A/N: Forgive my lateness, I've been so busy and it accidentally slipped my mind to make the updates here as well! If that happens in the future... Or, if you're interested in the full collection of my stories - you can find me on AO3: Kay2Es0 also! I have quite a few one shots that aren't/won't be posted here. Either way, though, please enjoy a double upload. And forgive my forgetfulness!

"Padmé?" Anakin whispered, turning over in his bed. "Oh, Padmé?"

He snorted at her muffled response, assuring him she was still awake even if it took her three separate utterances to say so. In her sleepy, drunken-state, she'd murmured more remarks to him than she had in years, besides indulging most of his about how beautiful she was, how much he missed her, provoking her until she asked him how much. Anakin honestly didn't want it to end. My love. He heard it being replayed in his mind if he only closed his eyes. A term of endearment that had never sounded sweeter, even if he felt her embarrassment through the phone, and imagined her face when she realized her own words.

The magic recaptured. Would it still be there in the morning? Was he brave enough to let her go and find out? Her soft snoring made him roll back over toward his phone. It was tempting as hell to record her, swearing she didn't snore when he knew better after so many conversations when she'd fallen asleep on him. Like this one.

"Padmé, are you asleep?"

"No," she practically whined, yawning followed by the static-like noise of ruffled covers.

"Are you sure?"

"No."

Anakin laughed, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. He put the phone on speaker, laying it in the middle of his chest. "Maybe you should go to sleep."

"Make me," she mumbled. "Come down here and make me."

Anakin rubbed a hand over his face, laughing quieter to himself. There was something he wished he had recorded. All of her feisty, flirty remarks that she'd swear off even more than the snoring.

"Padmé, you're drunk. You need to be asleep, angel. You have a busy day tomorrow, remember? I'll still be here you know."

"Don't hang up on me," Padmé whispered, yawning louder with more covers rustling. "Promise me you won't."

"Cross my heart."

"M'kay. Think I'm going to sleep now…"

No doubt in his mind, he thought, before whispering his goodnight and setting his phone on the nightstand so he didn't accidentally hang up on her. She was already about 75% of the way there.

Never in his life had he wanted to be in a different place and time, like he yearned to be with her now. Never in his life had he wanted to be in Washington, DC, as badly as he did in that moment. To feel her breath, soft against his neck rather than muffled through the phone. He could only use his memories to ignore the cool, empty sheets on the other side of his bed where he lay now.

Galas, balls, large state dinners were about as close to Anakin's definition of a terrible time as possible. But damn did he wish he saw her tonight. When she complained to him, or rather ranted and whined, about not having a dance partner, about being alone at her table, about whoever the fuck this ex-boyfriend of hers was, he wanted to be the one holding her hand, her waist, her attention.

Whoever this ex was. She mentioned it in passing and when he tried to draw attention to it, Padmé backed out of the conversation faster than she ever had. That was fine. It was uncalled for to force something she clearly wasn't ready to talk about. The old him would have. It would've been impossible to stop going over it in his mind, on a loop, imagining another man even being close to her. But that was the past, and he was doing his best to keep that side of him exactly where it was. He'd known what it was to have her and not appreciate her. To lose her and have that misery and regret follow him everywhere he went. That kind of heartbreak was not something a man ever looked to experience twice. And definitely not with the same woman because of his own mistakes.

She steered the conversation so fast into their upcoming weekend anyway. It was a blessing. She was a blessing. He was still in disbelief their date was even happening. That on her one day off, she wanted to spend it with him. That she still wanted to see him at all after leaving Boston. In the back of his mind, he had expected her to cut him off as quickly as she'd accepted him back in her life. But the day never came. Instead, they were only getting closer, and he had been emboldened by assurances from her family that this time might be the real thing.

He didn't really know what to expect of the relationship he'd built with the Naberries after the past month. How could he expect anything when their daughter had just fallen back into his life unexpectedly? She, more or less, had fallen back into all of their lives at the same time and oh, how much could change in one month's time?

