Chapter Eleven
Fogged Glass
The lights of Galactic City burned ceaselessly, and winked at Commander Cody as a gunship carried him towards the heart of the capital. The tiny, flickering orbs of white and yellow seemed to taunt the clone – as if they knew he was standing on the vibroblade's edge. He scowled under his helmet and lifted his head as a distant rumble of thunder drifted above the steady thrum of traffic crosshatching the sky. Storms had blanketed Coruscant's atmosphere for nearly 24 hours, and the constant rhythm of rainfall, accompanied by flashes of lightning crackling the air like shards of black glass reminded Cody vividly of his campaign on Jabiim. The soaked, water-based planet had frustrated the Republic's efforts to overcome their opponents to no end with its nonstop torrents of rain. There had been many losses, as well – over nine thousand troopers, and ten of the Jedi's most promising Padawans.
Yet Anakin Skywalker had survived.
Irritated, Cody thrust that man's name from his mind, even though his orphaned lightsaber still hung from Cody's ammo belt. It seemed that he could not even lose himself in his memories without some mention of that young Jedi crossing his thoughts. So he began to mentally recite the facts that he had uncovered during the investigation into Senator Amidala's disappearance, as he had been doing for the past 43 minutes.
One: Senator Amidala's skiff was no longer on its designated landing pad.
Two: A small ship broke through the planet's picket line and made the jump to lightspeed.
Three: Skywalker's lightsaber had been recovered at the Senator's apartment.
Four: Amidala's blood was on the blanket found inside the apartment.
Five: There was no physical evidence of Master Kenobi's presence.
In Cody's opinion, none of those statements fit together very well at all.
Dozens of hypotheses could be drawn from that collection of facts, and nearly every one that Cody pondered was more unlikely than the next. There were simply too many questions – and the ones buzzing in his skull began with "why."
He knew that it wasn't his job to lay out all the pieces and attempt to put the puzzle together, but even though he was a clone, Cody was human enough to feel curiosity.
The gunship's engines changed in pitch, and Cody leaned out of the doorway as the dome of the Senate Complex loomed on the horizon. His pilot swung around to the southeast and touched down just outside the gargantuan columns of the Main Hall. Cody's white-booted feet hit the plush floor with a barely audible thump, and when he looked up, he was greeted by a pair of Imperial Guards. The red-robed sentinels were as silent as statues, holding their staff weapons against their left shoulders, flanking the long hallway to the Senatorial Offices.
Cody swallowed back his dread and his resentment over feeling such an absurd emotion, and marched between the guards, pulling off his helmet as his long strides carried him toward the Emperor. The whisper of fabric swirling across the floor echoed behind him, and Cody clenched his hand into a fist at his side. Did they think he would try and flee? He was an ARC trooper, and his duty was to obey Lord Sidious. He knew that as surely as he knew how to dismantle a DC-15 rifle or pilot a V-19 Torrent.
He fought down the urge to draw his blaster rifle and shoot both guards right between the eyes, and kept his eyes fixed on the golden light emanating from the far end of the hall.
At the entrance to Palpatine's private office stood a tall, blue-skinned Chagrian, with long, curved horns that gleamed bone-white. Mas Amedda glided forward in a midnight-colored robe and inclined his head briefly. "Commander Cody," the Vice Chair spoke with a deep, resonating voice, and then his gaze flicked sideways to the guards standing behind Cody. "You're dismissed. Return to your posts." Amedda gestured elegantly to the door, and Cody took a moment to gain his mental bearings before squaring his shoulders and walking into the room. He followed the long hall, decorated with crimson and gold, and passed a large gilded statue at the threshold to the Emperor's office.
The air in the circular room felt heavy, scented with a vague residue of ozone, and was charged with an aura of power. Cody kept his dark eyes fixed on the hooded figure seated behind an ornate desk, and halted, tapping his heels together as he saluted.
The chair slowly revolved, and a pair of gleaming yellow eyes pierced Cody's stare. "Ah, Commander." Palpatine's tone was officious as he steeped his long fingers together, his hands gnarled and laced with knotted blue veins, "Right on time – as always. What have you to report?"
"My Lord, upon my squadron's arrival to Senator Amidala's apartment, we found the bodies of Troop 43C. Our onsite medic theorized that the troopers were killed by psychological trauma. Autopsies are being conducted at 0200. We also found evidence that Senator Amidala's apartment is the source of the destruction that affected the city and its populace. And we also found this."
Cody unclipped the lightsaber from his belt and slowly held it out.
Silently, the Emperor lifted the silvery hilt from Cody's gloved hand and held it almost reverently, studying the weapon as if he held knowledge of lightsabers. "Anakin's blade," Palpatine murmured to himself, and then he placed the weapon on the desktop and said firmly, "Continue, Commander."
"During the interior sweep of the residence, my squad obtained some blood samples from a blanket that was discarded on the floor. We have since determined through lab testing that one sample came from Senator Amidala. The other has yet to be identified – but our initial scans indicate that it is from a human male. I ordered the lab to take a midichlorian count as well."
"Very good, Commander. I expect the blood to be Master Kenobi's, and a substantial midichlorian count will only solidify the actions I will take against that Jedi traitor." The Emperor leaned back, relaxing into the shadows of his chair, and asked mildly, "Have you determined their whereabouts?"
Cody swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. "I received a transmission one hour ago from the Star Destroyer Subjugator in orbit above the planet. Its Bridge Commander informed me that a small ship of unknown design breached the picket line and jumped into hyperspace before they could get a fix on its coordinates. We are working on probable destinations based on the ship's last known trajectory, but there are over a dozen possibilities."
Silence reigned.
When at last the Emperor spoke, each word was measured and deliberate. "Do you have evidence that this ship belonged to Senator Amidala?"
"The landing pad registered in her name has recently been vacated, My Lord. The only vehicle stationed on it was a small speeder for local travel."
Palpatine tapped a finger idly against his chin. "And only a Jedi would have the skill necessary to break through an Imperial blockade." His gaze sharpened. "How long ago did this breach occur?"
"Approximately fifteen hours ago, My Lord." Cody practically forced the words out of his mouth.
The Emperor merely blinked his reptilian eyes, and then rotated his chair to face the curved viewport. A quiet sigh filled the oppressive stillness. "Then they could be anywhere." Cody's fingers tightened involuntarily around the helmet tucked under his arm. "You disappoint me, Commander Cody," Palpatine's voice hinted of sadness and regret, like a parent about to punish a disobedient child. "And I don't disappoint easily. I anticipated that a soldier of your caliber would have little difficulty in locating a missing female Senator and a Jedi who has already managed to elude you twice in an effort to repair your tarnished military career." He paused, the sting of his rebuke festering in Cody's ears, and the clone commander lowered his gaze shamefully. "I am afraid that I have no choice but to –"
The Emperor broke off in mid-sentence, and Cody raised his head, staring at the back of Palpatine's chair.
"My Lord?"
There was no reply. Cody carefully edged sideways, watching for a glimpse of the Emperor's reflection in the transparisteel viewport. He caught a quick flash of yellow orbs widened in surprise and a wrinkled mouth twisted in a smirk of glee, and abruptly the chair spun around. Cody straightened at once, noticing that Palpatine's face was expressionless as he addressed him, firing off a question that was so far from Cody's mind that it took him a few seconds to answer.
"How many destinations have you calculated based on the ship's last coordinates?"
Cody stuttered, "About twelve, My Lord."
Palpatine reached for the keypad set into his desk and began typing characters in rapid succession. "Then you will dispatch twelve Star Destroyers to those destinations immediately, and give them these schematics for the ship they must locate." A small holo floated above the desk, displaying a sleek silver craft identified as a Naboo Star Skiff. "If more coordinates are projected, you will assign multiple locations to each Destroyer until Senator Amidala is found." The holo fizzled out as the Emperor handed Cody a tiny datachip, which he promptly deposited into his wrist communicator slot. "You will also find information that will be vital to your next mission, Commander."
Cody blinked, his mind still trying to catch up in this sudden turn of events. "My Lord?"
"Gather five of your best ARC troopers and journey to the planet of Naboo. You will maintain surveillance on the Naberrie family, as well as Theed Palace and several other locations of significance." The Emperor's voice contained a distinct note of triumph as he spoke, "If Senator Amidala feels that she is safe, it is likely that she will return home, especially given her…current circumstances."
He must have seen Cody's obvious confusion written on his face, for he waved a hand dismissively and said, "The files stored on the datachip will explain, Commander. You are dismissed."
"It will be done, My Lord." Cody saluted, and spun on heel towards the hallway.
"And, Commander…?" Palpatine waited until Cody turned around, and his eyes burned into the clone. "Don't disappoint me again."
"Yes, My Lord." Cody marched out of the office, his head spinning, oblivious to Mas Amedda as the Chagrian soundlessly moved past him and into Palpatine's presence.
The Vice Chair bowed with surprising grace given his size and asked, "What would you have me do, My Lord?"
"Issue an official arrest warrant for Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi with an award of 250 million credits. Send it out to all planets and colonies within the Empire, and send notices to the Hapes Cluster and the Hutts as well. Also, contact the local crime bosses and put out a bounty on Kenobi for three times the official reward amount – dead or alive."
Mas Amedda inclined his head in compliance. "And Senator Amidala?"
The Emperor reclined into the cushions of his chair, resting his elbows comfortably on its arms. "No arrest warrant for her – at least not yet. If the trap on Naboo is to succeed, she needs to be lulled into a false sense of security. And any chance that the child could be harmed during the arrest is intolerable." He pinned the large alien in place with fiercely blazing golden eyes. "That child is the key to ultimate power."
"Then the Senator has given birth?"
Palpatine nodded once, and then gestured indifferently. "Leave me." Mas Amedda bowed again, and left the room as silently as a shadow to carry out his Master's instructions.
Darth Sidious lowered the lights in the office and turned once again to gaze out of the viewport at the sprawling metropolis that was his to control. He had been fully prepared to torture Commander Cody for his failure, but as he had fueled the dark side with thoughts of retribution…the Force had exploded.
