Chapter Twenty-One
Kaleidoscope: Tourmaline
Intuition had a peculiar way of ambushing one's thoughts. Like a slow-burning fuse, it would weave around the brain, igniting certain observations and past actions until, inevitably, it would reach the central core of one's mind and explode with such energy that it could not be ignored.
Padmé smiled fondly as Anakin waved at her and then dashed off with Sabé, but it did not take long for that undeniable twinge of insight to prod at her train of thought, steering it towards the Jedi Master strolling calmly beside her down the MedCenter corridor. His attention was resting comfortably on the two infants lying within the bassinet, though it drifted occasionally as he scanned the hallway and any passing Polis Massan medical personnel.
Padmé decided to open up a conversation with a relatively safe, unassuming topic – convinced that during the course of their dialogue, her burst of intuition would be sated. Keeping her eyes on the corridor stretching out before them, she asked with genuine caring, "How are you feeling, Obi-Wan?"
He glanced sideways at her, a slight smile brightening his bearded face. "If you are referring to my injuries, I am happy to report that I am still in one piece." Padmé chuckled softly, and he continued, "As to my connection with the Force, it is rather like tuning a transmitter to the proper frequency: sometimes I am able to feel it strongly, and other times it seems to elude my grasp."
"But it is getting better?" she questioned, needing clarification.
Obi-Wan's smile broadened. "Yes," he said, "it is getting better."
She nodded, counting several heartbeats in her head before broaching a new, but still related, subject. "Did Sabé set your mind at ease with tales of her adventures?" she inquired, her tone light and teasing, "Or are you beginning to doubt her sanity?"
"A little of both, I think," he admitted, running a hand through his sand-blonde hair in a gesture that mirrored Anakin's habitual mannerism. "Her 'tales', as you call them, were very informative. I suspect that she will fill your place on Coruscant quite well; she is indeed the best choice as your decoy."
Padmé detected a faint inflection in the Jedi Master's cultured voice that seemed out of place in his normally placid phrasing – and intuition tickled across her tongue as her mouth formed the words, "You are worried for her."
Obi-Wan glanced at her sharply, traces of surprise flickering within his blue-grey eyes. He was suddenly and vividly reminded of the morning he had paid her a visit – almost five or six days ago now – and she had made another amazingly intuitive observation.
"You should be a Jedi, Padmé."
He had only been half-teasing in that remark. Padmé was one of the very few individuals that Obi-Wan seemed unable to predict; the one topping that list was, of course, her husband. She was remarkably adept at reading into a person's words and behavior, picking out silent clues as to their true motivations and addressing them directly rather than letting the natural flow of conversation carry them along.
But he had not been expecting her to read him so effortlessly.
He considered denying it; a Jedi is supposed to trust in the Force, and not allow selfish emotions to clutter the mind – but a heartbeat later he realized that besides being a futile effort, he had no desire to refute what he was feeling. Perhaps that had been his failing as a Jedi – ignoring his feelings because he had been taught to mentally dwell on a higher plane, to look upon situations without the mire of chaos swirling around him. All such teaching had done was to condition the Jedi to remain insulated from the rest of the universe.
And it had made them vulnerable.
"Yes," he answered Padmé, and though it was a simple enough reply, a shiver of unknown origin tingled along his spine. "I worry for Sabé because she is brash and headstrong, reckless to the verge of insanity, and tremendously skilled as a fighter and a diplomat." Obi-Wan cocked his head to the side, his shoulders rising and falling with a heavy sigh. "In many ways, she reminds me of Anakin. And that, too, is part of my reason for worrying."
Padmé nodded once, her expression open and friendly, but her dark eyes had grown ambiguous, veiled so as to soften the emotions that were visible within the velvety brown irises. "It means a great deal to her that you – and Anakin and I – are confident in her ability to keep Palpatine occupied on Coruscant."
"And I am confident," Obi-Wan insisted. "But I also –" he cut off, flailing his arms at his sides helplessly. "I am sorry, Padmé. I am having a difficult time centering myself as of late." He offered her a rueful grin. "It seems to be affecting my thought processes, as well."
"You do seem a little out of sorts," she remarked gently, looking over at him with sympathy.
He rubbed his forehead as though staving off a headache, and blinked several times, clearing his vision. "I am tired," Obi-Wan admitted quietly, "and I am tired of being tired, if that makes any sense."
