A/N: Just a reminder, this is a POV fic so, you're going to be limited in knowing other characters' true motivations until they reveal them in dialogue. I suppose that makes Padmé a somewhat unreliable narrator or, at least, limited in what she does know. But we're getting there. Also, it gets easier after this chapter. Thank you so much for hanging in with me.
Chapter Thirteen
I endured two days of torturous silence with Anakin before I finally making the painful decision to leave Tatooine and return home to Naboo. I came to that determination, not because I wanted to be apart from him at all, but because it became glaringly apparent that he needed some distance from me. It is probably one of the most difficult choices I've ever made.
That first night after we fought, Anakin took deliberate measures to avoid me entirely. While I understood his need for space and even needed some space of my own, I also recognized that we probably shouldn't let our earlier quarrel fester between us. We had both said awful things to each other, and I knew that could become a breeding ground for misunderstandings if we didn't quickly clear the air. But, above all else, what I had truly wanted was to make amends with him, to find a solution that we both could live with.
Though I tried multiple times to corner him when he returned home that evening and had encouraged him to talk to me, he had responded with mumbled recalcitrance, stating that I had already made up my mind so there was little for us to discuss. His lackluster reaction wasn't the worst part either. It was the way he'd looked at me, his expression devoid of its usual expressive passion, his blue eyes lifeless and remote. I've witnessed Anakin run through a veritable gambit of emotion, sometimes within the span of a minute, but I've never seen him spiritless. I could have weathered his fury, his sarcastic bitterness even. But his withdrawn apathy? That had been more painful than anything else.
He'd moved like a ghost through the homestead on that first night, deftly dodging any personal interaction, not only with me, but with his mother and Cliegg as well. At first, Shmi and Cliegg weren't as bothered as I was by his reticence. They had advised me not to push him. Anakin had gotten into similar moods in the past, they'd said, and simply needed time to "lick his wounds." So, I'd followed their counsel and left him alone. After all, they had spent the better part of a year dealing with his intractable mood swings while I was only just starting to become acquainted with his thornier side.
Not surprisingly then, he'd slept in the mechanical shed that night. It had marked the first night we had spent apart since we married. I didn't sleep much.
I had hoped that cooler heads would prevail the next morning. I'd awakened filled with renewed determination to settle matters between us, but when I went looking for him shortly after dawn, I quickly discovered that he had already left for the junk shop without saying a word of goodbye to anyone. All my subsequent comms to him went unanswered except for one. His response had been short, brusque, and noncommittal. I'm working. I'll be home tonight. I'd spent most of that second morning crying.
Seeing me so distraught and inconsolable, Shmi chose to intervene, deciding then that Anakin had been given enough space. She had marched out to Mos Espa to "talk some sense into him." Unfortunately, whatever lecture she had given him had the opposite effect because Anakin failed to come home that second night at all. Nor did he reach out to update anyone on his whereabouts. My pride wouldn't allow me to venture out into Mos Espa to search for him, because I suspected he was probably holed up in Agis' junk shop, but I still spent a sleepless night praying that he didn't do anything foolish.
By the third morning, I'd reached my limit. I came to the realization that Anakin wasn't simply avoiding home. Specifically, he was avoiding me. It was clear that he wasn't going to come back there, not if I remained. Dispirited and numb but resolved that I wasn't going to tolerate his childishness any longer, I finalized my plans to return to Naboo. By that mid-morning, my transport had been arranged.
Predictably, Shmi had tried to talk me out of leaving. She was certain that leaving would only widen the chasm between Anakin and I rather than bridge it. "You shouldn't allow a breeding ground for resentment, Padmé," she had told me earnestly, "You should stay and talk it out."
She wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know, yet, from my standpoint, it was Anakin who was content to let those bad feelings flourish, not me. He had shown very little interest in conversation, and it had become much too painful for me to remain there especially when it was evident that he did not want it. And so, with a mournful heart and fervent promises to keep in touch, I'd packed my single bag and R2 and left Tatooine and Anakin behind.
During my lonely transport home, I half hope that once Anakin discovers I am gone he will reach out to me and end this silent standoff between us. Perhaps my departure will be enough to shake some much-needed sense into him and snap him into action. But when I reach Theed without any direct communication from him (though Shmi is good enough to inform me that he returned to the homestead less than an hour after I left and that he was not dead or gravely injured), I start to contemplate whether this might be a signal that my marriage is over. The timing of his resurfacing seems too convenient not to have been deliberate. It seems inconceivable to me that something as innocuous as a baby could tear us apart this way and yet, here we are worlds apart, both figuratively and literally.
