Chapter Three

Once my public flaying is completed, I quickly hurry from the rotunda and head straight for my office. I'm patently disheartened, disillusioned, and humiliated, but I'm also filled with renewed sense of resolve and purpose. While it is true that they had essentially ripped me to pieces in there, descending on me ravenously like a pack of rabid animals attacking freshly fallen prey as they basically accused me of everything from wanton misconduct and criminal conspiracy, I do not feel broken in the aftermath. Strangely enough, I've been thoroughly enlightened instead.

My colleagues had maligned not only my character, but Anakin's as well. Given the circumstances, however, that was to be expected. What I found truly galling was their unabashed willingness to direct those same venomous attacks at the Jedi, the very people who had spent the last six months fighting and dying on their behalf. There had been no hurry to suspend the kill order against them at all, and only a handful of senators among the congregated throng had protested having Order 66 stand given the limited information we had. Worse yet, Mas Amedda had even gone so far as to imply that the Jedi deserved complete and utter extermination in the wake of the Chancellor's murder. And to think I had talked Anakin into sparing his pathetic life…

The session had been an eye-opening experience to say the least. I was finally able to see the Galactic Senate as Anakin has seen them this entire time. A multitude of greedy, squabbling sycophants bent of furthering their own personal agendas, with no real regard for anyone besides themselves. I had written him off as cynical and jaded when he had been right all along…

Palpatine had been no saintly leader. He had been manipulative, deceitful, and power-hungry. But he was dead now and we were still in the middle of a bloody war. The citizens of the Galaxy needed reassurance and stability. That task should reasonably take precedence over petty debates and power grabs. And yet, the biggest concern for my bickering associates had been who had the ultimate right to assume control of the Grand Republic Army as acting supreme chancellor. Reassuring their constituents in the wake of their chancellor's shocking death had barely registered as a priority.

No wonder Anakin was always so adamant about doing things his own way. Everyone else had their own agendas, so why shouldn't he? Why shouldn't I? Now it's up to me to follow his example. And the first order of business is for me to find a way into that prison. I need to see him. I pull my datapad from my desk drawer and immediately begin scrolling through it for a list of contacts who might be able to assist me with that endeavor.

According to the Holonet reports, Anakin is being held in isolation and has been denied visitors due to the potential danger he posed to the public. They make him out to be some unfeeling sociopath, a remorseless killer who used the Chancellor's affection for him as a means to murder. The basic truths are there, I suppose, but the finer details of the events that unfolded last night and why they happened are being glossed over. It's clear to me that someone is controlling the narrative so that Anakin, and the Jedi by extension, look like treasonous evil to Palpatine's benevolent good and the choice to paint that picture is a deliberate one.

I suspect Mas Amedda is behind it all. When Palpatine was alive, the Chagrian Vice Chair had stuck to him like a Corellian leech. He was the epitome of a lapdog! And he had been among the foremost to denigrate my character in session, to frame my relationship with Anakin as something sordid, illicit, and indecent.

He'd wanted to discredit me so that my calls to have Order 66 rescinded immediately and even my suggestion that the Senate should reserve judgment in Palpatine's death until all the evidence had been gathered would be drowned out. In the end, I had been painted as a weak-willed, foolish young woman who was too blinded by her love for a manipulative opportunist to be trusted in a position of legislative oversight. It was no shock then that nearly a third of my colleagues supported his motion for my resignation.

I'm frustrated by this turn of events, but not necessarily angry. Their response is hardly surprising after all. Female sentients in positions of authority had always made the established patriarchy uneasy. If those same females were outspoken and willful and failed to fit into their mold of what a demure young woman should be, that uneasiness quickly escalated to disdain and scorn. And unfortunately, I managed to fall neatly into all of those categories. Therefore, I needed to be silenced.

I'm so preoccupied with scrolling through my datapad for the lost list of people who owe me favors that I nearly miss the quiet whoosh of my office door as it unseals and slides open. When I glance up, Bail is standing in the threshold looking harried and chagrined and beyond weary. As I set aside my datapad, he swiftly closes the distance between us when he reads what I imagine must look like pure devastation on my face, but I stave off his attempt to embrace me.

"Don't!" I warn him tersely, "I'm in no mood to be pitied, Bail!"

"My intent was to comfort you, not 'pity' you, Padmé. What happened just now in the senate chambers was brutal."