It was not like before, when Vader had died. This explosion was not so much a concentration of energy as it was an expulsion of energy. Like a newborn star when its core finally ignites to blaze for eons, this eruption of pure Force energy flung ripples into the universe that trembled the threads connecting all life. Sidious could hear echoes of millions of voices, and they were speaking – whispering in one tongue that made the stars themselves quiver – but the Sith Lord could not hear their words.
And with the Jedi gone and his most powerful apprentice slain, there was only one explanation.
Anakin Skywalker's heir had been born.
That child was to be Sidious' apprentice. And it must be found quickly – if it lingered too long in the solace of its mother's arms, her presence would shape the child's pliable mind and contradict the Sith teachings to which its life would be devoted to uphold.
Then again, perhaps simply killing Senator Amidala would be a waste of a valuable asset.
If she could be swayed to cooperate with Sidious and his plans for the Senate, he would grant her brief visits with the child instead of separating them forever. Besides, a lesson in attachment would have a very positive impact on the child's education when it was time for its final test of loyalty.
A test that its father would never have passed.
Vader's loyalty would have always been divided between his Master and his wife – and quite frankly, Sidious was relieved that he did not have to manipulate the delicate strings connecting those two lives anymore.
He had placed them together, it was true…but that had only been a step to taking advantage of a situation that had the possibility to reap succulent benefits.
And now that benefit was ripe for the plucking.
Sidious inhaled deeply, satisfied that he had devised a plan to keep events within his influence.
After Vader's death the Sith Lord had felt a brief moment of panic – an emotion he had not experienced in some time. But now…now the future was progressing to what he had foreseen. A galaxy ruled by the Sith. Ultimate power and authority. The final revenge against the Jedi.
Sidious chuckled darkly. A revenge that was dealt by the hand of their vaunted "Chosen One."
Had Anakin decided to remain in the light he would have grown into a considerable threat. Yet while his mind had been polluted with the fog of doubt that Sidious had so carefully pushed him into, the young man was hardly a problem. At the present, the Sith Lord had nothing to worry about. The mythical Chosen One that had been prophesized to bring balance to the Force was dead.
And Kenobi, Yoda, and any other Jedi vermin that may infest the Empire would never train the Skywalker child to become a Jedi.
Sidious would kill it first.
"All who obtain power are afraid to lose it."
His words to Anakin only a few days ago floated over the twinkling lights of Coruscant, and Sidious allowed a smile to curve his craggy lips.
I never lied to you, Anakin, he thought maliciously, the truth is far more damaging.
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Anakin Skywalker was living his dream.
He had always believed that happiness – true contentment – was a fickle creature, tempting a person to pursue one meaningless cause after another in an endless search for peace. When Padmé agreed to marry him, Anakin had thought that he would be content for the rest of his life, clinging to the simple knowledge that she was his. She had helped fill the hole that his mother's death had left in his heart, and her unwavering affection had caused his heart to grow larger – cultivating his relationship with Obi-Wan and slowly weeding out the seeds of cynicism springing up within his soul. And just when he felt as if his revived heart could grow no more, it made room for two precious infants.
Luke and Leia were managing to stay asleep for a couple of hours, and that was very good news for him and Padmé. Lack of sleep really didn't bother Anakin as much as he thought it would. Exhaustion had a way of sneaking up on him when his mind was so full of thoughts and feelings that he could hardly concentrate on anything else. He had drifted in and out all night, waking every hour or so to hand Padmé a baby squalling to be fed, or to just lie completely still and listen to their soft breathing.
Anakin shifted his weight slightly on an elbow, watching Padmé catch up on some desperately needed sleep. Blue eyes tenderly caressed her face as his fingers softly traced the tendrils of brown curls that had escaped the loose braid as she slept. The sensitive skin around her eyes was discolored and puffy from sleep depravation, but Anakin could have cared less as he stroked his thumb along her cheeks and forehead. She would always be the most beautiful woman in the galaxy – and he was sure that if angels truly did inhabit the moons of Iego, they would pale in comparison to Padmé.
He felt the early flickers of consciousness returning to her through their newfound bond, and his fingers continued to play gently along her silken skin, a smile lighting up his expression as she squinted up at him groggily. "Hi," he murmured in a warm tone just above a whisper.
"Hi." Padmé's voice was hoarse from disuse, and she swallowed, licking dry lips as she struggled to make her sleep-fogged brain function. Suddenly her young husband was eagerly leaning down for a kiss, and Padmé quickly cupped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, Ani," she groaned, the words muffled, "I have horrible morning breath."
Anakin merely shook his head and tenderly pried her hand from her mouth, his eyes smoldering as he whispered against her lips, "I don't care." His kiss made her feel so cherished, and his stubble tickled her cheek while he breathed into her ear, "You always taste sweet."
Padmé felt her face warm, and seeing the pleased smirk curving Anakin's mouth convinced her that he thoroughly enjoyed making her blush. She supposed that she should be used to those charming, candid remarks by now – but Anakin seemed to make it a personal goal to constantly surprise her.
Striving to bring the conversation back to neutral ground, Padmé commented mildly, "You're in an awfully good mood for a man living on two hours of sleep."
He shrugged, looking like a carefree child as he fell back onto the bed, tucking his cybernetic arm behind his head. "I can sleep when they're older," he said flippantly, staring at the ceiling. "Right now, I don't want to miss one minute with them." He rolled onto his side, blue eyes twinkling with mischief as he inched closer to Padmé. "Or with you, for that matter."
"Oh?" Padmé kept her expression politely blank as she carefully moved sideways, her abdomen still sore from the delivery, and raised an eyebrow. "And what do you think we could be doing besides sleeping?"
Anakin grinned, and rubbed their noses together, smoothing the stray curls from her face. "I have a pretty good idea…"
They lost themselves in each other, passionate echoes of their feelings flowing between them until it seemed as if they shared the same emotions, the same heart. Anakin felt a warm, soft curling sensation in his belly – which he could only define as complete contentment as Padmé filled his awareness.
There was no darkness lurking in the deep places of his spirit anymore. All of the cracks caused by anger and loneliness, despair and loss, had been filled in by his wife's essence. It was as if when they were separate, each of them was incomplete – only half a person. And now, by the will of the Force, they had been made whole. Together, they made one soul that was pure and unbroken, and one heart that seemed indestructible.
A high-pitched screech grated against Anakin's eardrums, and he growled indignantly as Padmé pulled away, her bright laughter triggering a reluctant grin from his lips. He stared at her with a lowered brow, his mouth pursed in an adorable pout, and Padmé remarked pointedly, "You're the one that said you didn't want to miss a minute." She batted her eyelashes at him, and squealed in surprise when his flesh hand unexpectedly snaked out and squeezed the back of her thigh. "Don't do that!" She yelped, smacking his hand away from the sensitive spot.
With a positively wicked smirk, Anakin slowly clambered from the bed, purposefully climbing over Padmé instead of moving to the opposite side of the mattress. His smirk widened as he watched her body tense, her dark eyes staring at him warily. "Don't you trust me, Padmé?" He asked, cobalt orbs twinkling with amusement, ignoring the impatient howls emanating from the crib behind him.
Padmé glowered, "Not when you tickle me." Laughter bubbled out of him, and he gave her a swift kiss before rising to his feet and stepping over to the crib. Padmé studied her husband's back thoughtfully as he bent and picked up an inconsolable Leia, cuddling her against his chest with infinite care.
He seemed…different to her.
It wasn't a bad different – on the contrary, Padmé vastly preferred this happy, light-hearted Anakin to the moody, compulsive one that had hovered around her the past few days. In all honesty, she could not remember a time when she had seen him behave this way – like he was freed from the crippling weight of destiny and war, and was able to just be Anakin – not the Jedi Knight or the Chosen One or the Hero With No Fear…just Anakin.
Padmé left her musings by the wayside as her husband settled on the bed beside her, bouncing their red-faced daughter in his arms as she screamed at the top of her lungs. She gradually propped herself up against the pillows and opened her arms, and in a few minutes Leia was tucked against her breast, eating with all the ferocity of a starving Wookiee.
"You have quite an appetite, Milady," Padmé teased her baby daughter, touching a fingertip to the end of Leia's nose. Leia had more immediate things on her mind, but she watched her mother with wide brown eyes, her tiny eyebrows waggling up and down as if she was deep in thought.
Anakin stretched out on the other side of the bed, and laid his tousled blonde head on Padmé's shoulder. Padmé rested her head against his, smiling gently as Leia's gaze traveled from one parent to the other with avid curiosity. "Does it hurt?" Anakin asked quietly, his voice hushed and rumbling in her ear.
"It's more uncomfortable than painful. I'll get used to it in a few days."
"Can you feed them both at once?"
Anakin heard the smile in her voice as she replied, "Even I'm not that talented." She shifted slightly, careful not to pull out of Leia's reach and continued, "We'll have to keep them on a schedule, and they'll learn to take turns very early in life."
"But what about you?" Anakin said, brushing his knuckle across Leia's small arm, "When do you get a break from all these around-the-clock feedings?"
Padmé's shoulder lifted slightly under his head. "I think I remember Sola saying once that Pooja stopped nursing at around six months, so I guess that's normal for –"
"Six months?"
"We have options, so I don't have to feed them all the time. It's not as bad as you think, Ani."
"But–"
"Anakin." Padmé deliberately dropped her shoulder so he would raise his head and look at her. She gazed deeply into his bright blue eyes and said with quiet, firm sincerity, "This is very important to me. My mother told me that there is a special bond between a mother and her newborn baby, and that when I have children, I should do everything within my power to strengthen that bond – no matter what sacrifices have to be made."
He was silent for a moment, searching her eyes – then he bit his lower lip and nodded. "If it's that important to you…" He added plaintively, "I just wish I could help you more."
He looked so forlorn; eyes downcast as he fidgeted beside her, idly plucking a stray thread on the blanket draped over her legs. Padmé felt her heart flip-flop with a surge of affection and empathy. Even when he wasn't gallivanting across the galaxy trying to save everyone, Anakin always wanted to feel useful – like he was needed. And while she could simply tell him that just being here with her and the twins fulfilled a great need in all of them…it wouldn't be enough to satisfy him. He wanted to matter – to leave a mark upon the surface of time that beings from all walks of life would remember.
