CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Late in the evening Padmé strode listlessly from the residence's library and headed toward the master bedroom.  It had been a long, tiring day at the Senate, with countless demands made on Chancellor Amidala's time and numerous decisions from the important to the trivial presented for her judgment.  Somehow she had managed to arrive home in time for dinner, only to find that her children were as utterly distracted as she was.  Leia's distress had not abated.  Luke had become uncharacteristically aloof and seemed to be going out of his way to avoid Mara, who was as grim and dour as Padmé had ever seen a Jedi.  Bryon barely was able to remain awake for more than an hour or two at a time, and Sarré was completely exhausted from tending to him every moment of the day.  Only Danaé seemed to have a measure of composure, and she was running ragged trying in vain to keep the household civil and functional.  And the gaping void in the family constantly haunted them all.

When she caught herself idly twirling the golden wedding band on her left ring finger while she ambled along, Padmé realized she had no idea how many days it had been since she had sent Anakin away.  It felt like forever, but really it couldn't have been much more than a standard week.  It had been at least six days, for certain – just as the medical droids had predicted, Bryon had awakened on his second day on Coruscant and had recovered enough to no longer need the bacta tank two days later.  After one more day in the hospital he had come home yesterday.  At least Padmé thought it was yesterday.  It might have been the day before, or even three days ago.  She had no idea. 

Padmé was so fatigued every muscle in her body ached beyond comprehension, yet when she closed her eyes at night she couldn't sleep but only tossed and turned until dawn.  She was juggling more responsibilities and tasks as Chancellor than she ever had done before, yet she was completely incapable of fixing her concentration on anything for longer than a few minutes at a time.  She was striving to keep her family sane, yet her own emotions seemed constantly on the verge of either scattering to the stars or imploding upon themselves.  She was falling apart – and the bedrock on which she always had found stability had been pulverized and swept away. 

She didn't know how she could go on without him. 

Then Padmé heard the angry voices from behind the closed door of Luke's bedroom.  It was a vicious screaming match, more venomous than she had heard in many years.  With a few quick strides she reached the door and waved it open. 

"… you pompous… self-righteous… unkempt… megalomaniac!"  Leia's face was flushed bright red as she hollered at her twin.  "What gives you the right?  Tell me!  What gives you the right?" 

"I'm your brother," Luke shouted back with equal vehemence.  "I always look out for you.  And you're being completely unreasonable!  You're a Galactic Senator, not some rebel accountable only to yourself!"

"Is that what you think he is?  A rebel?  He has more loyalty and honor than you'll ever have!"

"This isn't about what I think about him!  It's about you.  The Navy protects its own.  I don't care how much influence you think you have, you can't just declare yourself a one-woman rescue team.  It doesn't work that way!"

Leia clenched her fists.  "It does if I say it does!"

"You really have lost your mind," Luke hissed in exasperation.  "Are you even listening to yourself?  I'm beginning to wonder if you need to be…" 

Padmé tuned out the ongoing quarrel and pondered the fact that apparently her presence in the room had yet to be noticed by either her son or daughter.  She knew they were taking out their pain and grief on each other, and their father's absence only made everything many times worse.  Before the situation could deteriorate into physical violence – which right about now seemed a distinct possibility – she took action.  Walking deliberately between them, she held out her palms toward their chests.  "Enough!" 

In an instant the twins stood mutely in place, eyes downcast in embarrassment. 

"Go see your brother.  Both of you.  Now." 

They looked up at her. 

"Together.  Now."  Padmé lowered her arms and crossed them over her chest.  "I said now." 

Meekly the twins nodded and walked out the door. 

---

Seated in a big, comfortable plush chair in the corner with Sarré cuddled sound asleep in his lap, Bryon smiled when Danaé and Mara walked through the open door of his bedroom.  "Hey."

"Hey," his sister smiled back.  "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," he said.  "That and my legs are asleep." 

Danaé laughed quietly as she strode over to him and bent down.  Carefully she scooped up the slumbering girl and carried her easily to the bed a few paces away. 

Bryon chuckled to himself at how small Sarré looked in his tall sister's arms.  "Thanks," he said after she had laid her down and tucked her under the covers.  He ran his hands vigorously up and down his thighs.  "Oh, that is so much better!"

Mara folded herself into a cross-legged position at his feet.  "You couldn't have woken her?"

He shook his head and laughed.  "I wish.  She barely lets me out of her sight.  Trying to get her to break physical contact…  She'll be angry when she wakes up." 

After he moved his arm Danaé sat down on the armrest of the chair.  "I'll take the blame for it, then."

"Thanks for the offer," he said, "but it won't work." 

Mara winked.  "What if you're next to her when she wakes up?"

"That would work," Bryon nodded thoughtfully.  "Just be sure to remind me before I fall asleep here."

Danaé put a hand on his shoulder.  "I will.  I promise."

Bryon took a deep breath.  "I finally was awake for long enough to read the report on the battle… and everything… and well…"  He took another long breath and sighed.  His father's banishment spoke for itself.  "Well, I read it." 

Danaé and Mara nodded. 

"There wasn't anything about Mom's election.  How did that happen?" 

"I talked to her for a while last night," Danaé said.  She furrowed her brow for a moment, then began to explain what she knew. 

Bryon was struggling to stay awake when his sister finished her tale a while later.  Before he could thank her, though, he heard a tentative knock on the doorframe and looked up.  "Oh, good," he said.  "Now we can finally really start the party." 

Luke and Leia tried their best to smile and walked inside. 

Bryon leaned forward in the chair to accept Leia's embrace.  As she squeezed him tightly he heard a muffled protest from the vicinity of the bed.  He looked over with raised eyebrows.  "What's that?"

"I said," Sarré grumbled through the fog of slumber, "no fair.  You cheated."

"I'm offended!  You know I never cheat.  Ever." 

Sarré propped her head up on one hand and rolled her eyes.  "Ha!  Which one of you carried me?" 