"You mean because they made me look like a craven whore before the entire Galaxy?" I ask him coolly, "No. I can't say it was the best time I've ever had."

He cuts his eyes aside with a doleful grunt. "That wasn't fair to you."

"I've survived worse," I reply with a careless shrug, "Besides that, I have bigger worries right now than what the Galactic Senate thinks of me."

"I won't allow them to oust you, Padmé!" Bail vows, "They have no grounds!"

"That's not the point! It's a power grab now. They're determined to silence anyone who's outspoken enough to call them out on it." I brace my hands against my desk and slump forward, releasing a shuddering sigh that seems to rumble from the depths of my soul. "It's all such a mess now…"

From somewhere above my head, I hear Bail implore softly, "Tell me how to help you."

I raise my tenacious gaze to his. "Get me in to see Anakin. I need to talk to him."

"That is a terrible idea," he replies flatly.

"I have to see him, Bail! Please!"

"Padmé, he has ruined your life!"

"No, he is my life! I don't expect you to understand."

"You're right," he agrees, "I don't understand. How can you throw away your entire career—,"

"—You wouldn't do the same for Breha?" I interrupt softly.

"I would do anything for Breha. She is my entire world."

"Then you should know what drives me then."

"Breha would never place me in the position in which Skywalker has placed you," he insists stubbornly.

"You're wrong about him, Bail."

"You are my friend, Padmé, and I care about you, but I cannot understand how you can continue to support him after what he's done."

"There is more to Palpatine's death than you know."

"More like what? You won't tell me, will you?"

I shake my head regretfully. "It's not my place," I tell him, "Besides, the truth will come out eventually and, when it does, nothing will be the same."

"That sounds very ominous."

"I'm trying to help you see that my reasons for standing with Anakin go far beyond sentiment, though I won't deny that I love him completely."

"And I won't deny that I believe your unswerving loyalty to him might be your undoing. I'm worried for you, Padmé."

I scoot around my desk to briefly place an appreciative hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, my friend," I murmur sincerely, "I acknowledge your concern and I appreciate it, but my mind is set. I am going to find a way to see Anakin whether you provide me with assistance or not…but it will certainly be easier if you did."

Although he has valid objections and he remains vocal about them, Bail reluctantly provides me with the name of a close contact at the judicial building. After he leaves my office, I immediately reach out to the official for help. While the man refuses to assist me directly, he does give me the name of a prison guard who could be persuaded to grant me visitation with Anakin for the right price. I quickly gather up the necessary funds and set out for the detention center a short time later.

The entire ride there, I try to anticipate how this impending conversation with Anakin will go. There is so much I need to say to him. So much that I need him to say to me. But, most importantly, I need him to be honest with me and I need to prepare myself for whatever he tells me…and then decide afterwards if I can live with it.

Once I reach the detention center, locate the guard, and set an agreed upon price for his services, he gives me clear instructions. "You have less than an hour," he stipulates tersely, "That's it. When I knock, you come. No exceptions."

"No exceptions," I agree with a nod.

Of course, Anakin is less than thrilled to see me. I don't give much heed to his protests, however, because I cannot get over how haggard and beleaguered he looks. The sight of him breaks my heart. He is wearing a prison issued jumpsuit. His unkempt, blond curls are tangled and matted with dried blood, his beautiful face swollen and discolored with bruises. I swallow the reflexive whimper that rises in my throat when I see firsthand how badly he's been mistreated.

He doesn't give me time to fuss over him though. He's too busy furiously lamenting my decision to support him even as my reputation is destroyed. Bail would be surprised to know that he and Anakin are of like mind on that score. Anakin is just as resolute that I should disavow him as Bail had been. Predictably, I refuse, which inevitably sends us into another round of push and pull, where Anakin attempts to do what he always does…make decisions for me that aren't his to make.

It's difficult to be angry with him though, not when I can plainly witness his anguish and misery when he learns that, in spite all he did to prevent this outcome, Order 66 still stands. He doesn't say it out loud, but I know he feels like he's failed. He's frightened for Obi-Wan, terrified that his former master might be among the casualties. And he's blaming himself for all of it. The guilt and shame are etched into every line of his face. His pain is a palpable thing.

