Chapter 42. Loving Negotiations

He's more myself than I am.
Whatever our souls are made of,
his and mine are the same.

- Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

Let it be said, that though my end came as it did— by Anakin, I was a woman well-loved.

My hand caressed over the smooth, black fabric. With the slightest pressure, gold emboss danced in the light, if one only took the time to watch. As my fingers slowly trailed, the cloth elicited brightly lit memories, as if each thread of his vest were a direct lane to a moment in time.

{You speak as if you're very dedicated to the government.}
{I'd give my life for it.}

{Must be difficult having sworn your life to the Jedi. Not being able to visit the places you like, or do the things you like—}
{Or be with the people that I love.}

{You're exactly the way I remember you in my dreams.}

{You can keep your double beds. We only need the one.}

{I thought I wasn't a Senator right now.}
{…Do you want to be?}

So much had happened since our journey through the stars on the Jendirian Valley. It almost felt like a dream now. And yet, I could remember with arresting clarity how a grownup Anakin looked the first time I saw him in street clothes. I was so sure when he joined the group on my apartment balcony that we'd never make it aboard unnoticed, and not because I would be recognized— because his radiant smile alone could stop air traffic if he wanted to wield it in such a way. How could a man so achingly handsome not be assumed to be a celebrity?

I squeezed my bottom lip between my teeth. I touched the vest one last time, then I shut the drawer it rested in, trying to forget this very act itself was bold and inappropriate.

When unpacking my suitcases my first morning on The Credence, I'd come across Anakin's civilian vest and cloth belt he'd donned when we left Coruscant. Each had been cleaned by the palace in Theed and loaded in with my own luggage, replacing the space formerly occupied by his Jedi uniform. There they had remained, eventually observing from the corner of a suitcase as I searched for a dress to re-meet Shmi Skywalker in and then another to watch her be buried in.

But when I'd arrived on the cruiser, I'd taken a spontaneous risk. There were no handmaidens or villa maids onboard who would be shifting through my drawers. Capitalizing on this, I'd unpacked his vest and belt and stowed them in a drawer already newly in use by my own clothing. No one knew I was openly tucking our fabrics side-by-side, the way a couple might. It was a request made by my heart to see it so— a lean in to fantasy— and I hadn't been capable of refusing.

Sadly, my Chimiliean silk scarf— first produced by Dormé, offered by Anakin as a bet during a dejarum tournament, and nervously retied around his neck by me— seemed have been lost somewhere in the many repackings. I couldn't even remember if I'd seen it in the luggage box since we'd left the palace.

I eyed the chronoclock in my cabin's bedroom.

It was close, but still too soon.

True to Kenobi's notice, Masters Yoda, Windu, and every other Jedi apart from Anakin and Obi-Wan had departed yesterday for Coruscant. They'd taken more than half the fleet with them, including numerous clone units and many civilian representatives who'd hitched a ride to the capital. With the Grand Army of the Republic seen in the flesh and what answers there were to be learned running dry, non-military guests were leaving our conference tables on The Credence in droves. Many had taken flight on the personal starships they'd arrived on, but a few traveled back with the first clones to go before welcoming crowd on Coruscant. The Credence was emptier now, but not empty. About one-third of the bureaucrats had remained to fly back with us, Jurue among them. After a few unexpected delays, our last contingent was scheduled to finally depart by late tomorrow morning.

In cause for celebration for Anakin, my nieces, and my own peace of mind, Artoo and Threepio had been found. It seems Threepio had been happy to make himself useful on Geonosis, or at least try to. Thankfully, the clones didn't shoot him when they discovered the droid shuffling through the dark corridors under the arena. He'd been quick to tell them in his introduction that he was fluent in over six million forms of communication, something the soldiers and all the Jedi investigating on the ground— none of whom spoke Geonosian— were glad to hear. Threepio had been on standby to translate for any native who might've ventured out of the catacombs. Unfortunately for his desire to serve, it doesn't sound like any had.

Artoo had been far more helpful to the efforts of his finders. He'd been recruited into the artificial intelligence crew trying to hack into the sabotaged computers. I'd given permission for him to stay with the clones until the last of the extraction team pulled out tomorrow. He wouldn't be with them that long, but I at least comfortably knew he would be returned to me before we went into hyperspace.

Threepio, however, they'd been all too ready to deliver once word got out that he was being sought. Translation purposes aside, it seems protocol droids and soldiers don't easily mix.

As I went straight into another meeting after leaving Obi-Wan yesterday, I had no doubt I had him to thank for the speedily learned whereabouts of the droids I was so stubborn to stay behind for. He even managed to get word to me about locating them prior to the first contingent leaving for Coruscant, but there was no indication in his news of him still itching to push me out. He had his own reasons to want me to stay now. I'd been charged with resetting his Padawan.

My heart sighed more than my lungs did as I looked again at the clock.

Then I checked myself and reigned in my feelings as much as I could. I couldn't risk my new next-door neighbor picking up on them through the walls.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had taken residence in the recently emptied quarters next to mine. I knew this because he'd made sure to knock on my door this morning and tell me himself. It wasn't hard to guess that he wanted to act as a sentry far more than he chose it for his own physical comfort. Although my own apparently out-classed them all, staterooms on this particular deck were opulently designed for their esteemed guests. Such luxury wasn't the Jedi's traditional style.

According to Obi-Wan, Anakin had his own quarters too. His stateroom had been waiting for him the moment he'd stepped off the shuttle taxi this morning. It was on a floor twenty decks below ours on the opposite side of the ship. I'm sure he had his Master to thank for his room assignment, just like how I had the same man to thank for the sudden discovery of the droids and the attuned company of a new neighbor.