Danaé straightened her shoulders.  "I did."

Bryon could only laugh when Sarré shot him a stern glare.  "Okay, okay.  So I cheated."

---

Leia glanced over at the bed to see that Sarré had dozed off again.  So much for her pledge to stay awake as long as Bryon could.  "Well, you win."

From his spot in the chair her little brother grinned.  "Eventually she'll figure out that I have an unfair advantage, seeing as how I'm not the one who's sleep-deprived." 

"Sure," Danaé winked, "but until then…"

"Oh, yeah," Bryon laughed.  "For everything it's worth."

Leia adjusted herself on the floor, leaning her back against the side of the bed and pulling her knees up to her chest.  "Anyway," she said, returning to the discussion that had begun as soon as Luke and Mara had left together, "that's what Luke and I were arguing about when Mom came in.  What do you think?" 

Danaé furrowed her brow.  "I agree with him on the bottom line, at least for now.  Your obligations as Senator come first.  They have to.  Especially when we have so little information."

"You're right, as much as I don't want to admit it," Leia nodded reluctantly.  "I don't know where he's being held.  I don't know if they'll try to collect the Hutts' bounty on him.  I don't… And I…  And I don't even know whether he's still alive."

Bryon reached out a hand to squeeze her shoulder.  "If Calrissian and Chewbacca promised to tell you everything they find out, then you'll know as soon as the Navy does.  They're good men, Leia.  They won't let you down."

"I know," Leia sighed.  "I trust them.  It's just the Navy I'm worried about.  Han… he's… he's just one prisoner among hundreds from Gimna 3.  Thousands from the whole front.  The Navy doesn't care about him in particular.  They can't afford to.  They have bigger responsibilities.  He's nothing special to them.  He's only…"  He's only special to me, she finished to herself. 

Danaé got down from the armrest and settled herself next to Leia, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.  "Everything will be okay," she said.  "You have to believe that." 

"It's not easy," Leia whispered.  "Not after everything that's happened.  And I'm really scared that Mom and Daddy…"  She let her voice trail off and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.  In Bryon's brown eyes she saw reflected her own paralyzing fear for their family's future.  She couldn't even comprehend what life would be like if her parents weren't able to reconcile.  It was unthinkable. 

"Danaé's right about what you should do right now," Bryon finally said, breaking the eerie silence in his bedroom.  "Once we find out where he's being held, though…  Then we'll go in and get him."

Leia raised her eyebrows.  "We?  A bold statement for someone who sleeps all day and can barely walk." 

Bryon laughed.  "Well, okay, maybe not me for a while.  But I'm sure you'll have no trouble rounding up a team.  Calrissian and Chewbacca will want in, of course.  And if nothing else Luke and Mara are always up for a mission that involves aggressive negotiations." 

"Good point," Leia laughed too, glad he had appreciated her attempt to lighten the mood and take their minds off everything that had gone wrong.  The thought of turning the tables on Han – the same rescue team from Xixus except that she was the one rescuing him instead of the other way around – was the first genuinely amusing thought she'd had in days.  And she knew one thing for sure: she'd never let him live it down. 

Danaé pulled Leia closer.  "By the way, what exactly is going on between Luke and Mara?"

"He won't tell me," Leia said.  "Knowing the two of them, though, whatever it is, it's sure to be complicated."

---

Luke sat down across from Mara on the sofa.  Out the wide window of the residence's salon their view of the dark sky of night was sprinkled with thousands upon thousands of artificial stars, multicolored points of light from the towering skyscrapers and zooming airspeeders.  He glanced over to see her watching him, her eyes flickering nervously and her fingers clenching in uncharacteristic anxiety in her lap. 

"We need to talk," she said. 

He nodded. 

She leaned forward almost imperceptibly, as if she didn't know whether to kiss him or spring to her feet and flee.  "I think about you all the time now," she began, her voice hushed and strangely insistent.  "Every second of the day.  It never used to be that way.  You know that as well as I do.  But then Xixus happened, and the Battle of the Trade Spine, and everything changed.  When I think about you my heart races.  My palms sweat.  Whenever I'm around you I'm so happy it hurts.  I can't breathe."  She paused, her green eyes piercing his in a fervent stare.  "And then, on Tatooine…  That kiss still blazes in my soul like the blade of a lightsaber.  I felt whole.  The part of me that always had felt incomplete – empty – was finally filled.  When I'm around you I'm a different person.  When I'm apart from you I feel hollow in my heart.  I never thought it would be you, but it is."

The fact that he felt the same way only made the doubts in Luke's mind all the more painful.  He tried to speak but couldn't make the words form in his throat. 

"I want us to go before Council," she finally said, the intense passion burning in her voice.  She leaned toward him even more, begging him to kiss her and accept her idea to seek the Order's approval for their attachment. 

Before he even realized he had shifted backward to keep the distance between them, Luke heard himself speaking.  "I can't… We can't…"  He sucked in a deep breath, hoping against hope it would still the thundering of his heartbeat and calm the sinking, lurching roiling in his gut.  "It's not a good idea."

"I've felt your emotions, Luke, as clearly as I've felt my own," she said.  The sting of his words echoed in her voice.  "I know you don't believe that.  We feel the same way; I know we do.  Open your heart and…"

"It's not that simple," he interrupted as he instinctively rose to his feet and backed away two paces.  "We disobeyed our orders and it killed our friends.  I wasn't in control, and I lost my hand.  I'd be dead myself, if Master Obi-Wan hadn't given his life for me.  And my failure is part of the reason… it's part of the reason my father lost control too."  She flinched at the mention of Anakin and looked away, but quickly she looked back up at him again from where she still sat on the sofa.  "Think about what's happened to people I care about, Mara.  They die.  Or they almost die, or awful things happen to them.  They die, or they fail like I did and it tears our family apart.  I couldn't handle it if it happened to you too."