Her small hand came up and lay softly on his arm, just below his shoulder. He reached over and covered it with his own, smiling at her half-heartedly. "I need some time to meditate – center my thoughts. In fact, I believe I will do just that after I see you and the twins to your room."
Padmé squeezed his arm slightly, wordlessly assuring him that she understood, and then lowered her hand.
They continued on the rest of the way in companionable silence, neither sensing any need to breach the quiet, and Padmé pondered deep inside her heart what was the other part of Obi-Wan's reason for worrying about Sabé. She did not want to play matchmaker, though Ani had jokingly commented that she would be very good at it, but one would have to be blind to not see the first flickering embers of attraction sparking between her old friend and her husband's mentor.
But true to form, Obi-Wan was either ignoring it, or was ignorant of it – Anakin was certain that it was the latter – and Sabé was far too honorable and focused to even contemplate the possibility of a romantic relationship with any Jedi, let alone a familiar face like Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Of course, Padmé herself would never have considered a relationship with Anakin, even after he reentered her life fourteen years ago…and no one – not her sister Sola, or Anakin, for that matter – could convince her otherwise. Not until she had been forced, during a life or death situation, to face her own feelings.
Maybe that was all Obi-Wan and Sabé needed: the opportunity to face their feelings for one another, and to see the potential for them to become something more. And that was an opportunity that neither she nor Anakin could give; that was only through the will of the Force.
"…and this section of the hull has been layered with Capital-class plating because the aft is exposed during evasive maneuvers and shielding is minimal in this area. But be aware that even though it's tougher than standard hull plating, it won't take more than four or five direct hits from a military craft's turbolaser."
Anakin kept telling himself to be patient, to think about how he would react if someone else were taking his ship for a potentially hazardous jaunt across the Outer Rim…but patience was a virtue in everyone else's book but his.
He and Sabé had circled the Aiwha for nearly half an hour, and they had yet to actually go inside the cockpit so he could look over the controls. If she continued at this pace, they would be at this all night. Sabé seemed oblivious to his growing agitation; she pointed out every single outer modification from reinforced hull plating to the concealed ion cannon underneath the port curve – and he had to admit that he was impressed by her knowledge of starship design and weaponry.
But even that was not enough to deter his mounting frustration.
"Let's head to the cockpit and I can show you the control panel layout," she remarked almost as an afterthought as she finished relaying how many microseconds passed between the mounted turret's rapid-firing sequence.
Anakin practically sprinted up the ramp, making his own way to the cockpit and plopping down eagerly into the pilot's chair. He began studying the panel with the same wide-eyed curiosity he had displayed as a bright young boy, pestering the Queen's pilot Ric Olié with constant questions about flying the Royal Starship.
He placed his hands on the helm controls, experimentally turning the levers governing pitch and yaw, and tried to get a 'feel' for the ship in a more conventional manner than he was used to. At any other time, Anakin would have reached into the Force and applied his unique talent for understanding machinery to learn how to operate the Aiwha. Now he had to rely on the regular senses, and Sabé's instruction, to gain enough information in order to transport his family across space safely.
As his fingertips danced atop the control panel, pretending to fly one-handed while powering up the shields – which he believed to be on the right side – Sabé ambled into the cockpit, halting directly behind Anakin's seated form. "The control panel's pretty standard for a Corellian-manufactured vessel," she said, resuming her tutorial, "so that should be no problem for you." He watched her slim hand reach over and touch a bronze-colored section of the panel, towards the center of the console. "Weapons control is here –" she moved to touch a flip-switch just above the helm controls "– and shields are here. The switch above your head powers up the EMP Shroud. Now, the Aiwha is a Scout-class vessel, but her turns are a bit more sluggish than the starfighters you're used to flying. She gets a little jittery if you do a reversal while traveling at top speed, which is normally 1200 kilometers, but she's been juiced up to go about 1400. She can't hold that for long though, especially if you're funneling power to weapons and shields."
Anakin took in a deep, slow breath, commanding his tense jaw to unclench. Sabé continued speaking, pointing at the readout viewscreen, "The controls are more responsive to maneuvering the faster you're going. It only takes a little bit to make her barrel-roll or yaw too far on one side."
She was talking to him about flying like he was a juvenile novice. Anakin's hands tightened noticeably on the controls while he silently repeated to himself that he could not take any of his prior experience in piloting for granted now that he was cut off from the Force. Sabé was only trying to help – and ensure that her ship would not end up in a scrap heap by the time it was returned to her.
