A/N: Subscribe to Author Alerts or check out my bio page soon for a one-shot spinoff fic. More on that below. And thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading and reviewing.

Trigger warning for burial preparation and a funeral.

Chapter 33. Final Goodbyes

When I think of death, and of late the idea has come with alarming frequency,
I seem at peace with the idea that a day will dawn when I will no longer be among those living in this valley of strange humors.
I can accept the idea of my own demise, but I am unable to accept the death of anyone else.
I find it impossible to let a friend or relative go into that country to no return.
Disbelief becomes my close companion, and anger follows in its wake.
I answer the heroic question 'Death, where is thy sting?' with 'It is here in my heart and mind and memories.'
- Maya Angelou

I was startled awake by the eruptive sound of a sputtering cough. Sitting up in bed, I reached for the lamp even as the noise grew more muffled, as if a hand was suddenly covering the disruptive mouth. When the room became blessed with light, it was Anakin I found standing by the door. I blinked at him, confused, until the tall cup in his hand registered along with the food tray he was hunched over. He looked up at me apologetically.

"It's only me." One more cough ruptured from behind his pink lips. His face was flushed, and the vein down his forehead protruded a little.

My eyes scanned his half-empty plate. "You're eating," I replied, stating the obvious. An almost ridiculous, warm joy spread through me at the sight. I wasn't sure I'd ever been so happy to see someone consume food before.

"Yes. Well, trying to." Ani grimaced as he gestured towards his throat. "Milk went down the wrong pipe. Sorry. I was trying my best not to wake you."

"It's alright. Your appetite has returned?" I asked, perhaps with too much undisguised relief.

"More or less." The corner of his mouth tucked up in a timid smile. "My stomach started grumbling. Loudly. I was worried it would wake you and so I fed it to shush it. We can turn the light back off—"

"Leave it," I countered. "It's fine. I don't want you eating in the dark." As one of my own organs called for attention, I pulled my legs over the edge of the bed. "I need to use the fresher anyways." I raised a teasing eyebrow after I came to a stand. "Am I safe to leave the room, or should I stay in case you choke again?"

"I'll be careful," he promised, that peek of a smile coming through once more. I couldn't help but notice how tired his eyes still seemed. He swallowed cleanly as if to prove a point. "No more choking."

Anakin resumed his eating while I took my exit. Still sleepy, I rubbed my eyes as I pattered down the dim passageway towards the toiletry. I had no instinctive sense of time on this planet yet, but it felt late into the night. After using the fresher, I moved through the dwelling as silently as I could, my thoughts simple if mostly absent as I followed the route back to our quarters. I wasn't paying very much attention to my surroundings beyond the bare minimum required. For this, I was lucky I didn't walk right into the silhouette narrowing the hallway.

I came to a sudden stop when the immobile figure finally drew my attention.

"Owen?"

He rested under one of the yellow ceiling bulbs lining the passage. He was leaning against the wall, his broad arms crossed over his chest. Due to his position, the light rained down his back but kept his face mostly in shadow. I was sure he hadn't been there when I'd first left my room. As quiet as I'd tried to be, it seemed I must've woken him during my pass by his door. Yet this didn't explain why he was standing here as if waiting for me.

Owen remained silent after my soft utterance of his name. I deduced that he was looking at me from the way the light framed his jawline and how it bled through the parted brown hair. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't," he replied, his voice even, though hushed like mine. "I was awake… Haven't been able to sleep."

"How is your father?"

He shuffled his feet, crossing one over the other. "He feels like he lost her all over again." After a long moment, he sighed, letting breath out in an extended exhale. He sounded slightly more hopeful as he prophesied, "He put himself back together before. He'll do it again."

My eyes traced his outline in the amber light, empathy flowing through me. I suspected Owen's response was reflective of his own state as well, yet all the same, I queried, "How are you doing?"

Seconds dragged on as my question went unanswered. I was beginning to feel uneasy until he at last spoke. When he did, I wished he hadn't. "Beru and I heard some shouting in the garage."

My muscles automatically tensed. I'd feared this— that the peak volume of Anakin's storm had echoed through the open doorways, escaping our seclusion in the garage. Air grew heavy in my lungs as I waited. I could feel Owen studying me, but he would have to ask his question aloud; I would not volunteer whatever information he sought.

"Did he kill them?"

I saw anew this man's silent watch for me in the hallway, a spot strategically separate from other ears. I acknowledged the loaded gravity to his tone. Owen wasn't asking if only Shmi's captors, exclusively, had been executed.

I considered avoiding a direct answer on Anakin's behalf. He'd purposely confessed the crime to me in privacy, and it seemed wrong to share it hours after the fact without his awareness or blessing. Perhaps Ani wanted to tell the others himself in the morning, in his own way, and he would be disappointed if Owen instead found out like this. Or maybe Anakin didn't want them to know at all.

