Note from the Author

A long(er) chapter! Oh, the luxury! I couldn't wrangle DawnsJediWind for this one, but some of the ideas were from her. DJW, sorry, I didn't use the 'duck flambé' idea, but I came close. For everyone else, enjoy! And we are getting closer to... I don't know, I think this is pretty entertaining and exciting right now. :)

Be sure to comment!

{trinity6diversia}

Chapter Seventeen

The next morning, before Padmé was even awake, Anakin took the gondola skiff and slipped out onto the lake, heading for town. He forwent his daily meditation, because he was already plenty relaxed and the quiet trip to town would be a nice addition. They would be leaving Naboo the next day, back to civilized country, and the food at the lake retreat was running low. Padmé's parents hadn't taken into account the appetite of Anakin Skywalker.

Pulling up at the dock reserved for Padmé and her family, Anakin threw the lines to the port attendant, who secured them on the cleats. He didn't realize how strange he might look, a Jedi Knight, driving a gondola skiff like he'd been doing it his entire life. He wasn't all Jedi Knight; his clothes were different, and he'd forgone his lightsaber in favor of a small Nabooian blaster hidden away in his belt. But he was Anakin Skywalker, and that was hard for anyone to forget.

Jumping onto the dock, Anakin made for the open air market. The local farmers would bring their goods to the market, and it was the best place to get anything, from produce and meat, to seafood pulled up from the great lakes, all the way to fibers used to make clothes. The varieties were many, and the possibilities were endless.

Anakin could sense the paparazzi before he could see them. They were everywhere, and their eyes and lenses were directed at him. He could hear their thoughts. They wondered where Padmé was, and if the newlyweds had consummated their marriage, and some were already writing up whole articles about this one small sighting of the Hero With No Fear. Most of them, however, were wondering if Padmé was pregnant. That seemed to be the big question. A very few were certain she was, and Anakin knew by the time they flew into Coruscant airspace the next day, the tabloids would be screaming a lie.

And then the paparazzi were on him, cameras flashing as they fought to get a picture of him.

"Master Skywalker, how goes the honeymoon?"

"Are there any pregnancy announcements forthcoming?"

"Skywalker, what do you do to romance your wife?"

And that was when Anakin snapped.

"Get out of my way," he said, and his voice was like the growl of a feral beast. The bass level of his voice reverberated on those closest to him, and they stopped, stepping back. This… this wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Most didn't hear him, though, or heard him and ignored. Anakin Skywalker was the talk of the Republic, the center of the galaxy, the One. He wasn't a war hero, they told themselves. Those days were over. His fight was gone. But it wasn't. And they were fools to think themselves safe, just because this man didn't have his lightsaber. They had stepped into dangerous territory, and they didn't even care.

Anakin flexed his hands, hearing the metal workings of his mechno-arm bending dangerously at his side. Slowly, his fingers curled into fists, and as they did so, his connection with the Force grew to an overpowering level. Overpowering for others, that is; not for Anakin Skywalker. It gave him life, strength, a deadly power he told himself he could control. Most of the time.

With the sound of splintering metal and shattering glass, every camera lens within Anakin's perimeter was nothing more than crunched metal. They looked like tin cans smashed underfoot, and Anakin hadn't even raised a hand. The faces who held those cameras were frozen in shock, staring at the thousands of dollars of equipment that was nothing more than scrap metal. And then a blast hit all who were unfortunate enough to be in close proximity to Anakin, and they were thrown backwards with the force of a hundred tornados. They hit those standing behind them and kept going, smashing into walls, tables and speeders. A second later, Anakin stood alone in a circle of groaning bodies, broken cameras and glass.

"What happened here?!" demanded an officer of the law, running up to where Anakin stood, one hand on his blaster. When he saw who it was, his hand dropped away, but his expression remained.

"They'll get over it," said Anakin mildly, then handed the officer a pile of credits. "Sorry for the mess."

