A/N: Although it's sad to think Padmé's scene at the farm with Beru was filmed but cut (if you've seen the behind-the-scenes photos of Padmé/Natalie in the Lars kitchen, you'll know what I'm talking about) and not even put on the DVD, especially given how many Padmé scenes were deleted overall between AOTC and ROTS, this is one of those rare times when I think George made the right call in the cutting room. It was oddly timed dialogue in an oddly timed scene. For that reason, while I've included it here, it's been reframed in a new way. Fun fact: Owen's backstory and Beru's culinary skill are lifted straight from both canons.

Chapter 29. 35 Hours, Part Three

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches on the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops – at all

— Emily Dickinson

Hours 17 & 18

"Milady, it is so wonderful to see you are doing well."

I smiled without spirit. Looks could be deceiving. "It is good to see you, Chancellor. I can only assume by your sudden outreach that there is news on the assassin's plot?" Betraying my composed veneer, famished eyes darted up for a split-second look out the window. After the synapses in my brain rapidly recognized no change on the scene beyond the ship, my attention returned to the pale figure in the broadcast.

"Indeed. That and more." Lips peeled back as he smiled at me from his grand chair. "I wanted to be the one to tell you myself. Master Kenobi has discovered who orchestrated the attempts on your life. You were right. Count Dooku was the mastermind pulling the strings for his own advantage." I sighed with gratification as tension leaked out of my shoulders. Before I could add any remark to this, Palpatine continued, "All this couldn't have been resolved with better timing. I have held off the vote in hopes of your return to Coruscant, Senator. I am pleased to tell you— should you leave right now, you will reach the capital in time to vote against the Military Creation Act. There may even be time enough for you to swing a few fence-riders before the procedures begin." He beamed at me across the vast distance between us. "This is it, milady. All of your hard work will come to pass."

Fear gripped my heart where relief should have been blooming. My eyes jumped back up to the bay window just above the cockpit controls. As had been the case for hours, I continued to see an empty horizon.

Anakin was still out there.

The silence was dragging on as my counterpart on the other side of the holocall waited for a response. His face observed me with growing confusion.

"Chancellor, I…" My uneven voice trailed off. I didn't even know how to begin to explain the tug of war happening inside me.

"Senator Amidala? Why, I would've thought you'd have already ended our communication and taken off after hearing this news. Yet you hesitate."

"Chancellor Palpatine, I'm sorry." I didn't sound like the formidable politician who'd earned her reputation being just so. I sounded like a woman lost. "I know you expected a different reaction. I am grateful that you've held off the vote this long—"

"Your triumphant arrival will ensure its passage."

My eyes scanned the horizon. I willed Anakin to arrive with a desperation quickly escalating into panic.

Don't make me choose. Not between the vote and him.

"I can't leave. Not yet." The words were torn more from my heart than my head.

"Might I remind you, Senator, this is a year's work of your life. Seven of your staff— including your dear bodyguard— died to bring you to Coruscant for this vote. It is time to honor your responsibility and commitment to the people you represent."

"I know," I swallowed. My breath began to quicken as tears started to form around my eyes. "I know all this. I do. But—"

"What could possibly be so important that it would sway you from your duty?"

My eyes searched the beige horizon in vain. Anguish split my voice. "He's still out there."

"You must choose your fate, Amidala."

I watched in shock as the figure in the holocall grew impossibly taller, wider, until I was backing away from him while he consumed the cockpit space. Cornered by the gargantuan symbol of political obligation and with nowhere else to retreat, I climbed onto the control panel, but when I pressed a hand to the glass to support myself, I was found there was nothing between me and the air outside. Losing my balance, I tumbled backwards out of the ship. Only I neither hit chrome exterior nor sandy ground.

I continued to drop, to disappear into a black abyss. But no matter how deep or fast I fell, Palpatine's voice mixed with mine in a warning that followed me into the limitless depths. Blended into one overlapping sound, the combined voices of the Chancellor's and my own repeated one phrase that echoed in the chamber without end.

"You have more important things to do than fall in love."

"You have more important things to do than fall in love."

"You have more important things to do than fall in love!"

Hour 19

Shielding my eyes from the suns, I found him east of the dome entrance, crouched low as he tended to the base of a vaporator. Sand kicked up behind me as my feet hastily sped across Tatooine's abrasive skin.

"Padmé?" Owen looked at me with surprise once he noticed my missile-like coming. He wiped his hands on the coarse tunic covering his torso. "Is something wrong?"

