A/N: Graphic description of child death ahead. You have been warned.
Chapter Seven
Circumstances are still extremely tentative between Anakin and I when we arrive on Naboo. It isn't that we've spent the last three days fighting either. On the contrary, we've been unfailingly polite to one another, as if we're both fearful of causing some unintended offense. Anakin has respectfully given me the space that I requested. But now that I have the thing I asked for, I don't really know how I feel about it.
Anakin has not touched me in days. He's been scrupulously careful not to cross any boundary or make any overture towards me that might be construed as forward. We haven't even shared the same bad. He had opted to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms instead. Truthfully, he's been so conscientious of my feelings that it is beginning to border on annoying!
Though I haven't dared to admit it out loud, I miss his warm hugs and sweet kisses, but most especially I miss having him lie next to me at night. But he isn't going to make any romantic advances and I definitely can't either, not after the impassioned speech that I gave him the other day. I must maintain the courage of my convictions, which sadly leaves us at an impasse.
At first, there had even been some question from him about whether he should even accompany me back home to Naboo, but I quickly squashed any doubts about that. We might be going through an odd transition in our relationship currently, but we are still in a relationship. My feelings for him haven't lessened. I'm madly in love with him and I want us to spend the remainder of our lives together. And since I'm anticipating that will be quite a long time, it is more than appropriate that he officially meets my family.
Yet, even with that plan firmly established, we continue to tiptoe around one another. I can only hope that fact isn't too obvious to anyone else, most notably my parents and sister. The standing tension between Anakin and me will only further their negative impression of him because they will assume the worst about our discomfiture with one another. I cannot have that. I am determined to change my family's opinion of him and, in order for that to happen, I'm going to have to address our conflict directly. Allowing it to fester for the next two weeks simply isn't an option.
"Do you intend to act this way during our entire visit? I ask him as he dutifully grabs our bags and prepares to exit the transport, "Because I must be frank and tell you that I think you're being childish!"
"Childish?" he scoffs, flicking me with a dismissive glance. "You asked me for space. I'm giving you space."
"Yes, I asked you for space, not for you to treat me like I have a communicable disease!" I retort sarcastically, "I never asked you to stop touching me, Anakin!"
"Well, unfortunately 'touching you' makes me want other things so, I thought it best to keep my hands to myself! I wouldn't want to violate your precious space! You're welcome, by the way."
We walk together through the terminal in stony silence. I'm trying to stifle my irritation and keep from tossing him a sardonic retort when Anakin says, so quietly I almost don't hear him, "For the record, I've thought of nothing except kissing you for the past three days, Padmé."
As usual, he manages to disarm me in just a few words. I survey him from beneath my lashes and offer him a small smile. "Same."
"But kissing is probably going to take us places you don't want to go right now," he considers, appraising me with a yearning stare, "Unless you've changed your mind."
That's what his mouth says. But I can read in his steady blue gaze what his lips have left unspoken. I'll take you right here and now if you want. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to bring Shmi's sage advice to the front of my mind and keep it firmly affixed there. It is paramount that I not to get swept up in the physical aspect of our relationship so much that it clouds my judgment and makes it easier to set aside the more important things. Anakin and I have to resolve the issues between us first. But sticking with my resolve would be so much simpler if he would stop pouting at me with those stupid, soft kissable lips of his! Or maybe if he looked like a Trandoshan…
"No," I answer finally and with discernable reluctance, "I haven't changed my mind."
"Then you can expect 'respectfully cordial Anakin' for the remainder of this trip," he informs me in a dry tone.
I don't know how he manages to make what should be an inarguably positive trait sound so very unappealing. Probably because I prefer "irreverently passionate Anakin" instead. I keep that salacious tidbit to myself, however.
When we arrive in Theed, I prep Anakin for what sort of welcome he can expect from the Naberrie household while we await our escort's arrival. I know my sister and father will, at least, be cordial. My mother, on the other hand, I'm expecting to be downright hostile. It is her reaction that worries me the most.