Kenobi notified me of these updates almost two hours ago. It came with the news that Anakin had finished his morning rehabilitation session and was available for me to speak to until another one later in the day. Moderately sure that Obi-Wan had then gone to his cabin after speaking with me, I hadn't wanted to appear too eager to rush to Anakin's side. Better that I give the appearance I was fitting in the firm rejection of his Padawan between gaps in my very busy, very Senatorial schedule. I'd indicated as much when I purposely talked to him at length about the legislation I needed to look over first, until I saw the universal signs of boredom appear on his face. It hadn't been a total ruse— in the reality of life, just because a war breaks out doesn't mean all other day-to-day public needs immediately disappear. A government still needs to keep on functioning, even in the backdrop of an armed conflict.

I'd strongly encouraged Threepio to go visit Anakin in the meantime, however. In part, it was because I wanted the young man to have company while he waited for my arrival. Mostly though, I wanted to give maker and creation a chance to reunite; for Anakin to have the opportunity to ask the droid who'd been by his mother's side the past ten years the questions he'd wanted to ask.

I'd told myself I'd wait an hour. When that time came, I told myself an extra thirty minutes would be wiser. Now, I was staring down the two-hour mark. I was stalling. Yesterday, I'd been so happy just to be offered the private chance to talk to Anakin— so much so, Obi-Wan's wishes in arranging it mostly went in one ear and out the other. Overnight, they'd circled back to echo in my conscious.

I didn't want Obi-Wan's words churning around in my head— the ones where he'd alluded to the possibility that all this was manufactured by the high-stakes, life-and-death drama that came alongside two young people being put in isolation with each other. I didn't want to remember that despite my hours ruminating over all the reasons why a relationship wouldn't work and me forcefully deciding that I still didn't want to back out, such resilience hadn't produced any actual solutions.

Between the emotional looks, the seeking of my eye on various shuttles, and the attempt to hold my hand at the funeral two nights ago, all signs pointed to Anakin still carrying feelings for me. But I couldn't stop doubt from meddling in my security. Varykino almost felt as long ago now as the Jendirian Valley, though my memories of the events were as intact as if they occurred yesterday. Anakin had professed to feel me in his soul, but I'd brutally rejected him. Then Tatooine happened. Then Dooku's hangar. So much had afflicted his heart and mind in the aftermath of my dismissal by the fire. We were far away from picnics, islands, and romantic mountain views. He'd reached to kiss me back in that execution cart, but only after deflecting my confession from behind walls first. What if the sentiments he most recently displayed had been the last remnants of a something he'd no longer wanted to feel?

{Believe me, I wish I could just wish away my feelings.}

The terror of this thought actually caused me to place my hand on a nearby table to help me to catch my breath.

I looked at the chronoclock one last time. I was going to drive myself crazy over-analyzing the situation from here, a dangerous thing to do with a Jedi Master living next door. It was time to face whatever was about to come from a one-on-one with Anakin.

Just under two hours. That has to be enough to assure Kenobi of my lack of enthusiasm.

I pushed the button to lift the entry door and stepped out into the hallway, beginning the long walk to Anakin's cabin.

I stood outside the door, pressing down the folds of my moss-green dress and trying to settle my heartbeat.

I'd lost count of how many times a passerby or droid asked if I was lost on the way down here. I had a solid grasp of the layout of the ship by this point, even though I hadn't been to this floor before. There had been no wrong turns or obvious, public moments of hesitation. But there were no conference rooms on this low of a deck for the distinguishable Senator to sit in, and kind pedestrians on the cruiser had been quick to ask if I knew where I was going.

I wonder what their reaction would've been if I'd answered with, "One way or another, to my damnation."

Stationed there in the corridor, my hands were twitchy and my pulse nervously disobedient. I'd challenged the status quo of the Galactic Senate when I was fourteen and blasted my way out of an execution arena four days ago. The sight of Anakin's cabin door shouldn't have unbalanced me into such a flustering state. But my breath had barely enough seconds to steady before the door in front of me whooshed open, absent any knock or a button push from my hand. A tense, tan face stood in the doorway, attached to a body imposingly fit into his dark brown uniform.

"I didn't know if we were hosting this meeting in the hallway or not. You've been standing out here long enough."

I eyed him indignantly.

Jedi.

"That's not true at all. I was just—"

"Oh! Miss Padmé!" The familiar voice interrupted me from behind Anakin's tall shoulder. His gray head apparent a moment later. I saw an arm wave. "How joyous of you to join us. I was just telling Master Ani about his mother's wedding day. Were you able to see the holograph of Miss Shmi in her dress during your stay?"

Anakin stilled. The tension with which he'd been regarding me melted with the onset of vulnerability. He didn't seem to be breathing as he waited for my answer.

"I did, Threepio. Cliegg showed it to me." My eyes moved to meet Ani's, though I carried the tone I'd been using to address the droid behind him. "She was a beautiful bride."

Anakin swallowed once and gazed back with evocative pools, but said nothing.

"Come in, come in, Miss Padmé," the droid encouraged, beckoning me into the narrow passage within the room like it was his own. "Hurry, before you get run over by a cleaning droid. My word, the ones on this ship are large."

Even though he moved without haste, Anakin somewhat awkwardly backed up into Threepio as they both moved further into the cabin. I stepped across the threshold and followed them in.

The stateroom was humble but cozy. It was a fraction the size of mine, essentially amounting to a studio apartment— a dining/work table, full-sized bed, bedside table and lamp, and a storage/kitchen counter all in one open, rectangular space. On the opposite side of the room was a sink and mirror, and a gray door next to such features indicated a private space for a lavatory.

The three of us looked between each other for an inelegant pause. I admit— I heeded too much awareness of the bed in my periphery.

Keeping his eyes squarely on me, Anakin announced, "That'll be all, Threepio." He tilted his head, dipped his chin, and smiled in mock esteem. "Now that Senator Amidala has graciously made time for me in her schedule, I think it's best she and I talk alone." He was giving me that hard stare again. The droid began mumbling farewell pleasantries on his way towards the door, excusing himself as he had to pass by both me and the corner wall to get through to the short hallway. Since I hadn't removed my eyes from Anakin's, I watched as his orbs softened noticeably. He finally shifted them over to the departing man of metal. "Thank you," he called to him, more humanely. "For sharing what you told me. There's a lot more I still want to hear about," his eyes darted over to me briefly again, "later."

