I feel the beat of his heart from his palm, the race of his crazed heart, as he stands astonished before me. My own heart races in tandem with his.
I fall once more or is it that I never came back up. Either way, his love, though not in words or actions, but in his eyes, those endless, loving, cerulean blue pools cause me to sink farther and farther. So far that I have nothing left to hold onto except his undying and unyielding love. I am surprised, for a split second; it is still there. But when I grasp it and it clutches me, I realize that ever since I had met that little, scrawny nine-year-old that love, whether as friends or lovers, had no chance of ever disappearing.
I am drowning once more, once again and it is an inevitable and unstoppable feeling. I know better then to stop it; in fact I want it. I have gone so long without it and I have missed it so much. I kiss his palm then, lightly and gently, loving and tenderly, before letting go of everything inside of me.
I cry knowing he is there to wipe away my tears.
To be continued…