My mother has always been an ambitious, headstrong woman. When she and my father met, he had been pursuing a successful career in politics. He had made quite a name for himself, acquiring a host of powerful friends along the way. At one point, there had been talk that he might even become the next supreme chancellor. But he grew disillusioned with the political games and backbiting and abruptly resigned and withdrew from the public eye, much to my mother's everlasting disappointment.
Once I began to show interest in politics, she had foisted all the hopes she had held for my father onto me. She had been certain that I would accomplish what he had not. For a while, it appeared that I would. I had maintained single-minded focus on my career, determined to blaze a trail for the betterment of all galactic citizens. And then a Jedi padawan named Anakin Skywalker reentered my life, no longer a scrappy little boy with adoring blue eyes but a grown man with a probing stare that could see straight into my soul. I've been lost and confused ever since.
And that is the true reason that Anakin has earned my mother's scorn. When my father had taken this path two decades earlier, she'd had no one to blame for his loss of ambition. And she had loved him too much to lay the blame at his feet. But in my case, Anakin makes the perfect scapegoat. She can blame the change in me, not where it rightly belongs, with the crumbling remnants of the Republic, but at the feet of the young man who had seemingly opened my eyes to it.
It is late afternoon when we finally make it to the estate and, by then, I am a bundle of raw nerves. If Anakin is anxious, he doesn't show it. His gait is relaxed and unhurried as we approach the open courtyard leading up into the main house. R2 and Threepio trail behind us dutifully, bickering with one another as they typically do. For the time being, I'm grateful for their antics because it distracts from the yawning silence between me and Anakin.
As we get closer, I spy my two nieces, Ryoo and Pooja, running about among the white-washed stone pillars in a childish game of tag. The instant they catch sight of me, however, they come bounding towards me with girlish squeals of excitement. "Auntie Padmé! Aunt Padmé!" they chorus in tandem, "You're finally home!"
"Oh, my little lovelies!" I cry, stooping low to scoop them in my arms and pepper their small faces with kisses, "Look how much you've grown since I last saw you! What is your mother feeding you?"
"I've grown," Ryoo announces proudly, "Pooja is still a runt!"
"Hey! That's not nice!" her younger sister chides her with a deep frown, "I am not a runt."
"Well, if you are, you are the most beautiful runt ever," I coo.
Pooja giggles in response, delighted to be the center of my attention. Under normal circumstances, that fact would irritate Ryoo and she'd be vying to assert herself. But, at present, she is preoccupied with staring up at Anakin who hovers close behind me.
"Who is he?" Ryoo demands bluntly.
Smiling, I take hold of each girl's hand and turn them to face Anakin. "Ryoo, Pooja, this is Anakin Skywalker. He is my very special friend. Anakin, these are my nieces. Ryoo and Pooja Naberrie."
"Does 'very special friend' mean he's your boyfriend, Auntie Padmé?" Ryoo presses with a knowing smirk.
Anakin and I exchange sheepish smiles before I confess, "Yes. Anakin is my boyfriend, Ryoo."
"You're very tall. Are you a Jedi?" Pooja demands suddenly, her wide gaze fixated on the lightsaber clipped at Anakin's belt.
"No, little one, I'm not a Jedi."
"Then why do you have that laser sword?" she insists with a pensive frown, "Only Jedi can carry laser swords!"
"Is it real?" Ryoo wants to know, "It can't be real if you're not a Jedi."
Anakin grins at her. "Of course, it's real. Do you want a closer look?"
At their eager nods, he unclips the weapon from his belt and kneels beside them so that they can both inspect it in greater detail. The girls reverently "ooh" and "ahh" as he tells them the story of how he constructed his first lightsaber when he wasn't much older than they were now. The story is not enough for them, and they soon begin pressing him to show them how it works.
Yielding to their childish appeals, Anakin stands and takes a step back to deftly ignite his lightsaber. Both girls expel excited gasps with the sudden illumination of the burning blade and, the instant they do, Anakin's face drains of all color. His eyes become glassy, transfixed in a wide, panicked stare that almost reminds me of a cornered animal. For a second, I fear he might literally bolt and then he seems to come back to himself, or even last out even I even dare to touch him.