"Oh, it was my pleasure, Master Ani. You know, I don't believe anyone has listened to me talk as long as this in quite some time. Master Owen certainly never did. But he was a kind carer, please don't get me wrong. Though, he never wanted to talk to me like your mother did. It was, indeed, so nice to have a listening ear—"

"Remember what I said, Threepio," Anakin cut in with the most serious expression I'd seen on his face yet. "If you discuss what we talked about with anyone, I'll throw you into the ship's trash compactor and push the initiator button myself."

"Oh dear." Threepio turned one last time in the hallway to look at me. "I shall see you upstairs in your quarters, Miss Padmé."

I frowned after him in sympathy, confused as to why Anakin would send him away with such a dire warning when they'd apparently had a positive time sharing stories. "What was that about?"

Anakin's cheeks seemed to flush while he abnormally averted my eye. "I'll tell you later."

It dawned on me that perhaps the reason was Anakin hadn't told Obi-Wan yet about the Tusken Raiders, or even his mother's passing. Both of which were news items the talkative Threepio now also held in his memory chip.

It became awkwardly quiet after the entry door whooshed closed. Neither of us spoke. I could hear the leather of his boots as he moved and leaned on a foot. I looked around the space appreciatively and tried to control my rapid-fire pulse. "It's a nice room."

Anakin, mercifully, seemed to being in the active process of lowering his guard. He was measurably more relaxed as he responded, "Honestly, it feels homey. It's not too different from the Temple."

My sight took in the gray, curled metallic resting just below his sleeve. "How is your new arm?"

He raised the appendage for our mutual observation. The brown fabric of his tunic sleeve drooped down to reveal the gray metal that now comprised of Anakin's right arm. Multi-colored circuitry flowed in and around the fingers, trailing down to a wrist of brute alloy.

"It works." Anakin seemed to concentrate for a moment, focusing his gaze on the hand raised near his face. After a beat, the fingers moved one after the other in a disjointed wave, proving his point.

I paused to find the right words. "And are you… finding it natural to sync with?"

He shrugged. "My rehabilitation appointment went better this morning than the ones yesterday. They're telling me the less I try to consciously control it, the sooner I will adapt to it." His lips turned down. "Like I'm just supposed to pretend my regular saber hand is still there."

"It's early in the process, but I'm sure it will feel natural to you in time."

Anakin tilted his head and took a few steps towards the table. "I think natural will be a stretch," he replied, flexing the fingers open and closed from a fist to a flat palm. "But it's not as bad as I thought it would be." He sighed and dropped his arm, turning to look at me with his full attention again. A small, crooked smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "I guess I shouldn't threaten your new droid in front of you. He's not mine anymore, after all."

I searched his face for any sign of fresh discontent. So far, I saw none. "He'll always be yours, Ani. But is this solution alright? I know I should have checked with you first, but I had to think of a convincing reason to stay behind quickly. I can arrange for him to go elsewhere later, if that's what you'd prefer."

Years seemed to come off Ani's face with the breadth of his smile. "Only it couldn't be any more perfect. Threepio took care of my mom for all those years when I was away. Now he'll take care of you."

He watched the pleased grin rise on my face as he leaned back against the table. He made contact with it with his behind, bending slightly at the waist as he crossed his arms over his chest. He flinched, barely perceptibly, with the movement.

"Your ribs still trouble you?"

He waved away my comment by lifting a human hand off his artificial one. "It's nothing."

I smiled. "You don't need to bury your pain to impress me. Aren't we passed that point now?"

"When I stop trying to impress you?" He shook his head and chuckled. "Never." Then that exquisite forehead burrowed, and he lost his air of levity. "I wanted to ask you yesterday… Are you alright?"

I smiled at his consideration, but with a hint of confusion. "You asked me about my scratches, Anakin. I'm much better. I'm only down to the one small, lingering patch now, and that's more to impede a lasting scar than anything else."

"No, I'm not talking about your scratches."

I read the concern in his eyes as easily as if he'd spoken the rest of the words aloud. My heart swelled. I took a step nearer to him.

"You buried your mother, broke your ribs, and lost your arm. How can you be asking if I'm alright?"

Blue eyes regarded me somberly. "Because, just as you stood next to me at my mother's funeral, I stood next to you at Cordé's. And how you felt about the Republic being at war was written all over your face when I laid it out for you in that gunship."

His awareness of my pains considering everything he'd been dealing with was breathtaking. I walked in front of him and raised a hand, tucking his Padawan braid behind his ear. I smiled wider when I saw him do the same at my touch.

Standing in that room with him, even in Geonosis's orbit on a cruiser occupied by clones and diplomats, the war felt lightyears away. I leaned into the fantasy as ardently as I'd run away with the sight of his clothes next to mine in a drawer.

"I'm alright." I continued smiling at him tenderly. "There have been moments of frustration, but I'm not giving up. I'm sorry I haven't been able to come to your bedside. I didn't want to arouse suspicion, and there have been so many briefings to sit in on." I sighed, regrettably remembering my continued workload. "Even with most of the ship emptied, they'll continue until the last minute before we go into hyperspace."

Anakin seemed to tense during my remarks, and his eyes lost a bit of their magical mirth. "Briefings… with the man who came into the bacta tank room?"

I fixed Anakin with a look. He knew better. He had to. "His name is Jurue Batar. He worked with me against the Military Creation Act for the past year." I saw no need to go into detail about the long work nights which had shifted into the territory of personal conversations, nor the occasional trips to the Opera House on Coruscant or art exhibitions on Naboo. Jurue was an interesting person to talk to, and perhaps I should have minded better how he was interpreting our time together, but it was nothing Anakin should waste effort being concerned about. "He's just a colleague. A friend." I shrugged. "A fellow member of my own Order."

"Do all your colleagues kiss you when they greet you? Mine don't."