"Acceleration can be tricky, too," she said, blocking his line of sight as she leaned over him to depress several buttons in the left corner of the console. "Give her too much, and she'll overshoot. Too little, and she won't make it. And the –"
Anakin could take it no more. "I do know how to fly a ship, Sabé," he finally exclaimed in irritated annoyance, blue eyes flashing like shards of ice.
Sabé paused for a split second, and straightened, looking down at him with an unreadable expression. Then she leaned back against the panel and crossed her arms over her chest, dark eyes narrowing as she stared him down. "Not a ship like this," she retorted bluntly. "This one has got so many modifications on her that she's practically a living entity. She'll do whatever you need her to, but don't run her ragged. I know how you fly, Skywalker," she talked loudly over his protest, jabbing a finger into his face. "You're the best pilot I've ever seen, maybe even the best in the galaxy – but you fly hard and fast, pushing the limits of any craft under your control. Now," she patted the nearest bulkhead with her hand, her sharp stare never leaving his, "she has all the speed and power you could ask for, but you don't know her yet – you don't know how she'll react in every situation. All I'm saying is that you need to be careful." She took a breath and her stare intensified, transforming her face into a mirror image of Padmé's most intimidating glare. "And I better get her back without so much as a smudge of dirt on her hull – got it?"
"Got it," Anakin replied, looking surly and amused at the same time. He transferred his gaze to the weapons panel, tempted to ask which switch activated which weapon but not wanting to appear ignorant, so he merely let his hands rest on the console, memorizing the layout by touch alone.
Sabé unfolded her arms and went to the right side of the cockpit, opening a service port and studying a tangle of brightly colored wires with critical eyes.
The strain in the atmosphere was palpable; Anakin drummed his mind incessantly for a solution to alleviate the tension – and an idea came to him with an electrified crackle of insight.
Swiveling the pilot's chair around, he smirked at Sabé's turned back and asked mischievously, "So…did you give Obi-Wan a hard time?"
Sabé glanced at him over her shoulder, her almond-shaped eyes calculating – measuring him in the silent way that was characteristic of a Royal handmaiden – and the hard set of her features thawed.
Tucking a hydrospanner into a utility pocket on her spacer's jacket, she dropped into the copilot's chair sideways, throwing a leg over the armrest, and crossed her arms loosely above her stomach. "More like the other way around," she replied dryly. "I'm not sure what to expect from him. Even though he's a Jedi, some of his reactions were strangely out of place – and others seemed exactly how a Jedi should react to new, if somewhat controversial, information." She looked absently out of the cockpit viewport, her gaze distant. "For some reason, I feel like he doesn't trust anything – like he's so uncertain of the universe around him."
Anakin studied her profile, tinged crimson and gold from the control panel's lights, and felt the all-too-familiar stab of guilty remorse.
Obi-Wan's entire universe had been shaken from its foundations, turned upside down, and then left him with no equilibrium whatsoever. His best friend was coping, as only a skilled Jedi Master could, but he was nowhere near as calm and focused as the man who had bid him farewell on the Temple's landing pad a week ago. Obi-Wan had lost his home, his family, his friends and his tranquil state of mind in one fell swoop. Unlike Anakin, the Jedi Master had only one grounding for his sanity amidst such black chaos: the Force. The connection was slowly returning to him – and for that, Anakin was supremely grateful – but he was not certain that Obi-Wan should go back to the man he was before Order 66.
He and Padmé had agreed that Obi-Wan shared a connection with Sabé, a connection that seemed invisible to both parties involved. There was nothing that Anakin could wish for more for his brother than for him to share his life with the woman he loved, and who loved him in return.
Padmé had sternly reminded him that there was a long way to travel before Sabé or Obi-Wan could claim to love one another…but the possibility was there, taking root deep within the soils of their hearts.
Anakin did not want the dogma of the Jedi Order, instilled in Obi-Wan's brain since infancy, to choke off that possibility before it had time to bloom. For Obi-Wan was far too disciplined and steadfast in his beliefs to ever openly challenge the tenets of the Code. After all, how many times had his former Master drilled those phrases into his skull, encouraging him to willingly give up his personal hopes and dreams?
"Attachment is forbidden."
