Sorry it took so long, everyone. Mid-terms ate me. I hope I still have readers ;).
And it's not mine.
Twenty-Two
My name is Khaleen Hentz.
Padmé stared blankly at the strange woman in front of her. "Is that a name I should know?" she asked, still suspicious. She had never heard of this woman before, and she was, admittedly, a bit dangerous-looking, with a blaster in a holster slung low on her hip, and the easy unconcern with which she wore those loose, revealing clothes. Still, Master Yoda stood calmly a few steps behind her, seemingly not worried in the least by her presence.
Khaleen seemed to lose a bit of her self-confidence at the cool retort, but her smile didn't waver. "I'd be surprised if you did," she admitted with an honest humility Padmé couldn't help but like.
"A friend to the Jedi, Khaleen Hentz has long been, Senator Amidala," Yoda put in from his place near the door.
Khaleen made a slight face. "Well, one Jedi in particular," she said, some strong emotion flickering in her eyes, and Padmé wondered what she meant. Her mind went back to Anakin, and Padmé wondered if perhaps she had more in common with this Khaleen than she'd first thought.
"What's going on?" she demanded. "Where's Shian? Why was the ship shaking?"
"There's no time for long explanations now," Khaleen said quickly. "Come on, Senator, I think we'd better get you up to the cockpit."
Padmé nodded, confused but willing to go along with what seemed to be the plan. "Help me up, then," she said, and Khaleen came forward at once to offer her a hand and the support of her arm. Padmé took it, wincing as she hauled herself to her feet with an effort and her weight fell once more on her aching ankles. This unwieldiness was not something she was going to miss when she finally gave birth, that was for sure. Her ankles were swollen and sore, and she felt like an overweight shaak. "Sorry," she said, but Khaleen just shook her head.
"No trouble at all," she said. "I know exactly how you're feeling." And she winked and smiled.
Padmé smiled uncertainly back, wondering if this Khaleen had recently been pregnant herself, for that was what her words seemed to imply. The young woman seemed about Padmé's own age, probably younger.
The ship shook again as Khaleen steadied her, and Padmé had to grasp tightly onto the other woman's arm to stay on her feet. "What's going on?" she demanded.
Master Yoda exchanged a glance with Khaleen that Padmé followed, not comprehending its meaning. "Go to the cockpit," eh said. "There, Healer Risto is. Deal with this I must." And then he was gone, hobbling out of the room far more quickly than Padmé would have thought him capable of if she had not seen him in battle.
"I guess we'd better get going ourselves, then," Khaleen said, and Padmé nodded. She followed as Khaleen started forward into the corridor. The other woman walked slowly and kept one hand out to steady Padmé as they went, and for that Padmé found herself very grateful as she hobbled along as slowly as Master Yoda, keeping one hand on the wall of the corridor for support. She watched Khaleen out of the corner of her eyes, noticing the way the other woman's gaze kept flicking to her and then away. Khaleen wanted to ask something, and she'd give in and ask it sooner or later. Padmé just had to wait for her to say it, and after a lifetime of politics she was good at that.
"They said the father is—was—is a Jedi?" Khaleen finally blurted about halfway down the corridor, the words tumbling all over themselves in their haste to leave her mouth. The ship trembled again, and Padmé caught herself with her hand on the wall.
"Yes," she said softly, and it felt strange and distant, unreal, to be actually admitting it. "He is. My husband," she added, feeling that statement could use a little more explanation. "Anakin Skywalker." She laid her hand against her distended belly absently as she said the words and thought she could feel the life growing beneath her hand, somehow. It brought her mind back to her husband. Oh, Ani, she thought. Be all right. Be safe.
Khaleen's eyes widened. "The Hero With No Fear?" she said.
Padmé nodded uncomfortably, but Khaleen just smiled. "Wow," she said. "Lucky you. About half the women in the galaxy would kill just to spend one night with him, you know." Her smile widened a little. "I have to know," she said. "One—is he as incredible as he looks, and two—boxers, briefs, or, well, option three?"
Padmé stared at her, feeling her cheeks heat. "I—" she sputtered. "Uh—um—what?"
Khaleen shrugged. "I have this bet going," she said. "Didn't think I'd ever be able to settle it, but hey, why pass up the chance? I—" she hesitated. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, Senator. I didn't mean to."
Suddenly, Padmé felt a wide grin settle across her features. She thought about how mortified Anakin would be if he knew she was having this conversation, and her smile grew even wider.
He never needed to find out, after all.
"Well," she said, "one—yes, even more incredible than he looks. And two—it depends."
Khaleen blinked, then grinned. "Depends on what?" she asked.
"On whether or not he's with me," Padmé said, feeling her smile turn a little naughty as she fought a blush.
Khaleen laughed out loud. "I have to admit, Senator," she said, "I never expected you to say anything like that."