Shut up, Anakin, this is a good thing.

It felt like only yesterday, rather than weeks ago, that Ruwee was dropping by his house to 'chat.' He didn't buy the excuse at all that the new blade he had just installed on the man's lawn mower needed checked. He knew it was fine, and even with the lack of knowledge her dad possessed, Ruwee could see there was nothing wrong with it. But Anakin humored him anyway, putting the mower up on the lift and giving it a second glance. From underneath the mower, Anakin quickly considered Ruwee's full intention was to kill him when he said, "So, what exactly do you want with my daughter?" just as Anakin was readjusting the very new, extremely sharp blade. In fact, while only considering his stammered response, he'd nearly sliced off a finger trying to form a coherent thought. The irony that he would have survived so many tours overseas and every other stupid idea he'd had, but that would be when he lost a body part wasn't lost on him.

He quickly rolled out to stare up at his neighbor, still at a loss for words and in a vulnerable position under the serious glare of his… ex-girlfriend's dad. Because that's exactly how he was peering down at him. Not as a friend, a neighbor, a mentor…. No, he was a protective father at that moment.

"I—I only want to spend time with her, Ruwee," he had finally managed. It seemed like an okay-enough answer. Until Ruwee frowned and shook his head. How could that have not been the right response? Okay, he may have felt a little more than that, or a lot more, and maybe he wanted to do more than spend time with her. But he was certain she didn't feel any of that in return. For all he'd known, it could've been a plot devised by her to have her dad tell him to back off.

Ruwee had motioned for him to rise to his feet, which he complied with quick as he could, and then he was being pulled closer, an arm hooked around his shoulders. It felt like something out of a ridiculous movie Padmé had once forced him to watch—him getting good, old-fashioned advice from the older, wiser man. But he liked Ruwee, and he didn't exactly have someone else to have those kinds of talks with, even if the subject of the conversation was the man's daughter. He didn't even have his mom, leaving Anakin to take advice whenever and from wherever.

"Son, I've been around a long time," he said, pointing a finger at his chest. "And there's two things I know without a doubt. One, my wife always knows what's going on long before I do. And two, you look at Padmé the way I look at her mother. So we can beat around the bush here, or you can tell me what's going on."

Anakin felt like the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. "I assure you, sir, I only want to spend time with her. I'm not even sure that's what she wants. And I don't want to make it harder on anyone. I've missed her, is all. Didn't realize how much until she got here," he said, casting a glance over his shoulder at the house before back at Ruwee.

After a hard pat on the back, and a rare compliment about what a good man Anakin was and how appreciated the protection of his daughter was, neither of which Anakin thought of himself, he was taking Anakin by surprise yet again. "You know… She's not the same young girl she used to be. If you want to spend time with her, I think you're going to have to work harder at it. Harder yet if you plan to do so before she takes off again whenever that is."

Was this his… chance? His blessing by her dad? Permission? Anakin couldn't help but wonder if Padmé had the slightest clue what was happening in his garage. Part of him couldn't imagine she did, since it would embarrass her as it was. Yet, all he was left with was the option to stare back at the man staring at him before nodding slowly. Adding a final note that he would do his absolute best. After a final head nod freed him from the awkwardness of their silence, he crawled back under the machine to finish what he'd started.

Once he'd assured him that the mower was fine, they stood for a while longer, talking, laughing, sharing stories. Back to being neighbors, and it couldn't be overstated how grateful he was for that. Ruwee had offered stories of the early days of his marriage with Jobal, tales of their humanitarian trips to Central and South America, their work with communities impacted by deforestation, and a bit on their decision to settle into Boston when they found out they were having Sola. By the time that Ruwee was Anakin's age, he had done so much, and had an entire family…

Anakin had none of that. In fact—if not for the Naberries, he would have absolutely no one. What would he have done then if he couldn't move back? Ahsoka told him not to talk like that, that he'd never be without people that cared, but sometimes the quiet of his house really ate at him. And that was disregarding how haunted he was by nightmares of his mom, of the war, battles he'd fought, soldiers he'd lost. If he could run away from it all, he would. But who was he without all those experiences that led him to where he is now? Or better, who was he underneath all of those scars?

