Chapter Twelve

At Shmi' gentle insistence, I break off early in my campaign responsibilities to make the journey to Agis Krull's junk shop in Mos Espa. The decision had not come lightly and had taken quite a bit of convincing from Shmi before I finally consented to go. But my mother-in-law had been adamant that I shouldn't delay any further in telling Anakin the truth, especially because his mind was already beginning to run rampant with negative scenarios. According to Shmi, the longer I waited, the harder it would become to tell him which would, inevitably, cause more misunderstandings between us.

I am reluctant to acknowledge her wisdom, but it isn't as if I've been left with very many options. I won't be able to hide my pregnancy from Anakin indefinitely. Eventually, he's going to notice the changes in my body and he's going to question me about it. The fact is, we cannot go back and undo what is already done. Anakin is going to be a father whether he is emotionally prepared for that responsibility or not. The sooner I tell him, the more time he will have to adjust to the idea.

Shmi suggested that we attempt to disarm him with food. She said that she'd personally won many an argument with Cliegg by feeding him well. I'm not sure if the same tactic will be as effective in my case, but I'm willing to try anything. Before I left Mos Eisley, she'd helped me throw together an impromptu lunch featuring some of his favorite dishes and then spent nearly an hour helping me rehearse what I planned to say to him.

"Are you sure you don't want me to accompany you?" she'd fretted as I prepared to leave.

"No. I can do this on my own," I had reassured her, "Just be prepared to lend your shoulder later. I might need it. So will Anakin, I think."

When I arrive at the junk shop, it is early afternoon and sweltering outside. I am damp with perspiration, my heart knocking wildly in my chest. My head is swimming, but I can't be sure if that's due to the oppressive heat or my own frayed nerves.

The moment I enter the tiny, overcrowded establishment, all activity ceases. The interior smells vaguely of tabac, sweat, and motor oil. My stomach pitches at the scent and I clench my teeth against the sudden urge to vomit.

As I wind my way towards the back where Anakin is currently tinkering with a deconstructed speeder, I draw a few curious stares from patrons and employees. My husband doesn't notice me right away. His brow, which is streaked with grease, is furrowed in concentration as he works. I know that he must be fully engrossed in his task because he doesn't immediately sense my presence through the Force. For that I'm grateful. His unusual preoccupation affords me with a few extra seconds to gather my wits. For the time being, I simply watch him work.

The entire trip to Mos Espa, I've been practicing possible ways to break the news to Anakin. I feel that he would most appreciate the direct approach, being that is his own go to method for confronting problems, but I'm not sure if that's the most appropriate tact under these circumstances. Anakin is sure to have many conflicted feelings regarding this pregnancy. It doesn't seem fair to blindside him. At the same time, I can't imagine easing into the truth either. The buildup alone will be enough to drive me to the brink of insanity. I'm barely holding it together as it is.

I stare at the top of his head as he works, willing myself to say his name, but I can't produce a single sound. It's as if I'm poised on the edge of a proverbial cliff and I know the instant I begin this dialogue I'm going to topple right over. In the end, it is one of his fellow workers who wrests the decision out of my hands and alerts him to my presence. I'm not sure if I feel grateful or annoyed for his intervention.

"Hey, Skywalker?" he calls, bobbing his eyebrows at me playfully as he does, "I think you have a visitor!"

The instant Anakin glances up and sees me standing there, his face immediately brightens with a smile of pure, unencumbered happiness. After quickly wiping his hands on a nearby cloth, he scoots from behind his workbench to enfold me in a warm hug. I return his embrace somewhat stiffly, but if he senses the tension in my frame, he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he brushes my lips softly with a sweet kiss.

"Not that I'm complaining at all but, what are you doing here?"

I hold the canvas knapsack that holds his prepared meal aloft. "I brought you lunch," I tell him, "Do you have time to take a break?"

His eyes twinkle at the question before he suddenly announces without preamble to all present, "I'm taking a break!" And then, with no further explanation than that, he takes my hand and starts to pull me behind him towards the rear of the store, largely impervious to the grumbling, ribbing and raucous cat calls that follow us. "Ignore them," he says mildly when he notes my self-conscious blush over all the attention, "They don't see many beautiful women around these parts."

"I think you might be biased in that regard," I reply as we step outside.