He felt a slight pressure on the back of his mind – a gentle, light touch that was reminiscent of Padmé laying her palm on his chest, wordlessly consoling the heart that was hers for all time – and he withdrew from his bleak thoughts, focusing on the present moment. His angel was learning to convey through their bond the loving calm that seemed to be able to reach him even in his blackest of moods, and it only served to remind Anakin of the most defining truth of his existence: he was hopelessly lost without Padmé.
He gazed across the cockpit at Sabé, her profile and expression so utterly different from his wife in a way that he had never noticed in the past, and framed a quiet explanation. "Obi-Wan has had a lot to deal with in the past few days. It will take him a while to regain his sense of balance mentally and emotionally. But I want you to know, Sabé, that he does trust you; it's his own perceptions that he doesn't trust."
She looked at him sidelong, her thick, radiation-streaked braid draped over one shoulder, and nodded slowly. Her face was impossible for him to read. "I understand that; the whole galaxy has had a lot to deal with in the last three and a half years, let alone this past week. It's just –" She shook her head, shrugging helplessly. "I get the feeling that Obi-Wan thinks he should be doing something – something that will help the galaxy recover, that will prove to him that he is still a Jedi." Sabé huffed petulantly and stared back out of the viewport, though there was nothing to see other than the shadowed metallic walls of the hangar bay. "It's like some kind of complex that all Jedi have bred into them: 'wave around a lightsaber and save the galaxy'," she announced in a ridiculous imitation of a deep, booming voice. "Like the very fabric of the universe will unravel if there's not at least one Jedi fighting for the welfare of the common being," Sabé snorted to herself in disbelief. "That's what it is!" she cried out suddenly, sitting up and shaking her finger at him triumphantly, "It's a Jedi complex!"
Laughter erupted from his lungs – loud, boisterous peals of mirth that left him gasping for air. Sabé glared at him mock-seriously, still shaking her finger. "You can laugh," she called out above the din of his cackling, "but I know that I'm right about this!"
Anakin's hysterics faded into low chuckles, and he smiled broadly at Sabé. "You may be right," he conceded. "Maybe the Jedi do see themselves as the saviors of the galaxy. But trust me," he promised, blue eyes twinkling, "once Obi-Wan starts putting that 'Jedi complex' into service, the galaxy won't know what hit it."
They shared an easy smile, and Sabé once more threw herself wholeheartedly into the task of informing Anakin about every nuance of the Aiwha, ignoring his increasing number of groans as she kept up a continuous narrative while they toured the ship.
Eventually, his rumbling stomach became too much to bear. "Can we please wrap this up?" Anakin pleaded, one hand over his abdomen as if experiencing acute physical pain. "I already promised that she'd come back without even a smudge of dirt – isn't that enough?"
"I just want to make sure that I covered everything," Sabé replied offhandedly, and then glanced at the small chronometer strapped to her wrist. She cringed, muttering, "Padmé has got to be wondering what in the three moons happened to you. I didn't realize how late – and I have some things to do –"
"So we're done?" he asked gleefully, lighting up like a child at the end of a school day.
As soon as Sabé began to nod her head in the affirmative, Anakin bolted for the boarding ramp, a wide grin nearly splitting his face. "Wait!" she yelled after him. "I need to get inside the skiff and look through Padmé's wardrobe!"
"It's open!" he shouted back, pounding footsteps echoing through the hangar bay as he ran towards the turbolift. "I'll see you in the morning, Sabé!"
Rolling her eyes, Sabé made her way to the Aiwha's ramp, shaking her head with mild amusement. "Never a dull moment with that one."
The morning, as always, came too soon for Anakin.
After returning to their room and wolfing down a large and surprisingly decent meal, he and Padmé were able to enjoy a peaceful evening together, conversing quietly as the twins slept in their crib. Then, tucked comfortably in each other's arms, they had drifted off into dreamless slumber, wearing identical smiles of absolute contentment.
The next thing Anakin knew, Padmé was murmuring softly in his ear that it was time to get up, and one of the twins was moaning distantly in the background. He felt the mattress shift as Padmé climbed to her feet, and a sudden blaze of bright light caused him to groan and bury his face in his pillow.