But word of a decimated Tusken Raiders camp would no doubt eventually spread to a cantina or vendor's stall in Anchorhead, or else right up to the Lars' domed doorstep. It was only a matter of time before Cliegg, Owen, and Beru heard and pieced together what had happened after the young Jedi with a lightsaber found his tortured mother.

Still, I hesitated.

A bristled knot twisted in my stomach, and my morals swayed treacherously on their pillars. Underneath, more than any other cause, I knew my hesitancy stemmed from a primal desire to protect Anakin. Not from Owen— I did not think anyone in this household would rush to report the killings to whatever authoritative agency operated on Tatooine. But I, who knew what he had done, felt a feral urge to shield Ani from his repercussions, unto the deepest levels— from the laws of the spiritual universe if need be. I feared this new instinct and the ingrained belief system it seemed poised to undermine. It wasn't even rooted in the act of what had happened to the Tusken village. It was simply… there. Birthed from love's shadow like its degenerate twin. It comfortably watched from its new throne in the corner of my mind as I pretended not to be alarmed by its existence. In feeble defiance, I finally pushed the word out.

"Yes."

My short but definitive answer filled the air between and around us. A lengthy sequence of breaths moved in and out of our respective lungs while Owen and I processed new realities now known. At last, he nodded, once. "Alright. Thank you for telling me."

If I was caught off guard by the blatancy of his question, I was even more surprised by the calm delivery of his reaction to its answer. If I had to guess, Owen sounded neither agitated about the information nor relieved. He merely seemed… ambivalent. Unaffected.

"Good night, Padmé. See you in the morning." He pushed himself off the wall from his hips and moved passed me. I listened to his footsteps recede till after I could not hear them anymore. I waited longer still for the kink in my stomach to unravel. Eventually, I gave up and completed the remaining steps to our room.

Anakin was still standing by the crate with his food tray when I walked in. Blue eyes watched me with poorly masked care as I slowly moved myself to the bed. This time, I put myself on the side of the mattress nearest to the wall. I laid on my side and stared at the whitewashed surface inches from my face. Behind me, Anakin quietly finished the last of his plate.

"Who were you talking to in the hallway?"

It was a question phrased out of politeness. I suspected he already knew the answer. "Owen." I paused, aware that what Anakin truly wanted to know was what we'd discussed. "I asked him about Cliegg."

"How is he?"

My eyes followed a variety of grooves in the wall. Soft light from the lamp revealed bumps and infinitesimal cracks one could only see when pressed close. They made up the texture of a surface that seemed smooth and unblemished only from far away. "It's a difficult night." I lifted the pads of my fingers and trailed them along the wall's face. "Owen said some things while you were gone."

"Did he?"

Coarse bumps hypnotized the skin of my hand's light touch. It reminded me of the ancient balustrades on Varykino's terraces— granular, tangible, and so unlike the glossy finishes found amongst the cosmopolitan kingdoms of the galaxy.

{We used to lie out on the sand and let the sun dry us, and try to guess the names of the birds singing.}

"He'd like us to stay. He wants time for you both to get to know each other as brothers."

Several seconds passed. A pensive purveyor, I found endless more abrasions in the wall. "He said that?"

Despite my stoic face, my heart lurched at the youthful, earnest way he'd asked for confirmation. I nodded, sensing he would see it. I could feel his eyes on me. They'd been burning into the back of my skull ever since I'd laid down and wordlessly faced the wall. "We don't have to rush back to Naboo, Ani. Even if we only just stay for one more day—"

"I don't want to be on this planet any longer than I have to. I've spent enough of my life here."

More bumps dragged against the microscopic ridges of my fingertips. It occurred to me, randomly, that so many of the artful tales I'd heard in my life showcased love as sweeping and polished. Dramatic waves were all a part of the unblemished design. The darker shades, if acknowledged at all, were always romanticized. The nature of obsession— when a participant cast in love's play lost sight of where they ended and the object of their desire began— painted as epic and pure. An enjoyable, if blinding, part of the process.

"Did Owen say anything else?"

I recited facts lifelessly. "He offered C-3PO. As you built him, he thinks you should have him."

In contrast to my monotone dictation, Anakin seemed to exert extra effort into making his voice sound light. He was trying to reach me across whatever gulf he thought had abruptly risen between us. "I don't know… I think Master Windu will skin me if I bring one more droid into the Temple."

If only there was still a gulf to reach across.

More of me was on the other side of the room with Anakin than the physical body of flesh and hair he was observing on the bed.

My hand withdrew from its exploration and tucked itself under my cheek with its partner. Eyes lazily blinked at the wall. I felt my lips move and heard sounds come out which I recognized as my voice. "Do you want to take Threepio with us?"

Something shifted in Anakin's tone. It lost its forced gaiety. "I do. Very much."

He wants me to turn over. He needs me to look at him.

"Then he will leave with us, and you'll figure out the rest later. You will figure it out." Pressure was forming behind my eyes, and I finished the conversation in advance before a cracked voice might give me away. "Good night, Anakin."

"Good night, Padmé."