Personally, Padmé thought that goal had already been achieved.
Studying the burnished gold locks atop her husband's lowered head, Padmé came to the realization that this time – it wasn't about him or fulfilling his need to be useful. He wanted to give of himself for her.
Her brown gaze widened as she stared at Anakin with new eyes. Even though she had no idea how she had reached this conclusion, she knew deep in her heart that it was true.
He was different.
Padmé gently tucked her newborn daughter into the crook of her arm, cradling her tiny form one-handed, and reached out towards Anakin. He sensed a muted flash of insight tingle across his link to Padmé, and quickly glanced down when her soft fingers traced the skin over his knuckles. "Ani."
Whenever she said his name like that – tender and sweet and bathed in her love for him – it was like a soothing balm soaking into his unruly emotions, and he immediately relaxed. He slowly rotated his wrist so her fingertips caressed the center of his palm, and his fingers curled reflexively around hers as she continued her gentle ministrations. "You're helping me just by being here."
Anakin kept his gaze fixed on their dancing fingers, feeling so vulnerable that he was afraid of losing his equilibrium within her endless dark eyes. In truth, her words were exactly what he wanted to hear – he just had such a hard time accepting them. He was more introspective than others gave him credit for, and he knew that his experiences as a slave and an outcast child Padawan had left him incredibly insecure.
Especially when it came to his wife.
His campaigns during the war had been measured by moments of intense combat and times of absolute silence. It was the silence that Anakin had dreaded most. While Obi-Wan had slept or meditated, Anakin's vivid imagination conjured up images of Padmé that seemed so real that his entire body tensed and blood thundered in his ears. And the fear he kept bottled up inside to shield his mind in the midst of the battlefield would trickle into his imaginings.
What if she had decided their marriage was a mistake? What if she had fallen in love with someone else in his absence? What if she thought he was dead?
The relentless questions had coated his mind like a thick syrup – until he could think of nothing else.
He felt as if he was going mad. If he could only touch her – taste her honeyed kisses and immerse himself in her velvety brown eyes and see the love he knew she felt for him gleaming like smoldering coals in their depths.
He recalled one sweltering evening on Malastare when the heat, coupled with his wild daydreams had driven him into a near-feral state. He stole away in the dead of night and piloted his fighter with reckless abandon to Naboo, which was less than two parsecs away. He remembered staring out at the shimmering blue-green jewel as the planet steadily consumed his fighter's viewport, silently ordering his wife to be there.
He set his star fighter down on a small stretch of sand near the lake – just large enough for the triangular vessel – and sped soundlessly towards the darkened villa that was Padmé's beloved retreat. Aided by the Force, he leapt onto the stone veranda, vaulting over the balustrade and parted the sheer curtains adorning the vine-covered entryway. A rumpled, empty bed was outlined by moonlight, and his nerves suddenly blazed with warning. He rolled sideways to avoid a trio of laser blasts, his lightsaber springing to life in his hand…and the blue-white glare washed over his wife's astonished face. "Ani?"
In one fluid motion Anakin deactivated his lightsaber and pulled the blaster from Padmé's grasp, tossing it aside with such force that its casing splintered against the far wall. He kissed her fiercely, relishing the feel of the silken skin on her upper arms as he gripped her tightly, and drew back to gaze into her shocked expression, feeling a kind of predatory satisfaction as she panted for breath.
He captured her cheekbones between his sweating palms and growled in a low voice, "I know you love me, Padmé. I don't ever want you to forget that." Then he swept her in his arms and carried her to the bed.
Anakin let the shadows of that strange night fade from his mind's eye and focused his thoughts back on the present. But that was what it all boiled down to – what he craved most from his relationship with Padmé. He wanted to know that she needed him. It had never been about feeling useful or making a name for himself among the figureheads of the Jedi Order or history itself. He wanted to know that she needed him in her life – that she felt about him the same way he felt about her.
She was his everything.
And while she would almost certainly deny it, Anakin knew that Padmé was strong enough to go on without him. She was a towering pinnacle of strength and resolve – and as much as it hurt him to acknowledge it, she would be able to survive if he perished.
But him…he would burn to ashes without her.
That obsessive, dominating man that had awoken inside him that night had been a precursor to Vader, and Anakin felt as if he no longer recognized that man anymore. But he would be a fool to try and pretend that those veils of darkness did not still darken the edges of his consciousness, seeking to taint the purity of Padmé's soul as it slowly mingled with his.
As if she sensed his turmoil – and she probably did – Padmé threaded her slim fingers through his larger ones and squeezed tenderly, and then she lifted their knitted fingers and brushed her lips over the back of his hand. He swallowed hard, and timidly peered through strands of tousled gold locks at her face. Padmé waited until Anakin's ice-blue orbs flickered up to meet her steadfast gaze, and then she held him captive as she spoke softly. "Ani…you know that I love you. And you know that I need you – I'll always need you – long after the twins have grown and started families of their own." She leaned closer and rested her forehead against his, and his shoulders rose in a shuddering breath. "You're half of what I am," Padmé continued in a quiet, reassuring voice. "If I am your soul…then you are my heart, beating life into my veins and filling my world with adventure and love." She gave him a gentle kiss, and watched his mouth tilt in its customary lopsided grin, although his blue eyes shone with gratitude and passion. Then she remarked playfully, "Besides, I'll need you to change plenty of diapers."
Anakin groaned loudly in mock-agony as she glanced down at the tiny baby nestled against her. "I think she's done. Could you take her, please?" Padmé slowly guided Leia's small body into her husband's arms and rearranged her white hospital gown for the sake of modesty, her head falling back against the pillows wearily. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep for at least a day, but her daughter's uncomfortable whimpering caused her to look over at Anakin.
He was staring down at the little squirming bundle whose entire head fit in his palm with abject terror. Raising wide, frightened eyes, Anakin asked pitifully, "What am I doing wrong?"
His wife's expression softened with compassion. "She needs to be burped – her tummy hurts."
If anything his eyes grew wider and more fearful. "I don't know how," Anakin blurted quickly.
"I'll show you." Padmé gestured for him to move closer, and she helped him reposition Leia against his chest so that her chin rested on his broad shoulder. "Make sure you support her head," she cautioned gently, arranging Anakin's flesh fingers around the nape of Leia's neck. "Now rub her back a little, and bounce up and down on the balls of your feet."
Anakin complied to her instructions at once, listening anxiously to his baby daughter's moans as he rubbed her back soothingly, using the lightest touch possible with metallic digits. Then Leia emitted a raucous belch. He glanced at the tiny infant in shock, and felt Padmé's amusement sparkle through their bond just before peals of her cheerful giggles filled up the room. He laughed as well, marveling again at how events had turned in his favor and granted him the simple pleasure of learning how to care for newborn babies.
Still chuckling quietly, Anakin craned his neck and gazed into the crib to check on Luke. Their little boy was sound asleep, one tiny hand poking out of his blankets, and Anakin's eyebrows rose in amazement.
He had been certain that Leia's loud bawling would wake her twin – as well as the entire MedCenter.
Yet Luke slumbered peacefully – and his father, remembering Padmé's suggestion about a feeding schedule, struggled to recall when Luke had last eaten. "Padmé," he asked while shifting Leia in his arms, smiling lovingly as her tiny eyelids drifted closed, "Do you remember the last time you fed Luke?" He placed Leia back in the crib, straightening her blankets, and gently tucked Luke's hand into the warmth of his covers. Anakin gazed down at them for a moment, his heart swelling with love and fatherly pride as their little stars lay side by side in their crib, so close together that their foreheads nearly touched. He pulled his attention away from the twins with effort, and glanced over his shoulder at his wife, who had not yet answered his question. "Padmé?"
She was fast asleep.
Anakin grinned and shook his head good-naturedly, tiptoeing to her bedside. Padmé's lips were parted slightly, air whistling in and out as she breathed deeply, oblivious to the rest of the world.
Anakin fondly brushed a loose curl from her temple, and whispered in the gentle, warm tone he only used with her, "Sweet dreams, my angel. I love you." He leaned down and pressed a kiss on her brow, and then he moved the twins' crib nearer to her slumbering form so she could have easier access to them if they awoke before he came back. With a deep-seated sense of resolve driving him into motion, Anakin slipped on a pair of thin hospital shoes and paused for an instant at the doorway. He listened to their soft breathing, affixing the images of their sleeping faces firmly into his mind's eye, and then swiftly left the room.
He had committed the layout of the MedCenter to memory, and so Anakin walked with purpose towards Administrator Tuun's office. The Polis Massan looked up from his desk as the young man entered, and said with surprise, "Anakin! I am pleased to see you. How are the Senator and your twins?"
Anakin pondered briefly the reason why Tuun had suddenly started addressing him by his first name, but decided not to dwell on it as he settled into a chair across from the Administrator. After all he had done for Padmé, Anakin was determined to cast aside his lingering discomfort in regards to the Polis Massan's physical appearance. And besides, he genuinely liked Maneeli Tuun. He smiled and replied happily, "They're all doing very well. They're sleeping right now."
"I trust that you have gotten some rest, as well?" Ever the physician, Tuun's liquid-black eyes studied Anakin's face – though bright and full of joy, there were telltale signs of fatigue in the shadowed hollows surrounding the young Jedi's piercing blue eyes.
"As much as I can with two newborn babies," Anakin said flippantly, a lopsided smirk curving his mouth. "Actually, I came to see you because they're sleeping." Anakin's grin faded and a wash of determination firmed his expression. "I want to have the surgery to replace my arm."
Tuun nodded in satisfaction and came to his feet. "All has been prepared. We were ready shortly before your twins were born, so I have kept the surgical team on standby." He waited until Anakin stood and then put an arm around his shoulders, leading him towards the door. "You understand that the operation will be lengthy and painful?"
"I've endured worse," Anakin remarked in a note of his old bravado, but his stomach soured as flashes of his initial surgery filled his thoughts.
