Note from the Author:

As always, I own nothing. All of this belongs to George Lucas and anyone else who owns Star Wars (Disney? I don't even know anymore!).

It was requested that I work on this story next, and thankfully, the inspiration came easily. I love this story a lot, just because of how different it is. Anakin Skywalker is so much nicer! And Padme is... I don't know, someone who needs him? Like, doesn't just WANT him, she actually NEEDS this guy. I hope you guys enjoy this new chapter. I can't say there will be any more anytime soon, but here's the good news: there's inspiration, and where there's inspiration, there's always production. :)

Enjoy, and MAY THE FORCE BE WITH ANYONE WHO WANTS IT!

{trinity6diversia}

Chapter Four

Anakin Skywalker fidgeted.

Anakin Skywalker never fidgeted.

Well, almost never.

No, take that back, he fidgeted a lot. Especially when he was bored. No, only when he was bored. If he were doing something interesting… fighting, for example, or waging vocal war against Master Windu… he would never fidget. But throw him in a boring cockpit for hours on end, and he was liable to get antsy.

Anakin Skywalker was known for getting antsy.

It was dangerous.

Especially now.

Padmé had retired to her bedchamber aboard the Whispering Winds, claiming exhaustion. That may or may not have been the truth. It wasn't exactly like she and Anakin were jumping with joy to be in each other's presence.

The truth, as it happened to be, was that neither of them were eager to complete their "mission". Their mission being to produce a herd of Force-sensitive offspring. Simple enough, you may think, especially for two humans with such amazing chemistry. All they had to do was smile for the cameras and prove to the galaxy that they were made for each other. It really was that simple. They'd already proved that.

Back at the beginning of their relationship, before either of them had any idea what the Council was up to, Anakin and Padmé had found themselves together in situations, be it a Senate gala or an inspection of the troops. Somehow they always ended up together. And they did as anyone might; they got to know each other. So when the Council came back to Anakin and instructed him with marrying Senator Amidala, it hadn't seemed that far-fetched of an idea.

Both Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala had grown and been taught that duty comes first. This wasn't necessarily the wisest teaching, but they had believed it. With Master Windu on Anakin's back, and Chancellor Palpatine on Padmé's, they had decided to give this operation a try. It was like playing with fire. You can't choose love because it could shape the future of the galaxy; but they were going to try.

Of course, the media was made a part of this affair. They were given bait from the very beginning. When Anakin and Padmé started spending more time together, the paparazzi were there, hovering. The Council and the Chancellor pushed from both directions. The marriage had to be soon, it had to be happy and it had to be publicized. And for the most part, Anakin and Padmé complied. It was their duty, after all.

But occasionally, the paparazzi became too persistent, and the privacy barrier was pushed, and when this happened, Anakin would do something rash, like he always did. He and Padmé would end up somewhere they would never be found, and they would sit there and laugh as the security squads rushed around Coruscant looking for them. It was like they were a couple of rebellious teenagers, and for a while, they were. And then real life would come back, or someone would find them, or one of their coms would go off. And the moment was gone.

Once, when the pressure from the paparazzi resulted in an emotional breakdown, Padmé had begged Anakin to run away with her, far away, where no one would never be able to find them. Anakin had wanted so badly to do just that, spirit her away in the dead of night, but he hesitated. He could have taken her into his arms, but he didn't. And Padmé had never said anything to him again after running away and leaving the Republic like fugitives. They may have had something going in that moment, but afterwards, there was nothing, and every smile Anakin received from his fiancé was a hard-won battle.

And now, slouched in the pilot's seat of the Whispering Winds, all of these memories came back to him, Anakin Skywalker, this Jedi Knight, so powerful and fierce, and in that moment, so vulnerable and broken. He took a deep breath.

"This is bull shit," he hissed under his breath, then pushed the button switching the controls over to auto-pilot and stood up.

"All yours, Artoo," he said to the astromech droid against the wall of the cockpit, and with a beep, the droid moved to the controls as Anakin exited the cockpit.

Anakin knew better than he should have how to navigate the sleep interior of the Whispering Winds. When he was younger, he'd taken a dare from a group of fellow padawans, and during a meeting in the Senate, he'd hijacked Queen Amidala's personal skiff from the Senate hangers. He didn't get far before the authorities were on his tail, and after dodging them for a record breaking amount of time, he careened onto an empty landing pad in the industrial district of Coruscant, taking out a control tower in doing so. The skiff suffered only minor damages, and Anakin hid in the cargo bays when the search teams came through. Unfortunately, when he made to escape, he was picked up by police elsewhere on the scene.

There was no word to describe Master Windu's anger after this incident. Anger being, as any Jedi knows, one of the emotions fought against in the Jedi Order. But, for a moment, Master Windu seemed to have lost his training and lit into Anakin like never before. Even Master Obi-Wan had seemed colder than ever before, but by the time Anakin was thoroughly punished, his eyes were laughing.

Telling Queen Amidala had left a colder pit in Anakin's stomach than facing Master Windu. The police had escorted him back to the Jedi Temple in cuffs; there had been no escape in that case. But when it came to facing the Senator, Obi-Wan had suggested letting him go on his own. And so Anakin had flown to the Senate building on his own, unescorted, debating how difficult it might be to escape Coruscant without anyone knowing. Then he had remembered Obi-Wan's confidence in his maturity, and decided at the last moment that he wouldn't let his Master down.

As it were, Padmé was not upset. She had been informed by the police of the incident, and had a rough assessment of the damages already in hand. When Anakin had arrived of his own free will, a spindly 13-year-old with uncombed hair and a cut on his forehead from the incident, the 18-year-old Senator had only laughed and assured him that he could rest easy. Regardless, the Council had forced Anakin to pay for the repairs.