Sola meets me at the transport station. It isn't until I see her standing there with loving, outstretched arms that my steadfastness crumbles and I dissolve into tears for the first time since leaving Tatooine's atmosphere. My sister is good enough not to press me for details on why I've chosen to leave my husband after barely a month of marriage. She has questions, but she graciously shelves them for now so that she can comfort me.
Thankfully, my parents follow her example. They welcome me home exuberantly and fuss over how pale and listless I appear, but neither of them presses me about Anakin's whereabouts or what prompted my sudden visit. They seem to accept my flimsy lie that he had been taken away on a secret mission and that I had grown homesick in his absence. Only Sola appears skeptical of the story, though she doesn't confront me about it right then.
My first night back on Naboo, I go directly to bed. I have no appetite for dinner or and no energy for conversation. I'm nauseated and heartsick and all I really want is to climb into bed and sleep for the next hundred years. As I mechanically go through my nighttime routine, I force myself not to compulsively check my commlink for missed calls from Anakin. And, if he did call, what would I say to him? At this point, I doubt any dialogue between us would prove productive.
The hurt and disappointment I felt at the onset of our disagreement has gradually begun to harden into biting resentment. It's easier to be angry at him than to confront the crippling anguish I feel and so, I lean into that. I'm outraged that he had been so quick to cut me off in reaction to our first real conflict as a married couple, as if the vows we made to one another didn't matter at all. I hadn't expected him to be thrilled about the pregnancy, but it would have been nice if he'd, at least, shown a willingness to come to terms with it! I never thought that he would simply withdraw emotionally. Was that truly his idea of marriage?
I don't blame him for being afraid. I know why he fears the negative impact he might have on a child, not only because of his past but because of the negative impact he'd had on Jett as well. It has only been little more than three months since that young man's death, and I know that Anakin still blames himself for what happened. He doesn't see himself as a good influence on any child. Very likely all those doubts and ingrained insecurities factor into his opposition to fatherhood.
But my magnanimity on the matter only goes so far. I'll acknowledge that, while this situation is difficult for him and I undoubtedly said things to him that were deliberately callous, I'm hardly the sole blame for why our discussion turned sour. He is equally responsible, if not more so! If only his kneejerk reaction wasn't to eliminate whatever he perceived to be a threat to him! If he weren't so self-centered and stubborn and emotionally stunted, maybe we could have…
As soon as I catch myself going off on that mental rant, I stop myself. The truth is that his reaction had not come as a surprise. I had known exactly how he would respond to the news of my pregnancy. What I can't forgive him for, the thing I'm most angry about, is that he didn't prove me wrong…and I had so wanted to be proven wrong. Maybe Sola had been right after all. Maybe I've put unrealistic expectations on Anakin this entire time. I failed to acknowledge the true depth of his psychological scars. Now I don't know what's going to happen between us.
My sleep is fitful that night and plagued with strange dreams. I am at Varykino, standing at the entrance of an elaborate, winding hedge maze just as the sun begins to peek over the hilltops beyond. The air is perfumed with wildflowers, sweet and intoxicating. In the distance, a child's infectious laughter echoes through the balmy air.
Through a gossamer gauze of hanging mist, I catch sight of him just a few yards away. He hops excitedly in a bid for my attention, his blond curls flopping endearingly across his forehead. I'm immediately drawn to him, and I know instinctively that he is mine and Anakin's. He has my smile, but his father's expressive blue eyes. His gamin smile widens as he beckons me closer to him, inviting me to chase him. And I do.
He's like an apparition, winking in and out of existence as I rush to keep up with him. I run faster and faster, but he remains just beyond me, out of my reach. I only catch flashes of his bare feet, his tinkling laughter echoing out across the atmosphere as he disappears around one corner after another. I call to him to slow down, but he simply urges me to move faster, reassuring me that I'm almost there, that if I keep moving forward, I'll reach my destination.
"You need to keep running, Mommy! Don't stop!"