"It will be blessing for you and your family, my friend." Tuun guided Anakin into a large operating room filled with intense white light and several med droids, as well as three or four Polis Massans. He sat down on a high-backed, padded chair in the center of the room, and a med droid positioned his cybernetic arm on a white platform beside him. A Polis Massan, shorter and more lithe than the Administrator – perhaps a female – brought over a hovering silver tray covered with an assortment of medical and mechanical tools, along with…
Anakin stared in awe at the new artificial arm. It looked so real – like it had been cloned from his genetic material. The only detail that gave it away was the tangle of multicolored wires dangling from the far end.
"Are you ready, Anakin?" Tuun asked. A med droid floated over, holding a compact drill with a long, narrow bit. It clicked on, and the noise set Anakin's teeth on edge.
He closed his eyes, summoning an image of Padmé's perfect face lighting up with surprise and delight behind the darkness of his eyelids, and the twins' smiles as he tickled their small bodies. As those beautiful visions filled his head, Anakin blocked out the high-pitched whine of the drill and nodded once.
"I'm ready."
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Mist.
It blanketed the rich, dark soil and flowed like water over gnarled tree roots fleeced with thick green moss.
The trees were colossal monoliths rising from the vapor, their branches stretching out like black fingers against a lead-colored sky. Vines filled the spaces between these organic giants, creating designs as intricate as a spider's web as they draped from the all-encompassing branches suspended above.
The soles of his boots sank into the moist dirt, tendrils of white mist swirling around his legs as he followed the short, hunched figure ahead of him. The mist concealed the figure's appearance, but he glimpsed the shadow of a pointed ear and heard soft, coughing laughter. The figure led him through unseen paths, winding around broad trunks covered by spongy yellow lichen and flat-topped fungi – until the trees parted before a small clearing. In the midst of the clearing was an ancient tree, its knotted roots twisted around hunks of granite, through which there was a shadowed opening webbed with moss and vines.
A cave.
The mist gathered around the ebony tree as if drawn to it, and cold seeped into the air, stilling the faint breeze that had whistled through the tangled branches. The cave loomed before him, growing larger even though he made no move towards it, and a hard ball of ice filled the pit of his stomach.
"Afraid, are you?"
Yoda.
The landscape dissolved, melting into the spherical Jedi Council Chamber, bathed in golden-orange light, its occupants gray silhouettes that shimmered in and out of focus. A small boy stood rigidly straight in the center of the room, his fists clenched tight at his sides.
"I'm not afraid."
Nine year-old Anakin Skywalker's blue eyes blazed with fierce determination as he faced the Council, fighting to prove himself worthy of becoming a Jedi.
A watercolor wash of gray transformed the scene once more, and the mouth of the cave appeared blacker, more sinister, as the colorless mist coiled around the tree's sharply jutting branches. The ice began to leach into his bloodstream, his heart pounding dully against his ribcage.
"I'm not afraid."
Anakin – now the voice of a battle-hardened man, each syllable ringing with unyielding conviction.
"See through you, I can."
The harsh, ululating cry of a winged creature pierced the tense silence as it soared overhead, and he saw a pair of burning sapphire orbs narrow dangerously.
"Much fear you still have, young Skywalker. Clouds your path, it does."
Anakin's tone was saturated in pure frustration. "What would you have me do? I can't push it down like I used to anymore. Why are we wasting our time going over a lesson I've already learned?"
The thump of a walking stick striking the ground preceded Yoda's stern rebuke. "No patience have you!
This lesson, learned you have? Feh! To push down your fear, pretend it does not exist – no wisdom there is in this. Unlearn you must, everything you know."
A quiet sigh floated over the chill mists, and he watched a tall, broad-shouldered man drop to one knee before the eldest Jedi Master. "Broken, you have become, Anakin. Mourn this, you should not – for only by being broken…become whole, you can." A pale green, three-fingered hand came to rest on the young man's bowed head. "Then, find your greatest strength, you will." There was the briefest pause – a small inhalation of breath.
"Chosen One."
Anakin's head snapped up, startled shock covering his face, and waves of the emotion rippled outwards, distorting the vision as a thrown rock alters the glass-smooth surface of a pond. The mist wrapped around him like a cocoon, and filled his view with white…all was white…
Obi-Wan slowly allowed his eyelids to drift open, using every second before he regained full consciousness to preserve fragments of his dream in his memory. Yet he knew that it was more than a mere dream – it had been too vivid, too detailed to have been spun from his own imagination. Scattered pieces of what he had seen floated along the surface of his thoughts like leaves across the water. He reached out to grasp some as they faded away into nothingness, but he could not catch them in time. So he stared blankly at his appointed room's nondescript white ceiling, mulling over what he could recall.
Yoda…and Anakin, in the roles of teacher and student.
That in and of itself was an event that had not taken place in over ten years, since Anakin had left the Temple to roam the galaxy as Obi-Wan's Padawan.
It was the last thing Obi-Wan would have expected from the ancient Jedi Master when face-to-face with a traitor. Then again, even he had no idea what to do or how to behave in the aftermath of Anakin's abrupt change of heart.
The location of the dream was disturbing as well, to say the least. A wild, swamp-like planet teeming with life was hardly threatening to any Jedi – but Obi-Wan was certain of what he had felt. It had saturated the atmosphere, wafted among the mist, and originated from the black cave in the center of the marsh.
The dark side.
If indeed his dream was a vision of a possible future…why in the world would Yoda and Anakin journey to a planet that was bathed in the black taint of the dark side? Or perhaps it was simply a dream manifested by Obi-Wan's longing to speak to the old Master and his desire to reach some sort of common ground in his relationship with Anakin. He had yet to test his earlier dream – the one that had left him with a single distinct impression. A child with Anakin's eyes.
Obi-Wan did not know what he would do if that seemingly insignificant prophecy proved true, for it would open the door to infinite possibilities – none of which that he cared to explore.
The present had enough problems.
Anakin's wounded, tear-stained face swam into view, superimposed over the drab ceiling. The image was accompanied by Padmé's shocked, pale features and Obi-Wan looked aside, regret aching inside his heart. Although Anakin had increased the bruising on his ribs during their brawl in the conference room, the Jedi Master understood that he had inflicted injuries far deeper on both his old friend and his wife. He had no right to judge them simply on the basis of what he had been taught – even if Anakin had sworn to uphold the exact same teachings that he had knowingly broken. Obi-Wan had seen the results of their relationship with his own eyes. A newborn pair of Force Sensitive twins in a universe devoid of hope, and a bond that had joined their souls as one. And the ache in his heart transformed into a hot stab of guilt.
He knew why he had said those awful things, and he was ashamed of his own pettiness.
There was an ancient Jedi proverb stating that revenge was like finely aged wine – once a sip has been taken, the taste will entice for more…until the mind is consumed.
Seeing Anakin's jubilation over his brief glimpse of his unborn children, and the tenderness he displayed so openly with his wife had punctured a hole in the barricade Obi-Wan had constructed around his negative feelings. Trickles of anger enlivened images of lifeless bodies strewn throughout columned halls. Drops of grief birthed memories of the Temple's security hologram recording – and a face he knew better than his own fluctuated between raw fury and youthful joy, one expression masking the other every time he blinked. He had tried to cast it aside, focusing his attention on explaining how he had communicated with one of the twins through the Force. He thought it had worked. When he had sensed the unconditional love emanating from Padmé for a man that had proven himself capable of treachery, murder, and other unspeakable crimes…the barricade shattered.
It was not fair.
Anakin was a traitor, a killer, a shadow that existed outside the influence of the Force – and he was being given all that he wanted. An extraordinary woman who loved him, two cherished offspring, and the opportunity to live his life as a free man – beyond the control of the Jedi Council, Palpatine, or any other master he may have been dedicated to serve.
Where was the justice in that?
The harsh words escaped his mouth in a wave of helpless rage – towards Anakin, but mostly towards himself. He had failed as a teacher to guide the Chosen One in the path of the Jedi. He had failed as a friend to confront Anakin when he had seen hints of the young man's inner conflict. He had failed Qui-Gon… whom he had loved as a father. He wanted something, anything to blame other than himself.
So he had taken aim at the only thing that would hurt Anakin the most.
Obi-Wan gingerly rolled onto his side and glanced at the chronometer imbedded on the surface of the small table by his bedside. He had slept undisturbed through a standard eight-hour night cycle, yet he still felt weary. Realizing that he would gain no more rest until he tried to make amends with Padmé and Anakin, Obi-Wan rose slowly from the bed, stretching his overexerted muscles as much as he dared. He briefly considered sitting on the floor to attempt a meditation trance, but he did not think his injured leg would handle the strain. And his mind was so cluttered with unresolved issues that the Jedi Master could concentrate on little else.
He trudged into the small, serviceable refresher unit for a much-needed vaporbath. The hot water soothed Obi-Wan's aches and removed the lingering particles of dust that had stubbornly clung to his sand-colored hair and beard. The unit dried him with a blast of warm air, and he dressed in a fresh set of white medical clothes, folding the pant leg above his cast so that the fabric did not hinder his movements. As he left the refresher, the cool air filling the MedCenter sent a shiver across his cleansed skin, and he grabbed the loose-fitting robe that had been placed over the foot of his bed. Knotting the belt snugly around his waist, Obi-Wan pulled on his pair of hospital shoes and then reached under his pillow.
He rolled his lightsaber hilt in his palm, blue-grey eyes glistening with a far-off expression. He could not approach the young couple as General Kenobi, the Negotiator, Jedi Master and Council member – but as Obi-Wan, their friend. Carrying a lightsaber naturally made him stand taller and speak with more authority, and he knew that any conversation he initiated while in that frame of mind would not go well at all. The Jedi Master honestly wished that he would be able to speak to Padmé alone; if he knew Anakin – and he most certainly did – his old Padawan would never allow Obi-Wan to approach his wife without his supervision. And that would prevent him from asking the Senator some very personal questions. If Obi-Wan wanted to unravel the tangled threads of fate encircling the Skywalker family, he needed to understand just how deep and how strong their bond had grown. And then perhaps the sense of failure would be alleviated from his soul.
He stuffed his lightsaber under the mattress, inhaled a deep, slow breath, and came to his feet. Shuffling to the door with all the careful movements of an old man, Obi-Wan made his way into the hallway, glancing around to get his bearings. As soon as he determined the appropriate direction, the Jedi Master headed towards the Maternity ward, glad that his injured leg provided some additional time to reach his intended destination. Perhaps by then he would have formed a suitable apology – and banished the remaining traces of bitterness staining his feelings towards Anakin.
