Chapter Twenty-Six

We make as far as the hanger bay on the first level before I'm subsequently identified, detained, and arrested.

Honestly, when we are apprehended there is a part of me feels unending relief. It's not that I want to be arrested or that I have any desire to endure a mockery of a trial for the likes of Sheev Palpatine. I had already willingly sacrificed a decade of my life to that despicable man. I refuse to give even a single parsec more. But if the alternative is dragging Padmé along on the hellish travesty that my life is quickly becoming then being taken into custody by the Coruscant authorities is the lesser of two evils. It is that consideration that keeps me from resisting when they place me in Force dampening cuffs.

Unfortunately, it is also in that moment, when my connection to the Force is effectively diminished, that I feel the full effect of the trauma my body has endured in the last 24 hours. I take one step before my knees buckle completely. Only the firm grip of the guards flanking me keep my body from crumpling to the ground entirely. I'm vaguely aware of Padmé's horrified cry as my captors roughly yank me to my feet again. I try to reassure her that I'm fine, but it's requiring a good deal of coordination on my part to avoid being dragged facedown to the detention craft.

"Can't you be gentler?" she implores them angrily, "Don't you see he's hurt? He needs a medic!"

"He'll receive medical treatment once we have him secured," one of my guards informs her coldly, "In the meantime, I'm going to have to ask you to step back, Senator."

"Padmé…just go…" I beg weakly, "I'll be fine. Please go." The last view I have of Padmé before they throw me into the detainment transport and secure me there is her weeping in Dormé's arms while surrounded by armed personnel. I wonder vaguely if this might be my parting memory of her.

The ride to the detention center is unusually quiet save for the rhythmic sounds of emergency alarms. The announcement for the mandatory lockdown also continues to play on loop, interspersed with the mournful "weeewooo" of the sirens. For once, traffic in Coruscant is strangely nonexistent. The only vehicles in the occupying the usually overcrowded lanes are official personnel. The death of the chancellor has left the entire city in a state of suspended animation. Consequently, my ride to the detainment center doesn't take nearly as long as it should have.

Once there, I am given instructions to strip naked. As if that isn't undignified enough, after I'm done, I am subjected to the most uncomfortable and invasive full body search that I've ever endured. When my jailers are satisfied that I'm not carrying any concealed weapons or contraband, I am supplied with standard prison garb and transported deeper into the center where my personal identification markers and DNA signature are loaded into the computer database. Occasionally, there is a guard bold enough to ask me whether I really killed the Chancellor, but beyond that, no one speaks to me at all.

After I am fully processed, they allow me one communication before I'm to be led off for interrogation with the chief officer. I choose to reach out to my mother. She is the obvious choice for two reasons. First, I need to reassure myself that she is indeed safe. Considering the veiled threats Sidious had made against her last night, I cannot be too sure that she hasn't been targeted by him. Second, it is way past time that I tell her the truth. All of it. The conversation isn't very long so it's next to impossible to provide her with any level of detail, but I manage to cover most of what I've been up to for the last six months. I can't say that she is surprised by what she hears, but she is clearly disappointed in me.

Despite that, her response is immediate, simple, and full of unconditional love. "Cliegg and I will be on Coruscant within two rotations."

"Mom, that's not necessary. I'm not even sure if they'll allow anyone into the atmosphere due to the lockdown."

"We're coming."

"No," I insist firmly, "This is my mess. I'll clean it up."

"Anakin, you are my son. I will be there. Two rotations."

And like that, it's decided. I have done unspeakable, evil things in my lifetime, committed horrors that plague me at night and haunt me during the day. But none of those things or the guilt and shame and self-loathing that accompany them have ever stripped me down to the rawest version of myself like my mother's wholehearted loyalty for me. Even after all I've done and the endless lies of omission I've told her, she continues to support me without reservation. I've never felt less deserving of anyone's love, even Padmé's. After I end that communication with her, I break down in tears just as I had as a nine-year-old boy leaving her behind on Tatooine all those years ago. I barely manage to pull myself together before the guards are escorting me out for interrogation.

They lead me to a small room that consists of one, long rectangular table and two metal chairs, one on each side of the table. Captain Wilhuff Tarkin of the Grand Republic Army stands at the far end of the room, awaiting my arrival. I tense immediately as he tersely introduces himself and then motions for me to have a seat. I do as he instructs while concealing my general dread over seeing him here.