After the first encounter with Ruwee, there was another. Well, the second should probably be classified as an intervention, courtesy of both of her parents. Jobal, of course, stopped him in his tracks while he was leaving after lunch on a day Padmé was out with Sola. She swore she knew Padmé wouldn't be admitting anything, but that he should keep coming over, and not to let Padmé's aggressive attitude dissuade him from sticking around. It was hard to put all of his faith in that. Padmé was… always consistent, and he wasn't super keen on being snapped at every moment of the day. But hey, he was there for the home-cooked meals, and short of her telling him to get lost, he wasn't turning those down.

And Anakin gave her ample opportunity to tell him, never being able to stop himself from taking advantage of an opportunity to ruffle her feathers. He'd even elicited a grin before she flipped him her middle finger one day, grabbing the mail when he wolf-whistled at her from his porch. It was something he'd never do, other than to rile her up. He was used to seeing her in her custom suits, or elaborate ballgowns, when he would see clips of her from a press junket or photos from events, but seeing her moseying around in blue jean shorts, a rotation of graphic tees and tanks, and the occasional flowing, floral dress… She just looked like the girl-next-door. His girl-next-door.

How a single individual could be so evenly poised and playful all at once confused and amazed him. Of course, he'd never encountered 'working Padmé' and he was pretty thankful—watching her rip apart grown men and their arguments for sport during news segments had taught him that. Anakin only knew the side of her that would chide him for waking her up too early, the side that threw napkins at her sister in annoyance or told one of the most inappropriate jokes he'd ever heard. The kind that made her blush before she finished them and had him nearly falling out of his chair. If her enemies could see her laughing and chasing her nieces around the yard on a Sunday morning…

All right, there was no use in denying it. He wanted her. That much was perfectly clear, replaying every second like a movie in his mind while he listened to her breathing into the phone in the background. And it was cemented by a conversation he'd had with Sola—always the peacekeeper, and never the troublemaker—who'd assured him Padmé would never run from something that was her idea. And their day together was all hers. He had little choice except to trust her sister. She was the married one and the one who'd known Padmé for her entire life.

Since the beginning of the phone call a few hours ago, whatever doubt he did have evaporated when she told him how dashing he was. And he couldn't wait to tease her about that very remark. But the implication was that she wanted him at a future event. That she'd considered him in any part of her future had his chest both tightening and swelling with warmth.

He'd wondered if she felt 'it,' too, that day in the pool when he could hardly take his eyes off of her. Her every touch sending shockwaves through him that no one else had ever made happen. All of her giggles, her bright, warm smile. Twice that he was sure they were going to kiss, and twice those thoughts had gone up in smoke. And then she'd come to him. Standing on his front doorstep, almost literally. Next, his memory was fuzzy with her lips on his, hands roaming, panting breaths, falling into each other on the couch. But the near perfect day ended with her soft cries from conflicting feelings of her duty to the rest of the world, letting down her walls to welcome him to see her at her most vulnerable. She trusted him to tell her what she needed to hear, and he loved her enough to do so.

He believed in her, in her passion. It was one part of her that enamored him. Her brilliance. She was still brilliant. Only spiking his own doubts about the man standing before her then.

He didn't exactly feel like the same person anymore, but how could he separate himself from the only version of himself she'd ever known when they still fit together just so? He wouldn't discount his growth though, after the hard work of leaving some of his worst nightmares behind, seeing a therapist, and sticking with his medication. Being back in civilian life had helped him gain stability, and he tried his damndest to stay active and social. Would she, or did she, like the man he was now? Despite everything, he was still flawed. Weathered. Both physically, and emotionally, and still a bit troubled.