I jerk awake suddenly with the admonition, his peeling giggles still reverberating in my ears, echoing in time with the steady thumping of my pounding heart. Immediately, I press my hand to my still flat abdomen, frowning deeply as I recall the details of my dream. The brief, utterly insane thought that my unborn child might have been sending me some sort of subconscious message by means of the Force surfaces but is quickly discarded when I acknowledge that the very idea is ludicrous.
Still, I'm shaken by the dream, because it certainly felt as if I were being led somewhere, to some unknown place that my dream child had felt it was imperative that I find. I've never dreamed anything like that in my life. I'm puzzled by what it could possibly mean or even if it meant anything at all.
Breathless and trembling, I try to shake it away entirely and orient myself. As I do, I slowly become cognizant of my surroundings. It is then that I remember that I'm back home in my childhood bed on Naboo.
It is barely dawn. The interior of my bedroom is dusky with muted orange shadows. Yet, despite the earliness of the hour, I am wide awake, my mouth watering with the usual waves of nausea that have come to characterize my days. I'm stumbling for the fresher seconds later, and dry heaving violently into the toilet.
When the spasms finally abate, I rise to rinse my mouth, empty my bladder, and then shuffle back to bed. I'm not sleepy at all, but I also lack the motivation to do anything other than lie in my bed. As I crawl back onto my rumpled bed, I catch sight of my commlink on the bedside table. I notice for the first time that it is flashing, alerting me to a possible missed message.
My heart immediately lurches, and I sink down to the edge of the bed on trembling legs as I contemplate the silent beacon. Of course, my first thought is that Anakin has finally decided to end our silent standoff after all. I'm not sure how I feel about that.
On the one hand, I hate fighting with him. I hate being apart from him, and I would like to find a solution to our current dilemma that doesn't involve me terminating my pregnancy. On the other hand, I'm infuriated that he would ever ask me to do such a thing in the first place and then, after making such a heartbreaking request, react like a petulant child when I didn't immediately capitulate to his wishes. I have a mind to let him suffer for a while…
But I'm already reaching for my comm with shaking fingers even as I entertain the thought because my need to see his face outweighs everything else, including my wounded pride. I'm almost too nervous to replay the message. Once I finally gather the courage to do so, I'm thoroughly disappointed when I realize the communication is from Shmi.
"Padmé," her recorded image greets solemnly, "I know you have your reasons for returning to Naboo, and I don't begrudge your decision. I know that you are rightfully angry, but I beg you to reach out to Anakin. He's too stubborn to reach out to you because he doesn't think you want to talk to him. Trust me when I tell you that he's devastated right now. Please talk to him. I hope to hear from you soon."
I am trembling anew when the message ends, struck with guilt, sorrow and indecision. According to Shmi, Anakin is not as unaffected by my absence as I first thought. It destroys me to know that I've caused him pain, but at the same time, I'm angry that Shmi would assign me the responsibility of reestablishing communication between us when he is the one who severed those lines in the first place! Why is he the only one who gets to be obstinate?
Haven't I earned the right to sulk as well? After all, I'm the one who has been left pregnant and alone, abandoned by my husband to traverse this uncharted territory of parenthood on my own. I've always admired Shmi for being unwilling to coddle Anakin, especially when she knows that he's wrong. So, her readiness to shift all the accountability for fixing our broken marriage on to me is disheartening to say the least.
With an infuriated grunt, I toss the comm back onto the table and flop back against the bed in huff. If Shmi Skywalker is waiting for me to extend the proverbial olive branch to her son, then she is going to be sorely disappointed. I'm quite weary with always having to be the levelheaded one. It's Anakin's turn now!
As the morning progresses, I can detect the sounds of my stirring household beyond my door, but I make no effort to rise from bed. Breakfast comes and goes, and I continue to lie there, head tucked beneath the covers, as I stare listlessly out my large bedroom window. I'm considering whether I can feasibly spend the rest of my life there tucked among my rumpled bedding when my sister knocks at my door. Unfortunately, she is not deterred when I don't answer but, instead, creeps into my room bearing a breakfast tray and a bright smile.
"I brought you something to eat," she says, placing the tray onto my bedside table before easing down next to me on the bed, "Mom prepared all of your favorites."
I don't return her smile, nor do I look at her when I mumble, "Not hungry.".
"Not even a little bit?" Sola presses, "You barely touched your dinner last night, Padmé. You must be starving."
"I'm not."
"Don't you think you should try to eat a little something?"
"No."