Coming to a stand before him, I didn't answer his question so much as I went immediately to what I needed. "I want to know everything there is to know about moisture farming."

Owen waited an extended moment, as if expecting this to be the lead up to a joke. "You're serious?"

I nodded once, determined. I couldn't have been more sincere. "Yes."

"I thought you were finally getting some sleep?"

I allowed a wince to come through to plead my case for me. I didn't want to have to elaborate for him as I only replied, "Bad dreams."

He studied me a moment. "I see." Brown eyes displayed clear empathy, and he nodded. "You need a distraction."

"I'm a quick student." Although it had not been the original reason why I came up here, I was genuine as I added, "You said we might be waiting days for their return. I won't do anyone any service by moping around. I want to help and earn my keep."

Owen gave me a kind smile. "You don't have to earn your keep, Padmé. You aren't a burden."

I mimicked his expression, but with a dash of my own brand of zeal. "I do want to help."

Owen looked like he was about to permit my request, but his eyes still lingered dubiously on my soft hands and even softer clothing. For the first time in several hours, it registered that I'd been wearing the same outfit I'd put on when leaving Naboo. I'd been so consumed with thoughts of Anakin that I hadn't paid any mind to my own state.

I promptly decided it didn't matter. There was little to no fashion on board the cruiser that would serve as a better uniform for labor any more than my current ensemble did. Besides, given that my lessons were likely to mostly take place outside, odds were high I'd need a full shower by the time we were finished.

Owen shrugged and nodded solemnly. "Well… with my dad still recovering from his injury, and Mom…" He pressed his lips into a hard line. "With Mom gone, we've gotten behind on the farm. Beru does her best to help, but ah, we could use an extra pair of hands." He actually cracked a smile. "I know you don't come from a desert planet, but by the end of the day, I promise, you'll have a new appreciation for water."

"Trust me," I grinned. "I already do."

Hours 20-25

Owen Lars was a unique man. Good. Patient. And in the best meaning of the word— simple. He loved his family, he loved his farm, and he was content with the humble elements of his life in a way that I believe many beings aspire to be.

Our first activity as teacher and distraction-hungry pupil was a tour to all the property's vaporators. He took on previously unseen excitement as he pointed out the upgrades and variations in the newer models versus the old. He spoke about them with the same level of enthusiasm I could easily imagine Anakin talking with for speeders and racing pods. Such a level of dedication to his purpose made his translation of the working parts of the machines that much more understandable.

But the distance between vaporators was far, as he laid out the reasons for (it seems moisture pockets in the air can differ from one small stretch of meters to the next), and eventually, our talk as we continued the tour drifted towards more personal conversation. I was surprised to hear he'd been born on a Core World, where his parents first met. His mother died when he was very young, and he had no memories before his father brought him back to his family's farm. As far as Owen was obviously concerned, his entire life had been spent on the homestead. While he sometimes visited nearby Anchorhead, he kept his distance as much as he could from Mos Eisley and Mos Espa. "Nothing good happens in Eisley," he'd explained. "And the last time there was anything good in Mos Espa was the day Shmi walked out of it."

Beyond his infrequent trips to the neighboring towns, he was comfortable not extending his steps too far from home. He had no desire to ever go off-planet again, not even to see the world where he was born. This came neither from a profoundly stirring love of his land nor an abhorrence of the galaxy beyond… he was simply at ease with where he was.

There were two cherished exceptions to the unexciting continuity of his life— the separate arrival of a pair women melding their way into it. He spoke about his first time meeting Shmi— who he almost always referred to as "Mom", as opposed to the "Mother" title he reserved for the woman who gave him life— and the traits in her that won over not just his respect, but his devoted love. Yet there was no mistaking the way his eyes lit up when he talked about Beru. He was plainly as smitten with her as she was with him.

Although it might seem like a decent biography, all of these morsels of information and emotions I had to discern between slips on Owen's part over several hours. He was not one to open up, and most of what I learned came from polite questions I always hoped were not too invasive. I had a sinking suspicion that, though Owen didn't mind my presence on the farm, I had yet to earn his respect as an off-worlder with flashy clothes— if he only knew— and seemingly dainty hands.

At present, we were finishing the cleaning of a GX-8 model on the southern rim. Owen was sprouting more facts at me with an air that would've put the diligent professors of Theed University to shame.