Salty wetness blurred my vision, but when I shut my lids, only a single tear drained out. It greedily took its time as it seeped down the dry riverbed from my lashes to my ear.

I allowed myself immense relief that I'd initially faced the wall. This was payment towards grief I would not have wanted the man I loved to see me pay, even if I'd never admit to him on whose behalf it was for. But Owen's quiet ambivalence in the hallway was just as piercing as Anakin's rage in the garage. Somehow, actually, it was worse.

In time, Anakin switched off the lamp and returned to the bed. The mattress dipped with his weight; I momentarily tensed my body to halt it from rolling backwards even marginally. I could sense through little tells that he had positioned himself on his side too, back-to-back with my own body, though we barely touched.

I made a conscious effort to keep my rhythm of breath sounding natural so as not to reveal anything. Meanwhile, one by one, more tears propelled themselves to die on my slanted cheek. As they emerged, I wanted to offer each droplet to a specific, nameless, faceless, sentient being, but I didn't know how low or high the casualty number was. Lying next to the man by whom they were slain, I wept for the Tusken children I knew no one else would mourn.

I had no idea they wouldn't be the last younglings Anakin put to his saber in the name of his family.

For all the ensembles in my suitcases, there was one outfit I never would have thought to pack. I did not have a funeral dress. Worse, I didn't have anything remotely appropriate as a substitute.

I looked over the hastily repacked garments in my luggage. I did not need to pull them out and lay them on the floor like yesterday to know what was in there. Too flashy or too revealing— they wouldn't suffice today any more than they had yesterday, albeit, for completely different reasons of ceremony. A Senator wearing an embezzled gown for a funeral might be something no one thinks twice about on Coruscant, or even Naboo, but I suspected the same attitude would not be embraced at the Lars homestead.

Therefore, it was not for practical resort but out of sheer lack of options that I chose the white, long-sleeved set and matching beige boots. Not very long after, whilst racing to climb a column with my life under direct threat, I would be tremendously grateful that I had.

After my shower and dressing on the ship, I began the process of molding my strands into a conservative up-do. This choice had more conscious purpose behind it than my subdued attire.

I was never a woman to wear my hair loosely very often, even in private. Almost all of my political looks capitalized on my lengthy and healthy locks in some way— manipulating them into elaborate styles, adorning them with stately head pieces. Knowing this habit, I wryly acknowledged the evidence of my subconscious, increasing ease around Anakin as my feelings had developed for him. Tightly pulled back, restricted strands on Coruscant morphed into an only semi-controlled river of curls in Theed. Relaxed waves in the meadow trailed messily around my face and shoulders with a freedom they had not been granted in years. While I'd folded my hair into a braid for our first swim at Varykino, I took no such step for our second. In hindsight, I knew it wasn't coincidence that, come my wait for Anakin's return at the farm, my style was, at last, uncharacteristically informal for all eyes to see.

But stolen days of loosening self-control and manifested romantic expression were over.

Like I was retiring a briefly lived dream, my imprisoning hands combed my front hair back into a strict middle part. They formed the remainder into pinched vines curved unironically in the fashion of handcuffs, which crisscrossed over each other above the nape of my neck. I witnessed my resignation in the mirror as I worked, seeing the practical Amidala come back to life as the unrealistic Padmé and her loose tendrils shrunk away.

Careful placement of the twisted strands took longer than anticipated. Mindful of the time, I eventually grabbed a handful of hairpins and set the final arrangement while walking from the ship to the homestead. I managed to simultaneously carry a wrapped bundle meant for Beru high under my arm. Midway through my journey, I realized I'd taken one more pin than needed. With my head already burdened with plenty of the thin metal barrettes, having no pockets nor any other place to put it, I stashed the pin in a convenient utility box attached to my belt. Finished, I adjusted my long shawl across my upper chest, moved my soft package to my right hand's grip, and continued the track to the dome.

As I approached the entrance, I saw Anakin appear in the archway. Owen and Beru stepped out shortly after. Each somberly acknowledged me with brief eye contact before the trio turned and made for the opposite direction. I hastened my step to catch up to Beru, who'd trailed behind the others in evident wait for me.

Clues as to what was happening fell into place quickly. Both men had shovels in their hands.

Beru and I hung back as Anakin and Owen approached a pair of modest slabs. I'd seen them while working with Owen on the vaporators the day before but refrained from asking about them. The taller of the two markers had a face smoothed by erosion and time. Whatever name had once been carved into it was now only known to those with previous knowledge of its address. The shorter slab still had visible markings etched into it, but I stood too far to make out the exact lettering.

"The small one is Edern Lars," Beru quietly offered. "Cliegg's younger brother."

"The height difference…" I noted, feeling dread for the suspected explanation.

"He died in a speeder crash. He was just fourteen."

"I see."

Anakin and Owen began digging to the right of the taller marker. They worked wordlessly, establishing an efficient rhythm with their tools.

"Owen made her gravestone last night. He had trouble sleeping; it gave him something to do."