In a way, then, Anakin owned a part of the Whispering Winds, and that thought caused him to smirk as he made his way down to the lower levels.

"Almost a decade," he said to himself as he stepped into the lift. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "Where does all this time go?" He saw his reflection in the polished chrome of the lift and grimaced. He had seen better days. The cut above his right eye from that lightsaber duel with Asajj Ventress marred his face, and the numerous scars from battles won and lost could be felt all over his body. He was almost certain there was a gray hair somewhere in his head of dirty blond hair, curling against his neck, not nearly long enough to reach his shoulders but lengthy all the same. He wasn't vain, so he couldn't see how dashing he was regardless of the imperfections.

The lift door opened into the single bedchamber aboard the Whispering Winds. There was a large bed secured against the far wall, upon which lay Padmé, laying peacefully on top of the blankets, almost as if she'd fallen asleep before realizing where she was. Her chest moved slowly up and down as she breathed, deep in sleep, and that image alone was enough to cause Anakin to feel his own exhaustion.

Quietly, Anakin crossed the room and sat down on the bed to pull off his boots. He knew, without even trying, that Padmé would kill him if he put his dirty boots up on the bed. He set them aside and looked up, his eyes unconsciously resting on the envelope of credits Obi-Wan had given him the night before. Padmé must have opened it, for there was a piece of paper sticking out where he could see it. Curious, he stood up and pulled it out where he could read it. His eyes scanned the first few lines:

Senate Editorial waiting on Mandalore for 1124 arrival. Note for the Senator: brown cashmere requested. Proceed to main complex. Republic Times waiting on Corellia for 0713 arrival, approx 150. Proceed to senatorial offices. Two interviews required.

Anakin couldn't make himself read any more. The anger was starting to grow, and he'd missed his meditation that morning, as he had the day before. He was not on a good running game in that aspect, and this didn't help. They have our lives scheduled! His hand involuntarily curled into a fist. What part of peace and quiet isn't understood by these assholes!

"Anakin?" Padmé's sleepy voice came to him like a light in the dark of night, and he forced himself to take a deep breath to calm himself. She was tired, she was overwhelmed, and she had the worst part of this entire deal.

"I thought you were asleep." He turned away, setting the paper down and forcing a thin smile.

"I was," she answered, but she could tell that Anakin was angry over something, either by the burning in his eyes or the way his body had tensed up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered simply, collapsing on his side of the bed and closing his eyes. He tried to go to his happy place, his place of meditation, but he could feel Padmé looking at him. She was concerned, or anxious, he couldn't tell which.

"Relax," he said without opening his eyes, and his arm reached up to wrap around her waist, pulling her down beside him. Still he didn't open his eyes, and after a moment, Padmé gave up and curled into the crook of his arm. He sent tendrils of the Force out to soothe her mind, and at the first hint of contact, she stiffened.

"Relax," he said again, still not opening his eyes, and this time he gently rubbed his hand up and down her back as he soothed her mind with the Force. After a while, Padmé started to relax, and before long, her mind was calm once more and she had fallen asleep.

And then Anakin opened his eyes, not looking down at his wife sleeping at his side. He knew where she was, and knew what she looked like. She looked like an angel, as always. And that image didn't help him, for Anakin knew he was, and always had been, falling in love with Padmé Amidala… Padmé Skywalker.

She doesn't deserve this, he thought to himself as he stared up at the low ceiling of the bedchamber and felt the hyperdrive core reverberating in the deep tech chambers of the skiff. She could have been happy. Now… she'll never be. How did it get to this? And then, almost to answer his question, Anakin's thoughts turned to the simplest of things: his own heart, mind and will, and everything he'd ever known about life.

A husband, as far as Anakin knew, was the one in charge. He took care of his family, kept a roof over their heads, made sure they had the best life possible. But not only that. The husband was in charge of protecting his family. Not just his children. Children would grow up and go out to live their own lives. His wife, on the other hand, from the moment he promised to have and to hold, was his. A husband was in charge of loving, cherishing, protecting that which he promised to protect. And not just physically and financially. Emotionally. Protecting her heart, from people and situations that would try to destroy it. That, as far as Anakin Skywalker knew, was what a husband's main priority was, to protect the heart of his beloved.

I'm the one in charge of keeping her safe. It's up to me. And right now… she's not safe. She never will be. Not so long as these idiots are all over us. Not so long as…

Anakin couldn't finish his thought. It was too much to think about, but in the depths of his heart, he knew what was right. Padmé was his most important priority right now. Not the Council. Not the Order. Not the Republic. He would love her, given time. He did love her. He would die for her if he had to. She was his, and he would never stand to see anything happen to her.

Slowly, almost forcing himself to, Anakin looked down on Padmé's sleeping face. He could see the wrinkles on her forehead, the worry creases, and ever so gently, he reached over and touched them, carefully rubbing them out of her skin. She relaxed in his arms as his fingers softly moved down her cheek, feeling for the first time the softness of her skin.

"Anakin," she breathed, then her eyes slowly opened and she looked up into his. "What are you doing?"

Without a word, and without knowing why, Anakin leaned down and his lips brushed against Padmé's. It was the most emotionally spontaneous thing he'd ever done, and to his surprise, Padmé reached up and laid a hand on his chest, accepting his kiss without resistance. He could feel her fear and anxiety within the Force, and it hurt him. He brushed his hand along the curve of her neck and then pulled away.

"I'm never going to hurt you," he whispered, forcing a very small smile, but he could feel his own fear, and knew Padmé could see it in his eyes. She reached up and touched his face, tears sparkling in her eyes, then with a smile of her own, brought their lips together once more. It was the most emotionally raw moment of their lives, and they knew it.