—WARNING—

THIS IS THE THIRD PART OF CHAPTER 25. IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY, PLEASE GO BACK TO PART TWO AND READ THAT ONE FIRST.

THANK YOU FOR READING.

Chapter 25: Pascuntur Draco

—Part Three—

Standing helmetless in his suite's small kitchen, Vader stared at his glass absentmindedly, watching the amber liquid swirl into a vortex as he agitated it. The Force was in turmoil, and he was copping a beating from all different corners of his psyche. First from his Master, then from Padmé, then from the Inquisitors ... he was even getting the odd surge of fear from the two Jedi he sensed were still nearby somewhere.

He was trying to stay calm for when Padmé came home, but the tremors were hard to block out. Since running out of the serum, he'd had to look for other alternatives to quiet the ever-present roar inside his mind. Meditation was not an option. He'd already tried that. Twice. When he closed his eyes, he saw the nightmares of his past playing over on repeat, accompanied by brief flashes of Organa holding Padmé's hand. For a Sith Lord meditating to sharpen his anger, it was perfect. But for a husband trying to be calm and supportive for his pregnant wife ... it was downright destructive.

After nearly tearing his maintenance chamber to shreds, he'd stormed into the kitchen and stumbled across the bottle of Corellian whiskey stashed in the cabinet. So, he pulled it out, poured himself a glass ... and whiskey it was. And the glass in his hand would be his third tonight.

"Master Ani! Master Ani!"

Hearing the golden protocol droid scuttling across the sitting area and calling out, Vader rolled his eyes and groaned. He lifted his glass, downed the potent alcohol in its entirety, then gently placed it back down on the bench-top.

"I asked you not to call me that, Threepio," Vader muttered, keeping his eyes down.

"Oh dear! Forgive me, Master Ani... I mean Lord ... ah, Sir—" Threepio gave a disparaging sigh. "Oh! I'm so confused."

Vader unscrewed the cap on the bottle and poured himself another drink. "Don't worry about it. It doesn't matter," he said sullenly, past the point of caring. "What is it?"

He refused to look at the droid. He'd already watched him prepare the table for dinner, and seeing him fuss over things like place settings and silverware, all he'd been able to think about was his mother. About how disappointed she would've been, had she still been alive to witness what he had become. About how much she would have adored Padmé, Luke and Leia.

Luke and Leia. A powerful ache radiated throughout his chest, and Vader sighed. Force, he missed his children.

"Artoo has just informed me that Miss Padmé has arrived at her apartment," Threepio said. "He also said she seemed a little ... upset. He is bringing her down here now."

"Thank you, Threepio," Vader said. "Go wait by the turbo-lift. See that she finds her way in here." He replaced the cap on the bottle and went back to swirling his drink again.

A few minutes later the door to his suite whooshed open, and the sound of Artoo chirping filled the deafening silence.

"Where is he, Threepio?" he heard Padmé ask.

Vader felt his heart skip a beat.

"Master Ani is waiting for you in the kitchen, Miss Padmé," Threepio quickly answered.

He hurriedly threw back his glass and downed the rest of his drink. Admittedly, not one of his brightest ideas. Then, head spinning and legs unsteady, he leaned forward to place the glass back on the counter—

And missed.

The glass fell to the floor and smashed on the tiles. Vader's hand soon followed. And before he knew what was happening, he was on his knees on the kitchen floor with his head braced against the cabinet.

He heard his wife scream. "ANAKIN!"

She was by his side in an instant, her hands all over him trying to lift him up, and he suddenly felt suffocated. He tried to move his head, tried to pick up the shards of glass, but he couldn't grip the pieces with his gloves, and the damn room was spinning so fast he couldn't focus.

"Ani, let me help you," Padmé said, leaning over him and placing her hand on his shoulder.

"Just... let me go," Vader moaned. "Please." He was so embarrassed and ashamed, not really wanting Padmé to leave his side, but also not wanting her to see him this way.

"I'm not leaving you here, my love," Padmé whispered in his ear, and her words melted his heart. Vader looked up, saw Padmé standing next to him with her hand extended.

She smiled and wriggled her fingers. "Now, give me your hand."

He did as his wife asked, and she tried to pull him up. It was adorable of her to try, but in his suit, he knew he was far too heavy. He lifted his knee and bent forward, bracing his right hand on the floor for support. Then, when she pulled, he tried to stand. His boot slipped and got caught in his cloak. They both tumbled to the floor; Vader landing flat on his back, Padmé sprawled face down on top of his stomach. Padmé lifted her head up, high enough that he could see her face.