I studied Beru out of the corner of my eye, looking for any sign she'd been informed about my revealing conversation with Owen in the hallway. If she knew about Anakin's actions and felt one way or another on the matter, she didn't show it.

"It's still downstairs. He'll bring it up before they…" She didn't complete her sentence. Beru was watching Owen work with the same solemn focus with which I observed Anakin. After a moment, she continued, "They carried her out of… out of cold storage a little while ago. We moved a table into the atrium; she's resting down there now." She paused again. "Ani said he didn't want her to feel cold in the dark anymore."

"Oh," I replied lamely, barely stifling the rush of pressure behind my eyes.

Despite our position meters away, Beru leaned in close and whispered, "Can't he just move the ground? With his Jedi powers?"

My eyes didn't move from Anakin, and I only shook my head silently in reply. I suspected the use of the Force was appropriate for many things, for those few who could wield it. It had no place for a son digging his mother's grave. Such a sacred duty called for manual labor, even from the Chosen One.

With Anakin and Owen working together during their sober but steady work, I knew the time was fast approaching when the ceremony would start. I excused myself from Beru's company and progressed downstairs. I chided myself when I realized that, though I'd held the bundle intended for the young woman the entire time I'd stood up top with her, distracting observations caused me to fail to mention it.

On Naboo, it is customary to leave a token of gratitude once one has stayed as a guest in another's home. My hosts had been kind and generous with their time and care for me since my sudden deposit at their doorstep. However, Galactic Senator as I was, I sensed I had little I could offer them in thanks, apart from promising a place to stay if they ever wanted to venture to Naboo or Coruscant— an invitation I did not suspect would ever be utilized. Yet, Beru had paid multiple compliments to my attire, as early as when she'd first shown me to my guestroom. I felt safe in silently assuming she would not see cloth and delicate embroidery such as was found on my two outfits in any market on Tatooine. Conveniently, we were very near the same size. Therefore, while on the ship to shower and change, I'd taken care to wash both of the two-piece garments Beru had so clearly been pleased by— the light blue ensemble I'd worn at our arrival, and the darker set of a shift and heavy top I'd donned before Anakin's return. I admit, maybe there was an oddity and a presumption to gifting one's own clothing, but they'd been thoroughly cleaned in the laundry receptacle and otherwise never previously worn.

As I entered the ground level of the atrium, I balanced the wrapped attire on a nearby thick pipe. Then my feet carried me to where Shmi's draped form resided on a medium-length, portable table. I slowed to a halt just by her head, lifting a hand to place it on the gray, chapped fabric.

I could immediately understand why Anakin wanted to move her into the crater, though he'd wisely chosen the shaded side. Cold storage had served its purpose in preserving the body, but the frigidness of her shroud was as unnerving as it was unnatural.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, not immediately knowing specifically what for. I was sorry for the brutal way she met her end. I was sorry I distracted Anakin on Naboo with my head-spinning cocktail of mixed signals. Perhaps, if I had not, he'd have possessed a clearer head and known to arrive sooner, in time to save her. Most ardently, I was sorry this mother would never know the amazing man her little boy had grown to be.

"This is wrong."

I jumped, startled by Anakin's harsh voice behind me. I spun and faced him. He stood on the bottom step of the main staircase, his face contorted in something beyond frustration.

"Ani?"

He stared and pointed at Shmi with a trembling figure. "That."

There was something inexplicable about his tone, something which threw me from presuming he spoke of the tragedy and the wrongness of the loss. I shook my head, still not comprehending.

"She can't be buried in that." He dragged his eyes from his mother's body to me. They looked manic and full of pain. "I grabbed it from the village when I…" His nostrils flared. "It's Tusken."

I understood, but the implementation of what he was essentially asking…

Like a ghost floating out from the darkness of the hovel, Beru appeared at the top of the steps. She must've overheard enough, for as she descended the stairs, she calmly assured, "I can find something else to wrap her in." She paused a few steps behind Anakin. "Something from home."

He turned over his shoulder and gave a curt nod. She passed by him to disappear into the dwelling, in search of the material which would eternally cradle Shmi's body.

Anakin watched her go, and I watched him. A new funeral blanket didn't at all alleviate my concern over the reality of what he was requesting. I hadn't cared over very many bodies who had been without life for over a day— especially when a day lasted as long as they did on Tatooine. However, I understood enough to know this was a state of his mother Anakin should absolutely not see.

"You need to wait outside. Back up top." It was as close to a command as I dared. His eyes, glossy with sudden tears, darted to meet mine. More gently, I added, "I'll call for you when it's time to carry her." He didn't argue. Instead, he picked up the nearby gravestone leaning against the crater wall.

He looked down at the slab held in his hands as if seeing it for the first time. Owen had accomplished elegant work in carving Shmi's epitaph, inscribing "Beloved wife and mother" under her name. Eventually, Anakin's focus drifted upwards, and I watched him slowly ascend the steps like a man walking to his own funeral.

