Chapter 45. The Imponderable Nature of Hope

Anakin stumbled out of Palpatine's private study without any clear idea about where to go next. He supposed he ought to find a healing center. The central foyer of the Palace and the private staterooms above it were uncannily unpopulated, but as he made his way through the vast west wing, the corridors were filled with soldiers of all descriptions.

He paused, partially hidden behind a pillar that he found himself leaning on for support, and tried to collect himself. He guessed that Padmé was no longer on Naboo, but he had to keep trying to find her.

Anakin closed his eyes and concentrated, boldly reaching out with his perceptions to search for her Force signature. He had only touched her awareness once very briefly, just after Balé's death, and then the connection had been cut off. His best chance was to see if he could open it again, no matter what the consequences.

It suddenly occurred to Anakin that the persistent dark voice in his mind had been still since his arrival on Naboo. He didn't know why. But right now, after everything that had happened, finding Padmé quickly was more important than keeping that dark presence away from her. If she could be found, that is.

Padmé… he called out on the wings of the Force. Padmé…

There was no reply. In fact, there was nothing – he couldn't get any sense of her at all.

Anakin fought down the bitter tears of disappointment and frustration that stung his eyes. I ought to be able to find her anywhere. But it had been so long since he had allowed himself to communicate with her in this way. There had to be a logical explanation.

I'm tired. He was exhausted, actually, and still in pain. Not functioning at his peak.

She is unconscious and can't respond. This thought, along with its corollary – that someone might have hurt her – terrified Anakin, so he quickly shoved it aside. He had to think clearly.

He didn't allow a single instant for the next logical extrapolation. That Padmé might no longer be alive.

Instead, Anakin pushed himself away from the supporting pillar and headed downstairs toward the Palace service levels, where he knew he could always get information. He hadn't gone far when a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Skywalker! Wait!"

By all the stars and moons, it was Captain Typho. And he looked furious.

Anakin watched as the Captain detached himself from a clutch of Naboo security guards and hurried in his direction.

"Where in the seventh pit have you been?" Typho growled wrathfully. He paused, and looked Anakin up and down. "What happened to you? You were supposed to get her out a long time ago!"

"The Jedi interfered," Anakin said shortly, using the dismissive tone he always adopted in the face of Typho's tirades. But inside, in his most secret heart, something warm was bubbling up. Something he had thought was gone forever.

Hope.

If anyone knew where she was, Typho would. Anakin grabbed the Captain's jacket in both hands. "Where is she?" he demanded. "What happened to her?"

Typho's eyes shifted nervously to the other soldiers who were milling around in the spacious corridor.

"Get your hands off me," he said through clenched teeth. "Don't draw attention to yourself!  We have to get out of here."

Anakin let go, and Typho angrily straightened his uniform. "Follow me," he snapped, and headed rapidly toward a small service staircase. Anakin was right behind him, practically breathing down his neck.

Two flights of stairs later Typho opened the door to a small office, dragged Anakin inside by the arm, and shut the door behind them.

"The Army has her," he said belligerently, as though it were Anakin's fault.

"Where?" Anakin demanded.

"Back in her apartment," Typho said, to Anakin's utter astonishment.

Anakin couldn't believe it. Then why couldn't I reach her?  "Here?" Anakin barked. "On Naboo?  Right in the Palace? Then why in the blazes didn't you get her out? You know where our ship is!"

"She is in the custody of the Chancellor's own guardsmen. I don't have any access to her!" Typho yelled, then quickly remembered himself and lowered his voice. He added furiously, "I was removed from her personal security detail and reassigned as soon as she was arrested."

Anakin made for the door. Typho stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"Her trial is scheduled for tomorrow. Didn't you know that? Palpatine is presiding over it personally. I guarantee you he is going to make short work of it."

Anakin stopped in his tracks, as the Supreme Chancellor's words surged back into his memory. I have some official business to attend to here on Naboo tomorrow… Padmé's trial. That was Palpatine's official business. I will return to Coruscant the following day…

He certainly was going to make short work of it. And Palpatine hadn't mentioned a word about it.