"Good morning," he heard his wife greet Luke and Leia in a loving tone that caressed the silence like a strain of music. Fabric rustled quietly, and the moans faded – then the bed jostled slightly as Padmé resettled herself beside him. Anakin was half-tempted to roll over, try and catch a few more minutes of uninterrupted sleep, but he could not bring himself to turn away from her. He barely opened his eyes, peering at her through the blurred line of eyelashes, and saw the infant at her breast – Luke, judging by the sheen of fine blonde hairs covering his head – watching her with rapt interest. Padmé was speaking to him tenderly, tracing the silky skin on his cheeks with her fingertips. "We're going home today, Luke – home to Naboo. You're going to love it there – you and Leia, I promise. You have a beautiful room waiting for you. It has a great big window, and you can see the sun rise over the mountains, and feel the breeze from the lake." She leaned down and kissed his forehead, her own excitement and joy sparkling in her heart like tiny explosions of light, and began traveling to Anakin via their bond.
He lifted a hand, groggily rubbing at his eyes, and propped himself up on an elbow while Padmé continued her soft description to their son. "There are lots of toys at home for you and your sister, and lots of space to run around and play. Your Daddy and I will take you both swimming as soon as it's warm enough. You'll love the water – just like your Daddy."
Anakin smiled crookedly and slid across the bed, inching closer until he could lay his head on Padmé's thigh, curling lazily around her lower body. "I like that plan," he muttered into the folds of her nightgown, and sighed when she threaded her free hand into his sleep-tousled locks. She did not reply, but he felt her smile warm the lessening boundary between their souls.
She heard his breathing even out, deepening, and continued to absently finger his burnished gold hair as she prompted, "Ani… Ani, you need to get up."
"Mmm," was his muffled reply.
"I need your help with dressing the twins," she said persuasively, and tugged lightly on a handful of tangled curls. He only tightened his arms around her legs, nuzzling into her thigh, his shoulders lifting with a deep breath. Smirking playfully, Padmé tugged again on his hair – this time with considerable force.
His muscular body jerked against hers. "Ow," he complained, still sounding half-asleep.
"Get up," she urged, nudging him with her hip. Luke pulled away from her, apparently full, and Padmé wiped the corners of his mouth with a soft cloth. At almost that precise instant, Leia announced her hunger with a full-blown howl – a howl that was weakly echoed by her father. Padmé laughed, still tending to Luke, and said, "You're as bad as the twins. Finish cleaning up your son or go get Leia."
"All right, all right…" Pushing himself into a sitting position, his eyes watering from the sharp glare of the overhead lights, Anakin opened his arms to receive Luke. Once he was deposited securely in his father's hold, Padmé went over to the crib and collected Leia, whose tiny face was now flushed a deep crimson with outrage at being ignored for so long. She quieted soon enough, and Anakin set aside the cloth he had used to finish cleaning Luke's face, the boy's bright blue eyes watching him intently. He could not help the grin that pulled one side of his mouth upward as he gazed into that perfect little face, and with a flash he remembered what Padmé had told him to do with Leia after she had eaten last time.
Feeling supremely proud of his burgeoning skills in parenting, Anakin placed his son against his shoulder and started rubbing his back while jiggling up and down a bit in his seat. After a few seconds, Luke burped ever so softly, his small body relaxing, and Anakin turned his head to whisper in his ear, "There you go… all better." Then he looked at his wife, beaming ecstatically.
Padmé's lips curved, dark eyes twinkling. "Very good." The door chimed – a bright, cheery sound that seemed to mimic her mood – and she murmured, "That must be Threepio. I sent him to collect some clothing for us from the skiff, and to find out where Artoo was heading in such a hurry earlier."
Anakin's brow puckered in confusion. "When did all this happen?"
"The universe doesn't stop while you're sleeping, Ani," Padmé teased with a grin. While he glowered at her with mock-severity, Padmé looked over his shoulder at the closed entryway and called, "Come in."
The door opened with a soft hiss of air, and sure enough, Threepio's gleaming golden form toddled inside, a sizeable pile of garments draped across his arms. "Good morning, Miss Padmé – Master Anakin!" he greeted with his customary exuberance, and then added, "And good morning to you, Master Luke and Miss Leia!" The protocol droid's shuffling footsteps carried him towards the room's only chair, preparing to set his load down…until he realized that it was too small to accommodate the stack of fabric. "Oh dear."
"Here, Threepio:" Anakin clambered to his feet, Luke cradled snugly against his bare chest, and directed, "Why don't you lay the clothing here on the bed so Padmé can look through it?"
"Very well, sir." Threepio promptly lowered the massive armload of clothing atop the mattress, muttering something about straining his circuits, and Anakin turned his head to hide a smile. Despite all the trouble and occasionally annoying nuances that defined the droid, he did not regret the long hours spent tinkering to give Threepio what passed as a personality.