------------
Dark brown eyes fluttered open slowly as Padmé savored the feeling of absolute bliss that had cocooned her since the twins' birth. Her body was still recuperating – adjusting to the demands of being Luke and Leia's source of nourishment, and her abdominal muscles were tremendously sore, yet neither of those complaints dimmed the peaceful smile curving her lips. She moved her shoulders a bit, relieving the slight pain in her neck from falling asleep while sitting upright, and her hand instinctively slid sideways to touch Anakin's warm skin. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion when her fingertips brushed only rumpled bedclothes, and she blinked to clear her blurry vision, gazing around the room for his familiar shape.
It was then that she noticed the twins' crib had been pushed closer to her bedside, and Padmé relaxed against the pillows with a small grin. She had been waiting for the moment when Anakin would tire of the monotony of handing her a wailing infant and watching her care for them as only she could. Her impetuous vine tiger had stared keenly the first time she had nursed, as if he had never seen anything more amazing in his entire life. Constant questions bubbled out of him, and Padmé answered him as best she could, and she knew that he was absorbing every word. Anakin had always been a fast learner, especially when he devoted himself completely to a particular task, and she was certain that in a few days his parenting skills would probably surpass her own.
But keeping Anakin in a single room for hours without anything to stimulate his adventuresome nature was like trying to contain the sun within a glass jar. Sooner or later that brilliance would explode – and when he was like that, nothing held his attention for very long. Except her.
Whether it was speeder races, space battles, or Temple sparring…he always came back to her.
So it was without worry that Padmé cautiously wriggled her body to the edge of the bed and swung her legs over the side, untangling her limbs from the blankets. Wincing slightly as her stomach throbbed from the motion, she pushed herself to her feet, keeping a palm on the mattress as she tested her balance. Soft, wordless mumbles rose from the crib and Padmé, confident that her physical strength was returning, padded forward on bare feet. Leia was asleep, her tiny rosebud mouth pursed as if she was dreaming about her next meal – but Luke's eyes opened as his mother's face appeared above the crib, almost as if he had been waiting for her. Tiny legs kicked out through layers of blankets, and Luke's whole body practically squirmed with excitement, his little mumbles steadily increasing.
Padmé smiled in pure delight and bent down, ignoring the stab of pain as she cuddled her firstborn son in her arms. Luke's small form fit perfectly in the curve of her shoulder, and he pressed his face into the softness above her collarbone…exactly like his father. Her eyes slid closed as the love she felt for the precious little star resting against her body overwhelmed her heart with its sweet intensity. She kissed the top of Luke's small head and caressed him with gentle fingers. And a song flowed from her heart as a childhood lullaby arose inside her memory. She started humming softly, rocking back and forth, and then she began to sing.
A star fell down from the heavens, and landed in my arms…
She thought she could hear her mother's rich alto harmonize with her own voice, and her eyes welled with hot tears, a lump clogging her throat. How badly she wanted to share her happiness with her parents, her sister… She felt fulfilled with Anakin and Luke and Leia in her life, and it was what Jobal Naberrie had always wished for her youngest daughter. Padmé swallowed hard and finished her song in a husky, tremulous tone, using it like a benediction. One day, she silently promised, one day her family would live without fear of separation or condemnation, and she would be able to communicate her soul's joy to the ones she loved.
The tiny noises Luke had been emitting into her shoulder quieted, and Padmé carefully relocated his delicate frame to settle in the crook of her arm, thinking that he had fallen asleep. Instead, the not-quite-one-day-old infant was looking up at her with vivid indigo orbs too underdeveloped to focus – yet Padmé felt as if that blueness was peering with astonishing clarity into the deepest part of her being. She chuckled under her breath at the sudden rush of nervousness that was surely caused by her overactive imagination, and brushed her fingertips over Luke's small hand. The miniature digits immediately wrapped around her index finger, but those blue eyes continued to study her with serious intensity.
And then she remembered what Ani had said about touching them with the Force, and how they responded every time he was near.
But Anakin was a Jedi, and highly sensitive to the Force – or at least he had been. She had no such connection, but…the twins had lived inside of her for nearly seven months. Maybe, just maybe, they had learned how to sense her mood as Ani did – simply by using their innate talent.
Padmé glanced down at Luke, nestled contentedly in her embrace as he nibbled on her finger, still watching her attentively. Curiosity tugged on her mind, and Padmé turned slightly to gaze over at her youngest child, lying quietly in the crib.
Wide brown eyes blinked up at her, reflecting the same uncanny awareness as the gaze of the infant cradled against her chest.
"All right, you two," the new mother murmured good-naturedly, "That's enough staring." Padmé gently placed her son in the crib beside his twin sister and rearranged their blankets, pushing her melancholy thoughts about her family on Naboo into the far recesses of her mind. She smiled at each of them reassuringly – as she did with Anakin whenever he worried that something was troubling her. "I'm fine."
Humming lightly, Padmé stroked their soft, round cheeks and the wisps of hair on their foreheads, and in a matter of moments her little stars were appeased.
A dim, even-toned beep filled the room, and Padmé looked over a shoulder at the closed door.
She moved away from the twins and approached the entryway, wondering who was on the other side. Anakin would just come in – it was his right. Perhaps Administrator Tuun would have the discreet civility to ring before entering, but the med droids had no compunctions. One came inside every few hours to deliver a tray of food, check the twins' vitals and her own, and then leave. So she studied the door with indecision, debating whether or not to remain silent and see if her visitor would leave. But Padmé was a diplomat to the core, and she could not in good conscience ignore anyone who requested an audience.
Unsure of how to operate the door controls, Padmé slipped a lightweight robe around her slender frame and called out, "Come in."
Obi-Wan paused just inside the threshold, a faint suggestion of insecurity filling his slate-colored irises as he asked quietly, "May I come in?"
Surprise caused Padmé's eyebrows to arch high on her forehead, and she gave him a short, graceful nod. As the Jedi Master walked in, the door sliding shut behind him, Padmé was acutely reminded of the last time Obi-Wan had arrived at her doorstep, asking – no, pleading with her to divulge Anakin's whereabouts…so that his former mentor could kill him.
The same apologetic stance was clearly visible to her in Obi-Wan's dropped shoulders, and the way he focused intently on her face told her that he was trying to discern her emotions through the Force.
Padmé allowed the unreadable mask of a politician to disguise her features, though the sharp, jagged pain that this man whom she regarded as a dear friend had dealt her through his angry words resurfaced in her heart. She placed herself between Obi-Wan and her tiny treasures, struggling to cage the unexpected surge of ire rising like a red tide over her rationale.
Obi-Wan observed a strange contradiction of emotions within Anakin's wife with muted amazement. Padmé's delicate features seemed carved from ice, and her body language was tense and protective as she blocked his view of the twins' crib. Yet it was her eyes that struck him the most.
Instead of the level, glacial stare the Jedi Master was accustomed to witnessing – Padmé's dark eyes blazed with a searing ferocity that was uncharacteristic of the normally collected Senator.
Obi-Wan had heard that having a child turns a woman into a tigress – but he realized that it was far more than that to affect Padmé so strongly.
And he plainly saw Anakin glaring out of the young woman's eyes.
It was a credit to Padmé's inherent self-possession that she managed to inquire civilly, "What do you want?" She took a deep breath and added, "Master Kenobi."
Obi-Wan tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe, as though the white garment were his Jedi uniform, and replied, "I wished to offer my congratulations to you and your husband." He inclined his head briefly, and then glanced around the room with mild interest. "Is Anakin here?"
He was deliberately avoiding the issue that had compelled him to enter this increasingly awkward conversation, and both he and Padmé knew it.
Padmé bit the inside of her cheek to stifle an abusive verbal retort. She refused to tolerate the cryptic, veiled answers that all Jedi seemed educated to give any longer. She was sick to death of politics – of the endless games of manipulation and deceit, using one issue to cloud another, and never truly saying what one meant.
She would not do it anymore.
Her chin rose defiantly, and the regal posture of her slender frame transformed her drab hospital attire into royal robes of state. "I think you have said enough to him."
Her words hung suspended in the silence that followed, and the temperature in the room fell, chilling the moisture in the air.
Obi-Wan winced, looking away. "Padmé, I am deeply so–"
Her glare seemed to catch fire. Jabbing a finger in his direction, Padmé cried out angrily, "Do not apologize to me!" Obi-Wan's mouth snapped shut as the twins were startled awake by their mother's raised voice. Luke began fussing and Leia let out a piercing screech. Padmé spun around quickly, the Jedi Master instantly forgotten as she comforted her babies. "Shh, it's all right…" She laid a palm on each infant's stomach and rubbed soothingly, leaning in close and brushing her full lips on their cheeks. Their sweet, milky scent slowed her rapidly pounding heart and quenched the flames of her building temper.
Padmé hovered over them as their cries faded into the occasional whimper, Leia's tiny hand touching her chin, and she closed her eyes. What is the matter with me? She rarely allowed herself to lose control, especially after her marriage to Anakin. He needed her to react to situations in a manner that he seemed incapable of demonstrating – cool, levelheaded and practical – the perfect compliment to his impulsive, hot-tempered and stubborn behavior. The way she had responded to Obi-Wan just now was exactly what Anakin would have done, and she felt oddly consoled and frightened at the same time. It was as if their inexplicable experience in the birthing room and her growth as a mother was changing her – body, soul, even her personality, and Padmé wondered if the woman she was becoming was whom she was always meant to be, and the other – the other was just pretense.
She straightened, gazing down at the little stars, who had quieted but were staring up at her with large, inquisitive eyes. She slowly turned, keeping one hand inside the crib, and met Obi-Wan's steady gaze. His blue-grey orbs wordlessly told her that he understood, and Padmé knew that before she accepted his apology, she had the Jedi Master's full attention. She intended to make good use of it.
"Do not apologize to me," Padmé began again in a low, controlled voice. "Not until you hear what I have to say." Her thickly lashed brown eyes blinked at him from across the room, full of previously hidden pain, and Obi-Wan encouraged her to continue with a slight nod.