I'm hoping my laconic responses and general surliness with drive her and her sunshine disposition from my room, but it doesn't. Sola hardly seems fazed by my petulance at all. She plucks a slice of shuura fruit from the tray and holds it to my lips. "Just take one bite," she urges, "One little nibble…"
I irritably shove her hand away and burrow my head deeper into the blankets. "Leave me alone, Sola."
"If you won't eat for yourself, at least eat for your baby."
The stern admonishment briefly knocks the wind from me. Slowly, I flip back the covers to survey her with a wary look. "How did you know?"
Sola regards me with an impassive expression. "I've only given birth twice already myself. I'm not an imbecile, Padmé. I suspected that was the case when you were here last."
"Have you said anything to Mom and Dad?" I press a little wildly.
She makes a face at me. "You know better. But, even if our father remains oblivious, Mom's bound to figure it out soon," she tells me matter-of-factly, "By the way, I forgive you for lying directly to my face when I confronted you about it before."
"I didn't lie to you, Sola," I reply gruffly, pushing myself up onto my elbow to regard her, "I didn't know. I swear it."
"You're not putting me on?"
"Not in the least. I told you the truth that day. It never occurred to me that I might be pregnant."
She digests that information with a pensive frown. "I'm assuming you've shared the news with Anakin."
"I have."
"And, based on what you told me before as well as the fact you're here with us rather than on Tatooine with him, I'm also assuming he did not take it well."
"No. He did not."
"Oh, Padmé…"
"I don't want to talk about it," I exclaim quickly before she can start clucking sympathetically, "I don't want to talk about Anakin either. I don't even want to think about him."
"Alright. We can talk about something else then," Sola offers, "I'll start by addressing my most pressing concern with you. Something that you must hear, dear sister."
She reaches over to cup my cheek with a gentle smile, her expression giving the impression that she is about to say something intensely profound. I hold my breath in anticipation for whatever sage advice she will dispense because Force knows I need direction right now. I'm willing to follow whatever advice she gives.
After an expansive sigh, she tells me with grave sincerity, "You look perfectly horrid right now. Your hair is a frightful mess." She fingers my tangled mess of curls with a woeful tsk, her nose wrinkled in dismay. "Are you not compelled to do anything about this? Have you forsaken the brush entirely? Help me to understand what's happening here."
Her droll candor wrings a stunned laugh from me, the first truly spontaneous laughter I've had in weeks. It feels good. "Forgive me if I've offended you with my undignified appearance," I chuckle with an eye roll, "I should have kept your tender sensibilities in mind."
"We are Nabooian. Nothing is more pressing than our appearance," she reminds me, amused, "Frankly, I'm appalled I should have to remind you."
The witty retort I had planned abruptly becomes a gasping hiccup. Before I realize it, my bubbling laughter abruptly dissolves into teary giggles and then pitiable, broken sobs. I do my best to stifle them behind my hand, but they tear from my chest harshly. Wordlessly, my sister gathers me in her arms as I break down completely. "I don't know what I'm going to do, Sola…"
"Did you and Anakin have a fight?"
I jerk my head in a tearful nod. "It was awful! He…he doesn't want me to continue the pregnancy," I confess in a suffocated tone.
"He asked you?"
"He says that he can't be a father," I sniffle, "That he's not capable…"
"Well, it's done now," Sola considers rather inanely, "Whether he believes he's capable or not, he's going to need to figure it out soon."
"That's what his mother said, but she was wrong. Anakin has washed his hands of the entire thing."
"Washed his hands?" Sola scowls dubiously at my phrasing, as if I've spoken an entirely different language and she'. "What does that even mean? How does he 'wash his hands?' He can't do that! He married you, for Force's sake! You're his wife!"
"He said that it's my baby and my decision."
Sola blinks several times, her expression aghast. I can tell she's carefully weighing what she should say next. I know my sister very well and I know that there is an angry tirade poised at her lips just waiting pour forth unchecked, but she holds back from verbally eviscerating Anakin and condemning his actions. Probably because she's unsure if I'll agree with her or leap to his defense. Frankly, I'm not sure either which way I'll go either. I am undeniably angry with him but, at the same time, I won't tolerate anyone speaking negatively about him. It's a peculiar conundrum to be sure.
Finally, she manages to stammer out, "Well, I'm…I'm speechless."
"Please, don't judge him too harshly, Sola. The truth is, I might have said something perfectly awful to him before he told me that," I confess sheepishly, "I'm sure that contributed to his callous response."
