AN: I wrote Padmè's point of view first – the scene simply cried out for some form of interpretation. When I had finished typing that part out, though, Obi-Wan began speaking in his insistent, quiet way, and I knew I had to give his heartbreak voice. Hope it works - this isn't my first fanfic, but it's my first posted work.
Disclaimer: No, I don't own a blessed thing as far as Star Wars is concerned. Don't have many credits to my name, either, so suing isn't going to get you anywhere. I just enjoy splashing about in my small puddle of angst and Obi-oogling… Enjoy!
Split Seconds
Padmè
"Anakin is the father, isn't he?"
The question hung heavily in the air between them, burning. Padmè lowered her gaze to her shaking hands; then clasped them tightly to hide her weakness.
For a moment, for a split second, words of confession boiled up in her throat. She remembered offering this chance to her husband – the chance to tell Obi-Wan everything and not be alone with their burden anymore. It would only take a heartbeat, and the wise Jedi master would share her lonely burden. Surely he would help her, help the man he loved as a son. Time stretched and 'Mustafar' trembled upon her lips.
"But the secret is out now," she thought to herself abruptly, "Obi-Wan knows now, and instead he is going to kill Anakin."
Paralyzing terror burst forth, drowning the sparks of fear she had felt in Anakin's dark presence the evening before, silencing her heart's whispers in response to her dear friend's horrible, unbelievable news (you know it to be true). Her belly roiled suddenly as the baby gave a sudden kick, and Padmè clenched her jaw. Obi-Wan drew in a breath.
"I'm so sorry." he said, his voice an odd mixture of sadness, despair, and frustration. He left as unobtrusively as he had come, throwing the brown hood of his cloak over his head, his boot heels clicking softly against the slickly polished stone. Padmè exhaled slowly, her heart pounding.
And in the next split second, she decided.
Obi-Wan
Padmè was so lovely. A beautiful face and form enveloped a gracious, strong spirit. I would need her resilience for the moment, to endure speaking words I must, even when those words would rend her soul, tear fine ribbons of agony into that spirit. I had wept already, spent my heart in wrenching sobs over the bodies of my friends, my family. I was a decaying husk, void of anything but tears. It took all my vaunted Jedi control to keep my ever-fresh grief at bay. Did she see? Could she not know how inside I had not stopped screaming? I felt my lips tremble, my hands shake, my voice hitch. Even now I could hardly believe myself – what my eyes had seen – what my heart knew was certainty. I longed to give in to my horror, to collapse into arms which just might understand my pain, but if I did, I would never get up. I would never have the strength to carry out my duty. I stayed an arms length from her, almost babbling in my futility – trying to explain what had happened. She looked away, her rose-petal lips parted in shock, and in her face I read the truth. She believed me. Padmè believed me. Yet there remained within her a locked door, one she held closed with all her might, and I, friend though I was, desperate though I was, could not prevail her to turn the key and open it. Steadfast she was, and I gratefully took what she unknowingly offered, using her stubborn naïveté as a crutch. I put my despair away, ruthlessly crushed my anguish beneath my boots, prepared to do whatever it took to protect this woman – and her precious children. For there was no more time, and I sensed Padmè gathering herself. I had to be ready and diamond hard when the chance came, or I would fail. As if I had not already… All in one split second.