One of the paparazzo staggered upright as best he could in his condition, and reached for Anakin, his voice slurred. "Master Skywalker, is your wife pregnant?" Relentless! Anakin calmly kicked him in the face, then stepped over his groaning body and passed out of the disaster zone, like he didn't have a care in the world. He could feel an element of the Dark Side slipping through his veins, and he couldn't care less.

The market was a nice place to get his senses back, and Anakin finally started to feel a bit of remorse for what he'd done. His body relaxed, and for a while, he just walked the streets, not really looking, his mind in the meditation land he always went to when the pressure was too much. He went there a lot after battles, but he never thought he'd go there while walking the streets of a small Naboo town. It sickened him.

After a while, Anakin found himself in front of a meat counter, staring blindly at a pile of ducks, shot that day, and already plucked and gutted. He shook himself when the man at the counter asked if he wanted anything.

"I… uh… give me a minute."

It was less than a minute. Anakin discovered he was in the center of the market, far from where he had started, and after getting his bearings, he turned back to the man.

"I'll take one," he said. "Uh, no, make that two. Do dogs eat duck?"

"Mine do," answered the man. "It's all they can catch in the North Marshes."

"Let's do three," said Anakin, and as the man wrapped them up, he grabbed a pound of fresh bacon. He loved bacon. Too bad there wasn't anything good on Coruscant. He suddenly decided he didn't like city planets.

With the ducks and bacon in tow, Anakin browsed, picking things up as he saw fit, until he had a load of vegetables, herbs and spices, two loaves of bread and a bouquet of flowers. Padmé would undoubtedly hear about his conflict in town, and he wanted to ensure she didn't get too mad. As he made his way in the direction of the docks, Anakin saw a small tent on the edge of the market, and it intrigued him. Going in, he discovered the vender was selling, of all things, hot sauce.

"How is it on duck?" Anakin asked the only man in the tent, who was sprawled over a chair. He picked up a bottle of smoked viper habanero with white vodka. The viper habanero was the hottest pepper known to man; everything else would just kill you. The man raised an eyebrow and grinned.

"Not bad at all," he answered. "The vodka really does something for ya."

"I bet," said Anakin. "I'll take it."

"No charge," said the man. "My gift to you."

Anakin knew why, and gave the man a look that said he knew, before adding it to his vast supply of food and leaving the tent. The man laughed as he went out. Anakin could hear his thoughts, too. Poor bastard; he seemed like a nice fella, too.

You have no idea, thought Anakin to himself, grinning as he made for the docks.

Padmé was waiting for him when he arrived. She was laying on the couch in the sunroom, both dogs sprawled over her, absently watching the waves on the lake. She was dressed, but she hadn't pulled her hair up, and her feet were bare. She was in the utmost state of relaxation, and Anakin knew, if he had given her a few more minutes, she would have been contentedly asleep. Alas, no. As soon as he walked in, both dogs were on him, and the stillness was broken by happy yips and slobbery kisses.

"Where did you run off to?" asked Padmé, her eyes laughing at him as he disengaged himself from the dogs and went over to give her a tiny kiss.

"I'm making dinner," he said, grinning at her, and that was all he said. He didn't wait to be hounded by questions as he went into the kitchen and started unloading his loot. It didn't matter; Padmé was there a second later.

"Cooking? You?"

"Of course me."

"You can… cook?"

"Come on, Padmé. The bachelor life teaches you some things."

"But Obi-Wan…"

"Obi-Wan can't cook to save his life. Satine is a brave woman to endure him for it."

"That's… surprising. I thought Obi-Wan would be, I don't know, well endowed in the cuisine department."

"Not on your life," laughed Anakin. "But I, on the other hand, haven't killed anyone with my cooking."

"And Obi-Wan has?"

"Almost."

"Lucky you."

"Not me. I wouldn't touch it. Master Windu was the unfortunate victim."

"That explains why he hates you so much."

"Well, I was the smarter one when that happened. I used sanitation gloves and a breathing mask when I threw it away."

"Overkill."

"For that stuff? There was no such thing as overkill."

Padmé sauntered over to him and ran a hand down his torso, a seductive and almost devilish look on her face. She leaned upwards to his ear, but didn't kiss him.