After a few moments, Beru came back with a blanket bundled together in her arms. I approved of it for Shmi on sight. The cloth was not near as coarse as her current wrappings, and indeed, looked soft. I looked into Beru's eyes seriously, taking a deep breath. "I understand completely if what I'm about to ask is too much," I began, "but it would help greatly if you could assist in—"

"It would be my honor," she interrupted, in that quiet yet strong voice she had. There was no hesitation in her eyes. "For Shmi."

I gave a small, grateful smile. Sooner that she'd likely expected, young Beru was going to be the new matriarch of this family. I had no doubt she would fill the role gracefully. An abrupt, cold shiver went up my spine as I thought of the tragic history of Cliegg's wives— both taken before their time. I prayed Beru would set a new precedent of longevity as Owen's partner.

As she walked closer, I looked over the fabric in her hands again. "Is that…" I examined it with my touch. "Is that from a bed?"

Teeth clamped down on her bottom lip as she nodded. "It was Cliegg's idea. He's sitting in their bedroom, waiting. When I passed by the door and told him what I was looking for, and why…" She bit the inside of her cheek now, fighting back her swell of emotion. "He said it felt right to enshroud her in part of their marital bed. This was the top cover; he's keeping the bottom."

I blinked back tears at the sentiment. Husband and wife would still sleep in their shared sheets, even through the separation of death.

I won't go into the details of the next minutes. We cut the bands holding the rough Tusken linen in place and, suffice to say, both Beru and I lost our ability to hold back tears when we saw the wounds inflicted on Shmi's face, hands, and wrists. She was unrecognizable from the woman I'd last seen ten years prior. I felt an entirely new understanding for Anakin's rage. If I had found my own mother like this and had a blade with which I could enact revenge on her killers, I would not have been capable of restraint in the fury of the moment either.

{Not just the men, but the women, and the children too.}

To a point. I would not have been capable of restraint only to a certain point.

Beru fetched a jug of water, and together we gently washed the dirt and dried blood from Shmi's skin. When I inquired what they would do with the discarded Tusken cloth, her answer was immediate. "Burn it." On a planet with two suns and a permanent drought of moisture, one could always count on the cleansing power of fire.

We were almost finished rewrapping the fallen woman in her new shroud when Beru held up a hand. "Wait." Before explaining, she hurried out of the atrium and vanished through the same elevated door she'd first departed through. When she returned, a small, pale item was clutched in her fingers. "She would want to be buried with this."

The young woman approached the table, and I got a better look at the object as she tucked it into Shmi's folded hands. I gasped with poignant realization. It was a japor snippet, its designs different but not entirely dissimilar from the carvings a sweet boy once engraved for me.

Beru couldn't have known that I already understood when she explained, "It was a gift from Ani. He made it himself." She smiled softly. "She always kept it by her bed."

After finishing, we each stepped up to individually share a brief but somber final moment with Shmi Skywalker Lars. Then Beru passed me a bottle containing the bronze antiseptic, and we took turns rubbing the disinfectant into our hands. At last, we turned and made our way to the stairs leading up to the surface, two dutiful handmaidens completing their charge. Anakin and Owen were standing near each other only a few feet away from the entrance to the dome. Judging by the look on Anakin's face, he had been both anticipating our arrival and dreading it.

"She's ready," I announced, quietly. He nodded without a word and walked past us, his brown robe trailing after him in his swift descent down the stairs. Owen moved to follow after, I imagine to help Anakin carry the body, but quickly stopped. Never mind the fact that we'd seen he could manage the weight of his mother by himself, and that the staircase was narrow— this was an element of the process Anakin had to do and had the right to do alone.

Beru walked to stand next to her love, and Owen placed an arm around her, pulling her close into his side. He placed a tender kiss to her hair, and I felt a unique pang of longing as I watched the couple comfort each other just by their proximity and touch.

The sound of metal feet meeting sandy stairs echoed up through the dome. Threepio's golden eyes were eerily visible in the dimness before the rest of his gray shell appeared in the hovel. "Ah, here we are." He bowed courteously to me but continued a direct, if somewhat nervous, path to the couple. "Master Owen and Miss Beru, if I may, I would most sincerely like to offer my condolences once again. It does not require special programming to know that Miss Shmi was a treasure amongst humans, and I am quite proud to have ever been in service to her, and to you all."

I held my breath as I watched Owen's face. He regarded the droid through squinted, unreadable eyes. Time stretched on as all of us— especially, I think, Threepio— waited for the response.

Finally, a human hand placed itself on shoulder made of worn scrap metal. "Thanks. I'm sorry for how I, ah, how I talked to you yesterday, Threepio. Take care of yourself out there."

I exhaled in a quiet rush. Threepio took his place a few steps away and joined our waiting party. I spared a few thoughts to wonder what breed, if any, were going through his own circuitry brain. We'd had the communal conversation earlier in the morning about Threepio's leaving with us, and he'd taken it about as well as any neurotic droid who'd never left a planet before could.

