Chapter 19 – Nurture
An unmarked speeder was waiting for them at the front steps of the Jedi Temple.
"Senator Amidala," the driver said. He was a clone. "Are you all right, ma'am?"
"I'm fine," Padmé said. "My husband –"
"Allow me," the clone said. He stepped forward and wrapped his arm around Anakin who was leaning heavily against Padmé's shoulder. She pushed him away gently, freeing herself.
"He hit his head pretty bad," Padmé said.
"Don't worry, ma'am," the clone said. With great expediency, he deposited Anakin into the back of the speeder. "I've seen far worse. He'll be fine, I'm sure."
He gestured for her to take a seat up front. She did so.
"Did Palpatine send you?" Padmé asked once the clone was back in the driver's seat.
"Yes, ma'am," he said. "He wanted to make sure you and General Skywalker were safe."
"Where will you take us?"
"Back to the Senate, unless you have somewhere else in mind."
"Yes," Padmé said. "My sister's apartment. I can give you the coordinates."
It only took them ten minutes to get there. Anakin sat up in the back seat, groaning. She looked back at him.
"How do you feel?"
"Like I just got spit out of a Sarlacc pit."
Padmé had no idea what that meant, but it didn't sound good.
"Just hold on," she said. "Sola will be able to help."
Perhaps it was selfish of her to bring him to Sola, rather than a hospital. But Padmé believed what the clone had said; Anakin was going to be fine. He was always one for theatrics. Besides, Padmé didn't want to go to some hospital. It would remind her too much of the cell. She was free! She went where she wanted. And she wanted to be with her family. Her sister. Her mother. Her children.
They were all waiting for her when they arrived. Two other armored speeders were parked out front. Rex and another Arc Trooper, Jesse, rushed forward to help Anakin to his feet. They led up the patio and toward the apartment. Padmé followed a step behind. She saw, standing by the door with her arms folded, Ahsoka. Their eyes met. Padmé could tell she was shaken.
Padmé did not speak to her. She followed her husband inside where she was quickly enveloped by a tight hug.
"Padmé!"
It was Sola. She held her fiercely. Padmé was limp in her arms.
"I'm okay," she said. "It's Anakin. He's hurt."
The clones had sat Anakin down in a chair in the living room. Sola released Padmé and went to investigate. As she did so, Padmé saw Sola's daughters, Ryoo and Pooja, standing by their father, clutching him. Darred considered her grimly. Padmé nodded to him. He did not nod back.
"He's got a laceration on the back of his skull," Sola said. "Not too bad. It's bleeding, though."
"Do you have a med droid, maybe?" Padmé asked.
"Not here," Sola said. "But that's okay. Let me get some skin glue. Some pain meds, too."
She hurried away. Padmé looked at Darred.
"My children," she said. "Where are they?"
"In the back room," Darred said. "Sola's parents are with them."
Sola's parents. Not hers. Sola's.
"Thank you," Padmé said, "for looking out for them."
"Of course," Darred said, but she could tell he did not want her here. She was dangerous. He did not want her near his daughters.
Padmé walked to Anakin. "I'll be right back," she said, cupping his face. "I'm going to check in on our children."
Anakin's eyes were closed. He made a humming sound, which she chose to interpret as a sign that he had heard her. She gave his forehead a kiss and left for the hallway. She didn't need to ask where to go. Her children were beacons in the Force. She was drawn to them, like a moth to a flame.
She entered without knocking. The lights were low. Jobal and Ruwee were seated on the bed, both of them holding a baby. They were speaking softly, cooing to their grandchildren, when they looked up to see her.
"I'm sorry," Padmé said, woodenly. What was she apologizing for? These were her children, weren't they? But nonetheless she felt as if she were intruding.
Maybe it's because Ruwee, her father, was looking at her like that. Like she was his daughter.
"Celine," he said.
Padmé didn't know whether to run or to yell at him. That's not my name. Don't call me that! Yet she couldn't find her voice. It caught in her throat.
"Ruwee, why don't you give her Luke," Jobal said. "He's getting a bit agitated. I think he's hungry."
Her father looked at his grandson. "Yes," he said. "I think you're right." He stood up and offered Luke to her. She took him and hugged him tight.
"I didn't tell you," Padmé said to Ruwee. "I'm sorry."
"Your mother explained things to me," Ruwee said. "I understand."
"I want you to be a part of my children's lives," Padmé said. "I want you to be a part of mine."
Ruwee placed a hand on her shoulder. "I would like that very much," he said. Luke squirmed in her arms. Padmé looked down.
"We can leave," Jobal said. She stood.
"No," Padmé blurted out. "I mean… I don't know…"
"How to nurse?" Jobal said.
Padmé nodded.
"I can help you," her mother said. "If you'd like."
Again, Padmé nodded.
"I'll give you some space," Ruwee said. He smiled, looking at his grandson, then at his daughter. Padmé stared at him, in awe. Because when she saw him smiling like that, like he loved her, in that uniquely paternal way, she realized she had seen it before.
I love you, Papa.
He had never said it to her. Three little words, all she ever wanted to hear, as a girl. He hadn't said it, but now she realized he didn't have to. Because she had known it all along.
"Celine, what's wrong?"
She was seated on the bed. Jobal brushed a strand of hair out of her face.
"I'm sorry," Padmé said. "I was just… thinking."
"I had to tell him," Jobal said. "You understand, don't you? There was no point in keeping it a secret anymore when the Jedi took you."
Padmé shook her head. "It's okay," she said. "I'm not upset."