"But you can't deny how you feel," she exclaimed in disbelief, launching to her feet and taking a long stride toward him.  "You can't!"

Luke took a matching stride backward and crossed his arms over his chest.  "I won't risk it," he persisted, unable to keep the anguish from his voice any longer.  "Ralli was a good friend.  I'll always think fondly of her, for the brief time we shared together.  Master Obi-Wan is… was… was a mentor and an uncle and a friend and an idol all rolled into one.  But they don't mean anything to me compared to you.  And my father… he's… he's my father.  He's my hero.  You have to understand, Mara, I can't lose you like I lost Ralli and Master Obi-Wan.  I couldn't live with myself if you did what my father did.  I can't let it happen." 

"You're not being rational," Mara despaired.  She kept the distance, but her eyes pleaded with him to reconsider.  "Ralli didn't die because you cared for her.  Obi-Wan didn't die because of your bond with him.  And…"  She stopped and swallowed hard.  "And your father's weakness is his fault and his fault alone.  Trust your feelings, Luke.  Follow your heart."

"I won't let you destroy your future for me!"

"It's my future to give," she roared, her voice cracking and her knees trembling beneath her.  "How can you deny your feelings?  How can you refuse to acknowledge what's in your heart?"

Luke closed his eyes for a moment, let his arms fall limply to his sides, and took a long, slow breath.  "I'm not ready to go before the Council," he said softly.  "I'd be condemning you to a terrible fate.  I know I would be.  And I can't do that." 

"Please, Luke.  Please, don't." 

"I'm sorry," he said.  "I'm sorry."

Mara hugged her arms severely to her chest, squeezed her eyes tightly closed, and rocked back and forth on her feet from heels to toes.  Finally she opened her eyes again and met his gaze.  "Tell me you're not… you're not…"  Her voice was plaintive; her eyes were brimming with barely restrained tears.  "Tell me you're not cutting me out of your life."

"I'm not," he whispered.  "I just… I just need some time.  I just need the time to figure everything out.  To get myself in order before I make promises to you I can't keep.  So I don't hurt you."

"So you don't hurt me?"  She shook her head, and her tears began to flow.  "What do you think this is doing?"

"It's for the best.  It's the only way." 

"It's not the only way," she cried out furiously.  "We can follow our hearts.  Please.  Please."

"I'm sorry," he said again, keeping his voice as dull and flat as possible to conceal just how close he was to capitulating.  "This is how it has to be for now."

"For now," she repeated as she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.  "For now."

Luke couldn't bear to see the pain on her face or sense her agony in the Force any longer.  "I should go."

Mara's eyes made one last attempt to beg him to reconsider.  When he said nothing more, she nodded weakly and turned her back to him.  Very faintly he heard her say, "Then go."

He looked at the floor as he strode from the salon as quickly as he could – before he could change his mind. 

---

Sarré tiptoed back to the side of the bed and looked down at Bryon.  He was lying on his back, his chest rising and falling slowly as he slept.  Even though they hardly were visible in the dim lighting, the large swaths of scars on his bare skin still made her tremble – as did the thought of the cybernetic devices that remained implanted within him until cloned organs being grown from his own genetic material could replace them a few weeks from now.  Very gently she reached out and ran the fingertips of one hand along the moist skin of his arm while her other hand pulled up the sheets to his shoulders. 

She had come so horribly close to losing him. 

Sarré smiled as she brushed a few loose strands of damp brown hair off his forehead.  Then she adjusted the fit of his white undershirt on her shoulders; it hung loosely around her neck and down almost to her knees, covering completely her blue sleepshorts.  The fit was much, much too big for her – but it was the comfort of him that she relished as she paced toward the door. 

The door swished open, and Sarré nearly collided with the figure striding down the hallway.  For a long moment she couldn't find her voice.  "Hello, Padmé." 

Bryon's mother grinned mischievously.  "Hello, Sarré."

Sarré reached up and started to run her fingers quickly through her utterly tangled blonde hair before she realized there was nothing she could do about the perspiration glistening on her skin or the blissful rosy flush to her face.  She let her hands fall to her sides in defeat.  "Well," she sighed, "this is embarrassing." 

"If we could make it past the Lake Country, we'll make it past this too," Padmé chuckled, wrapping an arm around Sarré's shoulders.  "Come on, let's start a tradition." 

When they arrived in the kitchen, Sarré poured two tall glasses of ice-cold water as Padmé glanced furtively toward the wine rack.  Passing Bryon's mother her glass, Sarré knew there was a different pleasure Padmé needed even more than wine.  She could read it in Padmé's demeanor – an almost overwhelming wistful longing triggered by seeing Sarré this way. 

Before Sarré could say anything Padmé turned around and winked, her pale green nightgown rustling softly from the movement.  "So I guess I don't need to ask how Bryon is feeling." 

"Yeah," Sarré nodded shyly.  "I don't think the medical droid would approve, but… we both really needed to… well… you know…" 

"I do," Padmé smiled warmly.  "He made it.  That's definitely something to celebrate." 

"Uh huh.  It seemed like an eternity since… since Naboo."  Sarré could feel her face burning, but Padmé only smiled gently.  Seeing the painful yearning all over Padmé's face, Sarré couldn't hold back.  She took a deep breath and cleared her throat.  "Padmé, may I say something deeply personal to you?  I don't want you to take offense, but I need to say it."

Padmé took a long drink from her glass, finishing off its contents.  "Yes, Sarré.  Anything." 

"You need to go to Anakin."

Padmé stood there, leaning against the counter, looking at her. 

"You love him.  He loves you.  I have no doubt of that whatsoever.  But, Padmé, he won't make the first move.  He will honor your wishes until you tell him you've changed what you want.  You need to go to him." 

Padmé still did not speak, but a single tear traced down her cheek. 

