A/N: Wow. I'm so, so sorry it's been so long since I updated. But, you see, I was forced to get a job, and they make me work all the time. That's almost over now, though, and I'm back on track. You definitely won't have to wait so long for the next chapter. That said, I think I had a record number of reviews in a 24-hour period last time! I literally opened my email and went, "GAH!" I'm incredibly flattered. And now, I respond to some of those reviews:
Everybody: Thank you very much! Your reaction to the whole confrontation (and to the cuteness of Pooja and Ryoo) is wonderful. As to whether matters will improve, I suppose we shall see!
eridani: Funny you should say that, because I was wondering myself exactly where Ryoo and Pooja came from. I don't have a lot of contact with people who are that little. They seem to have come about all on their own, save for one evening of fun with the five-year-old son of two of my professors.
MarshaMarshaMarsha: Basically, I figured that Padmé could either tell her parents or never visit them with Anakin again. The second option would make everybody sad, and besides, it seems that there was a small circle of people who knew about the marriage. Given how close Padmé is to her family, it's likely they'd be included.
disasterstrikesagain and MagicalSpirit: I saved both of your comments in my email inbox to make me feel guilty every time I got online so that I would follow your instructions and update. For your gentle prodding, I cannot thank you enough.
In case you weren't aware, my beta Alicia is the best ever.
Chapter Five: Give It Time
"We'll go back to Varykino," Padmé said firmly, opening the trunks that crowded her bedroom. "Tonight."
She was practically trembling with anger, Anakin could see, her outrage masking a deeper hurt and confusion. Secretly, Anakin enjoyed it when his wife was truly, righteously angry. She bristled with life and energy, her eyes flashed lightning, she was a being both dangerous and beautiful. It was amazing how the presence of this petite woman could fill any space, however large, when she was angry. Now, though, her eyes held clouds without lightning. Though she steamed back and forth across the room slamming luggage about, she gave the impression of a lost little girl. He didn't know what to do when she was like this. He wanted to fix everything for her, but he didn't know how, so he reached out and took her in his arms.
Padmé let him hold her, all of her bravado fading away as she laid her head on his chest. "My father has never been like that before. He's always supported me. I don't understand this."
"He's just upset," Anakin reasoned, trying to sound more sure than he felt. "He'll get over it soon. In the meantime, we'll stay right here. You don't want to fight with your family."
She pulled away from his embrace. "Actually, Ani, right now that is exactly what I want. They insulted me and they insulted you."
He shook his head. "They didn't mean it. They love you. You love them."
"I love you." She hardly knew how to express it to him—such a short time ago, her family's thoughts and feelings had meant more to her than anything. But when she had taken Anakin Skywalker's hand in marriage, everything had changed. Now it was all for him, his thoughts and feelings. "If they can't accept you," she told him, "I don't want to be here."
He kissed her softly. "Let's just stay a little while. Give everybody time to calm down. You'll probably regret it if you don't."
Reluctantly, Padmé agreed. For a time she and Anakin stayed in the room together, but in the early afternoon they were unexpectedly interrupted by Threepio.
"I was instructed by Miss Pooja that she and Artoo and I were to hide—someplace on this property, I believe—and that after a certain amount of time Miss Ryoo would come to look for us. I don't fully understand the purpose of this, Master Anakin, but I will perform the task as requested of me. Only… Miss Padmé, could you indicate the location of a proper hiding place?"
Padmé smiled in spite of herself. "The next room, Threepio."
"Thank you." He paused in the act of exiting the room, nearly tripping over Artoo, who had appeared behind him. "I am given to understand that there his been some sort of disagreement here. Is there anything I might do to help? I am fluent in over six million forms of communication, Miss Padmé, and you would be amazed how much a good translator may--"
Padmé respectfully declined at the same time as Artoo knocked into the protocol droid with an irritated string of beeps; it sounded as though a good translator might interpret them as "shut up."
Anakin turned to her with a lopsided grin. "Well, at least it looks like they're getting along. I'm going to go practice with my lightsaber, out on the lawn." He pulled a glove on over his prosthetic hand. "I have a feeling this thing will take some getting used to."
She couldn't argue. It was early afternoon now, the weather was perfect, and if a little practice on her parents' lawn could help make sure her husband came back to her from the war, Padmé was all for it. She winced slightly at that last thought; they had been trying to ignore the reports and rumors about the inevitable aftermath of Geonosis. But thoughts like this were breaking into their happy dream more and more frequently. For a moment she was almost grateful for this disagreement with her family, if it meant not thinking about the unavoidable, looming shadow of what the Holonet was now calling the Clone Wars.
Forcefully blocking out these dark reflections, she resumed packing, albeit slowly. Often she paused to gaze through the window at her husband, deeply involved in his saber exercises on the lawn. She marveled at the strange beauty of it. He wielded the traditional Jedi weapon with such energy and yet such control, like some young god or hero out of legend, possessing the power to create or destroy. It was like watching an intricate dance.
It was while she was wrapped up in these musings that Jobal came to her door, and hesitated there. She took a few steps into the room. Padmé did not turn her gaze from the window.
"Are you going to want lunch?" the older woman asked.
"I don't know."
Jobal noted the half-packed luggage. "Are you going somewhere?"
"Back to Varykino."