But he won't allow me to comfort him. He stubbornly refuses my kindness and compassion as if he believes he's undeserving of even that much. And I suppose that is the thing that finally pushes me over the edge and I finally lose my patience with him. The words come spilling out of me in an angry torrent. They are unfiltered and raw. I call him out on the lies of omission, his lack of respect and trust, his selflessness, as well as his incessant need to control everyone and everything and I tell him in no uncertain terms that I will tolerate it no longer.

And surprisingly enough, he accepts every word. He doesn't justify his actions. He doesn't make excuses for himself. Instead, he listens to me. He expresses genuine remorse as he explains his motives to me, and he apologizes. But this time, unlike back at my apartment when I knew he was only spouting platitudes to quell my anger, I believe him.

It isn't that I am excusing his behavior. I know who he is and what he's done. Anakin is deeply flawed man. He has hurt me in countless ways and I'm certain that he will likely do so again. But I'm equally certain that he wants to better than this. He wants what I want, and he's willing to let me help him. For that reason, I cannot turn my back on him. I cannot give up on the man I know that he is, the man he has yet to recognize in himself.

When I kiss his forehead, it is because I need him to know how grateful I am for his trust, that I recognize how difficult it had been for him to give it. I want him to know that it is not misplaced. And when I kiss his lips, it is because I want to reassure him of my abiding love for him. He kisses me back, tentatively at first, as if he fears I might change my mind and push him away. But then gives in and he pulls me closer, his lips parting sweetly against mine, the warmth of his tongue filling my mouth…

Only when I feel myself shifting, being pulled over into his lap to straddle him do I rear back from him with a sharp gasp. I meet his heavy blue stare in the artificial light filling his tiny cell. "We should stop."

My breathless whisper is hardly filled with conviction. That is evident from the way Anakin briefly drops his eyes to my mouth. "Why?" he whispers, before lifting his gaze to mine and staring at me in that intense, unnerving way he always does, "We're just kissing."

I scoff at that innocent declaration and make a face at him. If I recall, he had said something very similar to me the night of his brother's wedding too. But somehow, I had ended up sprawled across his mother's dining room table half naked with his face buried between my legs. Not wanting to risk a comparable outcome this time because I easily lose my head with Anakin's intoxicating kisses, I wisely scoot to my feet before he can coax me into another kiss. Anakin pouts his disappointment.

"Don't look at me like that. It's never 'just kissing' with us, Anakin," I sigh plaintively, "and you know it. Besides, the guard will be back soon."

The inadvertent reminder that this is a prison cell and not a secret trysting spot, and that he is currently a prisoner dampens the mood in an instant. Anakin's expression darkens with the stark reminder. "Right," he acknowledges, "Will you come to see me again?"

"I hope so. That's the plan."

He nods in response. "Good. I told my mother the truth, by the way. She and Cliegg will be arriving on Coruscant in another day or so."

"That's wonderful, Ani! I'm glad you're finally opening up to the people who love you."

"I wouldn't go that far, but…they will need a place to stay when they get here, and I was wondering if you might…"

"Of course," I say before he can even finish the request, "I would be honored to have them stay with me. Your family is my family."

Anakin cuts a startled glance at me with the response, his gratitude and disbelief palpable. "I…I don't know what to say to that. Thank you, Padmé."

It seems strange that he should be thanking me for a response I feel is quite natural, but I must remind myself that Anakin rarely expects kindness for kindness' sake. In his experience, compassion has always come with a price. That had been yet another one of Sheev Palpatine's cruel life lessons.

A despondent silence settles between us and, in my desperation to fill it I broach the subject that has been niggling at me since I discovered him missing the night before. "Anakin, there's something I need to ask you before I go."

"What is it?"

"The other night when you left…did you go after Dooku?"

"Yes. I did."

"And is he…is he dead?"

There is a tense beat of stillness before he finally answers in a quiet tone, "He is."

Having received confirmation of that fact, I plunge ahead for the rest of his confession because I suspect that there is more. "And Senator Dod?" I press further, "What about him? He was missing from this afternoon's session. I found that peculiar."

I had found his absence very strange because, besides Mas Amedda, I would have expected Lott Dod to have been one of the foremost ones salivating over the prospect of eviscerating me in a public arena. I couldn't shake the instinctive suspicion that Anakin might have had something to do with his disappearance too. I decide to ask him outright.

"Do you know where he is right now?"

Anakin jerks a curt nod, his gaze skittering away. "He's with Dooku."