"A well-taken care of vaporator can usually collect enough water to sustain three humans." He wiped down the back end of the machine with the brown towel he was carrying on his belt. "Water can be collected from air with a moisture content of as little as 1.3%. Isn't that something?"

My brows shot up in unfeigned appreciation. "That little?" As if my throat had gone dry at hearing this, I swallowed reflexively.

"Don't let the slavers, drug dealers, or other criminals fool you otherwise. Water is the most sought after resource on the planet." He inspected a valve on the machine as he said, "We make most of our annual income during the harvest season alone; it keeps us busy."

I nodded as I added this to my stacked mental notes. I'd asked Owen to teach me everything he knew about moisture farming, but I had to admit, there was more to it than I'd expected to hear. Three hours into his tutelage, I knew more about refrigerated piping and patch-in droids than I thought could be taught on one farm. I garnered a new admiration for his livelihood, especially concerning the frigid cooling systems they were able to maintain in the scorching desert which made the whole operation viable.

Considering I was novice to most of his teachings, I was pleased when we found common ground in one area. Owen was surprised to hear I had once lived right next to a plasma refinery complex. The Plasma Refinery Complex of Naboo, to be exact— which sat on the same cliff face as the Royal Palace of Theed. Tunnels from the hangar facility led into the palace by way of the refinery. One such of these had been the intended route before the creature that felled Qui-Gon Jinn blocked our path. In less violent times, I'd customarily visited the headquarters of the Naboo Security Forces stationed within the plant.

Not that Owen needed all these details in that particular moment. I had a feeling I wouldn't gain any points with Anakin's stepbrother by telling him I'd spent my teenage years living in a palace.

But after hosting many a state dinner where visiting dignitaries asked me about the unusually near refinery, I'd acquired an arsenal of information about its processing and learned to dispel conversational facts about it. Plasma is an abundant element in the core of Naboo; as far as exports go, it is one of our largest. Learning about it hadn't just been my social obligation as a hostess— it was my responsibility as monarch and galactic representative of the planet.

I mentally cracked my fingers and went to work recalling every tidbit of information I'd learned about the plasma refinery located under my former home. It was a far cry from moisture farming, but it spoke a language Owen and I could both understand— valuing the unique resource of a planet, using technology to harvest it, and supplying others through such an elemental commerce.

But the moment when I think I truly earned his respect came from something I'd inadvertently done just the night before, in his own home.

"I'll admit," I felt safe enough to say, "it took me a little while to appreciate this place. It's so different from what I'm familiar with." My eyes swept the horizon line with dual purpose. First, to give yet another search for an approaching speeder bike, as I had a million times since our schooling began. Second, to take in the wonder of the expanse unfurled before us. I knew I would never be content to live here in the way Owen was, however, that didn't mean I couldn't see the merit in his choice. "What you do here is incredibly commendable work. There's quite an artistry to it." Instead of receiving my compliment agreeably, Owen's forehead pinched in. Worried I'd somehow offended him, I quickly added, "I meant that with all respect, truly."

His frown dissipated somewhat when he noticed my concern. "Nah, it's not that." His eyes scanned the horizon too, likely for the same reasons mine had, but they darkened in a way my own had not. "I just wish we didn't have the Tuskens to contend with. I'd wipe them right off the planet if I could."

Everything I'd heard about the Tusken Raiders had been heinous, and I was beyond mortified at Shmi's kidnapping. And yet, I'd been in public service long enough to know that even with the most egregious of species, there was usually two sides to every story. If Owen had been born amongst the Tuskens, I was sure he would've been speaking very differently of them and of the farmers.

None of this, of course, did I say out loud.

"Shmi's out there," I whispered, though confidently. My voice grew louder. "And Anakin will find her. He won't stop until he does."

Owen sighed at my side as we continued our stroll. "If that's true, at least one way… or the other… she's coming home to us."

I peered at him out of the corner of my eye, understanding his meaning well. He was anticipating either a celebration or a burial.

Steadfast on my hope and wanting to shift the tone, I smiled and remarked, "Your father showed me the holograph of Shmi on their wedding day. I couldn't get over how happy she looked."

Owen immediately stilled, then he faced me directly. I stopped with him. "My father showed you that?"

I nodded, thrown by his suddenly serious and intent demeanor. "He did."

"Did you ask him to see it?"

"I didn't even know it existed until he produced it from his vest." Owen dropped his gaze to the ground between us, his eyelids blinking fast. "What is it?"

