Chapter 4

"You know, I've been thinking about names. I've finally landed on one: Leia," Anakin said. He stared out the window and watched the busy Coruscant upper levels' traffic. There was no response. He continued anyway. "It's a Nubian name of the first queen. Direct translation means: 'little angel'. She was a warrior queen, too. From the mountains, just like you. And they named the rare flower that grew in the valleys in her hometown after her; your favorite flowers… Though I'm sure you knew all that already," he glanced behind him.

On a medical bed, dependent on life support and hooked up to countless IVs and machines, was Padmè. Still in a medical coma, still without a cure for her unknown "condition".

It had been three days and 7 clicks since she was admitted to the top hospital on Coruscant, in the entire known galaxy. Still, the doctors had not figured out what's wrong with her nor how to treat her.

She still bled internally, but slower.

Her womb still festered with an unknown organism that constantly threatened to spread and liquefy other organs. Constantly threatened to kill her at any given moment.

Considering that there was a cure formulated for the novel weaponized Blue Shadow Virus within a click, three standard days was a lifetime in the medical field.

Skywalker was able to obtain the data the medical facility currently had on Amidala. He would acquire them today. Anakin prayed he could find something, anything, that may have been missed. While the odds were slim, the Jedi Knight was confident in his abilities and medical knowledge.

The knight had been harder pressed than any other Jedi of the era to study the archives.

Relentlessly he studied them; perhaps even Grand Master Yoda did not even have as much book knowledge crammed into his head.

Anakin had hyperthymesia, after all. Many force-sensitives had strong memory, many had eidetic memory, though he was the only current Order member with perfect memory recall. Anything his former master or elders of the Order thought of they assigned him.

It felt like a test; everything always felt like a test. How many more data disks can he take? How long until he complains? How many more reports can be asked of him before his emotions control him? Until it's proven he should not be training as a Jedi, as many of the Jedi members believed.

They never did find out; Anakin could take it all, every last grueling text they gave. This torturous method of mastery was applied to all his areas of study. Mental, emotional, physical, and everything in between. Not only did the order demand perfection from Anakin, but they hoped to break him. But instead, he withstood and grew stronger.

And it frightened them.

Everything Padmè's physicians had discussed with him he understood. Anakin offered multiple ideas they had not thought of to try. He was essentially another one of the medical team trying to save the senator. The Jedi Knight also had an incredible resource: he had access to the Jedi Archives.

R2D2 had been bringing him data files from the archives and he had poured himself into them while he waited at the hospital. He shared all he had with the medical team, but still they had nothing.

Anakin had not slept in days. He also refused to leave Padmè and the twins; they were set up in her hospital suite, too.

The medical suite she was in was… extravagant, to say the least.

It was hard to believe it was a hospital room, it was more similar to a luxurious high end hotel suite reserved for the most wealthy and powerful beings in the galaxy.

There were rooms, a living area, kitchen, multiple bedrooms. With furniture, actual furniture. Rare, hardstone white-marble from Elluc, extravagant and plush white couches, metallic and artistic lights. Being weaved tapestries. A private outside serenity garden with herbal and exotic plants that purified the air and had aromatherapy properties. Expensive fresh produce was delivered and cooked by the chef droid, not that Anakin touched the food. The small crew of droids provided the patient could keep if desired.

It was a universe away from the slave huts of Tatooine.

The only thing that identified this as a medical room was Padmè's prone figure on the larger than normal hospital bed. All the machines she was connected to, and all the IVs. That was the only crack in the luxurious motif.

Anakin glanced down at his chronometer; it was time to let the twins be with their mother. "I'm going to go get the twins," he said to the unconscious patient. Close by were the two little cradles, as artistic and oddly sterile as the surrounding décor and furniture.

The new father gently lifted his newborn son to rest on his shoulder. He was careful to support his head, as always. "Here is Luke," he told her.

Maybe she could hear him, maybe she could not, but it did not matter to her.

He nestled the baby onto her bosom. Pillows were skillfully placed so Amidala's arm kept the little one from rolling off.

"And here's, your approval pending, Leia," he announced, placing her on the other side. The twins, who were squirmy before, calmed. Anakin could sense their content of being in their mother's hold. He knew Padmè would love it, too.

They could smell each other and sync their nervous systems, and strengthen their bonds.

Skywalker attentively observed them, never leaving them unattended, just in case. He also watched for wet spots around Padmè's nipples. The last two days, she had lactated once the babies were on her. A strong, normal maternal instinct taking hold even in her state. Today, there was no such response.

The medical team had been drying her milk, or more pre-milk at this point. They did not want her body using the fluids, resources and energy on colostrum production.