This time, I exhaled audibly. It felt more mature than rolling my eyes at him. "Anakin, that's what people from his region of Naboo do. It's nothing more than a cultural custom."

Instead of being soothed by this, Anakin's eyes only drew in. "He's from Naboo?"

I frowned. "I don't want to talk about Jurue. He isn't one of the issues we're facing."

Anakin heaved himself off the table and walked quietly in the only direction he really could— past the bed, towards the sink on the other side of the room. He stood in front of the mirror for a poignant moment. In the glass, I watched his eyes drop down to the arm at his right side. Its fingers flexed, once.

"When you said… 'I think our lives are about to be destroyed anyway'," he recounted with perfect recollection of my words in the cart, "What did you mean by that?"

I took his place where he'd been leaning against the table. I grabbed the rim of it under my palms. "I thought one or both of us were about to be killed in that arena." Ridiculous or not, I took a moment to muster the courage before I exposed myself once again and said, "But that isn't why I told you that I love you."

He met my eye in the mirror. We looked at one another over his shoulder for a suspended beat, using the reflective surface to search each other's depths.

He slowly turned towards me but was now looking at the floor. "I thought you said it because you were being destroyed, like me— by the distance between us ever since that last night at the villa. We have had moments." It seemed to become hard for him to speak. "You were there for me after my mother. But…"

"I know." The strained atmosphere from that patio morning through disembarking on Geonosis had been excruciating. Even in moments on Tatooine, when I was able to hold him, it only made the reality of the invisible barrier between us even more torturous. On an entirely new level, I'd agreed with Anakin's depiction that the closer we got to each other, the worse the separation became.

Blazing blue eyes flashed up to seize mine. "It has seared me, Padmé. Not being able to touch you. Or to tell you how I feel. I've tried to respect your wishes, but it was like… it was like…" His gaze lifted towards the ceiling as he fought to find names for emotions which spoken language cannot suffice.

"I know."

His gaze dropped down to me again. "No, I don't think you do. You only confessed your feelings because you thought you wouldn't live long enough to see the after effects of voicing them."

"Anakin, that's not entirely—" But the last word wouldn't pass through my vocal cords. I wanted to tell him that he was wrong; that the truth of how I felt would've come out eventually. I wanted to believe it would have, but the dread I'd felt in that moment when I realized we were going to live now stopped me cold.

He witnessed my halted speech, and his tone grew low. There was an air of accusation about him. "When did you realize you loved me?"

This I would not, could not answer. The fact that I realized I loved him while he was confessing to mass murder was more than enough to prove my feelings were genuine. But I could never share that anecdote with Anakin. It would cause him more pain and confusion than it would reassure him of its intensity.

"What matters is that I do," I shot back. "And it has killed me, too, to suppress how I've felt. But I knew that however we feel about each other, it doesn't erase all the same issues we faced by the fireplace." The first fissure broke through my attempt at composure. "It still doesn't."

Anakin's face fell at the crack in my voice. "Padmé, it changes everything."

The clutches of hysteria pulled at my better judgment. "It may have already. Did Master Windu or Mundi enlighten you as to their theory?"

His brows bent in, and his lips became a strict line. "What theory?"

"That if I hadn't shown up on Geonosis, the rescue attempt never would've been moved to the arena, and almost two hundred Jedi wouldn't have been killed."

Fire like I'd never seen before erupted in Anakin's eyes. For a moment, I was grateful for the sake of the two Masters that they weren't still in our orbit.

"They said what to you?"

"Dooku told Obi-Wan he was working on his release. They think it was a ruse to stall for time, but not an indication he was under immediate threat of death. I interrupted whatever plan he had for Obi-Wan, perhaps one that would've allowed a window for the arriving Jedi to infiltrate the hive and rescue him without any lives lost."

Anakin's jaw dropped and his eyes went wide. "They're guessing! Mace Windu is powerful, but he can't know anything like that with certainty. It's also completely possible that Dooku knew once he made Obi-Wan a hostage the Jedi would bring a litany of its members to free him."

I cast my eyes to the floor and bit my bottom lip. I shook my head and repeated Windu's words. "We'll never know."

"Padmé." Anakin took the steps it required to approach me and put his hands on my shoulders. "Think about it. Whenever Obi-Wan was captured, they would've seized his ship. It's very likely possible they found the message he was in the middle of recording when the droideka attacked him. If Dooku even suspected that transmission was going to make it to Coruscant, he would've known the Jedi would be coming in mass. He would've laid a trap for them one way or another. You just happened to show up before they got there."

"And I still put him out in an arena, where he never would've been if we'd just waited."

"Yoda and the other Masters teach that looking into the future is dangerous. Looking into the past can be too." He squeezed my arms. "You wanted to come to Geonosis to help Obi-Wan. I know you did. That's who you are."

"Yes!" I broke free of his hold and stepped away, moving across the room in my agitation. "It is! And I know if put in the same situation, I would have done it again. But I also didn't want you to lose another parental figure so soon after losing your mother. My thoughts of protecting your heart pushed me off Tatooine just as much as a desire to help Obi-Wan did."

His eyes widened again, and he slammed his human hand over the middle of his chest. "Protect my heart? Is that what you believe you're doing right now?"

I stared back at him, impassioned. "I can't see around you! My life has always been such a clear pathway in front of me. But now you— you're there like this boulder in the middle of a river and I can't see around you!"

"Padmé, they weren't at that fake negotiation table like you and I were! They didn't see the look on Dooku's face when he pretended to want an alliance with Naboo." He lifted his mechanical arm up. The hand was clenched into another fist. "Maybe if Master Windu had gotten his own arm cut off, he'd start believing Dooku isn't the man they think he still is!"

"You have your theory and Windu has his," I retorted hotly. "The fact of the matter is, we will never know."

Anakin dipped his chin low and studied the ground as each of us collected our respective breaths. In the impasse, the elevated madness of the moment abated. But when his eyes looked up at me again, they held disappointment and severity. "This is just like with Cordé— taking on too much responsibility for deaths that weren't your fault."