"Yes, but your son is," Jobal said, laughing. Luke was whining in her arms, wriggling. "Here, let me show you how it's done."
Padmé wasn't sure what she expected. That it would be easy? Natural? Because it was not. She held Luke to her breast. He began to suckle. Padmé winced. It didn't hurt, but it was vaguely uncomfortable. After a moment, he stopped. Cried again.
"It's not working," Padmé said.
"You're impatient," Jobal said. "Give it time."
But Padmé knew it wasn't going to work. Her body wouldn't cooperate. It felt strained, anxious. Luke sensed that and recoiled from her. He didn't want to be held by her.
"I didn't want them looking at me," Padmé said. "That's why I didn't nurse them."
"The Jedi, you mean?" Jobal said softly.
"I was an animal to them," Padmé said. "They watched me constantly. They watched me give birth."
"It's horrible, but it's behind you," Jobal said, taming her hair. "It's behind you. You have these two beautiful children to care for now. Think about that. Think about the future."
Padmé tried. But the future was so cloudy, she didn't even know what to envision. She tried again to nurse her son. Nothing happened.
"I can't do this," she bemoaned. "Just give them a formula. It's all the same."
"It's okay, Celine," her mother said.
Padmé bit back her angry response. No it's not. Of course it's not.
It's okay.
What a stupid thing to say.
"I'll be right back," Jobal said. "Keep trying. Okay?"
Padmé said she would. But she did not. When Jobal was gone, Padmé covered herself up and returned Luke to the crib in the corner of the room. He continued to cry, but Padmé shushed him, a finger to her lips.
"I'm sorry, my love," she said. "I can't."
In a curious reversal of roles, Leia was calm. She was in the adjacent crib. Padmé looked at her and smiled sadly.
Fire!
She closed her eyes and turned away. She saw her father's smile, the same as her master's, warm, compassionate. Her skin was slick with sweat. She tried to take a breath, and felt herself shudder.
I don't know who I am, Padmé thought.
Was she Celine Naberrie, her parent's beloved daughter? Certainly not.
Was she Padmé the wife and mother? Considerate and caring? Hardly.
Was she Amidala the puppet, the protégé? Her master's tool? No.
She was none of those things. She was all of those things.
And now she realized it. She was Palpatine. In all senses but one, his daughter.
She claimed to hate him. It was a lie. She loved him. She was him. That explained why she stood idly by while those infants were murdered. That explained why she tried to contort and control her husband.
This was who she was. He had made her like that. And Padmé, precisely because she didn't hate him, and in fact loved him, allowed him to do it.
She thought she was resisting him, foiling him, but her subconscious did everything she could to help him. She was doing it right now, wasn't she? Pushing Anakin away, straight into her master's arms. Pushing her mother away, her children!
Because all she ever had was him. And now she was afraid. Of losing him? Of becoming someone else entirely? And who might that be, exactly? Someone with scruples. Someone who loved her family, more than her abductor. He had stolen her from her parents! He had cordoned her off from the world. And yet she loved him? What sort of sickness was this?
Jobal returned with the formula. Luke was placated, and Padmé felt a semblance of relief. She cradled her son in her arms, holding the bottle to his lips. She swayed a bit and found herself humming a gentle tune.
Had Palpatine done this with her? He had taken her away when she was a toddler, so she was beyond nursing by that point. But she wondered. Had he held her in his arms like she held Luke now? Did he look at her and feel the same warmth in his heart that she did whenever she looked at her children?
These questions eluded her before she became a parent. She'd frankly never thought about it. But now that she was a mother and had this newfound insight, she saw Palpatine differently. He was a monster, but in a way, he was also her father. They weren't mutually exclusive. Her children would come to learn that when they grew and saw their mother for who she really was.
What good was all this introspection? What did it matter how Palpatine felt about her? Did he consider her a daughter or a tool? It shouldn't matter to her one bit.
And yet it did.
Because all her life, she had grappled with this question, in some form or another. Her master's commendation, his ever elusive praise, were what motivated her. She wanted to make him proud, as his protégé, as his daughter.
She looked at Jobal, who was holding Leia. I wish I could have been your daughter, Padmé thought. I wish I could look at you and think of you as my mother. But I can't. Because you aren't. You are a stranger to me. Ruwee even more so. You may have brought me into this world, but it was Palpatine who made me who I am.
The door opened. It was Sola.
"Padmé," she said. "There's something you should see."
"Is Anakin all right?" Padmé asked.
"He's fine," Sola said. "A bit groggy, but he'll be okay."
"Then what's the matter?"
Sola did not answer. She beckoned her and Jobal to follow. They did so, depositing the children in their cribs before they left. They arrived in the living room to find a crowded scene. The clones, Darred, Ruwee, and the girls were all circled around the holonet. Off to the side in the chair was Anakin, Ahsoka dutifully at his side. Padmé went to him.
"How are you?" she asked, kneeling in front of him.
He looked to the holonet and grimaced. "Palpatine," he said.
Padmé followed his gaze. Between Rex and Jesse, Padmé saw her master's hologram.
"We stand on the threshold of a new beginning," he said. Even over the holonet, his orotund voice filled the room. "In order to ensure our security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire, for a safe and secure society, which I assure you will last for ten thousand years!"
Everyone was transfixed. Padmé sensed their disparate reactions, like flares in the Force. Sola was stunned, as was Jobal and Ruwee. Ahsoka was distraught. Anakin and the clones were conflicted.
And Padmé…
She couldn't help but smile.