He knew she would be unhappy about not being able to nurse. Before Kenobi had arrived, she had discussed how she wanted to nurse. He dressed her in a new white medical gown and informed her nursing can help the afterbirth pass and uterus return to normal size. She was about to start when Kenobi arrived. Before everything went wrong.

The hospital had been feeding the twins donated colostrum. They ran tests on Padmè's immune systems to find matching replacements to help the twins in their environment. To try and adequately supply correct immunoglobulins: A, G, and M for their immune system to get the proper start. Also to correctly immunize them to what their birther was immune to. Not surprisingly, the match donor was another Nubian local.

The twins were not lacking in the immunological department because of the proper "Liquid Gold" benefits.

But still, Anakin grieved that Padmè could not nurse their children. Something she obviously wanted to do.

While he waited for the medical data to be delivered to him, he decided to contact Padmè's family on Naboo, the Naberries.

Given they were still at a deadlock with his secret spouse's health, they should be informed. He was hoping she would be awake and able to make the decision herself.

Ever since their wedding, Padmè had been distant from her family.

Anakin insisted otherwise, but she remained firm. With Anakin being at the Jedi Temple, she remained at her Coruscant apartment more. Also, with the war efforts and political demand, her returning to Naboo became harder and harder. Eventually, maybe she would see her family once a standard year, maybe .

They deserved to know, especially before the paparazzi got hold of the information. They were probably incredibly worried, not knowing anything past her being taken to the hospital after her rescue.

He called them through the communication station within her suite. He kept his eye line on the twins now sleeping in their mothers unconscious embrace. They did not answer, not surprising given it was early in the morning. Anakin left them a vague message to protect Padmè's privacy from hacking news media organizations. He asked them to contact him back on his more secure line.

He activated his datapad afterwards and began taking more notes on his readings, desperate for anything he could find.

The table he had based at was littered with stacks of datapads and notes he had been scribbling. Many beings preferred digital notes, but with this amount of research he had spread atop the entire table, the different colors of notes that stuck and note paper was necessary.

"General Skywalker?" a humanoid doctor called to him. The automatic doors to the side of Amidala's bed opened. Behind it lay her medical team's lab and recitation rooms. They were only assigned to her, and were stationed in what was essentially an extension of the hospital suite.

Anakin looked up and recognized their face; it was Doctor Falen Brye, part of Padmè's elite team. They specialized in diseases during pregnancy, and were the leader in their field for humans. "Yes, Dr. Brye?" he said weakly.

They walked in the room, "Here's a copy of the medical records and data collected so far on Senator Amidala."

"Understood, thank you," he replied. When he stood, he rose woozily because of exhaustion and low blood sugars.

The doctor tilted their head, "Excuse me for prying, but are you feeling well?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," he waved away.

"I'm going to do a quick diagnostic test. I understand you were exposed to her blood and fluids during the birth. We want to make sure this does not spread and has not infected you, too."

Skywalker froze and fearfully glanced at his slumbering twins. Force no- it could not spread. The twins had been tested multiple times everyday to ensure they were uninfected. But if he carried it, if he could transmit this organ eater and they got it… He would rather die.

He curtly nodded yes to accept the medical tests. They would all be accomplished with a simple wave of a handheld medical device.

"Please, sit down," they gestured to one of the plush, inviting couches.

Their new patient did. His tired body sunk down. This did not go unnoticed by Dr. Brye. They activated the medical wand and waved it over various parts of his body. "Have you been getting nine standard clicks of sleep recently?"

Skywalker's eyes darted away. "No," he tightly said.

Dr. Brye was obviously dissatisfied as they continued to read the diagnostics coming in. "When was the last time you ate?"

Anakin sighed, "A few days."

Finished, the doctor deactivated the device. "Well, the good news is there are no traces of the organisms in your system whatsoever. However, you're in terrible shape. Your cortisol levels are highly elevated, and blood pressure is high. I am prescribing rest, filling nutrition, and talking with a psychiatrist."

"I-" Skywalker went to protest.

Somehow the doctor had produced a datapad and entered a large amount of text in such a short time. "There, it's all arranged. The suite's droids are aware, the medical team has been informed, and Dr. Akesha Abipadal will be here in a few clicks to talk with you."

Anakin had never been a good patient. His healing abilities were enhanced due to his high midichlorian count. He always had people judging him and people who depended on him. He did not have time for redundant treatments. Odds are if left to his own devices he would be completely fine and heal on his own.

The doctor sat down next to him on the couch. "With all due respect, sir, you cannot take care of others when you're unwell and drained. At this rate, your body will force you to stop. Either getting sick, passing out, having a seizure, and these are all short term. The long term could be fatal to you. Not to mention the risks for the Senator and her newborns. You have to take care of yourself and your immune system," they stressed.