I put a hand to my temple before dropping it to my side. "Anakin, I'm not… I don't carry that guilt. I understand why you would think I do, and I did at first. But that's not what's happening here. I'm not holding what happened in the arena against me or against us. What I'm worried about is the next time— the next time my feelings for you cloud my judgment and rush me into action or freeze me into inaction because I can't think clearly."

Anakin shuffled his weight, and seemed to earnestly try to speak to me at my emotional level when he stressed, "Did they put all the blame on your shoulders when they said this? For us being on Geonosis?"

I sighed at him, not sure this was the point anymore. "We showed up on my ship. I think they realized I went to Geonosis of my own free will."

"Or that I dragged you."

I openly scoffed. "I would hope they know better than to think a Padawan has the sway to drag a Senator around the galaxy.

Anakin never liked being reminded of his elongated apprenticeship, nor the difference in our ranks. He went still and his eyes filled with warning.

"Careful."

Gods help me, a shiver went through my flesh at the dark look in his expression. All else that matters aside, no one ever said Anakin didn't wear threat well.

After a moment, the blue storm settled. "Did Obi-Wan imply this at you too when you spoke with him?"

I shook my head. "No, no, no, not at all. The thought hadn't even seemed to cross his mind."

Anakin relaxed a fraction at this. Then he walked to where I stood, meeting my gaze with his entreating features. "Padmé. It's not up to you to single-handedly save the universe, though I know you care enough to try." He looked at me in open adoration. "It's one of the many things I love about you."

I knew he did, yet I found my lips spreading wide into a smile. The residual insecurity I'd felt before in my cabin showed itself out the door. My heart forgot about everything I'd just raged about. I may as well have forgotten the reason why I'd walked into the room, unless it was to hear this. "You love me?"

He broke into an exultant grin. Then his face shifted back into a serious expression, and he lifted his human hand to brush his thumb low on my forehead. I held my breath for whatever profound reply he was about to capture me with.

"It's your eyebrows."

The subjects of his absurd reply shot up in surprise. "My eyebrows?"

"They're very…" He studied my face like an art critic would casually appraise a sculpture. "Horizontal."

My jaw dropped. I catapulted myself at him and his mask broke, the both of us bubbling with laughter— him more than I— as I mock-fought him. Anyone who would've witnessed our heated disagreement would think we'd transformed into two completely different people in a matter of seconds. We had. We were a boy and a girl in love.

"Where's the tortured soul?!" I squealed, aiming for his chest and shoulders as he easily blocked my incensed attack. "Where's the romance?"

He shrugged, even as he gallantly absorbed my light blows. "It didn't get me very far last time."

"You were "in agony" because of my eyebrows?!"

"Would it help if I said I quite like your hair?"

I really threw myself at him this time, but he only laughed harder. Within seconds though, he finally realized he could take advantage of my clearly offered proximity, and he wrapped his arms around me tightly, bringing my body flush up against his. I couldn't even move my thighs, much less do anything with my bent arms pinned between us.

All my energy dissipated instantly, as I had no desire to struggle against this. But he misread the reaction, and his grinning face went bleak as he immediately stepped back. His arms spread open wide. Off-balance so suddenly, I wavered a little before steadying myself.

"I'm—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," his voice was deep with remorse. "I didn't mean to— did I hurt you?" He was the picture of a frantic apologetic.

I shook my head, not understanding. "What?"

"The arm." He held it up with disgust, like it was a loathed abomination. "And your cuts! I'm so sorry, Padmé. I'm so sorry!"

I erased the space between us in hurried steps. "No! Anakin, no, the— it was fine!" I soothed him with caresses on his face, trying to stand as close to him as I was before. Both his arms remained at his sides. "The pressure didn't feel off at all."

His eyes scrutinized my face. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not."

"But you went so still after I pulled you up against me."

I let out a light laugh, and he pursed his lips. He obviously didn't find anything about this funny yet. "Ani," I murmured. "We're new at this. But that was me enjoying myself." I smiled shyly. "Surrendering to the moment, as it were."

"Are you sure?"

"Do it again, and I'll prove it to you."

Slowly, hesitantly, he brought his left arm up and repositioned it around my back. The limb was so long that his fingertips traveled the entire back half of my torso and landed solidly alongside my breast. Recognizing this, he moved it lower just a moment later. He applied pressure and pulled me closer to him, but I was nowhere near satisfied, and it hadn't escaped me that he'd only half-complied. I raised my left arm to grab the wrist of his mechanical hand and firmly guided it around me as far as I could. I was mindful to place it low on my back, however well the bacta bandages had worked. He let it rest there but only applied the slightest amount of push.

So, I decided to motivate him.

Drawing out the slowness of the move, I pushed my palms up his chest and over his collarbone. The atmosphere between us immediately changed. His lips parted in the flow of a throaty exhale.

My fingers continued up and in, leaving behind the fabric to make contact with warm flesh. They softly, yet purposefully, caressed their way up and around his neck. The tan skin above the veins thrummed. He was watching me with darkening eyes, his body coursing with a different kind of tension under my touch. Encouraged, I briefly interlocked my hands at the nape behind his head. Then I let womanly instinct guide me as I ever so slowly ran the tips of my fingers up through his short hair, around his ponytail, letting my nails softly dig their way as they led my trajectory. The move itself naturally inclined his head down, yet in a better response than I'd even expected, he exploded into motion in a sudden rush, crushing his lips into mine.

We'd never shared a kiss like this before. Anakin attacked my mouth like he had a vendetta against my very sanity— or whatever shreds of it he presumed I had left. The urgent pressure said louder than any words could that he demanded confirmation I'd been just as desperate for him all this time, and that his answer was singularly going to be found in the folds of my lips and the cavern they gated. I returned his inquisition with a scorching need to lay against him the charges he'd done to me— the pathetic loss of control over my own body, the hijacking of my mind, breath, and sleep; the utter undoing of the stoic Senator from Naboo. Crimes and consecrations no court in existence could reward him for.