"Surprise me," she whispered, and he could feel her hot breath on his ear. Then she pulled away and slipped out of the kitchen with a backwards glance at her young husband. He cringed. She was baiting him. He wondered if he should forgo dinner. No. He couldn't. Food was, well… dang it!

Dinner was on time, despite the late start. Anakin decided that extracurricular activities helped his cooking process, and didn't regret them one bit. It helped, too, that Padmé had invited her parents to dinner, so there were no more delays after the initial one. She and Jobal took the dogs on a walk along the beach, talking about things that were for female ears only. It must have been serious, too, because Padmé had her arms crossed the entire time, and Anakin knew it; he could see her out the window. He didn't pry with the Force, though; her thoughts were her own.

Ruwee had brought beer, and he joined Anakin in the kitchen, where the podrace was streaming live from Tatooine. Anakin had broken into the security filters just to access this single game, and Padmé wasn't necessarily pleased, but she approved it. He claimed it was important. So he and Ruwee sat in the kitchen, drinking beer and watching the podrace while the duck cooked. And then the women were back, and the food was out of the oven, and everyone sat down to eat.

Anakin's duck got tremendous reviews, and Padmé gave him a look from the other end of the table which told him that she was a believer in his culinary talents. He raised his fork and tipped his head to acknowledge her approval, all while Jobal was exclaiming over the vegetables. She told Padmé how lucky she was to have such a man, and told Anakin that, if ever he left the Jedi Order, he could come and be her personal chef.

"I would recommend Obi-Wan for that," said Anakin between mouthfuls.

"Anakin!" Padmé's exclamation brought his eyes, laughing, to meet hers, while her parents silently wondered what inside joke they had missed.

The dogs shared a whole duck, lightly cooked, and devoid of seasonings. It was a treat, to be sure. Anakin nearly ate an entire duck on his own, but not quite, and every piece of meat was covered in a thick layer of the smoked viper habanero with white vodka. It was amazing, as far as Anakin was concerned. Ruwee read the bottle and almost dropped it in his haste to gain distance. And after that, all three of them watched Anakin eat with a mix of horror and respect. He never even broke a sweat. And then the meal was over, and Padmé and Jobal hastened to clear the table.

"I heard some strange things from town today," said Ruwee, leaning back in his chair. "They say it was like a disaster zone, a meteor or something, took out half the town. Lots of people in the hospital, and they're all Republic reporters." He glanced quickly at Anakin, at the same time Padmé did, and for a second, Anakin acted like he hadn't heard, before looking up timidly, first at Padmé, then at her father.

"It wasn't half the town," he said casually. "It was like… a little section of the street. And there wasn't much damage."

"The officers on the scene acquired enough money to fix damages to the town," added Ruwee, glancing between Anakin and Padmé. Padmé still hadn't moved, the stunned look on her face still fresh.

"Stop that, Padmé," said Anakin after a minute. "That look is going to freeze to your face."

"Oh, that won't be the only thing frozen," she snapped, then stormed out of the room, leaving Anakin in a soon-to-be-very-familiar state of 'What did I do this time?'

"I wondered how long it would take you to snap," said Ruwee in a low voice after Padmé had left. "Those reporters are not in my good graces."

"I don't know why moral people think they can ask questions like that," said Anakin, looking down at his empty plate.

"You know why she's upset, don't you?" asked Ruwee after a minute. Anakin didn't move. "The Chancellor has to know about this by now, and the Council. You have very powerful friends who can very quickly turn to enemies. This can't go over very well. They'll ask you to tell them why, and put you on the defensive."

"And I'll tell them."

"Tell them what?"

"For my wife, yeah, I'd do just what I did, again and again and again."

Ruwee said nothing, and when Anakin looked up, he saw the man casually drinking his beer, like he didn't have a care in the world.

"You're not angry with me?"

"Why would I be angry with you, Skywalker? You just took out the paparazzi. Your paparazzi, as far as the Republic is concerned. You're like the son I never had."

"Well, technically…"

"Yes, you are." He smiled and raised his bottle. "Here's to fathers and sons."

And Anakin could take that toast.