Defeated, Skywalker released a long suffering sigh. He would do anything to protect his family. "I understand, doctor. I'll follow whatever treatments you prescribe."

Satisfied, they nodded. "I've left prescriptions to help you sleep and relax if needed. One of her medical droids will be able to give them to you upon request. And the chef droid will give you a menu that provides the most optimal nutrients for you."

Anakin nodded his understanding. "Thank you, doctor."

"Of course, happy to help my patient's friend and The Hero with No Fear." With a polite smile and bow, they went to Padmè's bed. "It's smart of you to do this, it's very beneficial for the three of them," they commented. Dr. Brye scanned the device over the sleeping newborns, and then their mother. The scans matched the reports from the droids and medical equipment in the suite. "The Senator's condition is still stable, and the twins are in perfect health."

Skywalker reclined into the soft, inviting couch and rested his head. His tired eyes stared at the ceiling, just as decorated as the rest of the suite. The ceiling was all white with intricate carvings of, what he gathered, was an artistic expression of ancient healers of the Old Republic era, when the hospital had first been established. It was a peaceful and serene depiction, almost like the healers gave blessings to the patients below with their raised hands and closed eyes.

Anakin mimicked them and closed his eyes, too. Just for a moment. Some silent tears slid out of his eyelids as he slipped into a dreamless slumber.

A steady beeping brought him to. He raised his stiff neck and looked at the sound's source: his comm. "Skywalker here," he said, voice thick with sleep.

The twins!

His head snapped to his spouse's bed. The twins still contently snuggled to her unmoved body. Medical droids and natal droids hovered around, constantly monitoring them.

They were safe.

"...Hello? Anakin, are you there? Hello?" he heard over his comm. It was Jobal Naberrie, Padmè's mother.

"Yes, Jobal, I hear you," he answered, rubbing the sleep off his face and standing.

"We've received your message. What's going on? What happened to Padmè?" Her tone was obviously fearful. Why had a Jedi contacted them, and not their daughter?

After confirming Jobal was in a private location, Skywalker gave the rundown of the situation, including the twins.

There was a long pause on the other end. "We'll be there right away."

"That would be best, I believe," he stated heavily. "Her hospital suite is under the fake name of: Mr. Valaras Oren. Ask for them at the front desk and they'll lead you to a pseudo hospital room. You'll need to undergo some tests to ensure you are who you say you are. You'll need your standard galactic identification, as well. The code they'll ask you for is currently: ' Cherry Progressive by Mandelbrot Echo arranged for a choir'. After you use it, it will change again. They'll provide you with the proper pass and take you to the suite from there. I'll have R2 send the information to you with standard encryption," he gave the rundown thoroughly. It was much like when he had been assigned to Padmè before the Battle of Geonosis.

"Okay. Thank you, Anakin, for reaching out to us."

"Of course," was all he could think to say.

"We'll be there as soon as we can and keep you posted. Do let us know if anything changes."

"I will."

"Goodbye, Anakin."

"Goodbye."

And the conversation ended. The eerie silence settled back into the room. Just the whirs of the droids and Padmè's assisted breathing. He glanced at his chronometer wiping the exhaustion from his dark circled eyes.

What he thought was a quick loth-cat nap was actually a few clicks. Doctor Abipadal should be here any moment. He sighed and went to his family, all peaceful together. He quietly moved the twins back to their cribs. They did not stir.

There was an alert that someone was at the door and then they entered. "Hello, Jedi General Anakin Skywalker, I am Doctor Akesha Abipadal, I use the 'she' pronoun series. I'm here at the request of Dr. Byre concerning your stress levels."

"Yes, do come in," he welcomed. Jedi normally did not see psychiatrists. They had their Masters and Jedi elders for advice. Obviously the Order had little room for emotions and processing them. Psychiatrists and mental health workers were not discredited, by any means, but looked down on by the supposedly emotionless Jedi. The Order was above such things, or so they believed.

"Where would you prefer our discussion commence?" she queried.

Skywalker gestured to the main room's sitting area, where he had just woken from. He could be near Padmè and the twins, and easily keep them in sight.

"Before we get started, I would like to discuss my qualifications and patient confidentiality."

A chef droid came wheeling in and delivered a menu to Skywalker. "Master Skywalker, here is a list made for you per Dr. Byre's requests. Please, let us know what you would like to have for a meal," the droid inquired.

"Thanks," Anakin said. He took the datapad and scanned over the choices, nothing interested him because he was not hungry. In fact, he was rather nauseous. He sighed. "I'll take the third option, thank you," he said. "Excellent choice, it shall be prepared within the hour."