"Nope. You're the most beautiful woman in the galaxy. I dare anyone to deny it." Though I laugh in response, my effort is forced, and I wonder vaguely if it sounds as disingenuous to Anakin as it does to me.

However, he seems not to notice anything amiss as he leads me over to a tiny table with two rickety chairs. He motions for me to take a seat. "This is a nice surprise," he tells me, surveying me in that worshipful, speculative way he always does, "I'm really happy to see you."

It's impossible for me to look him in the eye. I'm too tense. I can't even take a seat at the table. While he does sit down, I remain standing and keep laser focused on meticulously laying the contents of our lunch on the round, dusty table. I arrange the dishes with single-minded focus, as if my life depends on their accurate and precise placement. I can feel Anakin watching me steadily the entire time. His avid perusal makes my hands shake.

I'm sure he must find my continued silence strange because he asks me almost in a wistful tone, "Are you happy to see me?"

"Of…of course I am, Ani," I stammer nervously, still unable to meet his eyes.

"Then why do you look like you're about to face a blaster squad?"

I stand frozen in place at the charge, unable to respond at all. The words are stuck in my throat, choking me slowly. My breath comes in quick, shallow pants. For a moment, I'm fearful I might burst into hysterical tears. I collapse into the empty chair because my knees will no longer support me.

"What's going on with you, Padmé?" he asks me softly, "You've been distant with me for weeks. And don't tell me it's 'nothing,' because I'm not buying that anymore!" I can feel his eyes practically boring into me then, sense the frustration and fear radiating from him. The emotions are made manifest in his statement, his words charged with doubt. "Are you having second thoughts about our marriage? Is that why you're acting so strangely?"

"No! No! Of course not, Ani. I'm not having second thoughts."

He seems to relax only marginally with the reassurance. "Then what is it? Is there someone else?"

While nothing else has prompted me to look at him directly, for some reason that allegation does. I glance at him sharply, my eyes narrowed in affront. "Why are you always so quick to jump to the worst conclusions?" I flare at him angrily, "Do you really believe that I would be so faithless that I could turn to another when we've barely been married an entire month?"

"What else am I supposed to think?" he retorts, "You haven't been the same since we returned from Naboo. You barely talk to me. You cringe every time I touch you. We've only made love only a handful of times since we've been back! I can't even be sure if you still want me in that way!"

"Of course, I want you, Anakin," I reply fervidly, "I always want you!"

My vehement words wash away the lingering traces of doubt from his features, leaving nothing behind except all-encompassing concern for me. When he speaks again his tone is gentler, almost cajoling when he says, "Please tell me what's bothering you, Padmé. I can't help if you don't talk to me."

"I want to tell you, Anakin, but… I need you to promise me something first," I preface, my voice trembling with anxiety, "Can you do that?"

"Of course. Whatever you ask."

"No, Anakin, I don't need you to be charming right now. I mean this," I insist, "You have to promise me that you'll remain calm and rational…that you'll try to keep an open mind…"

He groans in evident trepidation, straightening in chair. "Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

"Do you promise me?"

"Padmé, this is ridiculous. Nothing could pos—,"

"—I need your promise!" I insist almost wildly, "I need you to say the words, Anakin."

"I promise to stay calm and rational," he recites with a shuddering sigh, "I promise to keep an open mind. Now will you please tell me what has you so shaken?"

Now that I have his undivided attention, his pledge to hear me out with a level head, I truly don't know how to begin. Once again, I can't find the words. They should be so simple, a happy admission, a reason to celebrate and to cry joyful tears. And yet, the most abiding emotion I feel at this very moment is dread. It seems that all the rehearsing I did with Shmi and on the way here has done very little to prepare me for this actual moment. I'm not certain that anything really could.

Because I know he's waiting for me to speak and sitting here in silence while he looks at me in expectation is only making the anticipation worse, I begin rambling incoherently. "I didn't…that is, I wasn't planning to…and I agreed with you…I did…but then it happened and…this doesn't have to be a bad thing because we love each other and…" I gradually trail off as I see Anakin grow progressively more confused with my meandering explanation. Finally, because I don't know what else I can say, I simply whisper, "Ani…I know you might not feel this right away, but… Something really wonderful has happened…"

Anakin goes perfectly still then. I'm expecting to see puzzled curiosity in his blue gaze, but what I see instead is dawned understanding and gathering apprehension. His features instantly drain of all color. He swallows spasmodically, his voice little more than a hoarse croak when he declares in a monotone, "You're pregnant."