"I love him."
It was the most profound truth of her entire existence – and it was the only way to begin, although Obi-Wan surely knew already. The simple knowledge that she was Anakin Skywalker's wife had sustained her throughout the war, helping her combat the intense loneliness that came with each twilight and bolstering her sanity whenever she perused the casualty reports in Senate meetings. But it had burned inside of her for so long – a secret so powerful it could destroy both their lives – that saying those three small words caused a chill to sweep across her skin, raising the fine hairs on her forearms. Then her eyes, focused on Obi-Wan's ponderous gaze, grew distant as she fell into musings of the past.
"When he asked to marry me, I considered refusing – though it would shatter his heart and mine – because I knew how special he is…not only to me, but to the galaxy. I didn't want to be his reason to surrender his dreams, his potential for greatness. But if I said no…he would plunge headfirst into battle with no care for his own life, and history would still be deprived of his brilliance in a gradually darkening universe." Her faraway stare hardened briefly. "I was not trapped in this relationship. I chose it. I chose it because he chose me above all his oaths, his duty and sense of honor, even his life's ambition…to be his best friend, his counselor, his lover, his conscience – but most importantly to be his hope. He had lost so much in a matter of days – he was on the brink of mental and emotional breakdown. So I said yes."
Padmé then became silent, her gaze lowering towards the tiny fluttering movements that Luke and Leia's miniscule fingers were creating against her hand. But Obi-Wan knew that she was not finished.
He was not completely certain that he understood the reason driving Padmé to communicate these personal facets of her relationship with Anakin, but he did realize that it had nothing to do with him. She was not confessing a mistake, defending an action, or seeking validation.
She only wanted someone to know the story.
While her attention was drawn by her children, Obi-Wan hobbled over to a nearby chair and settled into the floating piece of furniture, his injured leg throbbing painfully from prolonged use of supporting his weight. He timidly stretched out with the Force in the lingering silence and examined the twins with a brush of perception. Each newborn continued to blaze with untamed sensitivity, yet he observed with a small amount of surprise that both infants were centering their instinctual awareness on Padmé – more so than what he had seen after their birth. Whatever preexisting connection there had been between mother and children, it was steadily growing, beyond the natural bond of a parent and offspring. Through the Force, the twins seemed to be learning how to interpret their mother's mood – and they were not even a day old.
Padmé released a quiet breath, and Obi-Wan abandoned his suppositions as she continued her emotive monologue. "We both knew how difficult our relationship would become, but the first six months were easier than I expected. We saw each other as often as we could, and I think both of us used our work to keep from dwelling on our next meeting. I threw myself into the Senate, and HoloNet reports told me that he was doing the same thing with every battle that summoned him. But he traveled farther and farther away along the Outer Rim, and what used to be a few weeks turned into a month, then two… I felt half-alive almost all the time, and putting on the brave mask to hide what I was feeling left me drained. I felt like the only person in the universe – and people constantly surrounded me. I wanted to share with someone what I was feeling…but no one could ever know – especially not my husband. I could tell that he felt it, too – like the spark of life was slowly being siphoned from my spirit until there was nothing left but an empty shell – and if I told him, he would not hesitate to desert his obligations and end my agony. So I became very good at pretending – though I would lie awake every night, terrified that I was ruining his life because his highest commitment was to me and not the Jedi Order."
Obi-Wan bowed his head, a swell of guilt ripping through his body. He was beginning to understand the full impact his irate, thoughtless words had caused to this incredibly strong, courageous woman to whom the Chosen One had entrusted his heart.
"The last five months were the most unbearable of my life." Padmé's loose braid slipped over her shoulder, and the glossy chestnut tail contrasted sharply with her white robe. "He sent me holo messages whenever he found a spare minute or two, but they were few and far between, and seeing his face – so sad and so hardened by all he had endured – it hurt more than not seeing him at all. Rumors circulated daily that he had been seriously wounded or killed, and I prayed that he would send me some kind of sign that he was still alive. And then a med droid confirmed my suspicions. I was pregnant. I think that was the hardest thing of all – knowing that our lives were changing in the most significant manner, and he was completely unaware. He would not be there through the horrible bouts of morning sickness, or watching my body transform, or putting his hand on my stomach to feel the very first kick." A tear escaped from beneath her lowered eyelashes, but her voice was utterly calm as she spoke quietly, "Maybe our lives would have been less complicated if we were not together. But I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that my life would not be better. In spite of all that I have had to bear during this marriage – I would never give it up. Anakin has been the truest, most genuine and beautiful thing in my life, and the greatest gifts I have ever been given is him…and these two." Brown eyes rose to meet Obi-Wan's unwavering stare, and he saw the unconquerable spark of Padmé's resolve igniting flecks of shimmering gold in her dark irises. "If you think that I have made him vulnerable, then you are wrong, Obi-Wan. What you said in the conference room hurt…but it does not change how I feel about the choices I have made, and I know that Anakin would tell you the same thing. I cannot regret the decision that has given my life meaning."
Quiet descended upon the room's occupants, but the air was no longer stagnant with tension and animosity – although Padmé continued to hold Obi-Wan's gaze with all the insightful authority of a former Queen. He was the first to look away – eyes flicking downwards to his hands, which were clasped loosely in his lap. When he raised his eyes, the blue-grey orbs were devoid of the pity and sadness Padmé had seen on the eve of her darkest day…nor was there any sign of the vengeful sharpness that had brewed like a storm within the confines of the conference room.
Instead she saw something that she had not seen in Obi-Wan's friendly gaze in a long time.
There was contrition, and kindness, and a warmth that permeated his stare – and then Padmé realized that she was not seeing the presence of a recurring emotion…but the absence. The hollow, deadened glaze that had clouded the Jedi Master's eyes for months – perhaps the duration of the war – was gone.
"Padmé," Obi-Wan said in a low voice, "I deeply regret what I said to you and Anakin in the conference room yesterday. My words were cruel…and thoughtless. I did not mean them – but that is no excuse, nor do I offer one. What I do offer is my sincerest apologies. I am sorry, Padmé, for the pain that I have caused you." He released a short breath, as if speaking those words had relieved an immense burden on his heart, and then resumed. "I do know that in my idiotic tirade," the ghost of a smile barely lifted the corner of his mouth, "I did speak one truth: you make him happy, Padmé. And for that, I am thankful. Anakin…" He broke off, swallowing back the burning sting of inexplicable tears in his throat. "Anakin is a good friend, and he means a great deal to me – maybe more than he should." Padmé's dark eyes flooded with compassion, but Obi-Wan waved a hand nonchalantly and continued in a more controlled voice, "I want you to know that whether or not I receive forgiveness from you or Anakin, I will do everything within my power to protect your family from the Emperor. We each have a destiny – and that is mine."
Padmé contemplated the apparent sincerity in his statement as she glanced down at her little stars, absorbing the innocence radiating from their tiny faces. She could not hold Obi-Wan's words against him – carrying a grudge would be a direct contradiction of her upbringing, and even though Ani would never admit it, the Skywalker family needed all the help it could get. Yet it was so much more than that.
This was the man that had, for all intents and purposes, raised her husband. Anakin was a good man, but not all of his virtues were bred into him. They had to be learned, and encouraged – and she knew that Obi-Wan was the source of those teachings.
Whatever had happened in the Temple must have broken his heart.
She slowly freed her fingers from the twins' tangled blankets and approached the Jedi Master. He stood immediately – out of respect or in preparation for dismissal, she did not know – and Padmé gently reached out and took his hands in a gracious, companionable manner. "I forgive you, Obi-Wan," she said simply.
The faint worrying lines on his brow visibly diminished before her eyes, and he offered her a small, grateful smile. "Anakin thinks of you as a father, and a brother – that makes you my brother, as well. But I hope you understand that Anakin's forgiveness will not come from me. Both of you have things to work out together, and I cannot become involved." One cultured eyebrow rose teasingly. "Unless you plan on giving me your lightsaber again."
They shared an easy laugh, and Padmé rose on tiptoe to kiss Obi-Wan's bearded cheek. She began stepping away, pulling lightly on his hand as she said earnestly, "Come meet our twins."
Obi-Wan consented to her gentle nudging, the enthusiastic happiness and pride glittering in Padmé's brown eyes and within her essence awakening his curiosity in regards to Anakin's children. He peered over her shoulder as they approached, a nest of soft blankets visible above the edge of the crib –
His hand jerked suddenly, and grew stiff as the Jedi Master came to an abrupt halt. Padmé turned sideways, glancing at their clasped hands in puzzlement. "Obi-Wan?" Her gaze drifted up to his face – and she felt her stomach plummet as stark terror briefly coated his features before melting into a tense, worried expression. "What is it?" She asked apprehensively.
Obi-Wan dimly heard Padmé's voice, but he was too disturbed by what he had sensed to immediately reply. The Force had been quiet for some time – Obi-Wan realized that it was due to his still-limited range and the fact that there were significantly less Force users in the galaxy – but he had been monitoring its ebbs and flows as best he could. And then, like the receding water on the shore that signaled the imminent tidal wave…the Force told him that an arrival was fast approaching. An arrival powerful enough to trigger ripples of warning in his consciousness.
Slender fingers wrapped around his limp hand and squeezed tightly, begging for attention. Obi-Wan's eyes slowly focused on Padmé's concerned face as she repeated, "What is it?"
His tone was low and full of foreboding, "We are no longer alone here." While Padmé was still processing these words, Obi-Wan pulled out of her grasp and clutched her upper arms, bending close as he murmured with rigid urgency, "Where is Anakin?"
"I–I'm not sure," Padmé stammered, her eyes wide and frightened. "He left while we were sleeping. I don't know how long he's been gone."
Obi-Wan's taut stare softened briefly. "Don't worry for him, Padmé – I will make sure he finds his way here as soon as possible. But for now, you must stay in this room until I come for you. Does the door have a locking mechanism?" She nodded quickly. "Set it once I leave, and do not open it for anyone except Anakin or myself." He released her arms and headed for the doorway, moving as rapidly as his injured leg would allow. As he reached the threshold, the door slid open.