He never felt quite good enough for her to begin with. He was just a kid, practically. At least, that's always how he felt. Padmé was right to be furious with him when he'd said as much, knowing they were grown and should have been mature, yet… She was so sophisticated, her friends were so intelligent and accomplished, though he thought she was the smartest of them all. And he was just… there. Not that Padmé didn't try, because she tried so hard to assure him, to tell him he didn't give himself enough credit. She believed in him more than anyone ever had, other than his mom, and like most things, she was probably right. Would he listen to reason, though? Not until he found a purpose of his own. It was the ultimate breaking point between the two of them, but he had no regrets about his choice to enlist aside from losing her.

He was completely lost, and the Army had given him something to aspire to. A sense of duty. And community. He admired Padmé's drive and fire all of his life—there was no one more committed to their work than Senator Amidala. And his position allowed him to finally understand what that fire was like. He made great friends through his career. Ben, Rex, Cody, all of his men and so many others… And of course, Ahsoka, who'd been by his side since the beginning. He'd become a leader, someone actually looked to for guidance. Him, of all people. Coming home, that was the strangest part. When he was forced to switch from a life covered in dirt and dust, moving with precision in dangerous situations, trying to stay ten steps ahead for the safety of himself and his troops to one in a suit and tie for a speaking engagement for wounded veterans.

He'd been subjected to handshakes with more politicians than he'd like to admit, and current long-distance company excluded, he still wasn't a fan. Especially not of those who spoke as if they'd been overseas themselves, while doing nothing to support them when given the opportunity. But—that was bureaucracy. All the more reason to avoid it at all costs. Worse, the publicity was weird, being praised for doing your job or cheered on for showing up in his uniform. The work he did was what was asked—no, demanded—of him and that seemed like a strange thing to celebrate. But most people would never see the atrocities he'd seen, so he let them celebrate their own victories, reminding himself that the soldier he was had given them that freedom to do so.

Where did this train of thought even end? How long had it been since he considered the past ten years of his life and why now? While Padmé dreamt of what he only imagined were far more pleasant things, he lay there overthinking what it was she ever saw in him, and what she'd ever see in him again…

The bedroom door creaked open. Moments later, his pillow was shifting as well. Artoo jumped on the bed, laying both paws on his chest. Anakin wrapped an arm around the dog and patted him on the opposite side. Despite his best intentions, his own reflections were really only good for two things: raising his stress levels and calling for a little grounding work. Instead of staring at the ceiling, he needed to be sleeping, anyway. There were very few hours left to figure out what the hell he was going to make for their day together, and also… how to cook. He could've said anything, and that's the best he could come up with? Seriously. She said they could do anything he wanted in a sultry tone, but he knew that was definitely not what she meant. Still. Cooking?

"You're an idiot," he mumbled to himself, careful to not wake her. Why would he offer to cook for Padmé when he could barely make spaghetti with strictly pre-made ingredients?

"I'm sorry. You offered to do what?" she yelled through the phone, before chuckling more than he really appreciated.

"It's not funny, Ahsoka," he muttered. "I… offered to cook."

"Right, right. No, I heard you. I'm just… trying to figure out why you would ever do a stupid thing like that? And—more importantly—who is this poor, poor woman you're about to subject to this?"

Well, now she sounded like Padmé herself. This was not what he needed, with his confidence dwindling and time truly running out. By the time he'd woken up, Padmé had hung up and left him a text instead, letting him know when her flight took off, and landed, and for once in his life he was glad she had a packed schedule. It gave him time to get his shit together.

"Please tell me it's not… Oh, what was her name again? Amee? Please say it's not her you're cooking for, because she's terrible for you. Always was, and I called it," Ahsoka said, a little too confident. "Or wait a minute, maybe it should be her you cook for!"