Several more minutes passed until we heard movement coming up the stairs in the form of a motorized hum. Not surprisingly, it was Cliegg who appeared first in the dark archway. Still confined to his hover chair, he greeted us with a sad smile as he took in our group. "Ani's coming up right behind me," he informed. Sure enough, Anakin's tall frame filled the doorway just after his stepfather cleared it. Shmi's wrapped form rested in his strong arms. He came to a stop in a triangle point in front of Beru and I, and although he looked back and forth between us, his gaze lingered on my face more than on hers. "Thank you," he sighed, but not despairingly. Strangely, Anakin seemed more settled than I'd recently seen him. I wondered if he and Cliegg had shared a moment below. "I appreciate what you did for her."

Neither Beru nor I spoke. Instead, each of us simply bowed our heads in acknowledgment of his thanks. I came very close to informing him about the japor amulet. I wished him to know where it would now forever rest, as did I want to give credit to Beru for thinking of it. But Anakin seemed to have finally established a firm handle on his composure, and I didn't want to voice anything which might unbalance it. There would be time to tell him later.

Just before he turned towards the grave site, he looked at me directly. "I…" He swallowed. "I changed my mind. I'd like to suspend our departure for another day. Maybe two. …If you're still amenable to the idea."

I nodded, beyond relieved to hear this. "Yes. I think we should."

He nodded too. Then he led the way to the rectangular hole in the ground with the tombstone erected before it. We followed behind. Cliegg took up second rank in the short funeral procession, then Owen, then Beru, then me, and finally Threepio. Anakin went up to the grave directly and the rest of us stationed ourselves in a line in front of the site, save one. Owen didn't hesitate as he quickly approached the side of the hole across from where Anakin had started to kneel. The two sons of Shmi worked together to delicately place her body low into the ground. Owen paused patiently to let Anakin make the first release of burial soil with a shaking hand. Then their combined efforts continued in silence as they worked to relocate the nearby pile of sand and dirt. My heart felt a lash strike it at each sound of cascading soil dropping a few feet to hit the body below.

At long last, Anakin and Owen patted down the gravel and sand till it was level. They stood, the taller of the two men the last to rise. Owen moved next to Beru, standing close to her side, their hands reaching for each other before he'd even finished his walk.

Anakin came to a formal rest in between Beru and me, and I couldn't help but mark the distance between us versus between the other pair.

Owen went first, his voice gruff as he spoke briefly yet respectfully. Showing emotion didn't come naturally to the young man, and his voice broke as he thanked Shmi for being his mother when he never thought he'd get to have one again. Beru shared a few words next, her remarks likely short due to having conducted her goodbye downstairs. Although I'd always carried a fondness for her in my memory, Shmi had become even more dear to me these past days through the stories I'd been privileged to hear about her. She was further imbued with sacred regard for being the sole parent of the man I loved. All the same, when Cliegg looked at me with a compassionate face, giving me a chance to add my own eulogy to the others, I subtly shook my head. I'd made my career out of giving beautifully worded speeches written from the heart, or at least I'd tried to as often as I could. Plenty of them had been improvised on the spot. But in this solemn air, I felt that only those who had known Shmi best should have the right to speak.

Cliegg began his turn, his voice flowing with less gravel than his son's, but only by a little. "Shmi. My dear Shmi." He paused to gather himself. "Your smile was the brightest, warmest light on this planet; now, I will feel it every time I stand under the suns. I know wherever you are, it's become a better place. You were the most loving partner a man could ever have. Goodbye, my darling wife." He halted once more, emotion choking his words, if only momentarily. "And thank you."

Like a thought floating through my mind with the hot breeze, part of me noted the strange link Anakin and I now shared in our relationship. In the relatively short time we'd spent together during our overlapping lives, he'd attended two funerals on my home planet while I had now attended one on his.

We watched Anakin deliberately approach his mother's grave, his robe blowing wide around his ankles. It was like observing a starship surrender to gravity when he sunk to his knees in a slow fall. A bereft palm stretched out to collect burial sand into his grip. It came to a rest on his thigh. Just barely, I could hear his fist squeeze the particles between clenched fingers.

I'd learned firsthand that Anakin Skywalker was no stranger to speaking from the heart. His sorrowful wound exposed itself as if none of us were there. "I wasn't strong enough to save you, Mom. I wasn't strong enough." I sighed softly at this, pained to hear how his needless blame still afflicted him. "But I promise—" his voice shook with the fateful vow. "I won't fail again."

After a few trembling breaths, he pushed off his heels and rose backwards to his full height. The binary suns graced the back of his hair in brilliant shine. Unexpectedly, I recalled the tense moment in my apartment when Anakin went from a harmless sit on the edge of my bed bench to a towering stand before me.

{Don't try to grow up too fast.}

The bereaved citadel finished his parting through clenched teeth. "I miss you… so much."

When I saw R2-D2, I knew.