"Shall I bring up a tray for breakfast, Miss Padmé?" Threepio asked as he finished organizing the assortment of garments into three separate piles.
Padmé smiled at him warmly. "Thank you, Threepio, that would be wonderful. And did you happen to find Artoo?"
"He was in the hangar bay, my lady, with Master Kenobi. According to him, Master Kenobi summoned him there to assist with some programming very early this morning, before Master Yoda left. He seemed quite smug at being needed; I told him –"
"Yoda's gone?"
Both Threepio and Padmé glanced at Anakin, puzzled by his reaction. Padmé was having a hard time dissecting her husband's expression; it seemed to be comprised of equal parts dismay, relief, hope and sheer panic. His blue eyes flicked to hers, and when he realized that she was studying him, the cerulean irises grew shuttered and blank, hiding his emotions. More determined now than ever to discover what was going on inside his head, Padmé touched the invisible cord tethering his soul to hers – a feat that became easier each day – and followed it towards the opposite end.
She hit a wall, projected mentally by Anakin to prevent her from consciously drawing closer to his thoughts. She pressed against it, concentrating, but could not breach it. She tried going around, but it seemed as though he had constructed a durasteel dome around the inner workings of his heart, allowing her access only to surface feelings and the echoes of her own emotions as they bounced back to him through their bond.
Her frustration grew, flavoring their connection with a bitter tang, as the fear that he was deliberately keeping her out mounted, turning the fringes of her perception dark. Padmé had never expected Anakin to use his Jedi training against her, to shield himself from her view. She knew that she had not the skill or the knowledge to disrupt the barrier, and her conflicted feelings formed into a single question that resonated between their minds: "Why are you doing this?"
She became dimly aware of a large, warm hand cupping her cheek, and stared into a pair of intensely brilliant blue eyes. Those eyes captured her, holding her motionless and beyond all notion of escape, and swept her into an emotional embrace that was filled with love and light. It swirled around her like a cloud, like a fragrant mist, and she heard his voice whisper softly, "It's all right. Trust me."
Some part of Padmé's brain understood that he had avoided her question and was angry about that – but the rest of her was drowning in the sensations their mental contact had awakened inside her soul. It was wholeness – complete and utter acceptance of who she was and that she was unequivocally needed by the only man she had ever loved. She wanted to stay lost in that feeling forever…
"Master Anakin? Miss Padmé, are you all right?"
Threepio's nervous inquiry disturbed the flow of their shared emotions, and Anakin blinked slowly, bringing his awareness back to the present moment. He felt his breath come and go heavily while distant echoes of what had just transpired between him and his wife caressed the edges of his memory. Padmé's half-closed eyelids fluttered, as if she was awakening from a deep sleep, and looked around in disorientation.
The twins were utterly silent, watching their parents with eyes too old and wise for newborn babies.
Anakin tacked on a reassuring grin and turned to Threepio, withdrawing his palm from Padmé's cheek. "We're fine, Threepio, we just had a long night. You said Master Yoda left?"
"Yes, sir, early this morning. But neither he or Master Kenobi informed me of his intended destination, and Artoo told me that he did not know either."
"Thanks, Threepio," Anakin replied, waving the droid towards the door. "Go get the tray for breakfast. We don't need to worry about where Yoda was heading." He shot a brief glance at Padmé, whose slightly dazed expression had sharpened with speculation throughout his exchange with Threepio.
Threepio waddled across the threshold, muttering glumly to himself, "I'll never understand humans…" and the door slid closed behind his golden form.
"That's odd," Padmé commented mildly as she laid their now-calm daughter in the crib. "I wonder why Master Yoda is keeping his destination a secret from us." Anakin fidgeted in place uncomfortably, but she did not notice, sifting through the various piles of clothing on the bedspread. She glanced at him, her soft brown eyes merely curious, and asked, "Did he say anything to you yesterday when you spoke to him in the arboretum?"
He shrugged, keeping his eyes on their son as he stepped over to the crib. He could sense Padmé's level gaze on his face, watching him place Luke beside his sister, and resisted the nervous urge to bite down on his lower lip. The last thing he wanted was to lie to her…but he was not ready to share with her every detail of the lengthy conversation that he had only skimmed over after dinner last night. So, he adopted Obi-Wan's favorite reasoning for dealing with a difficult situation – tell the truth from a certain point of view. "He did mention one planet in particular. It's called Dagobah, in the Outer Rim. He said that it was a sanctuary for Jedi."