Tarkin may not know who I am in this lifetime, but I am very well acquainted with him. First as a Jedi knight and later more closely as Sidious' enforcer. And because I know him so well, I am certain that he will not be satisfied with anything less than my public execution for what he has already decided is treason on my part. For him, this interrogation is merely a formality. He has already concluded that he is going to kill me. His sole concern right now is expediting that end. Of course, he betrays none of that as he coolly nods to the single datapad stationed on the empty desk between us.

"What do you want me to do with that?" I ask him, my manner understandably wary.

"You can use it to write out your confession, Skywalker! I will need you to include all of the details regarding your treasonous plot with the Jedi to murder the Supreme Chancellor and usurp control of the Galactic Republic."

I push the datapad away with derisive snort. "There was no 'treasonous plot.' The Chancellor attacked me. I defended myself. End of story."

Tarkin scoffs at the explanation. "You want me to believe that the Chancellor attacked you unprovoked?"

"That's what happened." More or less.

"Come now, Skywalker! I know your reputation as a scoundrel and ruffian. I'm also very aware that the Chancellor mistakenly believed that he could reform you due to his inexplicable affection for you. That error in judgment sadly cost him his life."

"Scoundrel? Ruffian? Where are you getting these stories?"

"Is that why you killed him, Skywalker?" he demands, "Because you resented his attempts to interfere in your criminal activities!"

"Is it too late to request another interrogation officer? You're clearly insane. I already told you what happened."

"And why would Chancellor Palpatine possibly want to attack you?" he queries sarcastically, "What could he stand to gain unless…he was defending himself from you?"

"No. He attacked me because he was a Sith lord. He wanted me to become his apprentice and I refused. So, he tried to kill me."

"Now who's making up 'stories?'" Tarkin snorts, "You expect me to believe this fantastical nonsense?"

"I thought you wanted my confession. That's my confession."

"So, you're admitting that you killed him then?"

"Once more with feeling," I grit, my impatience growing, "the Chancellor attacked me, and I defended myself. I'm sure if you've searched his office then you've already found his lightsabers."

"A lightsaber is a Jedi weapon. Everyone knows that. Those, more than likely, belong to you."

"The blades are red, Tarkin. Jedi don't wield red lightsabers. Only Sith do."

"We shall see about that," he spits.

"With all due respect, Captain Tarkin, this situation really is outside of your jurisdiction. This is a Jedi matter and should be handled by the High Council. I demand to speak to Grandmaster Yoda immediately."

"With all due respect, Skywalker, you'll make no demands here!" Tarkin snaps, bracing his hands against the table in a show of implacable authority, "Yoda and the rest of his ilk are enemies of the Galactic Republic! Should they reveal themselves in the light of day, they shall be shot on sight! So, it would greatly behoove you to deal with me."

Suffice it to say that I do not take Tarkin up on his offer nor do I sign a confession to treason. This, of course, doesn't endear me to the good captain at all. I'm treated to a vigorous "interrogation" session afterward for my lack of cooperation. But, after a night of enduring Sidious' punishing Sith lightning, even with my connection to the Force dulled by restraints, the torture I'm subsequently subjected to seems tolerable.

Still, by the time I'm thrown into my cell later that evening, a specially constructed box designed to hold Jedi and cut them off completely from the Force, I am thoroughly exhausted. Though my bed is little more than a metal slab without cushion or blanket, once my restraints are removed, I crawl up onto it gratefully and close my eyes. I'm asleep before I even realize it.

Sadly, it feels like only a few parsecs have elapsed before I feel someone rudely nudging me awake. I try to ignore it, but the persistent digging in my back continues. Groggy and irritated, I roll over and growl, "What?"

"You've got a visitor, Skywalker," my guard informs me gruffly.

As I come to a more wakeful state, I push myself into a seated position to greet my mysterious visitor. My mild curiosity and suspicion over the circumstances turn to consternation when the stranger pushes back the large hood concealing their identity. I blink incredulously.

"Padmé! What are you doing here?"

Ignoring me altogether, Padmé turns to the prison guard, thanks him, and then presses a handful Republic credits into his palm. "I would very much appreciate your discretion in this matter, sir," she urges him softly, "You will be well compensated for your silence."