But then, why would he?

Anakin decided he had been right to tread cautiously in Palpatine's presence where Padmé was concerned. The Chancellor clearly had a specific agenda, and would be unlikely to tolerate interference with it.

But hope kept bubbling up in his heart.

"I'm going to get her," Anakin announced.

Before Typho could say anything more, Anakin was gone.

* * * * *

Padmé's door was guarded by two of the Chancellor's personal elite guards, just as Typho had described it. Padmé was once again under house arrest, in her own apartment, but this time her jailers were the Chancellor's formidable red-robed protectors.

Anakin strode up to the guards and, as a formality, demanded entry. It was denied.

"Chancellor's orders," Anakin snarled, experimentally. It seemed odd to be using that old standby again.

The guards didn't move.

Tec Andros' blue-green blade flared to life and without hesitation Anakin swung it in a single, wide, powerful arc that felled them both where they stood. The door did not withstand his will any better. Inside Padmé's palatial apartment Sabé and Dormé were huddled together on the window seat where he and Padmé had spent so many glowing evenings. They both looked up at the same time as he entered, the dull defeat in their eyes turning into shock at the sight of him. Anakin wondered if it was any indication of what he would find in Padmé's.

Padmé was in the bedroom. Her Force signature was disturbingly dim and faint.

No wonder I wasn't able to find her.

"How is she?" he asked the Handmaidens without offering explanations. They didn't ask for any.

Dormé shook her head, speechless.

Sabé said, simply, "Balé is dead, and you are gone." It was explanation enough.

Anakin took a deep, determined breath and went to claim his wife.

The bedroom was dim because the curtains were tightly drawn against the crystalline light of the Naboo summer afternoon. Padmé was curled up in the very center of her large bed, like a child. Anakin climbed straight in beside her, boots, weapon and all, and gathered her into his arms.

Padmé cried out in shock, and then burst into tears. Anakin encircled her with his body and though the Force, soaking up the waves of grief and despair and guilt and loss that surged out of the very center of her being as she cried, trying to draw them away from her so that she could recover and find some peace. He rocked her. He crooned to her. Neither one spoke. There were no words for what had happened to them.

Padmé didn't ask how he came to be there. The unbelievable events of the past hours seemed to have left her too numb to be surprised at anything that might happen. She felt limp, almost boneless, in his arms, as though all her strength had left her long ago.

"Padmé," Anakin whispered. Her name was the only word that came close to expressing what he felt. He said it over and over again, cradling her in his arms as if she were the most fragile, precious thing in the universe. She gradually quieted, but her energy field, her always-vibrant presence in the Force, was as weak as a tiny sputtering flame that simply did not have enough fuel to live on.

"Stay with me," Anakin begged, when her sobs had quieted.

Padmé sighed and shifted a tiny bit. "I don't know if I can."  Her voice was as faint as a puff of air.

"You can," he insisted, "because I'm here. You have to because I need you."

"You're always leaving me," she sighed. "There is always so much grief. So much pain. I can't keep fighting any more."

Neither one had the courage or the strength to mention Balé's name.

Anakin knew better than to argue. His own bitter experience with this kind of despair had taught him that it couldn't be reasoned away. Instead he accepted her words, accepted how she felt, and continued to cradle her gently in his arms and in the Force.

But he wasn't about to allow her to slip away from him.

Slowly, carefully, Anakin did something he had not done in more than a year – something he had promised himself he would never do again. He began to merge his Force presence with hers, just a little at a time. He gradually changed the rhythm of his breathing to match hers. Little by little his heartbeat followed.

Soon their hearts beat in unison, and Anakin began to merge his consciousness with her own so that they were practically inside each other's minds.

Despair was like a heavy mist clouding every part of Padmé's awareness and it was difficult to reach her thoughts. Rather than trying to force his way past the clouds of pain, Anakin concentrated on augmenting her body's energy with his own. Not all of it – he had learned his lesson there – but enough to bring her some vitality and strength. If she chose to, she could use it to fight her own inner battles.