"Master Kenobi," the silvery med droid greeted, "I'm to escort you to the Port Control Tower at once. Please follow me." Obi-Wan shuffled into the hall, hearing the echo of quick footsteps behind him, and turned to look at Padmé. Just as the door sealed, he promised quietly, "It will be all right."
Her anxious face vanished behind the closed portal, and Obi-Wan chased his escort down a long hallway to a turbolift stationed at the far end. He entered the lift, noticing momentarily that it was enclosed within a transparisteel tube located outside of the main complex, allowing for a breathtaking view of the asteroid belt as they ascended to the Tower. However, the view was lost on Obi-Wan as his unease intensified with each passing minute. If the Empire had indeed discovered their whereabouts, then there was no time to lose.
The ideal scenario would be for them to sneak out of the system through the belt…but where they would go afterwards was a complete mystery. Polis Massa was one of the few safe havens remaining for a Jedi fugitive, and Obi-Wan had no intention of leaving Anakin and his family alone. As far as he knew, he was their only ally in an increasingly hostile universe. Indeed, of the five members of their runaway group, Anakin would be the easiest to hide.
Palpatine and the rest of the galaxy thought he was dead.
The turbolift slowed to a stop, the momentum causing Obi-Wan's body to shift, and the doors slid aside to reveal an oblong room full of computer panels and holographic displays of the system. A large viewscreen on the right side was spread across the entire wall, and was currently showing the outer rim of the asteroid belt. A small, squat Polis Massan awaited him just inside, and gave Obi-Wan a respectful bow. "Master Kenobi, I am the Polis Massa Flight Controller. Please, enter."
Obi-Wan exited the turbolift, stepping into the technologically strewn area, and his med droid guide departed back to the lower levels.
Soft green light emanating from the panels bathed the entire room in a monochromatic glow, and the Flight Controller motioned him over to a station right in front of the viewscreen. The Polis Massan sat down and began pressing various buttons as he spoke. "Our visitor has not yet reverted from hyperspace; we detected their ion emissions approximately 5 microcycles ago and the Administrator deemed that caution would be the best course of action. I have been monitoring the exit point for their arrival – but so far they have not appeared."
Obi-Wan leaned over the Flight Controller's shoulder, searching the screens for any hint of what to expect. "Can you determine from the ion emissions what type of ship it may be?"
"Not to a precise calculation, but it is clear that the ship is larger than a standard light freighter. It could be a small cargo vessel, a passenger carrier, or a military cruiser. I really cannot narrow it down."
A flash of white suddenly caught Obi-Wan eye, and he looked swiftly up at the viewscreen. "Well," he said in an oddly calm voice, "we're about to find out. They're here."
------------
"Nerve endings have been successfully assimilated with synthetic interface."
The phrase barely registered in Anakin's pain-fogged brain. He sensed movement around him, and the muscles in his right arm tensed involuntarily, bracing for yet another torturous test of his endurance.
When it did not come, he struggled to open blurry, swollen eyes and a gentle hand touched his shoulder.
"Would you like something to drink, Anakin?" He managed to nod his head, though the motion caused his skull to throb, and the rim of a glass pressed against his lower lip. He opened his mouth obediently, gulping down the ice-cold liquid that soothed his raw throat, and fell back into his seat with exhaustion. "The surgery is complete, Anakin," Administrator Tuun was speaking again, and he blinked up at the Polis Massan groggily. "We will now test your reflexes."
He felt a quick, sharp jab against his right palm, and Anakin jumped at the sensation, shouting, "Ow!" His eyes snapped open as he finally realized that what he was feeling was originating from an arm that had not truly experienced any sensation in over four years. He stared down at the flesh-colored limb in absolute amazement, watching the metallic needle hovering above.
The jab moved to his index finger, then his remaining fingers in succession, and a voice instructed, "Make a fist, please." Anakin complied, marveling at the enclosed fingers and the white light shining dully on the thumbnail. "Open." He did so, and followed a few more required movements until the voice announced, "Reflex test is complete." Anakin slowly lifted his arm from the sterile surface and looked at it from every angle possible, rotating his shoulder and bending his elbow as the gleam overhead caught flashes of blonde hairs on his skin. Timidly, he placed his left palm on the forearm and remarked in fascination, "It's…warm."
"Indeed. It is the most advanced technology available." Tuun explained with quiet seriousness, "The unit is outfitted with a dual power supply that draws energy directly from your body – just like your other limbs. It also has a heat coil which warms the surface, and I am sure you have already noticed that its sensors far surpass those of your cybernetic arm." Anakin nodded mutely, running his fingers through his tousled locks in his habitual manner, marveling at the feel of his own hair.
A long finger touched the area just under his elbow, and Anakin glanced sideways. A thin band of gleaming silver encircled his arm, and the Administrator continued, "The seam between your new arm and the original is less noticeable – but not invisible. This will allow for routine maintenance and for any…personal modifications." There was a hint of amusement in Tuun's voice, and Anakin felt his mouth tilt in a lopsided smirk. "But now…may I suggest that you return to your room and get some rest."
Administrator Tuun helped the young man to his feet, remaining motionless when Anakin gripped his arm tightly as the room spun crazily. It only lasted for a few seconds, and then Anakin straightened, releasing Tuun's arm and inhaling a deep, slow breath. His blue eyes flickered in the Administrator's direction, and Tuun asked gently, "Can you find your way back?"
Anakin nodded, but did not break eye contact. He regarded the Polis Massan in silence for a handful of heartbeats, and then murmured in a low, fervent voice, "Thank you." Administrator Tuun inclined his head, watching the famous Jedi exit the operating room as he stared at his new arm. A chime echoed from the panel on the opposite wall, and Tuun strode over to the display.
Anakin tottered down the hallway, his awe over his gift fighting against nearly overwhelming exhaustion as he continued on with no real sense of where he was going. The surgery had been excruciating – more so than when he had first received a replacement arm – but he had to admit that it was worth it.
He could hardly wait to see the expression on Padmé's face, or to feel the satin softness of her cheek under his fingertips, and see Luke's tiny hand curl around his finger, and stroke Leia's feathery tresses…
He had done all these things before with his other hand – but one who had never lost a limb was incapable of understanding how it felt to constantly remind oneself with which hand to caress the woman you loved, or being afraid that your heavy, metallic fingers would hurt the fragile bodies of your newborn children.
Now that heart-wrenching burden was a thing of the past, just like his nightmares.
"Anakin!"
He spun around to face the Administrator, who was calling out to him frantically as he jogged quickly towards him. "What is it?"
"Our Flight Control Tower has detected the ion emissions of a ship entering the system."
All of the oxygen seemed to abandon his lungs.
Anakin inquired hoarsely, "Are you expecting any cargo vessels?" It was a naïve hope – but he had to try.
Tuun shook his head. "Our primary cargo vessel is not due for fifteen standard days."
Black orbs met blue for an instant, and an unspoken strategy passed between them. The Administrator headed down the rightmost hallway as Anakin broke into a sprint, the powerful muscles in his legs that had been primed during the war pushing his body at an unbelievable speed towards the small room that housed his infinitely precious family. His heartbeat provided the rhythm for his stride, and his newly constructed right palm itched for the hilt of his lightsaber. He reached into his tunic for a small communicator to contact Artoo and have the astromech scour the skiff for his weapon – but realized a moment later that the device was in his Jedi uniform, and therefore impossible to use. And the Force had left him.
He slowed just noticeably, his heart lurching into his throat.
He was helpless. He could not protect his family, and Padmé trusted him to do that.
He shook himself from the harsh tug of despair and increased his stride. If he had to throw himself unarmed in front of a clone trooper firing squad in order to save his loved ones…he would.
The door to their room loomed in front of him, and he skidded to a halt, slamming his palm against the cool metal. But it would not open. He tried again, waiting for the portal to lift so that he could cradle his wife in his arms and shield their babies from whatever threat that dared approach – but nothing happened. Without a second thought, Anakin yanked on the door's control panel and pulled out a knot of multicolored wires, hacking into the computer system with preternatural skill. In less than five minutes the door slid aside, and he abandoned the ruined control panel and raced inside. "Padmé?"
The bed was empty – the covers folded neatly aside, as they were whenever Padmé arose every morning – and a fleeting glance at the crib told him that the twins were missing, as well. He darted wildly around the room, dread saturating his mind as adrenaline pumped into his veins. "Padmé!" He called desperately.
"Ani."
A door set into the wall near the far corner opened – Anakin had not even noticed it until now – and revealed a small storage closet. On the floor, nestled in a pile of blankets, his wife sat cross-legged, her back against the shelves, with two tiny infants resting on each leg.
Anakin ran over in one massive leap. Falling to his knees, sweat pouring from his brow, he enfolded Padmé in his arms, breathing in the scent of her skin. She laid her head briefly against his golden hair, and he kept one arm locked around her shoulders as the other touched each twin's forehead. She could feel him trembling, and she carefully coiled an arm around his lean waist, tenderly pulling him closer. Hot breath warmed her earlobe as he whispered huskily, "I was so afraid. I thought I lost –" He could not bring himself to finish. Quivering lips kissed her cheek, trailed along her jaw, and paused above her collarbone. He did not move for some minutes – comforting himself with her familiar form and the soft whispers of love that passed soundlessly through their bond, calming his fiercely pounding heart. A tremor passed through his long frame, and Padmé felt the taut muscles on his back loosen as he drew away from her shoulder. Flashing blue eyes latched onto her face and refused to let go, and Padmé's free hand departed from the twins to brush tousled curls from Anakin's forehead. She leaned forward and pressed a feather-light kiss on his temple, and watched the turbulence swirling within his gaze begin to wane.
Keeping their arms wrapped around each other, Anakin shifted his body to sit beside her and Padmé made as much room as she could in such a cramped space, jostling the sleeping twins on her lap. She looked down swiftly – but other than Leia's soft moan and Luke's turning head the twins remained asleep.
Once her husband had settled at her side, he asked in a low voice just above a whisper, "What are we doing in a closet?"