I confirm with a nod and slump forward in my seat with a bizarre mixture of relief and misery. I feel unburdened of the secret I've been carrying but also filled with dread for what is to come. It also doesn't escape my notice that Anakin's words aren't posed as a question, but rather he gives a statement of fact, an acknowledgement of truth instead. "When did you know?" I ask him, "How?"

"I didn't know," he replies woodenly, "Not until just now." When I start to press him on how he could have possibly guessed so easily, he cuts off my question with several of his own, "How could this have happened? Did the injection fail? Was it defective somehow? Were we not being careful enough? What kind of doctor did you see on Naboo? Did he even have a license?"

"Calm down," I say before he can fly into a complete rage, "This wasn't a misstep by the doctor. The injection didn't fail." I inhale deeply before finishing softly, "I never had it."

There is a myriad of emotions that chase across his face in those ensuing seconds. Confusion. Shock. Dismay. And finally, anger. He glares at me with smoldering rage and betrayal, his blue eyes practically aflame when he grates, "Are you saying you did this on purpose?"

"No!" I explode incredulously, "Do you honestly believe I would mislead you that way?"

"You just told me that you didn't have the injection and we've been together since then…when you knew we weren't protected, Padmé!" he accuses me hotly, "What else am I supposed to think?"

"I don't know! I thought that maybe you would have more trust in me! You know…because I'm your wife and you're supposed to know me!"

"Well, you have been lying to me this entire time, so forgive me if I'm not freely dispensing my trust right now! I'm trying to understand what's happened!"

"I didn't have the injection because there wasn't any need for it!" I tell him icily, "I was already pregnant when I made the appointment. I didn't know."

He sags back in his chair, visibly overcome as he processes the information. "So…you've known you were pregnant since we left Naboo?" he concludes. I jerk a terse nod. "Padmé, that was weeks ago!"

"It happened that first night between us, after Owen and Beru's wedding," I say, "just in case you were wondering. That's when we conceived."

Anakin drags both his hands down the length of his face. It's plainly evident that he is beginning to spiral right now. His agitation crackles in the air around us. He looks like he wants to come out of his skin, as if it is physically impossible for him to sit still right then.

But remarkably, I am feeling calmer than I have in days. Not relaxed but resigned at least. For weeks I've been twisted with dread and fear and anxiety and now that I've finally told him the truth, I can process the repercussions of it all. I can finally allow myself to marvel at the reality now, to let it settle over me like a cool, misting rain on a blistering hot afternoon.

I am going to be a mother. I'm not sure what that new role will entail or if I'm even ready for it, but I do know one thing. I want to be ready. I'm excited for this baby and I want more than anything for Anakin to be excited too. But he's not in that headspace right now and his steadily increasing tension makes that abundantly clear. I'm not sure if he ever will be either.

"So…you're like two months along then?" he figures slowly, "Is that right?"

"Seven weeks to be exact," I clarify.

He absorbs the news with a dazed expression. "Oh. What do you want to do about it?"

I snap to immediate attention at the question, the fine hairs on my neck prickling with anger and apprehension for what he's left unspoken. "What do you mean what do I want to do about it?" My every word is articulated with crisp implacability. "We're having a baby. That's what I'm going to do about it."

"But it wasn't planned," he argues quietly, "We didn't plan it. We both agreed that we weren't ready."

"That was before we knew there was a baby. Now we know. It's out of our hands."

"It doesn't have to be out of our hands, Padmé," he replies in a tentative whisper, "I know that there are ways for a woman to discontinue a pregnancy if she chooses…" He lets the statement hang, as if giving me the chance to draw my own conclusions.

I do. And my fury with him blazes hot and volatile because he would dare to suggest such a thing, even though I've feared his predictable response the entire time. "I am not one of those women!" I bite out stonily, "That isn't an option for me." When he fails to respond to that or, I suspect, deliberately chooses not to acknowledge my feelings on the matter, I ask him bluntly, "Is it an option for you, Anakin?"

"My feelings about being a father haven't changed, Padmé."