In the process, something began to nag at Anakin's awareness. Something seemed different, but the impression was so faint that it was difficult to pinpoint. He continued his slow, careful journey through her energy fields, augmenting and strengthening and improving their flow as he went. The sense of something new and unexpected remained, without revealing its source.

Gradually Anakin withdrew his Force presence from hers again. Padmé was still quiet and heavy against his chest, as though she were asleep, but her presence in the Force remained clearer and brighter even after he withdrew his own.

Anakin relaxed and wondered about the new and unusual impression he had received. By itself it was faint. But when he stretched his awareness out into the Force, or more accurately, when he allowed the Force behind the impression to come toward him and reveal itself to him, he was staggered by its power. It was the unstoppable power of nature itself – the Force of eternal renewal, of resurgence, of the very essence of life.

The growing realization of its significance left him stunned in the wake of a wave of utter wonder and shameless joy.

Padmé was pregnant. He was sure of it.

* * * * *

Anakin came to with a start that shuddered the length of his body. It took him a moment to realize that he must have been asleep for quite a while – even with the heavy drapes drawn the vivid reds and purples of the Naboo twilight made their presence known. It was evening already. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. There was so little time left as it was. Anakin looked down at Padmé, who was fast asleep curled against his chest, snuggled into the grimy shreds of his black tunic.

He had come here to rescue her, to spirit her away; and instead they had slept.

Anakin gently brushed a strand of hair away from Padmé's cheek. She was so fragile right now. He was afraid that dragging her away through firefights and hardships would prove too much for her. And if he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure whether he had strength enough at the moment to keep them both safe.

But remaining here was just as dangerous.

Tomorrow. Padmé's trial is tomorrow.

Anakin brushed Padmé's forehead lightly with his lips, and then inched away carefully so he wouldn't wake her.

Suddenly every part of his body hurt. Somehow he must have struggled out of his leather over-tunic while he was sleeping, because it lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. But his tunic was stiff and scratchy in front, and with every movement it sawed against the wound across his belly, inflaming it. He still had his boots on. Every muscle in his body screamed. He reached up to rub his face, and encountered hair that was stiff with dried perspiration.

Trying not to groan out loud, Anakin rolled off the bed and onto his feet. Every step he took toward Padmé's fresher was painful.

Once there, Anakin found some towels and ran water into the sparkling white washbasin at full force before reaching over his head to pull off his slashed and filthy tunic. The fabric on the front was stiff with caked blood from top to bottom. He didn't remember having bled that much. Saber cuts were usually pretty well cauterized. He winced as bits of the cloth pulled away from the clotted gash that extended from one side of his abdomen to the other, ripping part of it open again. He was pulling the tattered garment over his head when Sabé opened the door quietly.

"Padmé?" The Handmaiden's worried voice startled him. Anakin yanked the tunic off and jerked around. Sabé gasped.

"I'm… I'm sorry… I heard water running and I thought Padmé was up…" Sabé stopped and stared at the unexpected sight of Anakin shirtless, his leggings loose around his hips, with a long, vicious-looking wound across his abdomen and his metallic arm gleaming in the dim light of the glowlamps. Anakin turned away from her mutely and began carefully to rinse the blood away under the running water, turning the sparkling white basin slowly red.

Sabé crept closer. "Is that yours or Balé's?" she whispered, mesmerized by the swirling vortex of red.

Oh. Of course. The blood wasn't all his. In the dim light, Anakin saw that his chest and stomach were stained a rusty color.

"A bit of both, probably," he said tersely. The mere mention of Balé's name hurt far worse than any wound of the flesh. He didn't appreciate Sabé's intrusion, or her tactlessness. "Padmé is in the bedroom." He wanted Sabé to go.

"Let me help," she insisted stubbornly, refusing to take the hint.

"I'm fine." Anakin could be just as stubborn.

