A/N- I'd like to apologize for not updating this, and I will be grateful for any of you that have had the patience to wait for me to update. I have, for the last four or five months, been dabbling in other fandoms in-between periods of extreme business and insanity. And I realized that, above all, I miss Star Wars. I miss the people, I miss the fandom, and I miss this story.Well, I'm back!My goal nowis to write at least an update a week. Thank all of you in advance who were patient enough to wait for me!Enjoy the cliffie at the end. ;)

Chapter Three

Padmé sat next to Anakin, their hands pressed together, her eyes downcast, gazing at the form of her husband. The only thing that covered his unsuited form was a thick blanket, spread over his shoulders. It allowed her pale glimpses of flesh, and she knew the pride and degradation his injuries left him with. Sh'aya had assured them that soon, he would be breathing on his own. He was, in the space of that very moment, preparing himself, a light-blue breathing device attached to his throat, eyes closed impassively. He was in a deep meditation trance, so deep that she could not follow him into the Force, no matter how much her spirit longed for him.

She felt hopeful and lonely, all at the same time. Sh'aya's words had moved her, had stirred up feelings deep inside that she thought she would no longer have to face again. She had found revulsion and disgust buried within her at the healer's words, and she had, for a moment, not wanted to accept Anakin's touch. She had been torn away to another world, a world of cold antipathy with none of the redeeming grace she had come to know.

She looked down at his prone form, at the deeply scarred, pale head, at the calm, gentle breaths he was taking from his stomach. She loved him, that was certain, and she pitied him to a degree. But doubts were encroaching where there once had been only strength, and she felt suddenly lost, grasping for purpose.

As if he could feel her thoughts, his hand tightened upon hers, comforting her; supporting her. She drew her strength from the beacon that was Anakin's love, just as he pulled peace from the calming, gentling force that she recognized to be herself. She smiled, leaning her head against his for a second, hair brushing over skin. She tenderly pressed her lips to his forehead before withdrawing, and yet still staying with him. He had been broken, everything he had ever known destroyed, and she had rebuilt him from the ashes of a man whom the world had considered to be impenetrable.

He needed her. He may have needed her now more than ever, and not only that-- she needed him. She loved him. Padmé found this comforting, something that her mind could grasp upon and accept for truth. They had each other, and that was all they would ever need, especially if they were to survive the future. She could feel the coming storm, could taste the acrid bitterness of lighting threatening to unleash itself upon them. It frightened her; she was afraid for herself, and him, and for the two faces of her children emblazoned on her heart.

The healer entered the room, her cowled, covered form hobbling slowly along. Padmé felt pity wash over her for this woman, who had had everything taken everything from her. Still, the scarred healer held hope; in the Jedi, and in Anakin.

Sh'aya came up to Padmé, her head bend, once again covered by a thick hood. The healer procured a jar from inside her robes, and handed it to Padmé.

In her rasping voice, she whispered, "This shall cure him if he is indeed as pure as you attest. Spread it over his skin, feed it to him. Immerse him in its essence."

Padmé could feel something strange about the jar's contents. Something was different, something was changed...

She reached out with senses that were just beginning to grow, senses beyond eyes and ears and hands. What she found made her gasp aloud.

The jar was alive in the Force. And it was not only alive, it seemed to be a concentration of life's energy. It was like the healer had taken the breath of life itself and distilled it into a jar. It pulsed with power, desire to heal.

She looked at Sh'aya, amazed. The other woman gave a facial expression that could have been mistaken for a smile, looking away secretively.

"When your husband killed all of my people, we were merely beginning to learn. We were on the brink of revelations in many different kinds of healing, before he slaughtered us. It is very experimental, of course. It will only heal those who wish to be healed."

Pale green eyes met hers again, this time shining with intensity.

"Healed in every way."

The healer made her way out of the room, and Padmé closed her eyes as she realized what this was. Another test, for Anakin and perhaps herself.

She bent down again, reaching out to the brightness of the Force, using it with her love to stir her husband. She rested her head on his chest for a moment, able to hear the heartbeat regardless of the blankets between their flesh. Padmé could feel his state of readiness, of wholeness with the Force. He was growing, expanding in directions that were far beyond her. He was becoming what he should have been, what he had been destined to be.

She murmured in his ear, "We will face this. We will be enough."

The only answer was a gentle touch from him, a mere breath on her cheek through the warmth that encompassed them. He was ready, she sensed, to face any trial that stood between him and his children.

Undoing the jar, she found that it looked quite ordinary; there were no distinguishing marks about it, nothing remarkable. It was simple green paste. It was only with her other senses that she could feel the power in it.

She began to smear it on his cheeks, his eyelids, all over his face. She managed to whisper, "Hope you don't look like Master Yoda by the time this is over."

There was no response, as she had expected none. Tending to him was enough for her, however, and she was content, at least for now. She would heal her husband... and then she would begin to start healing the galaxy. He and her children would stand with her, undoing the wrongs that had been done by the Empire.

A hand rose up from him, suddenly grasping her fingers with harsh, painful intensity. His eyes opened, staring into hers, and sharp panic was in them. He was a maelstrom of whirling emotions in the Force, and terrible premonitions and visions spilled into her head from him.

"Our son," his voice gasped. "We must find Obi-Wan."