I knew it the second I turned and saw the astromech roll his way towards us across the sand. I knew it before C-3PO translated the insistent beeps. I knew that now, after all this time, word had come from Obi-Wan Kenobi. And with this intuitive knowledge, my heart sank.

I couldn't know in that instant what the correspondence offered, but it was more than plausible the message I'd been hoping for since this hideaway assignment began— the very message I wanted before we'd even stepped foot on the Jendirian Valley— had arrived. Relief for Dormé and Captain Typho aside, this was the communication I no longer wanted to hear— not yet.

I need more time.

Panic shot through me at the concept of separating from Anakin so soon without knowing if he was going to be alright. And as if our healing were one in the same, I dearly wanted him to have a chance to know his family, to know how wonderful they were, even if Jedi rules meant he never got to see them again.

Hence the stark unwelcome in my tone when I addressed the droid with a terse, "Artoo? What are you doing here?!"

"It seems there's a message from an Obi-Wan Kenobi." Threepio adjusted to regard us. Anakin gravitated nearer to my side. "Master Ani, does that name mean anything to you?"

"He's my master," the former slave responded. As if needing to clarify what was already understood, he added, "My Jedi master." Anakin frowned deeply and sighed, then faced the others. "There's a good chance that whatever that message relays, we'll be taking off after hearing it."

Owen looked between Anakin's remorseful gaze and mine. His features were drawn in a distinct cast of disappointment. "So soon?"

I wondered if it was that mystical ability which guided Anakin to softly reply, "I'm afraid so."

Beru and I traded looks, a mutual mourning passing between us for what could have been.

Cliegg maneuvered his hover chair to situate himself in front of Anakin. Stepfather and son regarded each other gravely before the elder leaned forward and extended his arm up, in much the same way he'd done at our very first meeting in the crater. Anakin reached out and took the offered hand, holding it in a firm clasp.

Cliegg's thin hair lifted in the heated wind. He held tight to Ani's palm. "Thank you for bringing her back to us."

"Artoo, how long ago was the message received?" I led the way into the cockpit, Anakin and the droids close on my heels. I gawked as I settled into the co-pilot chair when Artoo trilled his answer. "What?"

I couldn't believe my ears. The transmission had been sitting unheard since just before Anakin returned with his mother.

My fingers flew over the control board to summon the video. I threw a stern look over my shoulder at the blue and silver astromech. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? I've been on the ship twice since then."

A series of beeps reminded me that when I'd first boarded the ship yesterday, I'd shushed the droid before he could get much of anything out and promised to talk with him "Later". Evidently, when Later never came, Artoo took it upon himself to venture down and relay the news.

I was about to discharge a remark over this when Anakin, who was leaning on a counter to my left, preempted with, "There he is."

Indeed, the frozen, illuminated blue form of Master Kenobi stood somewhat grumpily on the holovid pad as if impatient to finally be heard. I pressed the last button to begin the recording.

"Anakin, my long-range transmitter has been knocked out. Retransmit this message to Coruscant."

I looked to the young man expectantly. He lifted his head, but otherwise seemed as if he couldn't be bothered to move. I told myself I was mistaken when I thought I witnessed unbridled irritation at the sight and sound of his mentor.

After pausing the video, I instigated the opening of a secure line to the Jedi Temple. Apart from mumbling necessary clearance codes, Anakin watched me work, mostly inanimate. It took a few minutes to go through the appropriate channels, but I was able to use both his codes and my own security clearance to learn the Masters were presently in a meeting with the Chancellor. One of Palpatine's aides came on the line briefly to tell us we would be patched into the office shortly.

In vain, I tried not to dwell on the unavoidable fact that Anakin and I would be face to face, so to speak, with the top leaders of the Jedi Council and the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic within seconds. But growing anxiety turned my spine into a rod of Baskar steel. I endeavored to remind myself that, Jedi Masters they may be, Windu and Yoda would not be able to discover through a holocall that I'd kissed, fantasized about, and fallen in love with their Chosen One unless I blurted such information out loud.

Beside me, Anakin couldn't have looked more indifferent.

Within moments, the statuesque form of Master Windu came into view. "Senator Amidala. Anakin." The low, smooth voice filled the cockpit space as his brown eyes shifted back and forth between us. Despite my incessant reminders to myself, I yanked on my Amidala mask even more snugly. He didn't waste any time with pleasantries. "I understand you needed to reach us with an urgent message?"

I looked at Anakin, who looked back at me simply. He seemed completely apathetic about our audience.

"It's from Master Kenobi," I replied, stepping in yet again. "His long-range transmitter was knocked out."

"Good, good. He must have news about your assassin. Let us see his message then." I recognized the light voice of the Supreme Chancellor, calmly giving the directive from somewhere off-screen.

I held my breath and resumed Obi-Wan's transmission. It played out before eager eyes on two halves of the galaxy.