"It won't be easy for either of you, I know that.  But love is the most precious thing in the universe, Padmé."  Sarré was crying now too.  "Believe me, every second of the day I think about how close I came to losing Bryon.  I almost lost him.  I almost lost him, Padmé.  It was out of my hands entirely, and others saved him for me.  But you control this – you and Anakin.  Nothing stands between you but your decision."  Sarré choked down a sob.  "I almost lost him.  Don't let that happen to you.  Don't give up on Anakin.  Don't give up on yourself.  Don't give up on what you have together.  Fight for it, Padmé.  Fight for it.  You have to.  You just have to." 

Padmé swallowed hard.  "I don't know," she said softly, the pain thick in her voice.  "What he did… I just don't… I thought it could never happen again and I… I just don't know if I can forgive this.  I really don't."

Tears ran down Sarré's cheeks.  "You have to.  I don't know how, but you just have to.  He needs you, now more than ever.  And you need him more than ever too, with your own responsibilities.  You can't give up on him or on your love for each other." 

Padmé didn't say a word as she cried too. 

In an instant Sarré made her decision.  She would break her promise to Bryon.  She had to.  If it could bring his parents to their senses, make them see how much they loved each other and needed each other, then she had to do it.  So she did.  "Padmé?"

"Yes, Sarré?" 

"I'm pregnant." 

Miraculously the glass did not break when it clattered to the tile floor with an ear-piercing clang, drowning out the gasp that escaped from Padmé's throat as her hands shot to the counter to keep herself from collapsing to the floor.  "You're… you're…"

Sarré took a deep breath.  "On Naboo last month we got married.  We didn't plan for this but… well… it happened anyway.  Bryon and I are married, and I'm carrying his child." 

Padmé continued to stare, her jaw hanging open. 

"Please don't be angry," Sarré said quietly yet pleadingly.  "We never meant to hurt anyone.  We just… I don't know… we just had to do it.  I'm sorry.  I'm really sorry." 

Padmé blinked hard, then rubbed her eyes.  Her chest rose and fell in a long, deep breath.  Then she strode over to Sarré and wrapped her in a fierce, heartfelt embrace.  "I'm not angry," she whispered.  "Just a little shocked.  Well, a lot shocked.  But I'm not angry.  I promise.  I promise." 

"Thank you," Sarré sighed happily.  "I'm so relieved."

Within their embrace Padmé leaned back and looked into Sarré's eyes.  "Who else knows?" 

"Leia does," Sarré said.  "While we were on the Falcon she figured out that I was having morning sickness.  But no one else.  We were going to tell everyone tomorrow since we'll all be here for lunch." 

"I can keep the secret that long," Padmé vowed with affected solemnity as they separated. 

"Thanks," Sarré smiled.  Then she made another decision.  She reached down to the hem of Bryon's gigantic undershirt and tugged it up into a clump against her breastbone.  "I can't believe it," she said softly, looking down at her exposed abdomen.  "I can't believe I'm actually carrying our baby.  I mean, I'm not showing or anything yet.  And I don't really feel that different, at least not so far.  It's almost like… like a dream." 

Padmé gazed affectionately into Sarré's eyes.  "I felt that way at first when I was pregnant with Luke and Leia.  Some things change so gradually you hardly notice them, others change faster.  And one day you'll wake up and just… know.  It's a beautiful experience." 

Sarré only nodded. 

Tentatively Padmé extended her hand.  "May I?" 

"Of course," Sarré said.  "Of course."  Very gently her mother-in-law ran a hand over the bare skin of her belly. 

After a long moment Padmé withdrew her hand.  "It's not a dream, Sarré.  Not a dream at all."  She swallowed hard.  "Thank you." 

"You're welcome."  Sarré could see the tears welling up in Padmé's eyes again. 

Padmé was silent for a very long time before she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.  "I need to go." 

Watching her leave, Sarré smiled. 

---

Padmé stood at the railing of the small balcony above the bedroom, staring into the sparkling nighttime skyline of the capital city-planet.  She crossed her arms over her chest to ward off the chill; her nightgown was too thin for the brisk wind blowing tonight.  She took a deep breath and pondered the conversation she had fled minutes earlier.  In an instant – in the flash of a few unexpected words – the girl who was her son's lover had transformed before her eyes into the young woman who was her daughter-in-law and mother of her first grandchild. 

Sarré was right. 

Anakin would never act first.  He loved her too much.  When she had told him how much he had hurt her and that she didn't know how she could go on, he had tried to argue with her at first.  But when she had made her decision that he should leave patently clear to him, he had left without another word.

He would do anything she asked.  He always had; he always would.

She needed Anakin.  His love was the bedrock of her life.  For nearly a quarter-century he had been both the center of her world and the counterbalance to all her weaknesses.  Even when he was away on a mission and wasn't in their bed with her at night, she carried his love with her in her heart.  It kept her warm and safe.  They were two halves of a whole.  Without him she would shrivel and die.

She couldn't go on this way. 

Anakin needed her.  From the earliest moments of their love for each other she had been the core of his very being.  When the dark side had tempted him all those years ago, it was her love that had pulled him back from the brink.  In the years since thoughts of her had been the foundation stone of the emotional serenity he had achieved as a Jedi Master.  He had said many times she was his reason for living.  She believed him. 

He couldn't live without her. 

And yet despite the power of their love, he had used the dark side again.  Now that her own rage at his betrayal had dissipated, she knew it wasn't her fault.  His failure had been his and his alone.  In his moment of blind fury he had killed dozens of enemies with a single thought.  His anger and hatred had boiled over into an evil madness that had threatened to destroy him – and that had inflicted unknowable harm upon his apprentice.  Anakin owed a duty to Mara almost as sacred as the one he owed to Padmé, and yet he not only had allowed terrible pain to come to his Padawan – he had inflicted it himself. 

If it happened once, it could happen again.  It could happen to her. 