The blush won out, then, and Padmé could feel it as her cheeks flushed. "I never expected me to say something like that, either," she admitted honestly.
Khaleen shook her head. "I like you, Senator," she said. "I have to admit I didn't expect you to be anything like this." She looked down. "I thought you'd be cold and arrogant," she admitted softly.
Padmé shook her head. "It's fine," she said. "It's fine. Right now I'm not a Senator at all. I'm just . . . I'm just Padmé." She didn't know if she'd ever be a Senator again, after what the Republic had become. What Palpatine had made it. What her own Anakin had made it.
"Well," Khaleen said. "I'm just Khaleen. Though I doubt anyone's ever doubted that." She reached out and steadied Padmé as she stumbled slightly. "We're almost there," she said. Padmé nodded gratefully.
The ship rocked once or twice more before they made their way into the cockpit. Padmé sank wearily into the nearest seat. She couldn't believe how tired she could be after such a short walk, but this near constant exhaustion was becoming near second nature to her these days. A sharp kick thumped against her, and she ran her hand over the spot. "Quiet," she said, thinking of the conversation she and Anakin had had shortly after he'd returned from the Outer Rim Sieges. What they'd name their child if it was a boy or a girl. "Quiet now, Luke. Leia. Everything's all right."
Shian looked up from her seat in the pilot's chair. "Padmé," she said, sounding relieved. "Good. Better if we're all in one place." She looked back at Khaleen. "You take the helm," she said, "and I'll co-pilot."
"Where's Korto?" Khaleen asked, worriedly. Korto? Padmé wondered.
Shian gestured behind them. "Threepio," she said.
"Yes, Mistress Risto?" he said immediately, and Padmé realized he'd been standing back near the doorway of the cockpit. He stepped forward, and she realized he was holding something awkwardly in his arms. A baby.
Korto, she thought, and suddenly everything she'd wondered about Khaleen made sense. "I'll take him," she said. Khaleen gave her a thankful glance as she started toward the pilot's chair and Shian got up to switch.
"Thank you . . . Padmé," she said.
Padmé shook her head. "It's my pleasure," she said.
"Oh, thank you, my lady," Threepio gushed as he clanked forward and offered the baby to her. Padmé took it carefully, cradling the warm little body in her arms. "I have no programming to understand infants. I was afraid I would damage it."
He continued on, blathering something about not being a nanny droid, but Padmé just shook her head. "Thanks, Threepio," she said. She settled the baby close against her, studying his olive skin and the little curling tufts of dark hair that covered his head, his round cheeks and perfect tiny fingers. "He's adorable," she breathed. "It is a he, right?"
Khaleen smiled absently as she took the controls. "He is," she said. "Thank you. He's the most beautifully perfect baby in the galaxy," she added with all the loving bias of a mother.
"He is," Padmé agreed, stroking her fingers down Korto's rounded little cheek. He felt so warm, so alive in her arms. He was sucking his thumb and kicked sleepily at the feel of her arms around him, burrowing his head against her. "He's perfect."
She brushed her fingers against his head. His tiny curls were soft and silky and curled around her thumb and forefinger.
Padmé felt a tight, aching warmth settle just beneath her collarbone, and her breath caught painfully in her throat. What would it be like, she wondered, to hold her own children in her arms, to know that these little lives had come from her and Anakin, had been the vital presences she had carried in her body for nearly nine months?
She could barely imagine it.
She refrained from asking who the father was, though the baby's smooth dark skin and twisty dark curls made her curious. He was such a silent child, she thought, as his huge dark eyes fluttered open and focused on her, and then he went back to concentrating on his thumb.
"We're not going to be able to keep this up for much longer," Shian suddenly said warningly. Padmé looked up from Korto to see Khaleen's face tighten and her flick a switch on the board.
"I know," she said. "I'm doing all I can."
"What's going on?" Padmé asked.
Shian shook her head in what looked like frustration. "We rescued Khaleen from an Republic cruiser that was blasting her ship into slag," she said quickly, "but now they're after us, and this thing isn't exactly designed for battle."
"It has weapons," Padmé said, all at once remembering the new features Captain Typho had installed, for her security, he'd said, and the entire day he'd spent drilling them in their use until she was ready to scream. Even when she'd complained to Anakin he hadn't backed her up, instead agreeing with Typho's point that she had to know how to use a starship's weapon systems for her own safety. She was glad now that the two of them had insisted.
Shian's head snapped up, hope flaring suddenly in her eyes. "Really?" she said. "Where? I looked, but I couldn't find any."
"Push the glowing blue square," Padmé said, wracking her brains for the directions Typho had given her. "It will ask for a password."
"Got it," Shian said. "What's the password?"
"Japor," Padmé said quietly, looking down at the baby in her arms again.