Though he tried to hide it, there was an unmistakable mixture of relief and pain in his expression when he looked up. His voice was gruff as he replied, "I didn't know if he'd ever look at that image again. He swore to me and Beru that he couldn't. It's… quite a thing that he did it with you."

Pensive moments expired slowly as we regarded each other. I watched as a final barrier fell in Owen's eyes. Somewhere between my desire to understand his life's work— however self-serving its origins for me— finding common ground with the plasma refinery, and sharing a tender moment with his grieving father, I had earned this man's respect.

He cleared his throat, nodded once, and we resumed our walk. After a few seconds, he spoke. "I hope you and Ani are able to stay when he…" Owen's voice dropped off. He seemed to force the smile out behind his own uncertainty, but it came to his cheeks nevertheless. "When they return."

If word had not yet come from Obi-Wan— or the Chancellor— when mother and son reunited, the original plan was to return to Naboo as quickly as possible. But that was before we'd learned of the Lars, of Shmi's attachment to them, and of their attachment to her. Depending on the matriarch's state and what level of care she required, if it were possible for us to stay at the homestead and give Anakin and his newly found family the time to know each other, I would be more than amenable to the idea.

"I hope so too." Grinning, I pointed at the oblong piece sticking out of the side of the vaporator we were approaching. I was keen to show my teacher how well I had listened. "Now, quiz me on how that thing works."

He smiled. "The compressor."

"Right."

Hour 26

Few showers in my life have felt as refreshing as the one I took onboard the cruiser. My hair was near frightening by the time I'd looked in the mirror in the ship's stateroom, and I cleaned the brown coils of their sweat and sand under the luxurious falls of the showerhead. I was continually surprised at how many beige grains swirled around my feet in the basin before they disappeared down the drain. Briefly, I wondered if the sediment would cause issues in the cruiser's recycled water system, but I put that worry off until I could ask Anakin about it. I knew such a system wasn't his specialty when came to starships, but he was still by far the more capable mechanic than I.

As wonderful as the shower was, it was still one of the quickest cleanses of my life. I wouldn't let my hygiene— however much it needed to be visited— get in the way of my watch on the horizon. What's more, I didn't want to test my overeagerness at the sight of Anakin's return by risking the possibility of me running out to meet him and his mother in naught but a towel.

That line of thinking, coupled with my refreshed optimism that both parties would come back to us, influenced my decision-making as I stood over my opened suitcases splayed out on the bed. I had to move speedily to choose my next ensemble for, for one, I was still standing in the fate-tempting towel. Secondly, as I kept darting to the cockpit every other minute to check for updates in the scene outside its windows, I was leaving a trail of water residue with my footprints leading back and forth across the ship. Sooner or later, I was going to slip.

But a final choice wasn't coming easily— I'd found myself in a most peculiar, unfamiliar, emotional spot.

It wasn't until I was elbow deep in my trunks of clothes, rejecting this dress and that one, that I realized who my intended audience was. I was used to dressing for the Senate. In recent days, I'd become used to dressing for Anakin, and all the forbidden and exciting feelings that arose. But today, I was frowning and cursing, wishing my entire wardrobe was at my disposal so I could find the perfect outfit to reintroduce myself to Anakin's mother.

It shouldn't have been such a minefield, yet I'd never longed for Dormé's opinion so badly in my life, even as I wanted to strangle her. Most of my wardrobe— thanks to my ambitious, dare deviling handmaiden, was either far too revealing or too glamorous, or both. In our hurry to depart Varykino, I'd instructed Teckla and Nandi to throw everything into the trunks so as not to waste time deciding what should and should not go. Even with this ample supply to choose from, there was nothing that screamed "mother-appropriate for the woman who raised the man you've lusted after and longed for." As much as I told myself this wasn't supposed to matter, not in this way, I couldn't shut up the nervous voice in the back of my head.

Is this how Anakin felt when he was about to meet my parents? A walking bundle of nerves? Lucky him— he never has to worry about which outfit to wear.

My back started to hurt as I bent up and down repeatedly, pulling things out of the suitcases with a critical eye and discarding them when they didn't meet my criteria. Contents of my suitcases soon sat in unkempt piles around me in a makeshift circle of the rejected.

I picked up a red number with a beautiful but noisy collection of black beads sewn into the skirt.

Everyone in Anchorhead will hear me moving in this.

I picked up a neon yellow ensemble that reminded me of the bright billboards back on Coruscant.

