Chapter Thirteen

When Padmé awoke, she found herself on a soft bed, covered in blankets, with her head supported by pillows. The first thing she noticed was how comfortable the bed was, and wondered if that was just an illusion from her injury, or if she had seriously been sleeping on the wrong beds all her life. The second thing she noticed was the lack of pain. Every emotion she had experienced in her time of unconsciousness had been fringed by pain, and yet here she was, almost as if nothing had happened.

She flinched, stretching her stiff fingers, and then moved her arms slightly. When she went to sit up a little higher on the pillows, the pain hit her, almost like a punch in the gut. She gasped, pressing a hand to her torso. The pain was only there, so all she could assume was that a single bullet had pierced her, not several. She fell back on the pillows, breathing hard at that small level of physical exertion.

The door opened and Padmé looked up just in time to see Anakin walk through, a slight smirk on his face as he folded his arms across his chest and surveyed her.

"Nice to see you awake," he said, the smirk still there.

"I was catching up on my sleep," answered Padmé, suddenly aware that the pain was easing again. "After the babies come, I won't have time for it. Might as well start early."

"You're expecting an army," grinned Anakin.

"Of your offspring, Master Skywalker, even one will be an army as far as I'm concerned."

"I think you're exaggerating."

"I think I'm right."

He did not respond, but sent her one of his more dashing grins and pulled a chair up beside the bed. Leaning his elbows on the bed, he looked at her and she at him. He said nothing, and after a while, Padmé began to wonder.

"What?" she asked softly. "What are you staring at?"

"The most beautiful woman in the galaxy," he said back, his voice almost a whisper.

"Stop it," she smiled. "Don't twist my stomach up any more than it already is."

"Am I?" he asked, his eyes wide with mock surprise. "You've never been romanced before?"

"Why should I?" she asked. "I'm a Senator. I've worked all my life. I've never had anyone, nor wanted anyone."

"Even now?" asked Anakin, standing up and leaning towards her.

"No," she whispered. "Now all I want... I don't know what… what do I want…"

Anakin's lips met hers before she could finish what she was saying, not that she was going to finish it anyway. She could no longer deny the chemistry that was there, and what it was doing to her. And in that kiss, unlike any before, she knew that she would always be cared for, always be loved, always be protected. This was not a mission; this was not a task that would someday be completed. This was life. This was her life. And she knew, in that one moment, that she would never trade it for anything.

And then Anakin pulled away, and those eyes were staring at her again, but instead of let them torture her, she let them love her, as they always had. He smiled, and she reached up to gently cup his cheek in her hand. It was them, just them. There was no war, there was no politics or confusion. There was only love. In that one single moment. And then…

"Anakin, I want one of these beds."

And he burst out laughing.

Padmé was released from her sickbed isolation later that day. She learned from Anakin that she had been unconscious for over a day. It was evening on the day after the attack that she had awaken. After the attack, Anakin had flown as fast as he could for Corellia, and they had gotten her into surgery to release the laser toxins from her body. They said she had been lucky, but it was unfortunate that the injury should happen to her abdomen. Arms and legs were trivial, but the head or the torso housed vital organs, and there might still be repercussions from the injury. Anakin seemed hopeful, but Padmé knew it was a cover-up.

Anakin had sent word back to Mandalore to inform them of Padmé's recovery. In that way, he learned that the Duchess Satine had suffered an injury herself, though not as threatening to her life. Obi-Wan had gone unscathed, but several guards had been killed. It was the last straw for the Duchess. Obi-Wan had not given her a chance. He had loaded her on a ship and was flying back to Coruscant to keep her under protective custody until the Death Watch could be stopped. From what Obi-Wan said, it had been a persistent verbal and physical battle the entire way back to the Jedi Temple.

The doctors ran tests and assessments on Padmé and released her a few hours after she awoke. The light of day was waning when Anakin helped her into a speeder and flew them to the expensive hotel set aside for their honeymoon. It was the more luxurious of places they had stayed, and heavily guarded by Corellian soldiers.

The rooms that had been made up for the newlyweds looked out upon the mountains of Corellia. From that vantage point, the rugged city could not be seen unless you looked down on it from the balcony. From that point, the sunrise could clearly be seen in the mornings, and in the evenings, the last light of day would bathe the mountains in golden light and slowly swallow them. The windows were many and extensive, although the ceiling was a fraction the height of those on Alderaan. The colors in the rooms were dark, with wooden accents and earth tones. Even the jet tub in the fresher was made of stone with uncut diamonds inset.

There was a bottle of wine cooling at the foot of the bed, and a tray of food waiting for them. A vase with wild roses from the mountain slopes was arranged on the dresser, and Padmé smiled when she saw them.

"I shouldn't," she said, pointing at the wine. The drugs they had given her for the pain would not mix well with the alcohol.

"Don't worry, I'll drink it," assured Anakin, then helped her take off the coat she had borrowed from him during the drive over. A look of exhaustion on her face, Padmé sat down heavily on the bed and sighed.

"I could pass out again," she said in a soft, tired voice.