And then without warning, he relaxes and comes back to himself. His brow knits in a deep frown, as if he's not quite sure himself what happened. I can see that he's shaken, however. He abruptly retracts his blade and swallows hard. But the color does not return to his face, and he is visibly trembling in the aftermath.
Thankfully, the girls seem oblivious to what just happened. They are already begging him to do it again. But I can't dismiss how destroyed he looks right now.
"Are you alright?" I ask, straightening quickly, "You look pale."
He nods and forces a smile. "I'm fine. Everything is fine."
I'm not sure if he's trying to reassure me in that moment or himself. Whatever his intention, I can sense that he needs a moment to collect himself. So, I send the girls off to retrieve their mother. Though they whine in protest, already enamored with Anakin after only a few minutes, I'm grateful when they scamper off to fulfil my request without much of a fight, probably because I permit them to take the droids with them. The last thing I hear as they start towards the house is Threepio's formal greeting to the girls: Hello, there. I am C-3PO, human cyborg relations…
Once Anakin and I are alone, I immediately take hold of his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. "Do you want to talk about it?" I entreat softly.
Anxiety flares up in his blue eyes at the suggestion and he immediately shakes his head. "I just…I need a minute." Thinking he means that he wants to be alone, I start to pull my hand away, but he tightens his grasp. "Stay with me, please," he implores, pulling me into the circle of his arms.
"Always," I whisper.
I'm not sure how long we stand like this, holding each other tightly while we wait for Anakin's trembling to subside, but my next awareness is my sister's laughing voice sounding behind me. "Oh, this is why you sent Ryoo and Pooja to fetch me," Sola says as she makes her approach, causing Anakin and I to step apart, "You'll have plenty of time for stolen kisses after dinner, Padmé."
After sparing a brief glance at Anakin to assure myself that he's recovered from his mysterious ordeal, I roll my eyes at my sister. "If you must know, I called you out here for recognizance, dear sister," I tell her as we embrace, "I need to know what Anakin and I are up against."
"How about you introduce us first before we start with the tactical plans?" Sola counters with a meaningful look in Anakin's direction. And then, without waiting for me at all, she steps forward and extends her hand to him. "I'm Sola Naberrie. And I must say, the Holonet does not do you justice. It's no wonder you've sent my sister into such a tailspin. You are absolutely exquisite in person."
"Sola!" I cry out in abject humiliation, "Can you not restrain yourself for once?"
Anakin stammers in response to her, caught somewhere between blushing and a smug smile. "I…uh, well, thank you, milady."
"You are also quite the troublemaker," she adds primly, "I wonder if you know just how much discord you've caused for our family."
"I have a general idea," Anakin replies.
The official story we've decided to give everyone, the story being sold to the public at large, is that Anakin had been commissioned by the Jedi to spy on Chancellor Palpatine when they suspected that he might be orchestrating the war. He had gone to Tatooine as part of his undercover mission, as a means of drawing Palpatine's secret activities out into the open. It was during that investigation that Anakin discovered Palpatine's identity as a Sith lord who were ancient and enduring enemies to the Jedi, and that was what ultimately led to the confrontation with Palpatine that resulted in his death. It wasn't wholly a fabrication either which helped to soothe my conscience, not only for misleading the citizens of the Galaxy, but misleading my family as well.
"I suppose I shouldn't hold it against you," Sola says to him now, "seeing as your actions spared the entire galaxy from being plunged into tyranny. Though I could have done without watching my sister be eviscerated on the Holonet because of it."
"I'm very sorry that happened," Anakin replies sincerely, "I never wanted any harm to come to Padmé or her reputation. All I've ever wanted is to protect her."
"Yes. I believe you," Sola replies after an extended pause, "But unfortunately, I'm not the one you'll need to convince. Come. We have a meal waiting for you both."
Anakin and I dutifully fall into step behind her, and I reach over to grasp hold of Anakin's hand as we do. He darts a startled glance at me, then down at our clasped hands and back at me again. "What?" I ask, not understanding the marveled expression on his face at all, "Why are you looking at me so strangely?"
"Nothing," he murmurs before bringing my hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back, "I just like holding your hand."