I digest that the tacit news of Senator Dod's death with a small sigh of acceptance. "Oh. Alright then."

Clearly not anticipating my measured response, Anakin glances at me in startled surprise. "That's it? That's all you have to say about it?"

"What else is there to say?" I challenge mildly, "It's not like I didn't already have my suspicions."

He surveys me warily, as if he's preparing himself for my condemnation, nonetheless. "Do you hate me for it?"

I offer him a sad, compassionate smile. "Anakin, why would I hate you? You know better than that. Do I wish you had made a different choice? Of course, I do. But that's more for your sake than mine. What I really wish is that you had talked to me about it first, but…what's done is done."

"But why? I don't understand," he chokes out and the bleak despair in his voice compels me to close the distance between us and take him back into my arms, "Why don't you hate me, Padmé? After everything I've done, you should."

Gently, sweetly, I kiss away the tears that spill over the ridge of his cheekbones. "There you go again," I chide him softly, "Trying to dictate what I should and should not feel…"

"That's not what I'm trying to do!" he grunts in frustration, his words muffled, "It's just…"

I cradle his face in my hands and tenderly coax his eyes to mine. "Just what, Ani?"

"How can you love me at all, Padmé?"

The genuine sincerity and confusion that punctuates his query stuns me speechless. I struggle with an adequate response because I'm so heartbroken at the realization that Anakin truly believes himself to be unlovable. He honestly cannot fathom why I would be drawn to him at all.

"What kind of question is that?" I ask him, my words roughened by unshed tears, "Do you have any idea how sad it makes me when you say such things?"

"Why does that make you sad?"

"Because when you say things like that, it almost sounds like you…like you hate yourself."

"Maybe I do," he replies gruffly, "I certainly should."

"Is this about what happened since you've been here or what you did in your past?"

"It's about all of it," he whispers, "It's about how you've brought nothing but goodness into my life and how I've only ever caused you pain."

"You haven't only caused me pain," I argue stubbornly, "You make me so happy, Ani. Happier than I've ever been."

I try to reassure him with my kisses, but I'm not sure how successful I am. I'm not afforded with more time to talk him out of his depressive state either because the guard abruptly arrives to escort me from his cell. My last glimpse of him before the plasma screen reignites behind me and obscures him from view, is the dark, shuttered expression on his face as he obstinately wipes away his remaining tears with his forearm.

When I finally step out into the coming dusk and hurry towards my speeder, I'm hardly filled with the hopeful relief that I had expected. Instead, I'm worried and distraught. My thoughts are preoccupied with Anakin.

Not for the first time, I find myself wondering if he might benefit from some type of psychological support. He has lived a very traumatic life, to say the least, and I'm not sure if he's ever truly discussed his feelings about it beyond assigning himself guilt and blame and drowning in shame. I don't doubt that he's battling depression and a whole other host of emotional issues that I'm not qualified to diagnose. I truly believe that it would help him to talk to someone, a therapist perhaps. But I am equally certain that Anakin would reject the idea.

He has difficulty enough communicating effectively with me. Unburdening himself emotionally to a complete stranger might be expecting too much. And yet, I know that he needs to do it. His moods are unpredictable. He sometimes veers from anger to despair to happiness and back again all in a single span. But no matter which emotion overcomes him, self-loathing always accompanies whatever high and low he finds himself riding.

I briefly consider enlisting Obi-Wan's help in the matter, but then decide against it. While I know that Anakin loves his old master very much and values his opinion, I'm also aware that he found Obi-Wan woefully lacking as a confidante. It's unlikely that Anakin would feel comfortable or even be inclined to share his deepest emotional conflicts with the Jedi master.

My next best option is Shmi. She is the one who wields the most authority over Anakin. I might not meet with much success trying to talk him into seeing a therapist, but I'm sure that his mother would. If anyone can circumvent Anakin's self-destructive tendencies and convince him to seek help for his own self-preservation, it is her.

With that half-formed strategy in mind, I dig around in my skirt pocket for my commlink and immediately sigh when I discover it flashing. My plan to call Shmi is forgotten when I recognize that I have several missed communications…and all appear to have come from my family. I groan inwardly as I replay each frantic digital message. There are three in total from my sister, two from my father and eight from my mother. They had evidently caught snippets of this afternoon's Senate session on the Holonet and now they were looking for answers.