But Sarré was right.  Padmé couldn't give up on him.  She had to fight for him.  Not only for her love for him, but also for his soul.  She knew as clearly as she knew anything that Anakin was in greater danger without her than with her.  Her love had not been enough to keep him from the darkness on Gimna 3, and perhaps it would not be enough in the future either.  But what was the alternative?  Anakin would be alone.  She knew for certain that with her help, his chances of avoiding the darkness within himself were immeasurably greater. 

To give up on their love was to abandon him to the darkness. 

And that was something Padmé could not do.  She loved him too much.  He had hurt her tremendously with his betrayal, and she wasn't sure she ever would be able to forgive him fully for it.  But she hadn't come this far, devoted so much of her soul to him, pledged her heart and life to him forever to turn her back on him now.  He had betrayed her, that was true, but it was not a reason to walk away – it was a reason to cling to him more tightly than ever, to infuse him with all the love and strength and hope she could find within herself until he retreated from the precipice of darkness and found his way in the light again. 

She loved him. 

She always had and she always would – no matter what.  There was nothing else she needed to know.

Padmé turned around and descended the spiral staircase into the bedroom.  She found her personal comlink on the nightstand and activated it as she walked to her vanity. 

The young man's voice responded immediately.  "How may I assist you, Your Excellency?" 

Padmé reached down, picked up the japoor snippet pendant from its resting place at the base of the large mirror, and closed her fingers around it resolutely.  "Colonel, I need my personal speeder ready in ten minutes." 

"Of course, Your Excellency.  And the destination?"

"The Jedi Temple."

---

Anakin sat cross-legged on the floor of his meditation chamber deep within the Jedi Temple.  Despite the utter lack of light in the windowless room, from habit he kept his eyes closed.  His breathing was slow and methodical, his heartbeat minimally paced, and his muscles relaxed.  It was the apogee of physical control. 

His meditations in the Force were remarkably serene as well.  For hours he had not moved as he deliberately and meticulously worked to restore calm to his emotions.  It was an exhausting endeavor. 

In a matter of little more than two standard days his life had disintegrated around him.  Doubts now plagued him about Ellina and Cimma and Sidious in days long gone.  Bryon easily could have been killed along with Millius, only to come within a hairsbreadth of death on Gimna 3.  Leia had lost Han to enemy capture.  Danaé had lost her beloved former Master.  Luke had lost his self-control, his right hand, and his Master.  Mara had lost her innocence, in more ways than one.  Anakin had lost more than any of them – his composure, his confidence, his stability, his dearest and oldest friend, and most of all the trust of those he loved.  The failures within himself he could repair and rebuild with patience and effort.  Penance for his failures to others had to be earned through deeds and pain.  No matter the price, though, he would pay it.  He would do whatever it took to restore what he had destroyed with his terrible act on Gimna 3. 

The Sith Master had taunted him – and he had proven her correct.  In one awful moment of weakness he had felt the seductive temptation of the dark side in his spirit.  The overwhelming sense of helplessness – powerlessness – weakness – despair that he first had felt as a young boy unable to prevent the violation of his mother had roared back in his soul with the blinding rage of long-repressed vengeance when he had sensed the danger to his children.  The yearning to help them – to save them – had been unbearable, and he had grasped madly for the forbidden powers that seemed in that moment his only salvation.  As it had been two decades ago, of course, the dark enticements had not brought victory and omnipotence but only failure and suffering. 

It was a mistake he had thought he would never make again.  But now he had. 

So Anakin continued to sit in place on the floor, meditating.  The soothing currents of the light side of the Force cleansed his thoughts and salved his wounded spirit.  He purged the tingles of darkness from his soul and defeated the remnants of fear and anger and hate.  He reviewed and reconsidered every single action he had taken from the horrifying Force-vision before his journey to Naboo until his failure on Gimna 3.  He studied the infinite alternatives that had presented themselves in the alley in Theed, in the Cathedral, during the foot pursuit, in the starship hangar, at the Naberries, at the Royal Palace, on the Lady Vader and the Invictus, during the evacuation, fighting on the plaza alongside Mara, and lastly when the incomprehensible perceptions had reached him through the Force.  He identified his moments of weakness and his mistakes in judgment.  He saw when he had made the best decision and when he had not.  He traced again and again and again his path to failure until he knew with true and perfect clarity why it had happened and how to ensure it never happened again.  He vowed to repeat this task every day for as long as he lived.  He would not fail again.  He had paid too high a price two decades ago and now – and he would not pay it again.  Ever.  His ruminations finally completed, Anakin cleared his mind once more and fell into a deep and refreshing trance. 

An unknowable length of time later Anakin's perceptions suddenly rocketed to full alert. 

At first he couldn't understand why.  Immediately he knew it wasn't from a threat – it didn't feel like that.  It wasn't that Mara had contacted him through the Force, or that Luke or Danaé had reached out to him.  And without the sensation of fear or danger it couldn't be a problem with Leia or Bryon either.  So that left only…

Padmé. 

When he stopped his contemplations and simply opened his mind to the Force, he felt her presence in his mind.  For almost twenty-five years she had been as inextricably a part of his awareness as his own mind and body.  He couldn't not perceive her in the Force – it would be like trying to stop perceiving an arm or a leg.  He didn't even have to think about her.  She was just there.  She was a part of him. 

And so in that instant when he reached for the place within his soul where he always found the warm and loving union that was Padmé, he knew with complete and utter certainty why his subconscious had intruded with such insistence.  He could feel it as plainly as if she had spoken it to him in words. 

Anakin sprang to his feet and charged toward the exit.  He waved his hand and watched the door to the meditation room rising in seeming slow motion – so he lunged to the floor and rolled gracefully beneath the half-open portal.  In a flash he was on his feet again and running down the hallway as fast as he could. 