I'm sure the smile I give him then is ridiculously besotted and I don't even care. "I like holding yours too."
I am still holding it when we finally make it to the house and find my parents anxiously awaiting our arrival. They are flanked by Ryoo and Pooja, who immediately begin pointing and waving wildly as they catch sight of us. Sola twists a smiling glance back at Anakin over her shoulder.
"I see you've managed to charm my girls already," she notes with some amusement, "Before the evening ends, perhaps you'll have all the Naberrie women in the palm of your hand. We will see." That would certainly be a welcome outcome, but one look at my mother's glowering expression makes it abundantly clear to me and to Anakin that isn't likely to happen.
After enthusiastically embracing me and welcoming me home, my father is the first of my parents to step forward and shake Anakin's hand. "I'm Ruwee Naberrie and this is my wife Jobal," he says, "We're pleased to have you as a guest in our home. Padmé has told us a great deal about you."
"Not that it was necessary," Mom interjects tartly, "Your face has been splashed all over the Holonet right along with Padmé's."
"My apologies, milady," Anakin murmurs, "It was never my intention to bring undue scrutiny to your family or cause you stress in any way."
"And yet you have," she says, her tone unforgiving, "and it is my sweet Padmé who bears the brunt. The news reports are much kinder to you than they've been to her."
"Jobal, that's enough," Dad admonishes her softly, sparing me the need, "I thought we agreed that Anakin is not to blame for the scandalous reports that have been circulating."
"Dad is right, Mom. You can thank Mas Amedda for that."
"Hopefully, he will be ousted soon," Sola adds, "Our new chancellor seems intent on eradicating all remaining corruption from the Galactic Senate."
"Bail is a good man," I tell her, "If anyone can accomplish that task, he can."
"As could you, my dear," my mother adds tartly, "But you seem intent on playing the part of a fawning paramour instead."
My father utters her name in an outraged hiss, and I know he's probably on the verge of losing his temper with her. Sola must sense that too, because she immediately suggests that we all go into dinner, joking about how everyone gets grumpy when they are hungry. Despite her efforts to diffuse the volatile situation and my father's efforts to be convivial, dinner is a contentious affair with my mother throwing veiled barbs at Anakin throughout the meal. To his credit, Anakin weathers the storm of her ire with relative calm and doesn't seem to take her antagonism too personally. Still, I'm eternally grateful when it's finally over. I'm also thoroughly exhausted.
My parents have prepared my childhood bedroom for Anakin and me to stay during our visit, and we both try to mask our discomfiture over the discovery that we will be sharing a room and a bed for the next two weeks. Of course, Mom can't resist throwing in a stinging comment about not needing to stand on propriety when it was widely known that Anakin and I were lovers. By the time Anakin and I are finally alone, I'm too relieved to be out of my mother's rancorous presence to be flustered over the fact we will be sharing a bed for the first time in three days.
"I can make a pallet on the floor," Anakin offers as I start to put away our belongings.
I close the bureau and turn to face him with a woebegone look. "Why would you do that, Anakin?" I sigh wearily, "It's not as if we haven't shared a bed before."
"That's not the point. You asked for space, remember?"
"And now I'm asking for you to share this bed with me. Please don't argue. After everything that happened with my mother, I don't have the emotional strength for another battle tonight."
"As you wish."
When we finally settle down for bed, Anakin situates himself on one side and I take the other. He is careful to keep a wealth of space between us. I'm disappointed by his unswerving tenacity. I don't understand how he's not going as crazy with need as I am. Even with the distance between us, I am acutely aware of him. Every minute shift he makes, the unsteady cadence of his breathing, the faint hint of soap on his freshly showered skin, I'm obsessed with it all.
I wish that he would scoot closer and pull me into his arms like he usually does, but he remains motionless on his side of the bed. Unfortunately, I lack the temerity to make the first move myself. It strikes me then how I am rarely the one to initiate the intimacy between us, and for the first time I wonder how that might make Anakin feel.
