Summary: Anakin is pregnant; yes, really. Dedicated to rabidfangurl, whose LiveJournal list of SW-centric bad!fic cliches were supremely awesome.
Anakina Jolie
"I think I want to have a baby," Anakin said over dinner one evening. This was the way he broached the discussion of all of his important life decisions, and Obi-Wan should have been used to it after a decade, but he still managed to choke on his mashed potatoes.
"Pardon?" he gagged.
"It would be a beautiful child," Anakin swooned. "It could have my eyes, your studly man-chest …"
"How do you propose doing this?" Obi-Wan smirked. Past experience had also proved that once Anakin thought things through, he usually recanted.
"Silly," Anakin giggled. "Med-droids can make anything happen."
Obi-Wan was rather horrified to learn that this wasn't the first the med-bots had heard of male pregnancy. "Piece of mujaberry cake," the head bot told an ecstatic Anakin. "Once your Master – or male partner of your choice," it added hastily at Obi-Wan's glare, "does the deed, you'll carry it to full term just like a female."
"There aren't medical complications?" Obi-Wan hated himself for even asking. "Spontaneous combustion, perhaps; unfortunate run-ins with coat hangers?"
"There are always risks, of course," the bot supplied. "But Anakin here is strong and able-bodied, so they're minimal." Anakin beamed; Obi-Wan hated him, especially.
Obi-Wan returned from a Council meeting a week later, intending to lock himself in the refresher for the evening with the latest issue of "Jedi Jugs". Instead, he opened the door to schmaltzy music, dimmed lights, and a very naked Anakin.
"I've been waiting for you," Anakin murmured in a sexy voice. Being naked, it wasn't necessary; Obi-Wan's clothes were practically falling off by themselves.
"What's all this?" he asked, straddling his former apprentice.
Anakin petted Obi-Wan's stomach with his roboclaw. "I thought we could try making that baby tonight," he whispered throatily. Then he picked up the turkey baster.
Obi-Wan knew Anakin was pregnant when he woke up to his former Padawan retching the third morning in a row.
"Ugh." Anakin wiped his mouth on his bathrobe sleeve. "Secondhand stew is NOT tasty."
Obi-Wan tried to look sympathetic, but failed. "After you finish brushing your teeth," he said briskly, "we have sparring practice, and I volunteered you to work with the younglings after lunch."
Anakin gaped. "You don't honestly expect me to exert myself? I'm pregnant!"
"Then you'd better allow yourself extra time to get ready from now on." Obi-Wan didn't even try to hide his smirk this time.
It was obvious to everyone else that Anakin had been knocked up about three months later, when he began sporting a visible bump underneath his tunics.
"Please don't take this the wrong way, Ani," Padme began soothingly, fiddling with the wedding ring she wore as an inconspicuous necklace. "But have you been under a lot of stress lately? It's just … you've gotten a bit …fat."
"How can you say that!" Anakin burst into tears. "My baby is not just a lump of flab!"
"I'm sure Obi-Wan could put you on a different exercise regimen –" she began. "Wait. What?"
"Serious, this matter is," Yoda said severely, folding his hands. "Told us sooner, you should."
Anakin swallowed. Six months along, the Council had broken its tradition of making those who came before them stand in the center of the room, and allowed him a chair. He waited for the Masters' decree.
"Forbid attachment, the Order does," Yoda continued. "Sex, love, murky paths they are. However," he hesitated. "Admit that we have never encountered this problem before, we do. Remain a Jedi, you may."
"Thank you, Masters," Anakin said gratefully. He decided not to push his luck about taking pregnancy leave.
Obi-Wan was pleasantly drunk when he stumbled into their shared quarters. This had become his habit, alcohol a soothing balm for his overworked nerves.
"Hi honey," Anakin greeted, beached on the sofa like a Hutt. "You're just in time to go over some wallpaper patterns for the nursery."
"Actually, I'm just in time to throw up and sleep off my impending hangover in my own bed," Obi-Wan countered. He rolled his eyes at the sound of Anakin's hitched breath.
"You never even tell me I'm pretty anymore!" Anakin bawled, wiping snot on his bathrobe. Obi-Wan burped, slamming the bedroom door.
"And then he told me that he didn't have to provide anything for it, since Jedi don't have incomes," Anakin complained. "What am I supposed to do, let the crèche raise it?"
"You know, Anakin," Palpatine mused, steepling his fingers. "There are other ways to ensure your offspring gets what it needs. And more."
Anakin wiped his eyes. "There is? How?"
Palpatine held out his hand. "Join me, Anakin," he croaked evilly. "Learn to use the powers of the Dark Side."
"Wait," Anakin blinked. "You're a Sith Lo-" he gasped, doubling over. "Oh Force," he swore. "My water just broke!"
"We can do this naturally, or artificially," the med-bot explained. "The artificial method involves light surgery to remove the child."
"And naturally?" Anakin asked, squeezing Obi-Wan's hand.
"We squeeze it out through your anal cavity."
"Cut me open," Anakin barked.
Later, he lay in the recovery wing, cuddling a red lump. "I'll call her Anakina Jolie," he beamed. "Jolie means 'beautiful', and Anakina because –"
"Right, I get it," Obi-Wan winced, nursing broken fingers, his contribution to the delivery process. "So what did Palpatine say earlier?"
"Oh, nothing," Anakin shrugged. "He was just glad we chose maroon for the nursery."