"No problem, Senator Amidala," the guard says, "Just don't stay too long. Perimeter sweeps begin soon."

"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

Once we're alone, I waste no time admonishing her. "You shouldn't have come!"

"Was I supposed to leave you in here to rot instead?"

"You need to start thinking about yourself! What will it do to your political career if you're discovered with the man who's been accused of murdering the Supreme Chancellor?"

"I suppose the same thing sharing his bed has done to it."

Her implacable response robs me of all bravado. "Please don't tell me that," I groan, "How bad is it?"

"I just came from an emergency session. The Senate has officially been made aware of our romantic relationship and my colleagues feel that my involvement with you constitutes a conflict of interest. They're discussing whether I should step down," she explains flatly, "There is also talk about the possibility of collusion with you, but they have no proof so that's all speculation at this point."

"Padmé, I'm so sorry."

She waves her hand dismissively. "Right now, the least of my concerns is what the Senate thinks of me. Fortunately, they're too busy fighting over who should step in as interim chancellor to give much attention to building a case against me."

"What about Order 66?"

"It still stands for now," she replies with some reluctance, "Most of the surviving Jedi have fled the Temple. It's been abandoned for now. Captain Tarkin has sealed it off."

"And the dead?" I press her thickly.

"It's not as bad as you think…but there were some casualties. But nothing on the scale you described to me, Anakin."

"Not yet anyway," I intone grimly.

In the ensuing silence, I can feel her penetrating stare though I don't dare look at her directly. "Is…is that why you did it?" she asks, "Because he executed the order?"

I shake my head tersely. "That must have happened after I lost consciousness," I posit, "He must not have died right away when I stabbed him."

"You probably shouldn't speak so freely about that," she warns me stiffly, "This is still an ongoing investigation. While there are some senators who are adamant that Palpatine could have given the order in error, there are others who believe he gave it because you were attacking him at the Jedi's behest. You don't want to lend credence to that."

"That's absurd! I've had nothing to do with the Jedi for months! Tarkin tried to get me to confess to the same thing."

"I agree with you, but unfortunately that is how it looks right now. The situation is very precarious. We should avoid creating more suspicion and focus on a way to get you out of here instead."

"It's not too late for you to walk away," I argue, "You can tell them that you never knew a thing about what I was planning, which isn't a lie. You can say that we broke up and that you'll never see me again. Maybe that's what you should do…"

She scowls at me angrily. "Are we really back to that again, Anakin?"

"Haven't I complicated your life enough, Padmé? We've barely been together five days and I've already dismantled your political career!"

Rather than addressing that immutable fact that directly, she leans in close to gently inspect the bruises on my face. "You look terrible. Did these come from Palpatine or the prison guards?" she asks me softly.

"Does it matter?"

She straightens abruptly and sighs, clearly frustrated with my noncommittal answer. And then she asks me the last question I would expect her to ask given our precarious situation. "Do you want to be in a relationship with me, Anakin?"

I gape at her, not having an immediate response at all. My speechlessness has nothing to do with the nature of her question, but rather because I think the answer should be glaringly obvious to her. I'm truly offended that she can't seem to discern just how deeply and madly I love her.

After several stammering attempts, I manage with, "What kind of… Padmé, why would you ask me that? Do you really want to have this discussion right now?"

"It's a valid question," she insists, "Do you want to be with me or not?"

"Of course, I do! You know I do!"

"Then you need to figure out very fast what that means."

The rigid authority in her tone puts me on notice. For the first time I understand, she's not only sad and resigned over the situation we currently find ourselves in. She's angry. Coldly furious even. Specifically, she is furious with me. The determined set of her jaw and frosty glare fully attest that fact. I swallow thickly at the realization.

"What are you saying?" I ask carefully.

"I'm saying that if you and I going to work long-term, you need to understand that being a couple means that we make decisions together," she says, her tone implacable, "A relationship shouldn't be a dictatorship, with one person making all the choices! It is a partnership that requires collaboration, trust, and mutual respect."

"I respect you! How could you think otherwise?"

"Do you really?" she challenges, "Because you don't act like it. You have a very bad habit of making decisions for me rather than with me and that needs to stop, Anakin. Now. Or I will walk away from you because that's not the kind of relationship I want."