"God, Ahsoka. No, it's not her. I may be an idiot sometimes, but I haven't completely lost my mind. And it doesn't matter who she is, I just need you to help me! So, will you or not?" Anakin grabbed a cart on his way into the grocery store, regretting his very existence at the moment.

"Okay. Jesus. Don't get your boxers in such a twist. What are you gonna make? Do you know that much?"

"Uh—" He swallowed, stopping to jingle the keys in his pocket.

"Let's start with a simpler question. What does she like?"

Anakin looked around the produce section of the store, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder. What does she like? What does Padmé like? How was it possible he dated her for years and had spent the better part of a month sitting next to her, eating meal after meal, and was completely blanking on any food he'd ever seen her eat…

"Hello?" Ahsoka called again. "Are you still there?"

"Y-yeah, I'm still here. I'm… I don't know what she likes," he stammered, clumsily pushing the cart around the island with the potatoes and onions. He was trying hopelessly to stay out of people's way while they impatiently huffed and swerved their larger carts around his anyway.

"You asked someone to come over and you don't even know her well enough to know what food she likes to eat?" Ahsoka scoffed. "This is how people get murdered, Anakin. Dates with strangers!"

"I—Shut up, Snips! She's not going to murder me." Because she's an insanely powerful senator, he thought, so it would be by an assassin anyway if that were the case. "I'm just blanking on any food I've ever seen her put in her mouth, that's all." He retreated into a corner of the store by the meat counter to think.

"That's very reassuring. Well, is there any you haven't seen her eat? Allergies? Is she a vegetarian? A vegan?"

Was she? Fuck, did he know Padmé at all? Why was a single meal this hard to plan for? Because he wanted, and needed, this to be perfect…

"I—I don't think so, she's never said, if she was or has any."

"Finally. Something that makes this a lot easier. Why don't you just do something simple? Pasta is usually a hit. Ooh, wait, I have the perfect idea!" Ahsoka practically squealed, so loud he held the phone away from his ear.

"… I hope it's easy. Your excitement concerns me." He let out a small laugh, waving an apology at the meat clerk that continued to circle past him, asking if he wanted anything for the fifth time.

"Shut up. It's so easy even you can't mess it up. I don't think. I hope." Her faith in him seemed to dim with every passing breath. "I'm gonna send you the recipe, and a shopping list for a fettuccine alfredo. You can choose either chicken or shrimp to go with it. It doesn't really matter. That way, you add it in if she's not a vegetarian, or keep it out if she is. Pick out a nice bottle of wine! Like a chardonnay. Wait, no. I don't trust your beer-drinking-self to pick a good chardonnay. Go for pinot grigio—"

"Is this going to be on the shopping list? I don't even know how to spell pinot—"

"You're useless, do you know that? I hope you tell her I deserve all the thanks for this date night, or I'll tell her myself whenever I meet your mystery woman," she said with a huff. "But yes, I'll put it on the list."

"Thank you, thank you. Do it fast, too. The old ladies in this store are giving me dirty looks because I'm just lingering here in the corner. And I'm pretty sure I pissed off the deli guy, the lady in the bakery, and two meat clerks by now." He awkwardly hid his face from other shoppers, sheepishly grinning at an older woman who tsked at him as she passed by.

Ahsoka laughed, harder this time. "Get your ass out of the corner. I got you, Skyguy. She must be special to have you this worked up. And we can do a crash course for dinner. I'll come over tomorrow so you can practice with me in your own space."

Tomorrow? Fuck. That… wasn't going to work. Tomorrow was show time.

"She is, and I appreciate it. But is there anyway we can… crash course tonight?"

"Tonight?! What the hell is wrong with tomorrow?"

Because my date is then, obviously. Was this a date? It better be after all of this…

"Just… It just has to be tonight. I'm busy tomorrow. Can you please help? And don't forget the list."

She groaned, and Anakin rolled his eyes, probably at the same time she had on her end of the call. "Fine. See you tonight, then. Sending you the list now."