And for a long moment, they stared at each other. Vader gazing deep into his Angel's hazel eyes, his Angel gazing curiously into his. Then, like a dam suddenly bursting free, they both laughed. Laughed hard and properly, just like they had all those years ago in the meadow back on Naboo.

Seconds later, Padmé dropped forward and smothered his mouth with hers, and Vader felt his eyes widen at her kiss. Letting himself go, he closed his eyes and relaxed. Then, he wrapped his arms tight around her and pulled her down closer, bending his knees to trap her body within his own.

Their kiss grew feverish. White knuckled ivory hands gripped at black robes. Black gloved fingers knotted and twisted into long tresses of chestnut hair. The Sith Lord and the Senator completely losing themselves in each other.

"Master Ani, Mistress Padmé," Threepio called from somewhere in the room. "I'm afraid the food will spoil if you both don't eat soon." Artoo beeped and whistled his agreement.

Padmé broke their kiss and dragged her head up. She gazed into Vader's eyes, lifted her hand to delicately trace one finger down the scar on his cheek. "Did you organise dinner for us?" she whispered, still breathless.

"Possibly..." Vader rasped back, still blissfully mesmerised by the Angel lying atop him.

"I love you, Anakin," Padmé said, and she leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead.

Vader closed his eyes, then let out a long, soul-cleansing breath. "I love you too, Angel."

Thirty minutes had passed, and Vader and Padmé were sitting at the table eating dinner. Vader couldn't help but stare at his wife. Not feeling particularly hungry, he chased a piece of bantha steak around his plate with the fork. Then, Padmé looked up and watched him poking at his food. He stabbed the piece of steak, shoved it in his mouth and forced himself to chew it. It tasted good enough, but after four whiskeys, and his stomach struggling with the half-piece of steak he had already eaten, he wasn't overly interested in finishing his meal. He probably should have chosen something lighter to eat.

Padmé put her fork down and stared at him. "Ani, I'm curious..." she said quietly, seeming to choose her words carefully. "Why were you drinking? You usually hate alcohol."

Vader looked down at his plate—suddenly the steak was a lot more appealing. He cut off another piece. "I needed to dull the roar," he said, then shoved the lump of meat in his mouth.

"Dull the roar?" she asked.

He nodded and continued to chew, then swallowed, grabbed his drink and took a long sip.

"What roar?"

Putting the glass down, Vader sighed. "The constant roar, Padmé. The one that never goes away."

She cocked a brow at him. "Did it help?"

Vader shrugged, then went back to his steak again. "I guess it served its purpose ... until I fell on the floor." It was high-time for a topic change, he really didn't feel like rehashing that humiliating moment.

"I was so worried when I heard the crash and bang," Padmé said. "I thought something had happened to you."

Looking up from his plate, Vader noticed the concern in his wife's eyes. Somehow, knowing he had worried her, made it seem so much worse.

"Worried about me?" Vader said with a chuckle. "You don't need to worry about me, my love. I'm tougher than you think. I'm a..." He caught himself before he could finish that sentence. But the voice inside his head finished it for him, anyway. I'm a Jedi, remember?

It was all too easy to fall back into his old ways when he was alone with Padmé. How many times had he said that exact statement to her? How many times had he actually fooled himself into believing it was true? Then fear rose its ugly head. His chest went tight, and it was suddenly very difficult to breathe. Dropping his cutlery, he placed both hands palms-down on the table and stared blindly at his plate; recognising the telltale signs of hyperventilation setting in. He focused on each individual breath and tried to control it. Then he felt the familiar tremors coursing down his arms.

Screaming faces appeared before him—men, women... and children. All wearing Jedi robes, all wearing that same look of terror. A dazzling beam of blue light slashed across his vision—cutting, slicing—beheading and dismembering with each fatal strike.

Grabbing for the water jug, he tried to pour himself a drink. His hand shook uncontrollably, the water sloshing over the sides of his glass and onto the table. He put the jug back down, then met his wife's gaze.

"Anakin?" Padmé asked him, worry softening her tone into a quiet whisper. "Are you alright?"

Vader stared silently at his wife and shook his head. Then, pushing out of his chair, he grabbed his soaked glass and headed back into the kitchen. Reaching the sink, he tipped the water down the drain, and poured himself another drink.