My hands roamed, but his were everywhere— grabbing, kneading, exploring in a frenzy. The only detail he seemed to barely remember was to avoid the single bandage, but everywhere else was fair game, and he more than made up for the deprivation. The cold of his artificial hand on my fevered skin drove me to heights of mania just as much as the heat from his flesh and blood one did— an unexpected but intoxicating surprise.

Gripping fingers ran over his shoulders, chest, and abdomen like they'd been granted access to a treasure they'd been pining over for a millennium. How many times had I thought about touching him like this? Would enough touch ever suffice?

Short gasps of air were confiscated as his kisses moved to bless the skin of my hot cheeks. I nearly came out of my shoes when his open mouth descended to my neck. My back willingly arched as he grabbed then yanked my hips deeper into him, pushing a rush of breath from my lungs in the movement. But what was air when I had Anakin's body heat feeding my own with life? Moans mixed with our sparse, heavy breathing. I'd never before heard such sounds coming from myself or from him, and it ricocheted my arousal to new levels. I was full-on panting by the time his bold hands moved to my rear.

His lips hungrily made their way back to mine, and my heartbeat pounded throughout my body as I was swept up in yet another wave. It was a festival of exploration, and we were committed to the task. I thought I heard him gasp my name in between desperate kisses, but it was hard to make it out over my pulse thundering in my ears.

One of his searching hands— I honestly couldn't tell if it was the human or the mechanical, such was I lost in a whirlwind of senses— dropped even further, cupping behind the upper most of the back of a thigh. The voice in my head that still grasped the tangible gauged that he was about to hike my leg up against his hip, opening me up to him, and I groaned into his mouth.

But I'd underestimated his intent. Suddenly, he used his tight grip— one hand on my rear, the other under my thigh— to spin us round without ever losing a centimeter between our bodies. In one fell swoop, I found myself lifted on to the table, his well-positioned hands using their placement to coax open my legs. Before I could even form a thought about that, his lips were moving down to my neck, up to behind my ear, then down again to nip and lick at my collarbone. And then there were no thoughts. Straddling him eagerly, I clutched his head to me as he traveled, my fingers scraping into his scalp. Carnal desire burning me alive since Coruscant swallowed me in its seductive flame. I smelled ash mixed with his scent and only wanted it more. My eyelids drooped and fluttered, repeatedly closing only briefly before I became famished, craving the sight of him again. He finally came up once more to swallow my lips in a raw, consuming kiss, the passion of which nearly lifted me right off the table.

It was when I felt a distinct, unmistakable hardness against my inner thigh that conscious thought returned like dousing water. It was a combination of shyness, over two decades of instilled propriety, and a resounding, primal, answering desire which shocked me in its magnitude that made me break the kiss. In the same second, my palms dropped to his chest, applying just a fraction of push. His hands came to an abrupt halt, and we hovered there for several moments, our exhales fanning each other's inflamed lips.

My hands lightly shook against his tunic with the energetic heat still pumping through them. Dazed, I leaned forward towards my hurricane and my harbor to nestle my cheek against his skin. His ragged breath blew across my ear in hot gushes. With my face pressed to him, I could feel the muscles tighten as he swallowed multiple times, no doubt in an earnest attempt to manage his breathing. He pulled away and angled up just enough to press a passionately firm kiss to my perspiring forehead, before resting his cheek against mine again. I didn't need to say anything. He knew.

Abruptly exhausted, I dropped my forehead into the crook of his damp neck. My hands moved to the sides of his waist. His arms and hands, once roaming with such fervor, came round to envelope me in a delicate embrace, ever mindful of the bandage. Despite the comforting warmth, I felt a rising concern as I gradually remembered where we were and what we'd just gotten recklessly close to doing. But this was such a beautiful moment— an intimacy no less intense even in its serenity— and so I pushed reality away for a few seconds longer. As I bemusedly remembered how all this started, I stole yet another moment in order to smile victoriously, my cheeks and lips all moving against his neck in the act. "See?" The attempt at a triumphant voice wheezed out from my exercised lungs. Hearing myself sound like this, I let out an even breathier laugh into his skin.

He chuckled heartily in response, and my body lightly shook against him as his neck, shoulders, and rib cage reverberated with his vocalized happiness. Then he lifted his hands from their repose and traced undefined paths into the safe places of my back. The pads of his fingers danced to their own hypnotizing rhythm, and I lost myself in a whole new pool of soothing sensations. My eyelids became heavy. Anakin tilted his own head and rested it against my hairline, never stopping the gentle ministrations with his fingers. Eventually, both our breathing settled into a quiet pattern simultaneous with each other's.

Inhale.

Pause.

Exhale.

The girl in Varykino's mirror would have been proud.

His deep voice eventually broke the silence. "I bet Palo never kissed you like that."

I couldn't see his face well enough to judge whether he was strictly teasing or at all serious. Either way, I didn't like him tainting our blissful moment with jealousy, so there was more than a little reproach when I answered, "Palo who?"

He laughed again. Pleased at his evident mood, I snuggled even closer into his neck. How I loved the sound of his laugh. I breathed the scent of him in. He smelled like he always did, but now with a fresh dose of new sweat. It wasn't unpleasant. It just smelled like… Anakin.

Like a home. My new home.

How do I give this up?

{You're studying to become a Jedi. I'm… I'm a Senator.}

{It's the Republic's army. We're at war.}

Reality had had enough of waiting, and it was beginning to assail me on all mental sides. I straightened, wanting a better look at him. His face was still flushed with color and his eyes were bright. His full lips were two pillows of red, separated by a smile as he gazed back at me with something akin to worship.

His human hand moved some of my wayward hair behind my ear. I could only imagine how disheveled I looked— his hands had blazed their path through my tendrils several times in the blur of our frenetic passion. His smile grew larger, more mischievous. "If someone walks in, there's no question, this has got to be the single best way to get kicked out of the Order."