"Thank you, thank you," he said, hanging up the phone. His phone immediately pinged with Ahsoka's grocery list. God, she was such a lifesaver sometimes.

On his own, his shopping list typically included a good steak, hamburger, hot dogs, some potatoes, and boxed side dishes. Anything he could boil in a pot with instructions on the box or throw on a grill. Breakfast was really the only meal he had perfected, but that's only because he made so many of his own meals as a kid when his mom had to work overnights or leave before he was awake. He was beyond thankful for Jobal's cooking these days. Before he started going there, he practically lived on whatever the military served when he was away, or frozen pizzas when he was home.

But he wanted this night to be wonderful, or as close to it as he could get. If he blew this, there was probably no chance Padmé was willing to give him another shot. Another one. And he wanted to impress her. She probably dined at the finest places money could afford. With men of equal… wealth. The restaurants where the portions were small, the bill was high, and the dessert had more stuff drizzled over the plate than actual edible food. His house was… definitely not that, but if he could nail a 'wine pairing'—he thought that's what they were called—then maybe that would be a good start.

Ahsoka came over for their practice round just after he'd gotten home and boy, was that a good call. After burning the chicken—twice—he finally seemed to get it. He didn't quite feel brave enough to attempt shrimp when he stood in the cooler section for thirty minutes going back and forth, but Ahsoka commended his choice now. Especially after watching him destroy both chicken breasts, including setting off the fire alarm that he frantically fanned to calm Artoo's barking, opening every window in his kitchen.

Ahsoka stood with her arms crossed, leaning on the fridge, as he scrambled about. "If you act like this around her, and she still agreed to dinner—you better keep her. Like… Really hang onto this one."

He frowned at her and rolled his eyes. He was trying to do just that. Keep her. But that all depended on this dinner, which was off to a terrible start, and they hadn't even attempted the pasta yet.

"I intend to. Once again, thank you for your help and input." He threw the towel at her, which she caught, swatting him in the back with it as he returned to the stove. He took his 'third attempt chicken' off the flame and plated it, just like she'd told him.

"That's… better," she said, eyeing it carefully, poking the meat with a fork. "Not gonna lie. I'm a little nervous about actually eating it, though."

Anakin smacked her arm lightly with the back of his hand. "You have to! That's what you're here for. If you get food poisoning, I don't care. But I can't poison her."

He grinned at Ahsoka when her jaw dropped before pressing her lips together tightly, wrinkling her nose as she took the plate.

"I hate you so damn much," she growled. "I just want you to know that with confidence. If I die, I'm leaving the worst of my possessions to you."

She took a seat at his counter, cutting through the meat delicately as he looked down at it with her. After her third bite, he wanted to pat himself on the back at her lack of complaints.

"Well?"

In a surprise to her, and him, her eyes lit up when she took another bite. "Anakin… Can't believe I'm saying this. But this is actually great! When is this dinner again?"

Lie, Anakin. Do not tell her you're figuring out how the hell to cook less than 24 hours from the actual meal…

"Um, next Friday!" Smooth. Very smooth. The 'um' really sold it, he thought to himself in disappointment. Padmé really needed better taste in men if she was only bearing witness to this shit.

Ahsoka's eyes narrowed momentarily before she waved a hand. "Well, I'm impressed… I thought we'd have to do this again or something."

He brushed off his shoulder with a smug look on his face. "Well, you know what they say…"

"Behind every great man is a great woman? Or, as I like to think, a 'greater' woman?" Ahsoka cocked her head, putting another bite of chicken in her mouth.

Anakin's smile faltered, and he clicked his tongue at her. "No, Snips. They say third time's the charm."

She smiled with a shrug. "You only get one shot on Friday, so, hope fourth time's the charm, too. Now get to work on the pasta and show me the wine you bought!"

Friday. He huffed out a small laugh. Or tomorrow. How he wished he had an entire week more to stress over the whole chicken alfredo dinner. A day. And he was wishing, hoping, praying, fourth's time was the charm.