"Please don't," said Anakin with a smile, but his eyes were concerned. He handed her a plate of food and told her to eat as much as she could, including the caramelized ginger. "It will help settle your stomach."

"Where would I be without you?" she smiled softly.

"Dead," he answered in a grim voice. "And you're not, so let's not even talk about it."

"Oh Anakin…" She lay back on the pillows and slowly ate what she could as she watched him drink up the bottle of wine. From a glass of course. That way he couldn't be called an alcoholic. You're only an alcoholic if you drink it straight from the bottle.

"It's pretty good," he admitted as he finished off the last glass. "For wine. I never liked wine."

"Who likes wine?" asked Padmé.

"Obi-Wan. I think Satine turned him."

"Oh?" laughed Padmé. "Where does this theory come from?"

"Desperate times lead a man to take desperate measures," answered Anakin with a smirk, coming over to sit next to her.

There was a pause in which Padmé did not respond, and when she did, her voice was soft and quiet.

"How did you react? When the Council told you to marry me…"

Anakin said nothing for a moment, gazing at the fire on the hearth across the room. When at last he did, there was an emotion Padmé could not name in his voice. Sadness. Or perhaps the remembering of things he was not willing to remember.

"I got drunk," he answered in a soft voice. "I went out and lost in on tequila. Almost lost more than that, but… Obi-Wan got to me first. I'm glad he did." He paused, then took a deep breath and downed the glass of wine in his hand.

"What did he say to you?" whispered Padmé, reaching up to stroke a hand down Anakin's back, feeling the rippling muscles beneath his shirt.

"He reminded me of you. And your happiness. And how I could give you everything you want. I know I can't make you happy. But I'll try."

Padmé pulled herself up and wrapped her arms gently around Anakin's chest, leaning her head on his back as she did so. She could feel his heart beating, and every breath he took, she could feel underneath his skin.

"You already have," she whispered, then pulled herself onto her knees and reached for his shirt. He did not stop her as she slowly pulled it over his head, revealing those rippling muscles in all of their perfect glory. She rubbed her thumb over the scars which covered his back from duels and firefights, then kissed them, and kissed his shoulder blades, and up his neck. Anakin turned to her then, and she cupped his face in her hands as their lips met.

Padmé could feel a strange longing, a strange desperation, rising within her as she pressed herself closer to Anakin's body. She needed him; she yearned for him. She needed to feel him, all of him. For the first time in her life, she was ready for it. All of it. Whatever it might be, good or bad, she could take it. She wanted to.

The same need and desperation was rising within Anakin. He knew it was there; he couldn't really avoid it. The way Padmé clung to him, the way she pressed into his lips and held onto his body. It was starting to take him, and he wanted it to. He wanted to feel all of her, to know what she was like, to love and cherish her. He wanted to romance her, as he had never romanced anyone in his life. Love was not something he had experience in, but he knew what it was. It was what held the universe together, what made things work. He knew what love was.

Gently, he reached out and touched Padmé's waist, pulling her towards him. The curves, the flawless body of this woman. He could marvel at it all he wanted to in any other situation, but now, in this moment, he could feel it beneath his fingertips. It was his if he wanted it. And he wanted it. He wanted to know every part of it, to hold it, to claim it. This woman would make him come alive in ways he had never come alive before.

And then the pain. He could feel it within the Force. Padmé pulled away, biting her lip to avoid crying out as the pain in her abdomen returned. She only strengthened her grip on Anakin, though, and when he looked into her eyes, he could see her desperate need for him. In that moment, it didn't matter how much it would cause her pain. She needed it.

"No," he whispered. "Not now. You're not ready."

"Anakin, I need you," she breathed.

"I know," he whispered back. "But not now."

"No… Anakin…"

"Another time, my love. When you're stronger."

"No…"

"I promise." He reached down and tenderly kissed her, then pushed himself off the bed and went to the fresher. It was as much a need for him to calm down, as for him to get away from hurting her.

I almost lost it, he thought to himself as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He leaned against the counter and took a shaky breath. He knew deep down that doing anything would only hurt her, and he couldn't do that. He wasn't willing to risk anything. I can't loose it. I can't be the weak one.

And Padmé, where she was on the bed, for a moment felt only anger. And then she reached up and touched her injury, and knew that what he did was only done to take care of her. Still, the anger rose, and with it came all sorts of agreements. She wasn't good enough. She would never be good enough. She was weak. She wasn't supposed to show that sort of weakness, especially to a Jedi. She would not be the one to give in.

Anakin did not stay long in the fresher, and then he was back. He stoked the fire and put another log into the flames, then retired to the balcony for a time of meditation. Padmé prepared herself for bed, gritting her teeth against the pain, then slipped under the covers and closed her eyes, though sleep was far from sight. She could hear Anakin return a few minutes later, and felt him climb into bed beside her. He pulled the blankets a little higher on her shoulders, then an arm slipped around her waist under the covers, and without knowing what she was doing, she leaned back against him and allowed those arms to encircle her.

A moment later, she was asleep.