It has never been a lack of desire on my part. I simply don't possess Anakin's same boldness when it comes to making my desire known. But I want to. Even now, I want nothing more than to crawl on top of him and kiss his lips, to coax him into throbbing hardness, to feel him thrusting deep inside of me…
The resulting ache between my legs that comes with the thought is maddening. I stifle the aroused moan that threatens to escape me behind clenched teeth, cursing my cowardice at the same time. I'm not sure anymore what I'm hoping to accomplish by this little exercise in abstinence.
It isn't as if Anakin has suddenly become flooded with the need to unburden himself to me emotionally without sex serving as a distraction. He's as taciturn as ever about his feelings. We haven't indulged in any sort of meaningful dialogue in the interim. I'm beginning to feel like perhaps it's all been a waste of time and I've been needlessly punishing us both. But just as I open my mouth to tell him that, he whispers my name.
"What is it, Ani?"
"I don't think therapy can help me." The forlorn quality in his words causes my unfurling desire to be immediately replaced with burgeoning concern. Frowning, I shift over onto my side and regard him in the darkness. But I don't speak right away and, instead, wait patiently for him to elaborate. "I know you think that's the answer, but it isn't," he says, "Nothing can help me."
"Is this about what happened with Ryoo and Pooja earlier?" I ask him. When he nods, I press further. "Do you want to talk about it now?"
He shifts onto his side to face me, his expression grim. "Are you sure you want to hear it?" he asks in a warning tone, "I don't think you'll look at me the same way afterwards."
"Nothing you say can ever make me stop loving you, Anakin."
The look he gives me is return is full of cynicism, as if he's saying to me, "Remember you said that." There's something haunted in his expression that frightens me. But I'm careful to mask my apprehension as he begins to speak. "Sometimes when I'm awake, I have these visions," he explains softly, "Almost like dreams. But they're not dreams at all. They're memories. But when I have them, it's like I'm in that moment again and I feel everything."
"And that's what happened this afternoon?" Again, he nods. "What did you see?"
"I was laying siege to the Jedi Temple again, the night of the Purge," he recounts in a far-off tone, "I went off to find the younglings on my own because I knew what I had to do, and I wanted to get it over with. I thought I could make it quick and painless for them.
"There were dozens of them. They were all huddled together in one of the chambers, frightened and confused. But when I arrived, they started to come out of their hiding places. I could feel their relief through the Force. They thought I was there to rescue them. This one youngling approached me, and he said to me, 'Master Skywalker, there are too many of them. What do we do?' And I ignited my lightsaber and beheaded him."
I can't completely stifle my choked gasp of revulsion, recoiling from him despite my earlier avowal. "Oh, Anakin…"
"I can remember watching as his head rolled across the floor. They all scattered, and it was like I stepped outside of myself after that," he continues, not acknowledging my response at all because I know he's back in that moment. He is reliving every detail. "They were screaming and running, and I felt annoyed because they were making me chase them. Because they were making it harder for themselves and for me.
"So, I trapped them in that room with me. I hunted them down, one by one. I was methodical. Driven. They weren't even lifeforms to me at that point, just a means to an end. And I didn't stop until every single one of them was dead.
"Those younglings were no older than Ryoo and Pooja. And you know what's worse? That wasn't even the first time I had killed children." He looks at me then, his eyes glittering with remorse and self-disgust. But they are also deadened by a peculiar lack of emotion, as if he's come to accept some terrible truth about himself that I have yet to grasp. My suspicions are confirmed when he asks almost coldly, "Still think I should be a father?"
I can't answer him because when I try the only sound that escapes me are broken sobs. I'm not sure if I'm weeping over the atrocities that Anakin committed that night or because he had been desperate enough to commit them in the first place. I try not to flinch when he reaches over the gently brush away the tears falling on my cheeks.
"Don't cry for me," he utters, his words hoarse with sorrow, "I don't deserve your tears, Padmé. Cry for those dead children."
"They aren't dead," I insist tearfully, frantic to convince him and myself, "None of them are dead because you changed things! You saved them this time! You didn't do those things, Anakin!"
"But I did do them. It happened. Being in this timeline doesn't change that! Nothing will ever change that." He closes his eyes as his own tears begin to spill over. "How is therapy supposed to help me come to terms with that?"