"You don't think he meant it?"
"About not wanting to be a father? He absolutely means it. He's terrified. Do I think he'll abandon me entirely? Not really. What that means for us, and our marriage is anyone's guess at the moment."
"But for now, he's 'washing his hands?'"
"So he claims."
"Unbelievable," she grunts under her breath. Once again, I watch as Sola carefully considers her next statement to me before voicing it aloud. I'm truly grateful that she doesn't launch into a furious diatribe on the many ways Anakin Skywalker is unworthy of my love because that's truly not what I need to hear right now. I don't want to be told how righteous and virtuous I am or how foolish and selfish he is. At the end of the day, I know the man I married. I know his flaws and I know his strengths, and I truly believe the good in him exponentially outweighs the bad. So, I don't want to hear anyone tell me that he's a terrible, hopeless person because I know that he isn't. What I need is advice on how to repair my marriage. That is my most pertinent concern.
"May I ask why he's so against having children?" Sola asks carefully, "I understand feeling unprepared, but this seems…beyond. If you don't want to answer, I'll respect that, Padmé, but…I'd like to see his point of view in this, so I don't hate him for what he's putting you through."
"You shouldn't hate him," I whisper, "Please don't."
"Why shouldn't I? What's more, why don't you?"
"Because I know he's not doing it to hurt me," I reason, "Anakin is a very complicated man. Sometimes happiness is a difficult concept for him to grasp. He's always expecting the worst possible outcome."
"Is this because of what happened with Chancellor Palpatine?"
I nod in confirmation. For a moment, I consider telling her the entire fantastical tale, how Anakin traveled across the fabric of time to make himself over after living ten years of his life as a murderously cruel Sith lord. In many ways, he has done that, but in other ways, Vader's shadow continues to loom over him. He's haunted by the man he had once been every day, perpetually fearful of his return.
Anakin committed appalling crimes in that life as that man. While confiding in Sola might help to explain Anakin's motivations, I don't suppose the truth about those misdeeds would endear him to my sister. Nor is that information something I suspect Anakin would want widely circulated given his unremitting shame for his actions. It is enough that his immediate family and the Jedi Council know his origins. Maybe one day he will be comfortable with the idea of my family knowing as well, but I doubt we've reached that point yet.
Consequently, I confide in Sola as much as I can while also keeping my answer deliberately vague. "There are many things that Anakin has done in his past that he's not proud of, things he did because he trusted Palpatine," I begin shakily, "Those experiences color everything he does."
"Things like what?"
"Very terrible things, Sola," I say, "I can't tell you specifically, but he is deeply ashamed of them now. He carries a great deal of guilt about it, and he struggles with feelings of worthlessness. If he even suspected I had told you this much, he would…" I inhale a shuddering sigh. "I've tried to help him move past his guilt, but he's stuck. He doesn't always see the best in himself."
"Has he spoken to anyone about these feelings? A therapist, perhaps? He needs someone trained in navigating these kinds of issues to help him. Because, while I am hardly a medical expert, what you're describing to me sounds like depression."
"I know that. But he won't talk to anyone about it."
"He should. It can only help him. I could recommend several. You don't spend most of your adult life as a widowed, single mother and not need therapy."
I shake my head at the offer. "Anakin would never consent to that. He doesn't think he can be helped."
"Then you're going to have to find an alternative solution for this impasse, little sister," Sola replies, "Because as much as I adore having you home again, you cannot hide on Naboo forever. You married him. You're going to have to face him eventually."
"I can't think about that now."
"When will you think about it?" she charges incredulously, "After the child is born and in primary school?"
"Maybe I should just end the pregnancy and be done with it," I decide capriciously, "It's clear that Anakin can't handle it, and I shouldn't force him."
I prepare to be castigated for even voicing the churlish thought out loud, but Sola surprises me when she asks gently, "Is that really what you want?"
"I don't know what I want," I sigh wearily.
"I think you do," Sola counters, regarding me speculatively, "This entire time you've spoken of nothing else except how Anakin feels and what Anakin wants. But what do you want, Padmé?"
"Do you really want to know?" I challenge, "I want to raise this baby with my husband. That's all I've wanted since I learned of this pregnancy, Sola. There's just one problem. Anakin doesn't want the same thing, and I don't know if he ever will."