"Would you like anything, doctor?" he asked, not wanting a need to go unmet.

Dr. Abipadal politely smiled, "Oh, no. I'm quite alright, but thank you."

The droid then disappeared behind the kitchen doors.

"Dr. Brye prescribed I eat something… to be honest, I'm not very hungry."

"Oh? Your reports said you were not ill, nor have you eaten in what must be days. I'm guessing it's a stress response," she responded and subtly asked.

Skywalker shrugged, "Perhaps." Though he knew indeed that's what it was.

The doctor went through her education, specialties and brief career overview. Then the legalities of their session together. What she had to disclose, what was confidential, and so forth.

"I understand you and the Senator are good friends, and that you were part of the team that rescued her. You even assisted in the delivery of her children. You've been through a lot in the last few days. It must be very distressing to see a friend so unwell?"

"You could say that."

The psychiatrist could tell her patient was quite guarded. Many beings were usually open with their emotions and discussions during their sessions. Dr. Abipadal was the top of her field, and many beings waited months to see her. Mental therapy was so normalized, a guarded patient was rare, and then with her level of expertise, the patients were ready to begin their emotional work. She would need to start slower with Skywalker. "Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

His eyes narrowed, "What do you want to know?"

She gave a small smile, "Well, you're the first Jedi I've met. You can tell me your likes and dislikes, your childhood, your favorite color, or why you ordered the third option. Whatever you'd like to."

Skywalker gave a quick sigh. He was so tense, so nervous. Personal and emotional evaluations had always been so negative and probing by the Jedi. Him opening up emotionally was difficult- he felt uneasy to tell her anything. But he wanted to, he wanted to address his issues to keep his family safe.

And to be honest… It would be nice to talk about everything that's happened recently with someone who was not a Jedi. Someone who felt emotions, someone who would not judge him for his.

He rung his hands, the movements fueled by the inner conflict.

"It's okay to be wary. There are no right or wrong answers," she assured.

"I understand. This is just… difficult for me," he forced out. "But I want to try."

The doctor nodded. "That's okay. I'm here at your pace, we don't even have to talk."

He laughed dryly for a second. "That would be a lot of awkward avoidance of eye contact," he quipped.

"True," she said with a smirk.

"Well, I ordered the third option because…"

As time went on, talking to the doctor became easier. Eventually, he got into a long discussion of how frustrating Padmè's mystery condition was. What he researched, the treatments already tried, how she had almost died. How she had bled so much and he had never seen anyone lose that much blood. His hands shook as he retold some of what had happened.

Once he felt too uncomfortable to continue, she asked how he normally handled stress.

He was unsure, but he often used physical exercise and fighting practice to occupy himself. Same with robotics.

Dr. Abipadal told him about the floor's recreational gym, one of the best on Coruscant. She recommended he use it and do more mild exercises, for him, to help conserve energy while he rests and cares for Amidala. That it could be very beneficial to him to establish a routine and have an outlet for his stress.

Skywalker knew he would not leave the room, but he could do countless exercises within the suite.

The psychiatrist also offered to have some hospital droids that were in need of repair sent up to the suite, as well as a workbench area to be set-up in one of the guest bedrooms.

He had already set up R2 and C3PO in the suite. CPO had been subject to multiple tinkering sessions since then.

Often at the temple he would repair droids, he accepted the offer. The doctor informed him it would be done within the hour.

Skywalker had to admit that it was cathartic to talk with the psychiatrist. It was nice to talk to someone more like him, and less like a Jedi. Someone who felt emotions and did not scold him for his.

Right after the doctor left, the chef droid announced the meal was ready and where he wanted it served. He gestured to the table and chair. The same table with the datapads and notes. It was in between the twins and Padmè.

He mindfully moved a pile, keeping its order, and the droid set the food down.

Grimly, he stared at the meal. Anakin did not feel ready for food; what he had tried since he was back he could not swallow. It all tasted like sand.

His daughter made a small little noise in her sleep, and he looked at her. Anything for her. "We have to take care of ourselves, don't we, Leia?" He armed himself with the eating utensil, and raised a peck to his mouth.

He chewed, and swallowed.

There was a touch of flavor in the evolved sand. Certainly, he had eaten worse.

Triumphantly, Skywalker finished over half the plate. Already, he felt much better.

That's when the fatigue hit like a bomb. His stiff neck protested anymore upright slumber, so he went to the couch. Again, unable to have his loved ones out of his sight.

As soon as his head rested against the throw pillow propped against the armrest, he was out.

~xXx~

Notes:

Hope the chapter was enjoyable for you.

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Until next time.