As his booted feet pounded on the elegant tile floors of the Temple's corridors, he ignored the surprised chatter of the younglings, the nervous laughter of the Padawans, and the disapproving glances from the Masters.  One did not run within the Jedi Temple.  It simply was not done.  A Jedi must remain calm and at peace, even when time was of the essence.  The appearance of being in a hurry was unseemly – and actually being in a hurry was evidence of impatience and lack of restraint and who knows how many other qualities to be avoided.  No one had seen Master Skywalker run in years.  Some of the apprentices insisted he no longer could.  Others claimed that he and Master Windu once had engaged in a contest of wills to see who could take longer to walk from the Council chamber to the cafeteria, only to discover that Master Yoda had gone even slower than either them.  Master Skywalker did not run – especially not inside the Temple. 

Anakin ran anyway. 

Before he knew it he had arrived at the small reception area in a lower level of the Temple's pyramid base where outsiders arrived on those rare occasions when they were permitted to visit.  Without a word he tore past the startled trio of Padawans sitting idly at the desk – a post they no doubt had expected to have its usual testing boredom this night.  His hands smacked against the glass doors and swung them open with a mighty whoosh.  He flew into the chilly nighttime air toward the far end of the long, narrow landing platform. 

The blue Senate airspeeder rocked gently on its landing gear as he arrived.  With a flurry of footfalls he pulled up to a sudden stop and stared at the door of the rear passenger compartment slowly opening upward and outward from the side of the fully enclosed, heavily armored craft.  Like the portal to his meditation chamber, it seemed to last an eternity.  Finally he watched as a boot emerged, followed by a slender leg clothed in a simple blue flight suit, then a small hand and an arm in the matching flight suit sleeve, and then…

Padmé. 

He almost couldn't breathe as she walked the dozen paces to him.  The japoor snippet pendant hung over the high collar of the flight suit, twinkling in the dim glow of the landing lights on the platform.  Her hair was pulled back into a single plait, except for two stray strands that had escaped their captivity and hung down her porcelain skin in front of her left eye.  She looked nothing like the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic and everything like the angel that she was to him – his heart, his soul, his life. 

She did not stop walking until she had collapsed into his arms, pulling him into an embrace so fierce and firm and desperate that it knocked the air from his lungs.  He crushed her against his chest as tightly as he dared, clutching her with an intensity he'd forgotten was possible.  Tears streamed down his cheeks and dripped into her hair as she buried her face against him and her body shook with sobs. 

After a long time Padmé rubbed her cheeks on the front of his robes to dry them, then leaned back in their embrace and looked up into his eyes.  Anakin reached up his hand and brushed the two loose, curly strands away from her eye, tucking them behind her ear in a loving gesture so familiar to both of them.  Their gaze said everything words couldn't – her fear and pain and grief and faith; his remorse and anguish and sorrow and hope.  There was much to discuss and much to mourn, much to atone for and much to forgive.  It would be long and difficult.  It would be the greatest test of their marriage. 

He loved her.  She loved him. 

Nothing else mattered. 

She released her hands from his back.  First she wiped the tears from his cheeks, then brushed her fingers through his short gray hair.  She traced down his neck to his shoulders before she gripped the front of his robes and tugged him toward her again. 

His voice caught in his throat.  He could get out only a single word.  "Angel…"

"Come home, Ani," she said.  "Come home."

---

Bryon cinched his belt around his waist and reached for the damp towel on the end of his bed.  He wiped away the drips of water on his bare shoulders and back, then rubbed the towel vigorously through his hair.  Satisfied the short brown strands finally were adequately dry, he looped the towel around his neck and gripped the ends in his fists.  He glanced over to the bed at the formal, pressed silk shirt Sarré had set out for him.  "Remind me again," he said, raising his voice a bit to carry through the open door to the refresher, "why I have to wear this."

Her joyful laugh echoed into his bedroom.  "Because I said so."

He laughed too.  "Let me rephrase.  Remind me again why you selected this."

"Because you look nice in it."

"Well, sure," he agreed.  "But this is lunch with our families."

She laughed again.  "This isn't an ordinary lunch, Bryon."

"I suppose not.  But I still don't see why I have to dress up."

"Look, soldier," she teased as she emerged from the refresher, "just follow orders, okay?"

Bryon's heart skipped a beat when he saw her.  She wore a slim dress of brightly colored diaphanous fabric.  It flattered her hips and waist and the tight bodice complemented a plunging neckline in a sultry sight that took his breath away.  Her blonde hair had a slight wave and hung loosely around her face, which was accented by a hint of rouge on her cheeks, a sheen of gloss on her lips, and soft tones of lavender shadowing matching her eyes.  For a moment his legs wobbled beneath him.  She looked like a holodrama star.  No, she was even more gorgeous than that.  He always had thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and now she had outdone herself ten-fold. 

Sarré smiled and walked over to him, her dress whispering seductively to him with each step.  She tossed his towel aside, traced her fingertips down his scarred bare chest, and gazed up into his eyes.  "Bryon?"

"You… you… you look…" 

"Yes?" 

He gulped a breath of air and reached out to cup her cheek in his palm.  "You look absolutely stunning."

She winked.  "Literally."

"Yes," he laughed.  "Literally." 

"And why do you think I did this for lunch today?" 

He pondered the question for a long moment.  Then he understood.  She was a politician through and through – and now she was using those formidable skills on their families.  "To remind them that you're all grown up now." 

Her eyes sparkled deviously and her voice was low and thick with longing.  "You would know, wouldn't you?" 

His breath hitched in his throat.  "This is so unfair," he gasped.  "You're just being cruel.  Really, really cruel." 

She stretched up to plant a soft kiss on his lips.  "I'm sorry," she said.  "Truly." 

Bryon shrugged.  "I forgive you." 

Sarré retrieved the folded shirt from the bed and held it open for him.  "Hang on to those thoughts," she said as he slipped his arms in the sleeves, "and I'll make it up to you.  I promise." 

"I'll hold you to that," he grinned.  "Count on it." 

Her fingers gently began to link the buttons down the center of his chest.  "I will." 

When she finished he took her hands in his.  "All set?"

"Not yet," she said, motioning toward the single vanity across the room.  "Sit down." 