I froze. His words, but even more so their blithe tone, had the opposite reaction of his attempt at humor. And they were forebodingly similar to what I'd just been thinking, though clearly with none of the apprehension.

Oh, Anakin. Couldn't we have held reality back for one minute longer?

As if I were participating in a solemn ceremony, I felt my expression morph into resignation. I leaned forward to press one more soft, lingering kiss on his swollen lips, and then disentangled myself from his embrace. He stepped to the side as I pushed myself off the table, his human hand extending out to help. I didn't take it. He watched me backup to several feet away, confusion contouring his face. "Padmé?"

I sighed, the last of the adrenaline reluctantly leaving my system as heartache chased it out. "You're right," I mumbled quietly. "Someone could walk in at any moment. Someone could always walk in." I shook my head "This is too risky."

Anakin immediately caught on to the scope of my implication, and his mouth settled into a determined line. He stalked towards me, undeterred. "We're a risk I'm willing to take," he pressed, his arms reaching for me again.

"No, Anakin." I forced myself to counter, extending my arms out and locking them into place. My hands made blunt contact with his chest just in time. It took everything in me not to clutch the fabric of his tunic under my fingers and pull us together again. "No." I shook my head slowly. "You've worked too hard and given up too much to throw it all away over me."

This stopped his advance, but he didn't retreat. He became a breathing statue, regarding me silently for a long time. As neither of us moved, I began to worry that someone walking in would find the sight of us— Anakin staring at me with intensely focused eyes, barely allowing me to hold him back with my arrow-straight skinny arms— would be almost as compromising as finding us locked in a smoldering embrace on the table.

It was close to a full minute before he at last spoke. His voice was low, hoarse. "You really don't grasp how I feel about you, do you?"

His cerulean pools begged, no— dared me to see what he was trying to express. In them, I saw pain. Passion. Unwavering commitment. And a level of pure, deep love I didn't think could be conveyed through eyes. It terrified me almost as much as it absolutely thrilled me. Above all, it crushed me.

"Anakin…" I breathed, my tense arms finally relaxing. He remained where he stood. "I don't know what we do with this."

I immediately regretted how I phrased it, and my tone. I'd just called the firestorm of affection between us a 'this', as if it was something I'd found on the floor and picked up with revulsion. He looked as unimpressed with my delivery as I was. "With us," I attempted to mend.

"I told Obi-Wan I don't care if I'm expelled from the Order."

My eyes flew open. "What?! When did this happen?"

"After you were blasted out of the transport."

Obi-Wan's outreach to me to reorient his Padawan's priorities suddenly didn't seem so bizarre.

"Anakin—"

"I kept shouting at the pilot to turn around. I didn't care about Dooku anymore."

This was everything I had feared, and not just because Anakin put my well-being over the crucial capture of Count Dooku— a surefire way to end the war before it really began and save countless lives— but because if the situation had been reversed, I'm not sure I wouldn't have been shouting at Obi-Wan for the exact same thing. Which prompted my next question.

"How did Obi-Wan change your mind?"

His powerful stare broke away from mine. This was unusual for Anakin. Whatever he was going to say next, he wasn't going to enjoy it.

"He said…" He sighed, almost angrily. "He asked what you would do in my position. I told him… you would do your duty."

Now I knew why he didn't want to say it. This had become fuel for my argument, not his.

Duty first. It always came down to duty first.

But did it have to?

Anakin still wasn't looking at me, so he didn't see the inner battle playing out on my face. "But that's not the only reason why I stayed on the transport instead of jumping off," he continued hotly, having worked himself up now. He paced a little, ending with his back to me and his hands on his hips. "Before I answered Obi-Wan, I reached out to you through the Force. I could feel that you were," he spun around, "you were knocked out but not mortally injured." He winced as he said the last part, as if he felt it was a pitiful excuse. "Even then…" Antsy, he finally defied my established distance and hastened over to me, enfolding me into his arms. Nothing in me resisted. "I almost threw the pilot out of his chair and took over the controls."

I tried to put myself in his position on the transport. It wasn't hard to do— at all. I'd practically lived it. When I was on the second ship, I was consumed with thoughts of Anakin and the inevitable lightsaber duel. I wasn't thinking about avoiding a war. I wasn't thinking about the Republic. I wasn't thinking about antiquated Jedi laws on attachment. Even when I'd turned my blaster to fire on Dooku's getaway ship, it was on the awful chance to avenge a fallen love, not to avert future battles. We were each other's biggest distractions now.

Anakin's hand pressed to the side of my head, tucking me closely under his chin. Despite— or maybe because of— his towering height, we fit so perfectly together. Two halves of a whole.

These weren't the feelings of a woman fresh off swimming, picnicking, or dining with a dashing and laughing young man, nor were they tested while lying next to him on an island floor no one knew we were on, hidden away from the galaxy. This was the hot-bloodied commitment of someone who willingly traded tranquil meadows for a dirty garage floor; who held Anakin as he mourned on the worst day of his life; who witnessed this man be cut down by his anger and remorse, then waded with him through the rubble until he'd found his humanity again.

I swallowed and pushed back tears. Obi-Wan's concerns may apply to other bodyguard assignments, but not this one. Nothing in that execution cart had been the result of getting caught up in the heightened drama of a protection detail.

{I think our lives are about to be destroyed anyways.}

His interpretation of my words had been the correct one. At this point, destruction was our fate no matter what path we chose. If there was to be a war and Anakin was to be a part of it, I was already destined to endure it consumed with worry over him. I doubted he would find comfort in distance with my continued political efforts. If this was the hand we'd been dealt, better for us to at least grant ourselves stolen reprieves when we could.

I whispered into his tunic. "Anakin… There might be a way."

He pulled me back to look at me. "A way?"