"Oh." Jobal took a few more steps forward. "I'm sorry about… what happened earlier, darling."
Now Padmé did turn, her eyes flashing. "Why can't you just be happy for me—for us?"
Jobal sighed and sat down wearily on the bed. "We just want what's best for you. Just because your child grows up doesn't mean you stop worrying. You'll understand that when you have--" She stopped. It was somehow so easy to say "when you have children of your own" to Padmé when speaking of a hypothetical future, but now that she was married, and to a Jedi…
"I love him. I'm not going to leave him, Mom."
"I know," Jobal admitted. "I know better than to argue with you when you've made up your mind." She chuckled. "I learned that when you were five years old. I just wish… we could have been there, when you got married."
Padmé's face softened, and she sat down beside her mother. "I do, too."
"You're just saying that because I'm making you feel guilty."
"Mom, it was my wedding!" Padmé exclaimed. "Of course I wanted you all to be there—so much! If I had been marrying anyone else, if it wasn't so vital that this remain secret, you would have been. And if I hadn't been so sure that I love him, I wouldn't have done it. But Mom, I never thought I could feel like this. I thought it was something that only happened in stories, but it feels like… I had to do this, Mom. I just had to." Padmé looked over at Jobal, fully expecting her mother to state that she sounded absolutely crazy, but was surprised to see her smiling.
"I know, dear." Jobal brushed Padmé's hair out of her face and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "I know." Then, at her daughter's expression: "Well, don't look so shocked! I have seen the way you and he look at each other, after all."
Padmé gave a small laugh. "Is it that obvious?"
"To the people who know you, it is." Padmé leaned her head on her mother's shoulder with a resigned sigh. "Now," Jobal asked, "are you still planning on leaving us so soon?"
"I don't know. Dad's so upset."
"Oh, don't worry about your father. He's only concerned about you. He'll come around. Give it time."
Padmé remained doubtful. "I've never seen him like that before."
"You know as well as I do that your father is stubborn. He'll cool off soon, and if he doesn't, well… leave him to me. Now," she smiled, "tell me about your wedding."
A short time later, Jobal found her husband downstairs examining a loose hinge on a closet door and smacked him across the arm. Ruwee turned to her, startled, but before he could say a word Jobal had begun.
"I can't believe how childish you're being, Ruwee. I simply cannot believe it. Your daughter has gotten married and she is asking for your support and how do you behave? You throw a fit!"
"I did not throw a fit!" Ruwee exclaimed.
"And now you're pouting."
"I'm doing nothing of the sort!"
"Please! You're moping around the house looking lost and forlorn because you can't stand to be fighting with Padmé."
"Dear," he tried another tactic, "she has married a Jedi. How am I supposed to react? Should I have done a dance and shouted it throughout the town? You seem to forget that what she's done is both illegal and dangerous. What would we have done if she'd stolen or committed blackmail or broken some other rule?"
"This is not at all the same thing, Ruwee, and you know it."
He did know. His real worry was more personal. "How can I applaud something like this that is only going to leave her hurt? And it will, Jobal."
"I don't think so," she replied. "He seems to truly love her."
Ruwee scoffed. "And I wonder how long that will last."
"I don't know, it seems to have lasted ten years already, according to Padmé."
He stared at her. "You can't love someone without seeing them for a decade. They've been together a matter of days. It is impossible to know whether you've found the right person to marry after a few days. They're the ones who are behaving like children, infatuated children. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but at the breakfast table you were on my side about this!"
"I was surprised," Jobal admitted, "and hurt that we hadn't been included in their plans, but I've had time to adjust. This is the way things are now, and it's time you realize it." He only shook his head. "Ruwee," she sighed, "don't you remember what it's like to be so madly in love? Don't you remember," she smiled coyly, "the night we met? I knew right away that I wanted to marry you. Something in me just knew."
"That was different," Ruwee cut in. "We dated for two years before we got married."
"But we sensed it that first night. And my parents disapproved, because you didn't want to be a farmer…"
"Well, that was uncalled-for. There's nothing wrong with making a name for yourself."
"Of course not, but you had to go out and prove that, and you were away for months. But I thought about you every day."
"All right, yes, and then we got married," he finished impatiently. "I can see what you're trying to do, but it won't work. That was different." He looked askance at her. "You really knew right away, about us? You knew like that?"
"Well," Jobal shrugged. "Didn't you?"
"Of course, but I never knew that you did." He paused. "But it was different."
"I've talked to Padmé. It's not so different, Ruwee. You know her. You know she always thinks things through. I don't think she would have taken this kind of risk if she wasn't sure."
"But--"
"Oh, for goodness sake!" Jobal snapped. "Haven't you seen her since she's been home? Haven't you noticed the difference? You can't say you haven't. She's happy, Ruwee. For the first time in so long she's really happy. Are you going to take that away from her?"
He deflated a little. "I can't condone this marriage, Jobal."
"She's married whether you condone it or not. You may as well get used to it or you'll both be miserable. She's talking about going back to Varykino—not just talking about it, she's packing!"
"Then let her go," Ruwee responded quietly.
"You don't mean that."
He frowned. "She may still come to her senses."
"I doubt it." Jobal walked from the room, sighing in exasperation. "She's just as stubborn as you are."