It's not a direct answer to my question, but it is enough to make his stance apparent. A sudden burst of frustration with him flares within me. Before I know it, there is a torrent of pent-up emotion spilling from my lips and I can't stop it. I don't want to stop it.

"Why do you have to be like this?" I burst out in frustration, "Why can't you react like a normal person for once? Is it really so impossible for you to be happy or…or even a little excited, Anakin? We've created a life together! Our baby is a blessing, a manifestation of our love! How can that be a terrible thing in your eyes?"

"I'm sorry I can't be 'normal' for you! But it's difficult for me to see it as a 'blessing' when the last time you gave me this news, you and the baby were dead less than a week later because of me," he grates, "I know you want me to be happy. I wish I could be happy, Padmé! I do! But I feel like I'm suffocating right now."

I inhale several deep breaths, straining to remain poised even as I feel my emotions are about to spiral out of control. "What happened in that other timeline has no bearing on our present circumstances, Anakin!"

"It has every bearing! I'm not ready, Padmé! I don't want to do this!"

"What are you saying to me?" But I already know. By the Force, I already know and when he says it out loud, I am going to start screaming at him and never stop.

"I know what I'm about to ask you is a difficult thing," he begins in a careful, gentle tone, "and I know that it probably isn't what you want, but I'm going to ask anyway because I don't…I don't know how else to make this work." He looks at me, his eyes vulnerable and imploring when he whispers, "I don't think you should go through with the pregnancy. I don't think you should have the baby."

The words are hard to hear. Even with the full knowledge that they were coming, I still feel gutted in the aftermath. I'm disappointed with him, and I'm hurt that this wonderful miracle that fills me with hope and blossoming joy only brings him unending misery. "And you can decide…just like that? I tell you that you're going to be a father and you want me to end the pregnancy? You're not even going to think about it?"

"I know what I'm capable of and what I'm not," he says, "And I can't be a father. I've told you that. I was honest with you. I would only cause that child irreparable harm and I won't do that. I refuse to risk corrupting a child the way Sidious corrupted me."

"Anakin, you're not Sidious and you're not corrupt—,"

"—You won't change my mind about this," he interrupts me quietly, "I am not ready. I can't handle it. I'm asking you…I'm begging you, Padmé. Please…"

I would have never believed it to be possible but, in this exact moment, I'm certain that I hate him. I hate him for placing me in this untenable position where I feel compelled to choose between his mental well-being and my own child. I hate him for being so emotionally hampered that he can't even recognize how arbitrary he's being! And I hate him because I know he's so blinded by his own pain and fear that he can't even fully comprehend this terrible, unspeakable thing he's asking of me. He can't comprehend that doing what he's requested would devastate me irreparably. Even if I were willing to comply, and I'm not sure that I am, we would never be the same afterwards.

Those visceral, undeniable emotions explode from me all at once. I'm lashing out before I've even really processed what I'm going to say. The words merely flow out of me in a vitriolic river.

"I don't know why I'm surprised that you could come to such a coldly efficient decision without reservation!" I seethe at him scathingly, "This is second nature to you, isn't it, Anakin? You speak of disposing of your own child, a life we created together, like it is little more than an obstacle blocking your path! It's all about you and your feelings! Then again, hasn't that always been the case with you? What is one more dead child on a list of hundreds if it gets you what you want?"

I regret the harsh tirade almost the instant I've finished screaming but, by then, it is much too late to call back a single word I've said. And that is before I look at Anakin and see the expression of naked, unadulterated anguish on his face. He glances away from me quickly, but not before I see the stunned tears welling in his eyes. I'm already stammering out tearful apologies, but he doesn't acknowledge any of them as he shifts to his feet, his eyes averted from me, his features shuttered.

"I've been waiting to hear how you really felt about me," he says quietly, "It's good that it's out in the open now. There are no more illusions between us."

"No, Anakin. I didn't mean any of that…"

"Yes, you did. That's fine. I accept that. And I certainly don't deserve to make any decisions for you or ask anything from you at all."

"Please don't say that, Ani," I weep softly, "You're my husband. I don't want this to come between us."

"It's your decision," he replies in a hollow tone, "your baby. You do what you think is best." He doesn't wait for me to reply to that, but simply turns on his heel and walks away.