Grimly he cleaned the wound and the area around it, bit by bit, and watched the blood slowly wash away until the water in the basin ran clear again. Her blood. His blood. Mingled, and then gone. He took a deep breath, ignoring the dull, burning pain in his belly.

Gone. All gone.

Sabé let out an exasperated sigh. "At least let me get you a bandage. And some fresh clothes."

Sabé was still there? He'd forgotten about her. Anakin didn't answer. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed. So much had happened, and so quickly. He hadn't allowed himself to dwell on any of it yet. He hadn't dared. But he couldn't escape a dizzying sense of being lost and helpless in the midst of chaos – crushing, uncontrollable chaos. He felt his last strength slipping away.

He hated feeling lost. But feeling powerless was worse

Tomorrow. Padmé's trial is tomorrow.

Anakin swayed, then fiercely gripped the sides of the washstand in the struggle to stay on his feet, and to push away the grief and the fear and the hopelessness and loss and…

"Anakin?" Sabé moved closer to him. "Are you all right?" He turned his face away from her, and hung on to the sides of the washbasin with all of his might.

"Anakin?"  It wasn't Sabé's voice this time – it was fainter, and further away. Coming closer. "Anakin?" It was Padmé. She was up, and looking for him. She must have heard their voices.

Anakin snapped around to Sabé. "Don't let her see me like this," he hissed. "Not now." 

Sabé understood instantly, and jumped toward the door. "I won't. Stay there until I bring you some things." She closed the door behind her.

Anakin slowly raised his head and for the first time looked at his reflection in the mirror above the basin. What he saw there shocked him to his core.

He looked the same.

Of course he looked exhausted. And battered. And grimy. And disheveled. But it was his face – the same face he saw every time he bothered to look. How was it possible that after everything that had happened, after everything that he had done, and felt, and lost… how was it possible that on the outside, nothing much had changed?

I'm still here.

He looked down at the water again. It was still running, clear and bright. The basin was pristine again, just as it had been when he had started.

Like new. Like at the beginning.

Behind him the door opened a crack and Sabé stuck her head in. "Padmé is calling for you." The door opened wider, and in the mirror Anakin watched the Handmaiden slip inside and close it carefully behind her again. She remained there, leaning against the door with her back to it. She looked exhausted, too. And her eyes were puffy. Anakin didn't say anything.

Sabé cleared her throat. "To be honest, I think she's afraid to let you out of her sight. I think she is afraid that you will disappear forever, like…" She stopped. The silence between them filled with pain. Again, Anakin didn't answer – this time because he couldn't.

Padmé needs me, he thought with the same wonder and awe that had filled him at that first, miraculous moment of discovery. New life. A child. His eyes flicked back to his reflection. I'm still here. And suddenly, he knew what he must do.

He had to stay alive. Padmé had to stay alive. They both had to live. Not just from moment to moment – not as everlasting fugitives – but protected, and safe.

Family is the only thing that makes sense. He remembered the sound of Padmé's voice saying those words. It had been soft, and husky and dreamy… and full of hope.

They had a future. And it was in his hands.

"Sabé, I need your help," Anakin said suddenly, decidedly. Sabé jumped as his voice reverberated in the small room.

"Hah," she said mockingly, to cover up her surprise and worry. "Now he wants my help."

Anakin ignored her tone.

"I need you to get me some formal clothes. And I need you to help Padmé get dressed – also in formal clothes. The kind she would wear for a Senate function."

Now Sabé was so surprised she forgot to hide it. "She's in no condition to go anywhere. And she's still under house arrest."

"I'd like you to have her ready in half an hour." Anakin still didn't turn around. But he watched Sabé's expression carefully in the reflection of the mirror. "And I'll take that bandage."

Sabé scowled, suspicion and mistrust written all over her face. "What are you up to this time, Anakin? Haven't we had enough grief and misery by now?"

Yes, we have, Anakin thought. And it's time to start fresh. To make a new beginning.

He bent down painfully and struggled out of his battered boots.