The last thing I want is to have a long, drawn-out discussion with them about my life choices or be placed in a position of having to justify those choices, but I know they probably won't stop messaging me otherwise. My mother, especially, might just work herself up into a frenzy and take the next transport to Coruscant if I don't reach out to someone soon. Left with little choice in the matter then, I decide on the lesser of three evils and comm my sister Sola.

"Where have you been?" she demands tersely the instant my digital image comes into view, "I have been sending you messages all afternoon!"

"Sorry. I've been a little preoccupied!"

Sola ignores my sarcasm and barrels right into the crux of the matter. "So, is it true?"

"Is what true? Which part?"

"The part where Chancellor Palpatine is dead, and you've been sleeping with his murderer!"

"Yes. Palpatine is dead," I confirm evenly, "Yes. Anakin has been arrested for his murder. And yes. He and I are together."

"Wait! I'm going to need for you to slow down for me."

"You asked me what happened. I told you," I reply mildly.

"Padmé, the last time I spoke to you, you said, and I quote, 'Anakin Skywalker means nothing to me!'" she recites in a painfully bad impression of me, "How do you go from that to, 'we're together and he just killed the Chancellor?'"

"I said that he was arrested, not that he's guilty."

"This is not the time for political circumvention, Padmé!" she chides me curtly, "Our parents are beside themselves! Mom took a sedative earlier and went straight to bed! It's bad! You need to tell me what's going on!"

The worry and frustration I hear in her voice sends a tide of guilt sweeping through me. But, as much as I want to reveal the whole truth to her, I know that I can't. In the first place, it is not my truth to tell. And in the second place, I don't have an ounce of proof to back up a single allegation against Palpatine. I realize in hindsight that neither did Anakin. When he had finally revealed Palpatine's true identity to me and his ultimate plans for the Galaxy, I had simply taken him at his word. And I have never doubted for a single second that what he'd told me was the unvarnished truth.

I suspect that if I were to do the same with my sister, she would believe me just as easily. I want to tell her everything. I need to confide in someone that the love of my life is actually a time-traveling former Sith lord who risked his master's homicidal wrath to come back and fix his past mistakes. But that might be a bit too much truth for Sola to process. Even I continue to struggle with that reality. I know I cannot burden my sister that way, and I cannot afford to implicate her in Palpatine's death by telling her the truth either.

"Sola, this is an ongoing investigation," I sigh mournfully, "The facts are still being gathered. You know I can't talk about it."

"At least tell me that you don't plan on standing by him," she urges in a weary tone. When I don't answer, she groans out my name in consternation. "Please tell me that you're joking!"

"What do you want me to say? I love him, Sola."

"Star's end, Padmé! How many times has this boy broken your heart?"

"Please don't make me regret confiding in you about that."

"Then help me understand! What are you thinking?"

"I didn't choose to love him, Sola!" I reply, "Sometimes I think I don't even want to love him. But I do, and he needs me now."

"What about what you need?" she counters, "What about your career? Your reputation?"

"I'm in the process of figuring that part out."

"Padmé…"

"Please don't hate him for that, Sola. I couldn't bear it."

I know that she wants to argue with me. I can tell by the way her jaw tightens stubbornly. It's a Naberrie trait. We tend not to give any quarter when it comes to a dispute, especially when we are certain we're right. I prepare myself for her pushback and the circular bickering that is likely to follow because I'm not going to concede either.

So, I am thoroughly surprised when she says, "It's not me you need to worry about. Our parents will be your biggest obstacles. Mom especially. She is livid."

"Fantastic…"

"You should come back home to Naboo," Sola advises me, "Lay low until all of this nonsense with Palpatine blows over."

"I can't leave Anakin alone," I tell her flatly, "I won't."

"Then let me come to you," she suggests, "Mom and Dad can watch the girls while I'm there. You need emotional support."

"I have Dormé and Captain Typho."

"They are servants and appointed officials, Padmé. Not family."

"They're family to me. And I'm fine, Sola. Please don't worry."

"You realize that you're asking the impossible of me, don't you?"

"Perhaps. But I would like you to try nonetheless."

"Fine," she huffs after an unsettling beat, "But I reserve the right to change my mind."

"So noted."

"Padmé, please be careful."

"Sola, I've been a politician for many years now. I know how to navigate a scandal."

"No. I mean be careful with your heart," she warns me solemnly, "Make sure that he's worth everything you stand to lose."