"Sanctuary?" Padmé's eyebrows formed two high arches on her forehead. "Dagobah is nothing more than swamps inhabited by an interesting variety of wildlife. Why would he call it a sanctuary for Jedi?"
"I don't know." That was the truth, pure and simple. And if Padmé was right about Dagobah's terrain, Anakin was looking forward to his impending visit even less than before. Swamps were humid, reeking of decomposing vegetation and coated with layers of mud – which meant that it probably rained there often, as well.
Mud, rain, darkness…
Jabiim.
He pulled himself out of the past with a swift shake of his head, and gave his wife a lopsided grin. "It doesn't sound like the kind of planet I'd like to visit, but maybe it reminds Master Yoda of his homeworld – whatever that is."
"I suppose…" Padmé's lips were pursed as she frowned thoughtfully, her keen mind running through possible scenarios that would motivate Yoda to journey to a relatively untamed planet and label it a 'sanctuary'. Jedi rarely, if ever, acted randomly – so Dagobah must have some hidden significance to the ancient Master.
Anakin could immediately tell that she was not placated by his vague answer – not that he really expected her to be – and reached for her, trying to stave off her insightful contemplation. "Speaking of homeworlds," he began, tenderly stroking her upper arms with his hands, "I've been thinking of making Naboo my official planet of origin."
She blinked up at him, tilting her head to the side in puzzlement. "But you were born on Tatooine."
Inwardly rejoicing that he had succeeded in distracting her, Anakin replied nonchalantly, "Tatooine was not my mother's choice as a place to live, so technically I don't really have a homeworld."
"What about Coruscant?"
He chuckled low in his throat, his fingertips tracing patterns from her elbows to her neck as he spoke softly, "No one is actually from Coruscant, and so it doesn't count either. It never felt like home to me, anyway – it was just another planet that I sort of ended up on." Anakin leaned closer, resting his forehead against hers, breathing in the fragrance of her skin. His fingers curled gently around her throat, and he fell willingly into the depths of her velvety dark eyes. "Naboo is my homeworld because it was where I finally came alive," he whispered, his lips brushing hers. "It was where you fell in love with me, and where I became yours forever."
"Ani," Padmé sighed, lifting her chin in wordless, irresistible invitation. Anakin kissed her with tender sweetness, his thumbs playing along the curves of her jaw, and her slender arms wrapped around his lean waist, melting into the warmth of his body.
Something trilled sharply, startling them apart, and the twins let out simultaneous, ear-piercing screeches of surprise. Anakin's head whipped around, blue eyes darting around the room as he demanded, "What was that?"
Padmé was giggling quietly, her hand covering a sheepish grin. "I set the alarm on the room's chronometer in case we didn't wake up on time. Though I guess it's a good thing I didn't shut it off, or we would be even more behind schedule as it is." She put her hands on her hips and gave him a chiding glare. "Which is your fault, by the way."
"Me? What did I do?"
She poked him in the chest with her forefinger, using as much strength as she could muster.
The hard muscle beneath her fingertip was as solidly built as a lump of rock, but Anakin staggered backwards slightly in feigned vulnerability, a smirk of pure mischief that he could not quite smother on his face. "You're distracting me, Master Skywalker," Padmé reprimanded sternly, though a glint of humor sparkled in her brown irises. "I have things to do."
Anakin swept into a low bow, his gaze never leaving hers, and replied, "My sincerest apologies, Milady. I had the impression that you enjoyed my…distractions." The passionate intensity of his sapphire orbs seared her skin, and she suppressed a shiver. The twins were mumbling irritably in their crib, and after holding Padmé's attention with an unblinking stare for a few breathless seconds, Anakin moved towards the fretting newborns. His low, soft voice calmed Luke and Leia immediately, and it didn't matter that they could not understand his words yet. Their children knew from Anakin's warm tone that their father loved them unconditionally, and responded.
While he was occupied with the twins, Padmé began pawing through the garments strewn across the bed, examining each one with critical eyes and pursed lips. She had asked Threepio to gather together some clothing for herself and Anakin from the skiff, giving the droid the exact location from which to collect said attire. After all, Threepio was a protocol droid, not a personal assistant – and he had been programmed by Anakin, which meant that he had no sense of color coordination whatsoever.