Finally he turned around and leveled the kind of stare at Sabé that in the past had brought Senate troops to order within seconds. Holding out the boots to the stunned Handmaiden, he said only, "see if you can find someone who can put a shine back on these."

Sabé stared back for a moment. And then, whatever her private thoughts, whatever her private feelings, she wordlessly took the proffered boots, opened the door and left the room.

Anakin turned on the water in the shower, quickly shed his remaining clothes and stepped inside. Slowly and deliberately he washed away the last remnants of what had been, and prepared himself for what was to come.

* * * * *

"Ready?"

Padmé looked at Anakin, puzzled. She still didn't understand where they were going or what he was trying to do, but she had left the decisions to him and she was too weary to argue. She had passively allowed Sabé and Dormé herself to dress her and arrange her hair. Anakin looked resplendent in formal robes worthy of an appearance at Court.

Before Padmé could answer, Anakin lifted her into his arms and opened the door of the apartment. As he stepped carefully over the fallen bodies of two of the Chancellor's elite guards, she understood why he had carried her. Padmé looked down at the fallen guards without feeling anything at all for them.

A little further down the hallway he whispered, "Can you walk? It would be best if you walked on your own."

Padmé nodded faintly and he slipped her onto her feet. She stood, as frail yet as resilient as a stalk of meadow grass. The effort that standing on her own two feet required seemed to energize her a little, and she began to focus more clearly.

"Where are we going?"

Anakin gently took her arm and tucked it securely into his strong, warm living arm.

"We're going to see Palpatine. Together."

Padmé blanched, and swayed. Anakin held her steadily.

"Why? What are you doing?" 

"The only thing I can think of to do. The only thing that might keep us both alive, and together, long enough to …" His voice faded out.

Padmé could feel waves of strength and resolve coming from him – a force of will that was so potent it gave the impression that it could carry them both and many more besides. He was absolutely glowing with determination. Padmé looked at him in wonder.

"I don't understand."

"Consider this … an apology. My apology to you. The most magnificent apology the Galaxy has ever known." He smiled down at her wryly as they walked slowly through the long pillared hallways of the Palace at Theed. "Or if this doesn't work, it will be that proverbial 'blaze of glory' that marks the end of a star."

"I can't go in there, Anakin. I can't face him. I don't have the strength."

"It's all right," Anakin reassured her. "I have enough for both of us."

What happened? Padmé wondered. Where did he get this confidence?  He had changed – everything about him had changed. He was almost … serene.

She clung to his arm. He was right – she could not come up with any other solutions. The only paths she had been able to visualize led to failure and to certain death. If he had found a possibility for salvation, then she would follow him. At the moment Anakin was the only source of strength and hope in her universe, and she wished desperately that she would never have to let go of him again.

"Remind me why we are trying so hard to stay alive," Padmé said.

"Because," Anakin said firmly, as they crossed the threshold into the Throne Room's foyer, "there is one thing that makes sense. One thing that isn't crazy. The one thing that is worth staying alive for." He stopped and cupped her face gently in his free hand, turning it so that he could look into her eyes. "Family."

They stood facing one another, two small figures beneath the soaring ceilings and vast columns of the majestic space. Padmé looked at him blankly. "Family?"

"You. Me. Our child."

Padmé's eyes filled with tears. "She's gone."

Anakin glanced around the foyer to ensure that they had privacy and then slipped his free hand down to rest gently on her abdomen. Padmé could feel a surge of energy there at his touch, but it still took a long time for her to understand what he was telling her. When she did, she could only look up at him, astounded.

"Come on," he murmured. "Let's go. It's time to find a way to keep on living."

Still staring at Anakin incredulously, Padmé unconsciously squared her shoulders and raised her chin. A faint flush began to spread over her deathly pale cheeks.

* * * * *

Having seen Skywalker with the Chancellor before, the pair of Elite Guards outside the Naboo Throne Room made no effort to stop his passage.

That decision saved their lives.

Anakin guided his wife past them, opened the grand doors with a single wave of his hand, and led Padmé straight into an audience with her enemy.