Everyone in Anchorhead will see me moving in this.

I held up the blue dress I'd worn to my family's house, the cinched one that displayed my back and full abdomen for all the galaxy to see. It was the right color, in addition to being elegant without being too elaborate, but as I tried to picture Anakin reintroducing me to his mother in this, all I could see were the gaping holes in the dress where my bare skin would be— as well as Anakin's heated reaction to them.

No. Not a chance.

My hands touched on the white jumpsuit Dormé packed for more active wear— tight white pants and a long sleeve, matching shirt with silver arm bands. It wasn't an ugly affair— it came complete with beige boots and a wide shawl.

Too utilitarian. It's a reunion, not a military inspection.

Outfit after outfit was examined and dismissed. I was about to give up and just hide behind my printed cloak for the rest of my stay when my fingers at last found a blue garment at the bottom of a case. It was, frankly… perfect. The chosen selection was a long plisse dress, its lighter color only slightly in contrast with the darker and heavier top set to be pulled over it. The second layer's hardy yet soft sleeves stretched past my thumbs, and beautiful, sun-like designs of gold and red graced the wrists, elbows, and low front. It would be tasteful, yet pretty, though not too ostentatious, and comfortable.

I set my hair into loose curls and pinned a small portion of them up on either side of my head. I couldn't last long in front of the mirror for a final check without hurrying again to see if Anakin's speeder was in sight. I hastened to the wide windows over the controls, my eyes scanning the horizon in every direction they could, sure that they would finally see something at last.

Nothing.

Minus the light that spilled upon it in a brighter fashion, the landscape was as unchanged as it had been when Anakin left.

In the back of the cockpit, off to the side, R2-D2 beeped a series of curious signals at me. More subdued, I turned and looked at the droid somberly. "Artoo…" I began. "I'm going to continue to stay near and inside the homestead. I'll only be coming to the cruiser when necessary." I eyed him earnestly. "You must stay in this cockpit to receive any communications that are sent, but you are only to come down and alert me if there's communication from Obi-Wan Kenobi." I paused, but I knew there was no question of it not being said. "Or from the Jedi Council, or the Chancellor's office."

Artoo beeped his understanding at me. I turned back to the elevated horizon line one more time before I would leave for the exit ramp at the rear of the ship. The suns were creeping high in the sky, but my excited daydreaming of a happy return of mother and son wavered as a foreboding chill unexpectedly crept its way up my spine. Naively, I blamed it on the robust air conditioning of the temperature-controlled cruiser.

"Be alright, Ani," I breathed, my eyes doing a final sweep of the terrain before I would do it again at the surface level. "Be alright."

The droid behind me trilled a long coo I could only describe as depressing.

I put a hand on Artoo's domed head on my way out of the room. Whether the instinctive gesture was meant more to comfort him or myself, I wasn't sure.

It wasn't until much later, after Anakin's return, when it occurred to me that I'd picked out another dress the color of water— a rarely used but sacred color of mourning for the people of Naboo.

Hour 27

Owen wasn't my only teacher that day. I found Beru in the kitchen. She was just at the onset of making her "famous" blue-milk cheese for lunch, and— in continued need of more distractions— I asked her to show me how she prepared the apparent delicacy.

"What's it like there?"

I looked up from the bowl wherein I was mixing milk and salt, not entirely sure which topic we'd seemingly switched to. "I'm sorry?"

She turned from the herbs she was parceling and rested her weight on the counter. "On Naboo. What's it like?"

I fondly imagined the Lake Country first. "Very, very green. Lots of water, and trees, and plants everywhere." I smiled kindly even as I tried to be honest. "It's not like here at all."

At that moment, Owen came down the steps into the kitchen. He nodded at me cordially, but he didn't say anything as he walked a little ways into the space to pull a loaf of thin bread from its container on the counter. He ripped a section of it off for himself, tossing one small piece into his mouth. As he turned to go, he walked to Beru and stopped to lovingly place a kiss on her left cheek. His hand rested briefly on her arm. He gave it a light squeeze before stepping away. The girl blushed red like it was the first time he'd ever touched her.

She turned and watched him go while he ascended the stairs and went back to his chores. When she looked again at me and found me smiling at her, she grinned rapturously. "I think I like it here better."

I rose an eyebrow encouragingly, even though I knew my advocacy as a tourist agent for Naboo had already lost. "Maybe you'll come and see it someday."