But it was obvious from the choices laid out before her that Threepio had received some assistance – probably from one of the handmaidens. Padmé fingered a navy blue tunic that her husband had worn no more than two or three times since she had purchased it for him over a year ago. He had told her not to spend anything on him – he was perfectly fine in his Jedi uniform – but when he came to her, whether the apartment on Coruscant or the villa on Naboo, she wanted him to forget about the war and the soldier that seemed to consume his personality, and just be Anakin. Clothing was a small but tangible symbol of that transformation.
As though he knew that she was thinking about him, and he probably did, Anakin ambled over to her side. When he was less than a step away, Padmé spun sideways and tossed the tunic at him, calling out playfully, "Catch!"
He snatched it in mid-air, looking it over with curiosity and a hint of frustration, as if he recognized the tunic and did not know why. "There are some pants on the end of the bed," Padmé informed him as she continued perusing the selection of feminine outfits, "Get dressed; we're going to be late."
"Where did all this stuff come from?" Anakin's voice was slightly muffled as he pulled the lightweight fabric over his head, pushing his arms through the sleeves.
"Most of it was on the skiff," she replied absently, holding up a sleek but nondescript ivory jumpsuit. "Here:" she said as he finished fastening his utility belt, and held out two tiny squares of white. "Put these on the twins while I change."
He complied, removing the pair of infant sleepers from his wife's hands, and watched in silent admiration for a moment as she tugged her nightgown off and began pulling on the jumpsuit. "Ani…" she warned, raising an eyebrow at him in reproach.
He turned around at once, focusing on the little ones in the crib and unfolded the cloth squares that fit in the palm of his hand. Leia was first; she tended to get a little restless when Anakin was attentive of only one twin, and she did not particularly enjoy changing clothes. The eldest Skywalker child remained calm and quiet as his father gently pulled his tiny arms and legs into a fresh outfit, watching Anakin with wide blue eyes while Leia started to fuss beside him.
A slim, skilled pair of hands appeared in the corner of his eye and scooped up the whimpering infant. Anakin finished dressing Luke and straightened his spine, glancing sidelong at Padmé. She had wound her thick brown curls into a loose bun on the back of her head, and the color of her jumpsuit served to accentuate the peach and rose overtones of her creamy skin.
Threepio chose that moment to return with their breakfast tray, steam rising from the pair of covered dishes and mugs of warm liquid. Anakin's stomach gurgled almost painfully with hunger, and Padmé giggled when she heard the noise. Returning Leia to the crib, she sat down on the round repulsor chair while Anakin perched himself on the edge of the mattress, quickly snagging one of the dishes before Threepio could even set the tray down.
They both ate at a fast pace – Anakin, because he was practically ravenous since last night's meal – and Padmé, because she was eager to get down to the hangar bay. Her enthusiasm was like a living thing, swirling and jumping wildly throughout the room, and it was highly contagious to the rest of her family.
The twins let out random squeals of delight, their tiny limbs flailing energetically as they perceived their mother's disposition with their inherent talent, and Anakin saw the smile continuously playing along the corners of Padmé's mouth even as she sipped from her mug of caria tea.
While his wife was finishing the last few bites of her breakfast, Anakin called Threepio over and instructed, "Will you make sure that the rest of our belongings are taken down to the hangar bay, Threepio? We won't be able to carry them along with Luke and Leia."
Of course, the protocol droid agreed with profuse zeal, and began packing the extra bundle of clothing into a small suitcase. Anakin stacked their used flatware and utensils atop the tray and then stood, stretching his long arms high over his head with a low groan. Padmé was already attending to the twins, leaning into the crib and lifting one precious burden into her arms.
He observed with interest as she tucked their daughter into a small sling that was strapped across her chest; Leia nestled contentedly against her mother's warm body, her tiny head resting on Padmé's collarbone.
Feeling his gaze on her, Padmé looked up at Anakin with a sweet smile. "I only have one," she explained, gesturing with one hand at the sling. "You don't mind carrying Luke, do you?"
He shook his head once and walked towards her, their son lying comfortably in the crook of his left arm. When he reached her side, Anakin took her hand in his, twining their fingers together. Her favorite lopsided grin lit up his handsome face, and then he murmured softly, "Let's go home."
The little family headed for the doorway, Threepio toddling behind with a suitcase in each hand, and made their way to the northern turbolift of the MedCenter.