"Is this because I left last night without talking to you first?" Again, she avoids answering me directly but the impatient way she rolls her eyes expresses more than words ever could. "We both know that if I had told you what I was planning, you would have been against it. You would have tried to stop me!"

"You're right."

"And we would have fought."

"Right again."

"And I still would have gone!"

"You're the most stubborn man alive! Tell me something I don't know!" she flares.

"So then, what's the point?" I flare right back.

"The point is that you should have talked it out with me anyway," she snaps angrily, "You thought you were going off to your death, Anakin, and you never said a word to me!"

The obvious grief in her voice diffuses my anger. "I didn't want to hurt you. I…I was having dreams about falling again," I confess brokenly, "I spoke to Master Yoda about them, but he couldn't provide me with any real answers. Talking to you about my visions would have only caused you pain and worry. I was sparing you."

"That's a lie. You were sparing yourself," she contradicts flatly, "You should have been honest with me, Ani. Why can't you be honest?"

It feels like an unfair question because, in my estimation, I've never truly lied to her. I've always been honest with her about my inner struggles and deepest fears. She's seen the darkest, ugliest parts of me. However, I can admit that often when those fears involve her, my first impulse is to push her away and keep them to myself. I think, perhaps, because I always want to present a strong face to her, be the "hero with no fear" that the galaxy believed me to be, and it's difficult to do that when the fear of losing her is the thing that makes me feel the most vulnerable. I tell her that now.

"What are you really afraid of, Ani?"

"That you'll leave me," I confess in a broken whisper, "That somehow, someway, I'm always going to lose you, Padmé."

"Is that why you always have to walk away from me first?" she wonders softly. Without waiting for my answer, she scoots into the empty space next to me and reaches over to gather my hands between her own. I stare down at them because I have a very hard time looking at her.

"Ani, I need you to start trusting me."

"I do trust you, Padmé," I state, my words fervent and hoarse with emotion, "There's no one else that I trust more than you. I swear it!"

"I mean trust me to take care of you," she whispers, "You don't trust me to do that. Or anyone, for that matter. You're always the first one to step up and volunteer to take care of others, but you're very resistant to the idea of letting others take care of you."

"That's weakness and I won't let myself be weak."

"Is that what you really believe or is that Sidious talking?"

"I don't know," I mumble, "I don't…I don't like having things happen outside of my control."

"Yes, I've learned that about you," she replies wryly, "It's quite exasperating actually."

"I am working on that. I'm trying to be less…less…"

"Sith lord?"

"I was going to say controlling but…yes," I confirm with a small smile, "I'm trying to be less Sith lord. But it's a process. It's the only thing I've known for a very long time, and sometimes it feels like I don't know any other way to be. I know that I'm not a good person, but I'm trying to be better, Padmé…for you."

"Don't do that. Don't be better for me, Anakin. Be better for yourself."

"Of course. You're right. I hear you."

"And, for the record," she adds, "You're not this terrible person that you make yourself out to be. Yes, you are infuriating and controlling and reckless and obstinate. And you make terrible choices sometimes. But you're also fearless and passionate and forthright and very brave. Your heart is always in the right place even when you do the wrong thing. And I love all those parts of you, Anakin, the good and the bad."

"I love you too. You're everything to me."

"If that's true, then let me help you. We can get through anything if we do it together…even a prison sentence for murder, if it comes to that."

"It won't. Tarkin will probably have me executed instead," I tell her grimly. When she cringes in response, I say, "You asked me not to hide anything. I know Tarkin. The punishment will be swift."

"Noted. But it won't come to that either. Not if I have anything to say about it."

"What can you do about it?"

"I'm a senator, for the time being anyway, and a former queen. I have friends in very high places. I'm going to call in some favors."

"Great. Why not sully your reputation further on my behalf? That's a fantastic idea!"

It is impossible to miss the thinly veiled sarcasm that drips from my tone. Padmé frowns. "Let me be very clear about this and you will listen. This is up to me now. You will do nothing," she orders me imperiously, "You will let me handle this matter from now on, without interference. You will sit and you will wait. Say the words, Anakin."

Though the words feel like they are being wrenched from my chest, I repeat obediently, "I will let you handle this."

"And?"

"And I won't interfere," I sigh in concession, "I will sit, and I will wait. I promise."

Padmé smiles and presses a firm kiss to my forehead, clearly pleased with my response. "Very good, my love. Now was that so difficult?"