"Why?"  In reply he received a mischievous glare.  With a sigh he paced over and sat on the small stool, looking into her eyes in the mirror.  "Is this really necessary?" 

She stood behind him, picked up a brush from the vanity, and began to smooth out his unruly hair.  "Yes," she said.  "Yes, it is.  Every little detail matters." 

"As you wish." 

Sarré kept brushing.  "You know your father came home last night."

"Yes," he said, being careful not to nod – a hard-earned lesson.  He wasn't a Jedi, but even Bryon could feel the sense of relief that now brightened every room of the previously somber residence.

"Last night when I went to get a drink of water, I saw your mother.  She just looked so miserable, and I couldn't imagine your father not being here for this, and I didn't know what else to do and I just…" 

He reached back with his hands and tenderly clasped her shoulders.  "And you told her." 

"I'm sorry," she whispered.  "I know I promised I wouldn't tell anyone else but it just seemed like…"

"Stop," he laughed.  "You did the right thing."

"Are you sure?" 

"I'm positive."

"Thank you," she sighed.  She ran the brush through his hair a few more times.  "All done."

He rose to his feet and pulled her into a warm embrace.  "Are you nervous?" 

"Yes." 

"You ramble when you're nervous."

"I know," she said.  She leaned back and looked up into his eyes.  "I'm sorry.  I'll try not to." 

"Don't," he smiled.  "It's adorable."

She frowned.  "Adorable isn't exactly what I'm going for right now."

Bryon squeezed her to him tightly.  "You'll always be their little girl.  That will never change."

"I know," Sarré smiled back.  "But their little girl eloped and got herself pregnant." 

"That's certainly not the most diplomatic way to put it," he glowered.  "It makes me nervous."

She stepped back, took his hand, and led him toward the door.  "Good point," she said.  "Their little girl married the love of her life and will bless them with a grandchild." 

"Oh, you're good," he grinned.  "You're very, very good.  Let's go with that version." 

She paused at the closed door and squeezed his hand.  "Are you ready?"

He chuckled and shrugged.  "As ready as I'll ever be." 

---

Sarré nestled herself further into Bryon's lap in the big plush chair and felt his arms tighten around her waist reassuringly.  She quickly scanned the gathered families in the salon of the Skywalker residence.  Her parents sat on one of the sofas with Nalé between them, leaning comfortably on their father's shoulder.  Luke and Danaé were standing behind the sofa, waiting tranquilly.  Anakin and Padmé stood directly opposite Sarré, one set of hands clasped between them.  On the other sofa Mara seemed dejected and distracted, while Leia met Sarré's eyes and winked. 

"I think you probably have some idea what this is about," Sarré said calmly.  Once Bryon had regained enough strength to spend a few hours awake at a time, Leia had suggested a simple informal lunch for everyone to rejoice at his miraculous survival.  Sometime last night, however, Padmé secretly had made arrangements with a caterer for an elaborate meal, and several expensive bottles of wine were set out on the dining room table as well.  Everyone knew there was going to be something big to celebrate.  They just didn't know how big. 

"Bryon and I have some things we need to tell you," she continued.  Leia still was smiling, and Padmé's face was a perfectly unreadable politician's mask.  The others all were watching Sarré patiently.  It was clear to her they were expecting the announcement of a wedding date – maybe an imminent one – but nothing more.  For a second she felt a surge of fear run through her body, and she wondered if she could go on with the announcements.  Instantly Bryon seemed to pick up on her discomfort, though, because he leaned into her and kissed the top of her head. 

There was no easy way to break the news, so Sarré just said it.  "When we were on Naboo last month we got married.  We didn't plan it, and we're really sorry we let you down."

The startled silence in the salon lasted only a moment.  Anakin gasped.  Leia chuckled at Mara's gawking.  Luke and Danaé glanced at each other, wondering if the other had known.  Nalé whimpered and slumped against Alain's shoulder.  And Sabé sprang to her feet, her eyes blazing.  "You did WHAT?" 

"We got married, Mom," Sarré said. 

Sabé propped her hands on her hips and glared.  "Why?" 

Sarré barely swallowed her laugh at her mother's bluntness.  "We didn't mean to hurt you, I promise.  That's the only reason we didn't tell you until now.  We knew you'd be hurt and we didn't know how to make it up to you."

"Nice try, young lady," Sabé growled.  "But that did not answer my question."

"That's right," roared Nalé from the sofa, almost in tears.  "It doesn't.  I can't believe you left us out!"

Sarré felt her sister's heartache.  For months she had pestered Sarré about what role – no, Nalé wanted multiple roles – she could play in the wedding.  Now she had learned that the wedding had taken place without her.  "I know you're upset," Sarré said.  "And we're really sorry.  But we just couldn't wait any longer."

"If the next sentence out of your mouth isn't a really good reason," her mother snarled, "you'll be lucky if you're not headed toward a bacta tank yourself.  Don't think you can…"

"Sabé, please," interrupted Padmé's voice.  "Please.  Calm down." 

After a tense, electric moment in which it seemed as if Sabé might turn all her fury on her old friend, she instead exhaled a frustrated sigh, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared at Sarré.  She didn't apologize, though. 

Sarré tipped her head in thanks to Padmé, then took a deep breath.  Before she could say anything, she heard Bryon's voice from over her shoulder. 

"We did it because of the Army's rule on priority contacts," he said, his voice as deep and rich as ever.  "It was my idea.  I take full responsibility."

"Priority contacts?"  The antagonism wasn't gone from Sabé's voice.  Not yet. 

"I'm only allowed one," Bryon explained.  "One person who has priority to reach me when I'm away on a mission, and who I can break com silence to contact.  If it's anyone else, the Army will hold an incoming message until my next authorized transmission to headquarters, which is the only time I can send outgoing messages either.  The priority contact is the only person I can talk to in real time." 

Nalé somehow managed to beat her mother to the next question.  "So why'd you have to get married?" 