For just a moment, a flash of true interest lived on Beru's face. But then that dreamy smile spread over her features once again. "I don't think so. I don't like to travel."

More to the point, Owen didn't like to travel.

A part of me felt pity for the young woman— that she was so easily swayed to stay where she was on account of Owen's preference. But who was I to judge her? She was doing what gave her happiness. If there was one thing I had relearned from my recent time with my own family and with Anakin's, it was that the love inside of a home, especially between partners, was a formidable magic that should not be discounted. I could only hope to find such a man who would sweep me off my feet and inspire that dreamy smile on my own face. A man who'd be worth orienting my life around.

Biting down on my lower lip, I went back to the bowl and resumed mixing its contents with unneeded fervor. I pushed back the voice in my head that advised I'd already found him.

Hour 28

"This is delicious, Beru," I gushed between bites. Her blue-milk cheese more than lived up to the hype. If there was even the slightest chance of her considering it, I would have told her she could open a café on Coruscant and make enough money to buy twenty moisture farms. As it were, I merely beamed at her as she looked back at me with elegant and timid pride.

"I'm glad you like it."

I sat in the dining room with the Lars men and the talented cook, all of us enjoying the most relaxed gathering we'd had together yet. The lunch was satiating in a way that made me believe I might actually find sleep after we finished. Smiles were traded around the table in conjunction with the happier stories of life on the farm in the way it used to be. While he still shared a great deal of the apathy about the galaxy that his son exuded, Cliegg and I shared our thoughts on the Republic and its struggle with the Separatists. Having lived for a time on a Core World, yet having spent so much of his life on a planet with a detached view to the goings on of emerging civil war, Cliegg had thoughtful opinions of his own he seemed game to express. I had to continue to bite my tongue to keep my sizable involvement in the proceedings out of our discussion.

Every so often, I caught Owen and Beru trading emotive looks at one another. As happy as I was for them, whenever this occured, my heart palpably ached.

I didn't think it was my imagining that there was a distinctly lighter mood in the air than before. Unfounded or not, rational or not, the sense of hope at the homestead was only growing stronger amongst its inhabitants. An energy and anticipation was tangibly building.

How many days this feeling could survive without sight or word from Anakin was not something I was prepared to consider at the moment.

"There's someone you've made very happy, Padmé." I turned to Cliegg with a surprised look, already beginning to smile at this news, though I couldn't think what had caused it. "Threepio can't stop running his mouth about how much better he feels after his oil bath. It seems he has you to thank for it." Cliegg grinned. "As do we. We haven't taken very good care of him the past couple weeks. He was long overdue for that bath."

"Careful," Owen warned me good-naturedly. "Now you've won him over. He'll follow you anywhere."

"Lucky me," I replied, with a slightly sarcastic grin. Ani's marvelous creation was unquestionably benign and eager to help, but— mother of moons— he could talk.

"Actually," Owen scratched his beard as he seemed to consider something. "Maybe you'll take him with you when you leave. He's good for translating the binary language of the vaporators, I'll give him that, but we don't really have need for a protocol droid round here."

A wrist landed with a heavy thud on the end of the table. All eyes abruptly darted to the patriarch. "Your mom would hate to part with him. He helps her."

Cliegg's tone had switched from jovial to grave and admonishing. He stared at his son with a look of ire and betrayal.

Beru and I met eyes across the food spread, silently agreeing to stay out of this exchange.

"Dad," Owen began, apologetic yet firm. "I only meant— Ani built him. He was his droid. Threepio's been more of a headache the past month than he's been any help to—"

Cliegg slammed his right hand on the table and leaned forward in his hover chair. "We will let Shmi decide what to do with him! If she still wants him here, he stays."

I looked on anxiously at the tense scene before me. Owen ducked his head down and resumed eating his food with abnormal concentration. Beru gazed at him with watering eyes. She blinked them back before anything could fall.

I sipped from my milk cup and silently tried to beat back the dark cloud which was finding me again. There were no more smiles or stories for the rest of the quiet meal.

Hope was not as prevalent around the table as I had thought.

Near the End of Hours 29-35

A shaking hand rose to my left. Based on his words, for a split-second, I thought he wanted to feel the silky texture of my dress— like he was simply a purveyor of fine fabrics.

The vixen howled with laughter at the idea. But even she sat up straighter when skin met skin.