I shook my head. "No one can know. There are things happening that are bigger than two people right now, and neither of us was built to watch from the sidelines." He stilled as he studied me. "And if we are to be thrust into a war, duty must come first. At least for now. We can figure out navigating the rest after." My voice took on a bit of the regalia of the Amidala tone, but my professional and personal personas were in lock step. "The Republic is going to need its Jedi more than ever, along with my push for diplomacy in the Senate. We'll just have to…" Here my eyes dropped, and I shrugged half-heartedly. "We'll have to steal moments while we can." I looked back up at him optimistically. "I was probably the least pleased person on Geonosis to see a full army arrive— and I'm including the Viceroy and Dooku in that assessment— but now that the Separatists know the Republic has an army, maybe that will push them into diplomatic negotiations much more quickly."

My brain wandered as my delegate instincts overrode the romance of the moment. I still abhorred the idea of fighting violence with the threat of violence just as much as I had when I railed against it in my Senate speech after Cordé's death. But even I had to admit, a surprise, trained, organized, ready-to-deploy army that completely blindsided the Separatists could be a useful deterrent to war, regardless of Obi-Wan's opinion on the matter. But no, that was too optimistic. I bit on my lip lightly as I pondered aloud, "Once they've regrouped, they'll probably want to put up a fight at first, to test the strength of the clone army. The clones have lost the element of surprise— Dooku and his forces will be better prepared to face them next time. But this has to change their approach. And this war could be resolved within months, maybe even within weeks—"

Two warm fingers silenced my moving lips. I looked up at their grinning owner. I got the feeling from the glazed expression that he'd stopped listening to my rambling at least midway through.

"Padmé." His eyes searched mine. "Are you, are you saying—" Suddenly, Anakin frowned, the gleefully stupefied look disappearing from his face. He put a hand on the side of my head clinically. "Are we still waiting on blood to return to our brains, or is this real?"

I smiled, all thoughts of the Senate and soldiers put to the side. "It's as real as this," I leaned up to place a sweet, expressive, real kiss to his lips. My right hand drifted up to caress his cheek as our lips moved against each other's, and his flesh hand came up to hold mine in its divine place. Cautious of how easy it would be to give into physical temptation again, especially now that I had committed to our future, I retreated just as he started to deepen the kiss to a more energetic level. This was still not the time nor place. But as I came back to stand squarely in front of him, we were both beaming.

He bowed his head respectfully. "I agree to your terms, Senator."

"Thank you, Master Jedi."

He grimaced slightly, though the grin stayed on his face. "Too soon."

Slowly, I reached out and picked up his hand, the mechanical one. I placed it over my heart. He didn't seem to particularly enjoy the sight of this, but he let the hand stay. I waited until he lifted his eyes from the limb to meet mine. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you how I felt before Tatooine."

He stepped closer, closing the space between us. "It's alright." His other hand wrapped low around my waist, and our hands over my heart shifted into an interlocked clasp. His voice quieted. "You can make up for it by telling me you love me as often as you like."

I laughed, a happy sound that reminded me of the bliss a golden girl found in a meadow. "Only if you bring back the tortured soul."

He let go and stepped back to bow. My body immediately rebelled at the minuscule yet sudden distance between us. Right now, it's an arm's length. Soon, it will be planets. Solar systems. This is going to be unbearable.

"Apparently, it's my specialty, milady." He straightened again. "As I was saying. I agree to your ground rules. Duty first. We'll just… have to figure out the finer details as we go."

"Wonderful." I wanted to be his arms again. Why was he still standing so separately?

His face grew unreadable. "Under one condition."

Anakin was getting everything he'd asked for. My love. My acceptance of the stress in taking on a massive secret for the sole sake of being together. What could he possibly still want? And with such joy pulsating through me, what could he possibly ask for at this point that I'd refuse?

Maybe I was still waiting for my equilibrium to stabilize from our deliriously heated session on the table, because my eyes were in disbelief even as I watched him ceremoniously drop to one knee before me.

His voice was heavy with the weight of the moment. "On Tatooine," he swallowed. "There aren't many who marry for love. It's a very rare, very special thing." His eyes glossed over, and I knew he was thinking of his mother. "That makes the few proposal traditions there are that much more sacred. But there's one that stands out among all." He smiled, some levity returning to his face. There was a sweetly stilted air to his speech, as if it had been rehearsed beforehand. "If you were a regular Tatooine girl, and I was just a regular Tatooine guy, I would have hiked Beggar's Canyon to retrieve a very rare flower that grows in the shade there."

I couldn't help but interrupt, though I sounded hoarse with building feelings. "Tatooine has flowers?" My voice was shaking. My rapid heartbeat had returned.

"Just the one kind." His voice was deep, reverent. "It's a very resilient flower. It weathers the harshest, most improbable conditions to thrive where no others could. Even with all the odds stacked against it, its beauty and its will to endure keeps going. I would have presented this flower to you. Well, first, I would've gotten down on one knee—" He let out a nervous laugh, then he grew solemn again, in that intense way only Anakin could. "And I would have told you… My life is separated into two eras: before you— not Qui-Gon— walked into Watto's shop, and everything that's happened thereafter. You're the benchmark, Padmé. There were none before you, there were none these last ten years, and there could never be another for the rest of my life. There's only you." His voice shook with emotion, and he stopped to clear his throat rather unsuccessfully. He blinked back wetness forming in his eyes, but he pushed on, blazing them into mine. "I am yours. Forever. I will protect you, support you, respect you, and honor you in all that I do." He took a profound breath, steadying himself in final preparation. "Padmé Naberrie, rhe tuvelyn omné he'lavien?"

I gasped and my chin began to involuntarily tremble.

At my utterly bewildered expression, he let out a shaky laugh. "Threepio. Just before you got here. If you haven't heard, he's fluent in over six million forms of communication."

This was what Anakin's threat to the droid had been about. Tears clouded my eyes. I was on autopilot, beyond cohesive thought when I instinctively answered him in my native tongue— the same language he'd just spoken in asking me to marry him.

"Anakin… rhe lúthir tonna…" My voice broke in tandem with my heart. "Vé."

His smile faltered, then it fully collapsed.

Anakin didn't understand I love you, but… in Nabooian. However, although it took him a few seconds, he'd remembered the word I taught him for No.