His mind racing, Vader sculled the whiskey, hoping to drown out his thoughts. He slammed the glass down again. How could he be in the presence of the one he loved more than anything, and yet still feel so desolate and alone? There was a way to stop the visions, of course. But he really, really didn't want to do that right now.

Focus. He told himself, waiting for the numbing effect of the alcohol to set in. You don't need to use the Force for this. Stay calm. Stay supportive. She's your wife, remember? Your pregnant wife. You love her. She loves you. Only a year ago, you thought that you'd lost her.

Finding his voice, Vader broke the mood and changed the subject. "I am leaving tomorrow," he said matter-of-factly. "My fleet is undergoing preparations for a midday departure." He looked up, waited for some kind of response from Padmé. She stared at him silently, almost as if she hadn't heard him. "I want you to come with me, Padmé."

"Where are you going?" Padmé asked from the table.

The way she said "you" and not "we" did not escape his notice. Vader flexed his fingers, then quickly poured himself another drink—whiskey number five if he was keeping count accurately. "Dromund Kaas," he said finally, feeling his tone sharpen, "I miss our children." Vader hesitated, then added, "I also need to... drop some things off to Obi-wan."

Padmé sighed and looked down. "I miss them too, Ani."

The urge to roll his eyes was overwhelming. The "But" was coming.

"But I can't come with you," Padmé said finally.

And... she said it. Why did he have to be right all the time? Could he not be wrong, just this once? He clenched his fists by the sink, knowing she couldn't see them below the top of the counter. "I am asking you to come home with me, Padmé," Vader said carefully. "Your husband is asking you to come home."

His wife shook her head at him again. "I know that, Anakin. But..." she looked up at him, an unspoken plea in her eyes. "There's something I need to talk to you about. And... you will not like it."

Time for another drink. Working his jaw, Vader lifted the bottle, noticed it was half empty and refilled his glass. "Then talk," he grunted. "I'm waiting."

"Bail has asked me to go to the rebel base with him tomorrow," Padmé said. "I haven't given him an answer yet. I wanted to discuss it with you first."

Red sparks danced in his vision. No, no, no, No! Vader glared at her. "Organa?" he roared, failing to curb his anger. "You want to go with ... Organa?"

"Please, I need you to stay calm for this, Anakin," she said sternly, sounding remarkably similar to a Jedi Master scolding a young padawan. "I need to be able to discuss things like this with you. Like I said, I haven't given him an answer yet. But I thought it might be worth it to you, considering I would discover the location of the base."

"I have no interest in finding their insignificant little base, Padmé," Vader said flatly, grinding his teeth. "I merely feign interest to appease Sidious and the Governors. I assure you, if I had any actual interest in locating it, I would have already done so myself."

That answer seemed to shock Padmé. She raised a brow at him and frowned. "Are you telling me you don't care about the rebellion?" she asked. "That you couldn't care less if they launched an attack on your Empire?"

Vader drank his drink and put the glass down. "Indeed..." he sneered with contempt. "In-fact, good luck to them. I hope they do attack. Perhaps then they will take out some sycophants and degenerates that are polluting my Empire."

Padmé seemed stunned into silence. After a long, drawn-out moment, she eventually opened her mouth to speak—

And a loud chirp sounded from her comm. Not the one Vader had given her either. But her official comm, the one she used only for incredibly important Politician work.

She stared up at him with a look that he could only describe as pure terror. "It's... it's Bail," she stammered.

"Answer it," Vader growled.

"Anakin?"

He thumped his fist on the sink. "I said... Answer it." Then a devious thought flashed across his mind. He leered at her and snarled. "Better yet. Let me put my helmet back on ... And I will answer it."

His wife's look of terror gave way to horror right before his eyes. Whatever she'd seen in his expression seemed to greatly unsettle her. Padmé jumped out of her seat. "No, Anakin!" she shouted.

Shrugging his shoulders, Vader poured himself another drink, working his jaw as he did so. "Suit yourself," he muttered. Then, picking up his glass, he turned his back to his wife, and leaned against the kitchen counter; settling in for what was bound to be a very interesting conversation.

Seconds later, the irritating voice of Bail Organa—the wife and daughter stealing serpent—invaded his suite.

"Padmé," Organa said over the comm. "I can't see you. Are you alright? What happened while you were in there with Palpatine?"

Vader choked on his mouthful. What? Padmé had been alone with his Master? Why hadn't she said anything to him about it? He whirled around in an instant, suddenly extremely interested in what his wife had to say.