My gaze moved out over the water. I couldn't focus on anything in front of me. A parade could have gone by a meter from my face and it wouldn't have registered. I could only concentrate on the peripheral image of his right hand as it moved up and down my forearm. Faster than I would have expected him to, Anakin's fingers jumped to the naked flesh of my back, low behind the shoulder; all my senses zeroed as they lightly skimmed themselves with shocking audacity. Where he touched, it burned.

I knew his lips had parted when I heard the raggedness of his breath. The heat became too much. I turned, shifting my weight just a scant inch out from under his reach. My wary eyes met his in tandem with the abrupt movement. Anakin froze, watching me as if I was prey that would scurry away if he moved too suddenly. He was right to think so.

But he had evolved to become a very good hunter. As if he'd finally learned through his many oral stumbles that his declarations got him into trouble, he let his eyes do the talking. His timing couldn't have been more perfect.

Mine were finally, finally listening.

I could tell you we had an entire conversation, the two of us, just with our eyes in those moments. But I wouldn't be able to tell you what we said. Just like a dance, there's a language when two souls meet that cannot be translated into something as basic as words. All I know, I'd never felt both so hypnotized and so fully alert simultaneously. He smiled briefly, tenderly, before he seemed to decide and commit to what was about to happen next.

Every inch lasted a minute as he crept closer yet went by too quickly for me to formulate the rationale— or the desire— to stop him. A last-second protest escaped my lips, and I truly believe it was the dying breath of a different fate for Anakin and I. It came out as a weak gasp of air. He brushed his warm lips against mine, tentatively, and I flew.

Encouraged, he pressed deeper. My head tilted back, and I flew higher and higher with him, soaring. There were no voices, only feelings, and the bliss I found in them was transcendent. I wasn't afraid of it this time. I discovered an exhilaration like I'd never known when I felt when his mouth open against mine. I turned in my stance to better face him, and my right hand came up to cup his cheek. I kissed him with increasing passion. Anakin responded to my clear acceptance and participation by moving his hands to the bare skin of my lower back. He pulled me closer into his body and I came willingly.

My hands, both of them now, curved around his neck to find the small curls at the base. Anakin's lips left their sweet exploration of mine only to move their trajectory down my jaw. Fire broke out across the wanting plane of my skin. My pulse thundered in my ears. I stepped even nearer to him, reaching up on to my tiptoes to give his mouth easier access.

But something changed in our posture. We went motionless in a new pose without the moment of transition, as if it had been skipped entirely. Yet the passion was not lost, even while I found us morphed from profound kisses to enveloping embrace. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew, behind my closed eyes, that the Lake Country's terrace had melted away and been replaced by the parched desert of Tatooine. Twin suns bathed us in their sunset lights, making for a red glow behind my lids. I interred them into the brown fabric of Anakin's robe.

Unbidden and unwanted, Cliegg's depressed timber found its way to my eardrums. Each word was a cut in place of a percussion.

{Don't forfeit your life to save someone who's already gone.}

"Anakin," I prayed.

His face was buried in my hair, his nose inhaling my scent as if for the first and last time.

I tightened my grip around his neck.

"Tell me how you feel about me, Padmé," his low voice rumbled so close to my ear, sending delicious quakes down my spine. How I'd missed this incomparable sound! "Tell me how you feel, and I will come back to you. Tell me, and I will never leave your side."

"Anakin, I—" and I froze. Three words I'd felt the push of on top of the ridge when he left now whirled around me in my own personal cyclone. I kept my eyes shut. I would not acknowledge them. To declare them didn't feel like deliverance— it felt like damnation. It would be an admission from which I would never recover.

His voice was pleading, imploring. "Tell me, Padmé."

Instead of pulling away, I pressed myself closer into my refuge— with a head shake at his collarbone that was both an act of defiance and an instinctive, nestling gesture of reassurance. My soul begged me to release the words and drop the immense burden of this silent weight. Even as I appealed the opposite, my arms locked around his neck like a shackle. "I can't. We can't. It's just not possible."

"Anything is possible, Padmé. Tell me."

"Anakin…" I felt tears behind my eyes. I could not cross that line. "I… can't. I can't. I can't."

"You won't."

I started to scream as he began to dissolve in my arms.

"Padmé!"

Startled into waking, I shot up in the bed to a frantic sit. Beru was looking at me in the doorway with enlivened eyes. I knew it before she said the words, and yet still I shook with shocked relief when she exclaimed them.

"The perimeter alarm is going off. Anakin's back!"