She giggled in spite of herself. She suspected that he already knew the answer, but Anakin liked to use his wry sense of humor to lighten the mood of any precarious situation. So she countered mock-seriously, "I was showing the twins the view from in here – this is quality craftsmanship for a closet, after all." It pleased her when Anakin chuckled briefly under his breath, and his left palm reached out to cup Leia's tiny head, his thumb caressing her plump cheek.
"Did the Administrator tell you about the ship entering the system?" He said solemnly.
Padmé stilled for a moment, compressing her lips together tightly as she mentally assembled a reply that would not cause his short fuse to burn. "No, the Administrator did not tell me…Obi-Wan did."
Anakin stiffened, and she continued hurriedly, "He came to apologize for what he said yesterday, and as we were talking he must have sensed something in the Force. He said, 'We are no longer alone here' – and then he told me to lock the door and stay here until he returned. He also told me that he would make sure you found your way back here. Have you seen him?"
"No." The negative response came out as a deep growl. "Administrator Tuun informed me of what was happening and I came back here as soon as I could."
He felt Padmé's curiosity stir in the back of his mind as she asked, "Where were you anyway?"
"Around."
Padmé was used to his noncommittal phrases, so she let it pass – although he saw her mouth curve into a fleeting, secretive smile, and a flicker of muted amusement traveled along their bond. She was reflecting on his routine stints of "flights of fancy", as she called them – and he felt no desire to correct her at this time…though he decided to give her a hint.
A playful smirk lit up his expression as Padmé turned her attention on their twins, and his right arm slid from her shoulders to reach down and take her hand, intertwining their fingers. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze – but did not notice anything different. Anakin stifled a gleeful snort of laughter.
She glanced sidelong at him, and he relaxed his features, inwardly wondering what level of his emotions could she sense through their strengthening connection.
Her dark eyes grew somber, and she said, "What are we going to do?"
"We'll stay here and wait for the all-clear." He made no mention of his former Master, and if Padmé noticed she did not comment. "It's most likely a smuggling vessel or an unscheduled delivery."
"And if it's not?"
Her tone was carefully neutral, but the subtle undercurrent of fear was obvious to Anakin.
He turned to look at her, holding her gaze firmly with his own, and stated, "There's an alternate route to the hangar bay through the exam room. We'll head there and blast out of the system through the asteroid belt." He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, the blue of his eyes softening – yet harboring a steely indigo that communicated his determination. "I'll keep you safe, Padmé, and the twins. I promise."
He was still distressed by his inability to use the Force, but he worked to broadcast a confidence that portrayed a diluted version of his usual cocky demeanor.
He never wanted to give Padmé a reason to doubt him.
Luke chose that moment to awaken – his squeaky cry distinctly opposite of Leia's piercing shrieks, and Padmé unbuttoned the top of her gown, humming to soothe the anxious newborn. Once Luke had quieted, Anakin heard a beautiful melody floating in the air like a warm breeze, sung in a soft, pure voice – and realized with a jolt that it was coming from his wife. She was singing to his son, even though minute shivers of fear skittered across her psyche, and Luke stared up at her with utter dependency and devotion – emotions that his father understood all too well. Two pairs of bright blue eyes studied Padmé keenly until she finished her lullaby, and then Anakin laid his chin on her shoulder, Luke's gaze shifting to his face. "I've never heard you sing before," he remarked with wonder, rearranging his body so that he sat behind her, his broad chest pressing against her back. Two long legs stretched out on either side of her, and a pair of strong arms joined hers as she cradled their firstborn to her breast.
A contented sigh escaped from Padmé, and she leaned into his warmth trustingly. "Can you sing, Ani?"
He nuzzled into her neck, locks of his burnished gold hair tickling her throat, and replied, "My mother used to say that anyone can sing. Sing well? Now that's another story." He thought a moment as Padmé's body shook slightly with laughter. "I do remember one song that she would sing to me…but I can't remember all of the words." He sobered as memories of Shmi Skywalker's smiling face hovering above his bed filled his vision, and he fervently wished that he could recall something as trivial as the lyrics to a childhood lullaby – so that his children would know a tiny piece of their grandmother.
The dark, curly head resting on his chest turned sideways, and Padmé eased his mind with a tender kiss in the hollow beneath his earlobe. "I could teach you mine," she suggested affectionately.
His mouth tipped in a lopsided grin. "Would you sing it again?" He closed his eyes as she began, focusing on the feelings emanating from her that accompanied every musical passage, using it as his center to commit the lullaby to memory. Unconsciously, his right hand slipped over Padmé's and offered his index finger to Luke's tiny hands, which promptly grasped it. The sight of that small hand wrapped partially around his finger – a digit that looked and felt like flesh and blood – affected Anakin profoundly.
A lump swelled in his throat, but he countered the nearly overwhelming emotion by making soft clucking noises at his son, waggling his finger back and forth.
That was when Padmé halted in mid-note.
Anakin looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and saw her wide brown eyes staring incredulously at his arm. "Ani…?" Disbelief and giddiness brightened her pronunciation of his name, "Your arm…"
He smiled into the silken skin of her neck, and gently wriggled his finger out of Luke's weakening grip as the newborn grew drowsy. Using the lightest touch of his fingertips, Anakin traced a line over Padmé's knuckles and up her arm, renewed wonder surging through him as he felt every tiny hair that rose under his caress. When he brushed the backs of his fingers across the nape of her neck, causing her to shiver, he was suddenly reminded of the first time he had touched her intimately with a flesh right hand.
He would never forget it.
In that timeless instant Anakin was transported to a sun-dappled terrace overlooking a mirror-smooth lake, speaking nonsensically about his dislike of sand while fighting the urge to stroke the creamy expanse of Padmé's bare skin. And almost unconsciously, as he was babbling on about "soft and smooth", he felt silken warmth beneath his fingers and stared in a mixture of shock and joy at his hand against her forearm as it was resting comfortably on the stone balustrade. His breath escaped him in a rush when she did not withdraw or tell him to remember his place, and the desire for more overruled decorum as he bit his lower lip and trailed the backs of his fingers along the soft skin on her back.
She turned to look at him, dark velvety eyes searching his expression. He sensed her timidity, her fear of a potentially lethal relationship, and her nervous anticipation for something he had wanted so desperately to do for nearly ten years. He tried to ease her with a quirky half-smile, but then her gaze dropped to his mouth and he was hopelessly lost in a wave of intense need. He had never kissed a woman before; physical signs of affection were generally discouraged by the Jedi Order, and the only one he had ever wanted to kiss was one that he had lamented he would never see again. He lowered his head hesitantly as Padmé lifted her chin, and their lips met – and a bolt of electricity shot through his body, igniting every nerve he possessed. He leaned closer, deepening the kiss as he pressed his mouth more firmly against hers, and the slight friction he sensed when she responded only served to spur him on.
And he knew that despite all of the brush-offs, the icy stares, and the diligent compulsion of duty and responsibility that drove her through life…she had wanted him to kiss her.
She wanted him.
It had been a defining moment in his short life. Even though she had not admitted it until much later – Anakin had known in the depths of his being that they were meant to be together. And more than four years later, here they were – husband and wife, with two little stars sharing their genes who were their gifts to one another and a tangible symbol of their love.
His fingers floated down her back, following the woven pattern of her braid, and with a slight tug, Anakin loosened Padmé's thick curls so that they spilled around her slim shoulders. He laid his right palm on the glossy tresses reverently, and Padmé turned her head to peer at him askance. Her brown eyes glowed like embers, and his palm slid from her hair to caress her blushing cheek. "Do you like it?" Anakin asked with a huge smirk brightening his handsome face. Her only response was the unwavering luminous gaze and the soft kiss she gave his thumb as it passed over her lips, prompting a shudder to race through him.
Her attention shifted to the infant in her arms, and Luke's tiny eyelids were closed in sleep.
Padmé fastened her gown and transferred her son to her lap beside his sister. They looked so small, so utterly helpless from where they huddled together against her knees – what would that sadistic monster who called himself Emperor do to them if they were captured?
A red-hot stab of terror scalded her heart as that horrible thought took root in her mind. She knew what Palpatine would do to her precious babies…he would turn them into creatures of the dark side, as he had attempted and nearly succeeded to do with her Ani – or he would kill them to avoid a would-be threat to his chokehold on the galaxy.
Anakin's warm embrace encircled her, tenderly urging her to recline into his chest, and she leaned back gratefully, inwardly chastising herself for her pessimism. His heartbeat thudding dully against her comforted her raw emotions, and while he kept his arms locked around her she placed her palms on each twin's stomach to feel the soft rise and fall as they breathed.
Anakin was not sure how long he and his family had sat on the closet floor, but his need for sleep was nearly overpowering the fierce protectiveness that compelled him to remain alert. And Padmé was not helping.
His angel was fading in and out of awareness, and her quiet, rhythmic breathing was echoed by Luke and Leia, insulating them in a bubble of tranquility. He wanted to join them…
A shrill beep issued from the console on the opposite wall and Padmé jerked awake, the abrupt movement unsettling the twins. They began to fuss in their mother's lap, and Padmé worked on calming them as Anakin maneuvered his large frame from behind her and clambered to his feet. He stared down at them for a moment, meeting his wife's wide dark eyes, and said quietly, "Stay here." She nodded, and watched as he made his way to the console and depressed a switch next to a blinking yellow light.
A quarter-size holo of Administrator Tuun appeared atop the console and pronounced with unmistakable relief, "It is all right, Anakin – there is no danger to you or your family. Our visitors are friends." Anakin heard Padmé's heavy sigh and glanced over a shoulder, flashing her a quick grin.
"The ship has been identified as the Tantive IV."
A burst of puzzled surprise sent ripples from Padmé and into Anakin, and he turned halfway around to look at her. "What is it?"
"I know that ship." Her delicate features were scrunched up as she concentrated, skimming her memory, and then her expression smoothed out and she replied with some surprise, "That's Bail Organa's vessel."
Anakin frowned in confusion. "Senator Organa? What would he be doing here?" Padmé shrugged, and Anakin turned back to the Administrator. "Have you given him clearance to land?"
"Yes – Master Kenobi was quite adamant about that. He is on his way to the hangar bay as we speak. He also asked me to inform you that Senator Organa told Port Control that he has a very important passenger who would like to see you. Jedi Master Yoda."