"I'm fine, Bail," Padmé said, standing by the table, her eyes darting to Vader in the kitchen. "I'm not currently in a situation where I can activate the holo-cam. As for my meeting with Palpatine, it was more of a reunion, so to speak. He asked me a few things. I asked him a few things. Then we mostly discussed the situation on Naboo."

Now that was the biggest lie Vader had ever heard come out of his wife's mouth. Just from her expression, without him even needing to use the Force, he could tell she wasn't telling the truth. But the real question was: Was the lie for Organa's benefit?

Or his?

The Viceroy gave a disbelieving sigh. "I find the notion of you two having some pleasant reunion a little difficult to swallow, Padmé. Especially after what you said to me earlier." Organa sighed again, and Vader growled at his persistence. "Are you certain you're alright? Are you stuck somewhere you can't talk? Do you need me to come and get you?"

"You have got to be kidding me," Vader grunted, rolling his eyes.

Padmé scowled at Vader and thrust her finger to her lips, motioning for him to shut up. "Bail, I said I'm fine. Please don't ask again," she said impatiently. "Now did you call to ask me something, or can this wait until morning?"

"Well, yes," Organa said, the testy sound in his voice making his suspicions clear. "Have you contacted Obi-wan yet? I really need to speak with him, it has become quite urgent I'm afraid."

Vader tilted his head, an action he knew his wife would recognise as him wanting more information. Why did Organa suddenly need to call Obi-wan? Was there something going on there that he hadn't been told about?

His wife shook her head at him and returned to her call. "No, I'm sorry Bail, I haven't. It had completely slipped my mind. Why is it urgent all of a sudden?"

"My apartment has been ransacked. Ferus and Caleb were attacked by the two assassins they ran into a few days ago." Padmé looked up from the comm to glare at Vader, and he impatiently tapped his fingers on his glass. "They both escaped," Organa continued, "but are now hiding in my ship until we leave tomorrow morning."

"And these assassins?" Padmé asked him.

"They were Force users of some sort," Organa said. "Master Olin said they called themselves Inquisitors. Caleb thinks they are working for Vader ... and I am inclined to believe him."

"Right..." Padmé said, slowly drawing out the word, eyeing Vader in the kitchen.

And... he was in trouble. Again. Padmé was giving him one of those scolding looks, similar to the ones Obi-wan had used to give him back when he was a padawan. The "You've got a lot of explaining to do" look. Vader shrugged it off and coolly held her stare. Then, he mouthed the word "What?", as if to ask what else she would've expected from him. He was a Sith Lord, hunting down Jedi was his mandate.

Padmé went back to her call. "But Bail, if Lord Vader knew where Ferus and Caleb were located," she said, "then surely, he would have made the effort to confront them himself. I mean they are Jedi after all."

Organa audibly huffed over the comm. "Perhaps... any way, they are safe for now," hesaid. "Did you think anymore on what I said earlier? About coming back to the base with us tomorrow?"

Vader gritted his teeth. Enough was enough. His patience had officially reached its end. He put down his glass and strode from the kitchen.

"I'm not sure..." Padmé said. "I still need to—" she stopped talking, looked to Vader looming over her.

He made a slicing motion at his neck; signalling for her to cut the call.

Padmé studied him, then swallowed—nervously, Vader noted. She went back to the comm. "I'm sorry, Bail. But I have to go. I will let you know what I decide to do later." Not waiting for the Viceroy to respond, she disconnected the call.

Vader stared disbelievingly into his wife's eyes. "You're not sure?" he demanded.

Padmé nodded. "Yes," she said. "I know you want me to come back with you, but—"

Furious, Vader stopped listening. He looked past her to the window and silently counted to ten.

"Anakin..." Padmé pleaded, and she gently touched his arm.

Vader snapped back from the window. "What does he want with Kenobi?"

"I cannot say. Although, I thought we might be able to call Obi-wan and ask—See if he knows anything."

A long moment of silence passed between them; Vader glowering at his wife, silently working to keep his anger under control. After several minutes, he lost the battle.

"Fine!" Vader snapped. He jerked his arm away and stormed off. Then, when he reached the door for his maintenance chamber, he slammed his hand on the security release and called out to her over his shoulder. "Get Kenobi on the comm. I will return... shortly."

Vader paced back and forth in his bedchamber, trying to pull himself together. It felt just like the situation with Rush Clovis. Padmé was rushing off to the other side of the galaxy with some man who had designs on her, and he was being left behind again.