"Because," said Padmé's voice from behind the outraged Bellion women, "only family members are eligible."

Sabé's shoulders sagged and the anger drained from her face.  Her eyes looked past Sarré to Bryon.  "You got married so you could… so you could change it from your mother to Sarré." 

Sarré knew it was a statement of recognition, not a question, but she replied anyway.  "Yes, Mom," she said gently.  "Whenever I wanted to talk to Bryon in person when he was away, I had to set something up with Padmé and have her open the connection for me, and then let me talk to Bryon.  And hope we didn't get caught, because Bryon could've gotten in trouble if they'd found out it was me and not Padmé." 

"Oh."  It was all Sabé could say as she slumped into the sofa again. 

"It all makes sense now," Padmé laughed as she let Anakin snuggle her into a standing embrace.  "It had been so long since I'd used the priority contact myself, you figured you'd be able to find a way to tell us, or even have a second ceremony, before I ever noticed."

"Yeah, that's what we were counting on," Sarré said. 

"I'd like to point out that it did work," Bryon interjected. 

Sarré reached around and batted him playfully on the back of his head.  "We just couldn't wait any longer," she said to her mother, her sister, and Padmé.  "We knew that when we got back from Naboo, Bryon was going to be deployed right away.  There wasn't time for a wedding back on Coruscant.  And we just couldn't wait.  We just couldn't.  We're really sorry." 

"I understand," Sabé nodded weakly, pulling Nalé into an embrace.  "I forgive you.  I'm sorry." 

Sarré nodded too.  She saw the others preparing to speak up and offer congratulations when Nalé's voice intruded into the silence. 

"Things," her little sister said, emphasizing the plural. 

Sarré looked at her.  "What?"

"Things," Nalé repeated.  "Things.  You said you and Bryon had some things you needed to tell us." 

"Oh, right," Sarré said.  "Yeah." 

Nalé raised her eyebrows.  "Well?"

Sarré glanced around the room.  Padmé was exchanging a knowing smile with Leia while Anakin and Alain looked at each other in befuddlement, completely oblivious.  Inexplicably Luke and Mara were sharing a troubled, apprehensive gaze.  Danaé seemed to have already figured it out for herself, because she winked at Sarré as soon as their eyes met.  Before someone else could, Sarré said it.  "We're pregnant.  Bryon and I are going to have a baby."

This time there were no exclamations of outrage – only tears of joy. 

---

After lunch Bryon was reclining comfortably in his chair at the long dining room table when Nalé bounded up to him and plopped down in his lap with a broad grin on her face.  He smiled too.  "So you're not too angry?" 

"Nah, not anymore," she said.  "I'm happy because you're so happy.  You'll just owe me one.  A big one." 

Bryon laughed.  "Sure thing." 

"You know what's really strange?" 

"What?" 

"I'm gonna be an aunt," Nalé said.  "Before I turn seventeen, even.  An aunt!"

"I hadn't thought about that," he admitted.  "But I'll only be twenty, and I'll be a father."

"Yeah.  I know much you guys love each other and everything," Nalé chuckled, "but I'm gonna wait until I'm a lot older than that before I have a child." 

"I thought that too," he said.  "But if the right person steals your heart…"

Nalé stood up and crossed her arms over her chest.  "You're just trying to scare me, Bryon, and it won't work." 

Bryon laughed happily as she spun regally on her heel and stormed away theatrically.  A moment later he felt Sarré's hand on his shoulder and looked up. 

"What was that all about?"  His wife was laughing too.  "Or do I not want to know?"

"You don't want to know." 

"We need to com Jenny and tell her," Sarré said.  "She'll be so excited for us."

"That she will," Bryon nodded.  He stood up and wrapped an arm around her waist, and she leaned into him to provide just a little bit of support as they started to walk slowly toward the door.  "By the way, Luke said he wanted to talk to us later."

"Okay," Sarré said.  "I'll be sure to remember.  Any idea what he wants to talk about?"

Bryon shrugged.  "I have no idea."

---

Leia stood alone in a corner of the dining room, gazing out the window at nothing in particular.  The bright afternoon sunlight shined off the transparisteel of the nearby towering skyscrapers and sparkled from the dazzling hues of airspeeders.  She tuned out the chatter of the others behind her until she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.  

"I was thinking about her today too," her father said quietly so only she could hear. 

She lifted her eyes to meet his, and only then did she realize she had been holding her hands over her abdomen.  "I don't want to feel jealous," she whispered.  "But I do."

"It's okay.  It's only natural."  He pulled her into an embrace.  "Sarré knows.  She'll understand."

"I know she will," Leia sighed.  "Did you talk to Bryon?"

"Not yet," Anakin said.  "I haven't been home and…  I will tonight, though.  I promise."

She smiled.  "I know you think I should tell Mom about her… and…  I'm not ready yet.  But I'm getting there."

"Only when you're ready, sweetheart," he said as he leaned down to kiss her tenderly on the forehead.  "Only when you're ready."

She tightened the embrace even more and blurted out her joy.  "You're home."

---

Late in the evening Anakin found Sarré alone in the salon, curled into a plush chair and gazing out the wide window.  As he approached her, his daughter-in-law looked up and smiled.  "I didn't mean to disturb you," he apologized. 

"It's okay," she shrugged.  "I was just thinking about everything that's happened." 

He nodded.  "There's a lot to think about."

"I don't want to know about our baby," she said after a moment.  "At least not yet."

He bowed his head to her, a silent acknowledgement of the power of both superstition and blissful surprise.

She stretched up and clasped one of his hands.  "The good outweighs the bad, you know.  For all of us."

"I hope so," he said.  He took a deep breath.  "I came here to say thank you."

She looked at him quizzically.  "For what?"

"For what you did last night.  It helped Padmé.  It got me here today.  It changed everything."

"Oh, that," she giggled shyly.  "You're welcome.  It was nothing."

"No," Anakin said.  "It's not nothing.  You saved my life."