Shian didn't say anything, though, just quickly entered the letters. "Now what?" she asked. "Ah—a control panel's come up."
"That should be it," Padmé said, just in time to brace herself as another tremor shook the ship.
"I've got it," Shian said. "Firing—now! That should give them a surprise." She chuckled slightly. "I sure hope that Master Yoda hurries up with whatever he's doing back there."
"He'd better," Khaleen said grimly. "I'm not that great a pilot, and it'd be pretty kriffing ironic to come this far just to get blown to pieces now." Padmé could see the wedge shape of the giant Republic cruiser just edging into the starship's viewer and felt a chill go through her. How could it be that just weeks ago the shape of that ship would have meant safety and security to her and now made shivers travel up her spine?
The ship rocked once more, and her arms tightened around the baby, though she knew the warmth of her arms would do no good. If the ship was destroyed Korto would die along with the rest of them. If they were taken into custody, he would go too. This time Padmé could see the green bolts of light shooting across the black void to impact against the sides of her ship, splashing out over the high-grade shielding. The baby whimpered and she whispered soothingly to him, but the reassuring words did nothing to calm her. Her heart pounded too loudly in her ears, thumping, echoing in her chest. Padmé swallowed hard.
Shian fired the guns again and red bolts intersected with green. Padmé realized she was holding Korto so close he was squirming uncomfortably against her and had to loosen her arms with an effort.
She knew her shields couldn't hold for much longer. They were good, but not invincible, and the ship had been under fire for a long time. Padmé took a deep breath and refused to think about what would happen if they all died here, or if they were taken prisoner. There was no point to consider what might be, what could be, until it was there and staring them in the face. Instead she concentrated on the warmth of the baby in her arms, on his sweet, milky scent, and kept her breathing even.
There was another kick, hard, against her stomach, and she pressed her hand against the silky cloth that covered it the spot on her belly. Don't worry, Luke, she thought. Leia, everything will be fine. Because it would be. It had to be.
Her throat hurt. Shian's eyes were riveted on her controls, Khaleen's straining to see further into the battle out the viewer. Padmé couldn't tear her own gaze away from the shape of the cruiser moving ever closer in the viewport.
And then it stopped. Just stopped. No explanation for the sudden halt, just the ship remaining motionless in mid-air as if time itself had screeched to a stop. The green bolts sputtered and died away. "What the—" Khaleen said, and at the same time Shian added in wonder, "It's stopped."
No kriff, Padmé thought, and was surprised at herself. She took a deep, shaking breath.
"I'm getting us out of here," Khaleen said shakily. "This ship has taken enough of a beating as it is. Can you plot a microjump, Healer Risto?"
Shian shrugged. "Not really," she said. "I'm a doctor, not an astrogater."
"Then I'll do it," Khaleen said. "Can you take over piloting?"
Shian nodded. "That I can do," she said, and they switched seats once more.
"Just head away from the cruiser while it's still not doing anything," Khaleen said, her fingers already flying over the controls.
Shian laughed shakily. "No problem," she replied.
The ship shook and shuddered as they started away, and Padmé felt her stomach lurch, twisting painfully in on itself. Her breath caught, and she had to struggle to even it out.
"All right," Khaleen said. "I've got it. Hold on everyone, and fasten your restraints."
Padmé barely heard her. She could suddenly feel Anakin, like a wail of agony in her mind, throbbing and pounding through her veins. His heartbeat was hers, his harsh gasps for air her own. Padmé, came his voice, sobbing and desperate. Padmé, hold me. Hold me, please just hold me. So much pain, so much darkness, I need you. She cried out once; she could feel her throat constrict, her chest heave, the sound ripping at her lungs. Anakin, she thought. I'm here, Anakin, my love.
Darkness. So much darkness, pressing down on her, tearing her mind apart, searching through her memories and discarding them. But they weren't her memories, not any longer, they were Anakin's—sun and scorching hot sand shimmering with the light of twin suns and the dark vacuum of space and the way Obi-Wan's cloak smelled when he lent it to Anakin on long space voyages when he was always cold, like fine Alderaanian brandy and good plain soap and sweat, and the pattern of the wires that ran through Artoo's casings like veins. And the pain, the aching, awful pain, pain that tore at her insides and clawed at the fabric of her mind.
No, Anakin sobbed, no, just get away, get away from me! and somehow Padmé knew it was not she he spoke to, it was someone else, the other, the dark one, the one Anakin had promised his soul to, the one who owned some vital part of him now, the one who had given Vader life.
Anakin's scream echoed through her head, reverberating in her own heart, bursting from her own lips, just as she shared his pain, his desperation, torn into two parts, two pieces, and unable to reconcile one side of his mind with the other, his soul and his heart and his head.
And then there was only blackness, and she was falling into it, for Anakin had already fallen.