Thankfully he'd learned from his past mistakes. Being demanding and controlling and losing his temper was not the answer. They would only end up arguing, and she would leave out of spite. He had to focus on the positives. Padmé was still here. Which meant he still had a chance at stopping her, if he could keep his emotions under control.

Unfortunately, the alcohol surging through his system was making any attempt at attaining control almost impossible. He stopped pacing and closed his eyes. Then, digging deep, he focused on his breathing... and with each rasping exhale, slowly pushed away his anger and gave it to the Force.

Padmé was talking to Obi-wan when he returned. She was standing in the sitting room, her hazel eyes briefly flickering to Vader as he strode toward her.

"And what does his Lordship have to say about this?" Kenobi said to Padmé over the comm.

Vader heard the telltale waver of fatigue in his former master's voice. He sounded exhausted, and it made Vader wonder if everything was as it should be back on Dromund Kaas. Dismissing the thought, he leaned back against the wall behind Padmé and folded his arms. "How I think and feel appears to be... unimportant," Vader said.

Padmé shot an apologetic, yet accusing glance over her shoulder.

"So you are there," Obi-wan said, chuckling softly. "I was beginning to wonder—"

"Why would Organa want to speak with you?" Vader asked, cutting him off.

Obi-wan audibly yawned, his fatigue creeping to the forefront. "Oh... probably just to ask more questions about you, I suspect. You are quite the hot topic."

"Apparently," Vader muttered. He frowned. "But that doesn't explain why he would feel the need to ask you. Unless, of course—"

"He knows who you are, Anakin," Obi-wan interrupted. "I told him after you paid him that visit on Alderaan. When you interrogated him over Padmé, remember?"

Vader rolled his eyes. "Of course I remember."

"You told him?" Padmé asked, clearly taken aback by his admission. She spun around to address Vader, bringing the translucent blue mini-Obi-wan hovering above her wrist-comm around with her. "Well that explains why Bail keeps hassling me out about you," she said to Vader. "He's trying to find out if I know who you are."

"Indeed..." Vader said. Then, after a thought, looked to his wife and added: "You realise that only makes it more dangerous for you to go with him, don't you?"

She stared at him.

"I'm sorry, Padmé, but where exactly are you planning on going?" Obi-wan hotly inquired, the tiny blue Jedi crossing his arms.

"Bail asked me to go to the rebel base with him tomorrow," Padmé said.

Vader reached out toward his former master through the Force, then smiled when he sensed his reaction.

"You can't be serious," Obi-wan scolded. "If someone somehow revealed the truth of your marriage to Anakin to the greater rebellion, you will become a valuable target. The only place you should leave for, is here; back to Dromund Kaas to be with your children."

"See?" Vader said, puffing his chest and gesturing toward the tiny Jedi. "Even Obi-wan agrees with me."

"I guess there's a first time for everything," Padmé fired back. She looked between the two Force users ganging up on her, then sighed in defeat. "Alright, fine. I will contact Bail in the morning and inform him of my decision."

The tiny Jedi nodded. "Good. Now that we've gotten that out of the way..." he hesitated, then looked to Vader. "Anakin, how long before you plan on returning?"

"My fleet is due to break orbit tomorrow at midday," Vader said. "Why? Is something wrong?"

Miniature Obi-wan stroked his beard. "No... not yet, anyway," he said guardedly. "But your new apprentice seems to be rather unsettled."

Vader frowned. "Unsettled in what way?"

"Well... at first, she disappeared for two days," Obi-wan said. "She said nothing when she came back. But I noticed her talking to herself and carrying something bundled up in her arms. Since then, she's only come out of your com-room to eat, shower, and get things from her quarters."

"Interesting..." Vader mused out loud. "Sounds more like Syrennè is busy, as opposed to unsettled." He glanced to his wife, saw the hint of concern dancing in her eyes. After taking the young female Jedi as his apprentice, Padmé had become increasingly guarded around her. Syrennè had become attached to Vader, developing an almost territorial type devotion to her new master. Vader folded his arms. "Keep a watchful eye on her, Obi-wan," he said. "I will deal with her when I return."

Obi-wan nodded and stroked his beard again. "I will."

The three of them soon said their goodbyes and ended their call.

Following Anakin into his bedchamber, Padmé noticed the unsteady stagger in his long stride. She knew he was drunk, and had noticed the strange effect the alcohol seemed to be having on him. The suffocating darkness that normally radiated from her husband had dimmed significantly, allowing the light she felt hiding inside him to slowly rise to the surface. She wondered if Anakin had noticed the change.

He led her to the foot of the bed and stopped. Anakin gazed down at her, a glossy haze varnishing his crystal blue eyes. "I was wondering if you might be interested in trying something different tonight," he said uneasily, slurring his words.

Padmé held her husband's gaze, tried to see what he was thinking. The warm feelings emanating between them comforted her, but there was an edge of nervous anticipation echoing from him, one that had her suspicions raised. And that he needed to ask first, made her even more wary. "That depends..." Padmé said, raising a brow at him. "Different in what way?"

He chuckled. "In a good way... I hope."

"You're not going to try some Jedi mind trick on me, are you?"

He chuckled at her again, in the same way a parent would a small child who had said something absurd. "Not quite," he said, shaking his head.

Whether his dismissal was referring to the mind trick or Jedi part of her question, Padmé couldn't say for sure. But the way he'd offered no further clarification on the matter made her suspect it was probably the latter. He just didn't want to say it.

Padmé loved her husband, and was confident that he had enough control over himself now, to not do anything to cause her discomfort. However, the thought of him wanting to try any sort of mind trick on her—after telling her years ago they only worked on the weak-minded—was more than a little unsettling.

Holding his stare, Padmé took a deep breath. Perhaps it all came down to a matter of trust. Did she trust Anakin not to hurt her?

After a moment of hesitation, Padmé finally decided. Yes, she trusted him. And now, this was her perfect opportunity to show him.

"Alright, Ani. I trust you," Padmé said, smiling up at him and gently caressing his arm. "What did you need me to do?"

His eyes lit up with a gleaming sparkle. Then, taking both of her hands, he held them in the air between them. "All you need to do is close your eyes and relax, Angel," Anakin said. "Let me take care of the rest."

Padmé closed her eyes and allowed herself to consciously drift into the ensuing darkness. Within seconds a strange sensation swept over her. It felt like she was weightless—floating—as if all the weight she'd been carrying had suddenly lifted from her shoulders and vanished. The ear smelled different too; smelled of loam, and grass, mingled with the sweet perfume of flowers.

A warm hand gently pressed against her forehead, and she heard Anakin's voice call out from somewhere in her head. "Focus on the sound of my voice, Padmé..." he whispered hypnotically. "Let yourself go."

Then, something shoved her back; and she was falling.

And falling.

Deeper and deeper.

Until, suddenly... she hit the ground and everything went black.

Padmé awoke to the distant sound of rushing water. She slowly opened her eyes, only to be greeted by millions of twinkling stars dotting the night sky above her. The loam and flower smell was back, somehow even stronger than before. Curious, she stretched her hand out to her side, felt the soft tickle of grass beneath her fingers. Where in the galaxy was she?

"Well... well... well, look who finally decided to come back," a familiar voice said.

She rolled onto her side. Anakin was on his back next her; his hands tucked under his head of long, wavy blonde hair. His eyes were both closed and his expression, serene. Even the scars on his face were gone. Save for the one down his right eyebrow and cheek. Back in his old Jedi robes again, his black synth-leather tabard was shimmering in the moonlight.

Feeling completely disoriented, Padmé sat up and looked to her husband. "What happened?"

"You fell asleep," he said, not moving from his spot beside her on the grass.

"I don't remember falling asleep." Padmé rubbed her eyes and dazedly looked around. They were surrounded by rolling plains of lush grass. In the distance, she could just make out what looked to be mountains and a giant waterfall. She blinked, rubbed her eyes again. It all felt so familiar... then, Padmé gasped and jumped to her feet. They were in the meadow back home on Naboo.

"Ani... I can't believe—"

Warm arms wrapped tight around her waist. "You can't believe what, my love?" he asked, keeping her back pressed against him.

"I—I... how did you...," Padmé spun around in her husband's arms. "It just... feels so real," she whispered in disbelief. Then, gazing into his crystal blue eyes—her Ani's eyes—she raised her hand and traced his scar with her finger. "You... you look so... so real."

Anakin dipped his head slightly and leaned in toward her. "That's because I am real, Padmé."

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant, and you—"

Before she could finish her sentence, he closed the last of the distance between them and silenced her with a kiss. His lips were soft and warm, massaging around hers so passionately that she suddenly lost all concept of time and space. He slipped his hand to her back. Then, he leaned in and slowly guided her down to lie beneath him on the grass.

Then, under the romantic cover of moonlight, her long-lost Jedi husband made love to her. Right in the middle of the meadow at home on Naboo. Back where their relationship had first begun.