"I have tracked the bounty hunter Jango Fett to the droid foundaries on Geonosis. The Trade Federation is to take delivery of a droid army here—" His eyes tensely, and not for the first time, scanned his surroundings— "and it is clear that Viceroy Gunray is behind the assassination attempts on Senator Amidala." Beside me, Anakin finally showed signs of life as his chin lifted at this. I was more concerned with what was revealed next. "The Commerce Guilds and the Corporate Alliance have both pledge their armies to Count Dooku and are forming a… Wait…" Obi-Wan shifted rapidly into a defensive pose. His lightsaber screamed to life. "Wait!"

In the days after the Invasion of Naboo ended, I was urged to sleep by my handmaidens and loved ones alike. It wasn't until day four of the aftermath that I shut my eyes, and when I did, I saw a swarm of particular machines it took months to escape in my harrowing dreams.

Droidekas.

Destroyer droids manufactured by the Colicoids for the Trade Federation. Dangerous and deadly. They could transform into a propelled ball with lightning speed, unraveling from their roll faster than a target had time to gasp and fear for life before unleashing their twin blaster cannons. Nearly impenetrable behind their personal deflective shields, they had been the greatest stall to our retake of the Palace of Theed. In seconds I'd revisited in nightmares, many of our noble security volunteers were lost to their firepower.

My wide eyes shot to where the heart of my concern lived. All apathy had disappeared from Anakin's face. His jaw was slack as he stared at the hours-old recording of his Master being chased out of view by a droideka raining hellfire down upon him.

"More happening on Geonosis I feel," though faint, Master Yoda's voice could be heard on the other side of the Coruscant transmission, "than has been revealed."

The holocall reverted back to the office speakers. Master Windu's face was tilted down towards his right as he replied to the off-screen figure, "I agree." His stare rose to examine us across the distance. "Anakin! We will deal with Count Dooku. The most important thing for you to do is stay where you are. Protect the Senator at all costs. That is your first priority."

There's an unsettling irony here. Mace Windu, of all people— whilst standing on the Supreme Chancellor's office platform— told my future husband that my safe-guarding was his first priority above all.

"Understood, Master."

"They'll never get there in time to save him. They have to come halfway across the galaxy! Look." The button on the panel illuminated red as I pushed it down. A map of our region appeared, emphasizing the short distance between Tatooine and this Trade Federation base. "Geonosis is less than a parsec away."

"If he's still alive." Anakin fixed me with a troubled look before sauntering to the other side of the cockpit.

"Ani, are you just going to sit here and let him die? He's your friend, your mentor—"

"He's like my father!" A description which carried even greater weight after he'd just placed his mother in the ground. And there it was— as if by saying the words aloud he'd opened the gate, and flickers of pain, fear, and distressed flinched across his face. Anakin didn't want to sit around and wait any more than I did. "But you heard Master Windu. He gave me strict orders to stay here!"

Now he wants to be the obedient Padawan?

It didn't take a master politician to discover the loophole. "He gave you strict orders to protect me. And I'm going to help Obi-Wan." I turned in my chair and flipped on the engine warm up. There was no question of me going. The Jedi who'd already saved my skin ten years ago had only begun his quest because of yet another threat on my life. I wouldn't let Obi-Wan join the forever silent tribe of Cordé and the others.

Nor would I permit Anakin losing anyone else in a race against Time, especially the last parental figure he had left.

I was tired of hiding. I was tired of being scared. I was tired of waiting for news while others plotted and navigated the points of my life. And, mother of moons, I was fed up with Nute Gunray, his Trade Federation, and their brutal, bullying tactics.

I was in love with Anakin. But I'd leave him behind on Tatooine if I had to. With a strength in my arms I hadn't felt in days, I turned over my shoulder to declare, "If you plan to protect me, you'll just have to come along."

By the gleam in his eyes, I knew there would be no disjointing. Which was all well and good, for I'd purposely remained in the co-pilot's chair, conveniently and enticingly leaving the pilot's steering bar open for him.

He was behind the controls within seconds.

Behind us, the droids shared a short exchange while Threepio hurried into a seat. "I'm not worried, Artoo. It's just that I've never flown before."

I briefly cast my sight beyond the windows as the ship lifted above the sand. The living inhabitants of the Lars homestead had vanished beneath the surface. I could just make out the sliver of disturbed soil nestled by a trio of tombstones. More air filled the space between our chrome hull and the farm. In the illusion born even from our modest height, the abrasive skin of the planet looked smooth and polished.

When I looked up, water-blue sky filled my vision; the beige of Tatooine melted away underneath. Anakin pressed the button to bring in the landing gear while he steered us higher into the atmosphere. My fingers deftly entered the coordinates into the flight computer as a sense of agency filled the cockpit. A life-changing chapter had closed, but an unknown future spread before us as we flew to meet our destiny on Geonosis.

It is only now, in hindsight, that I see the differences in the last eulogies offered to Shmi Skywalker Lars. Where Cliegg's was hopeful for Shmi's peace, Anakin only focused on her torment. Where Cliegg reflected on their time together with gratitude, Anakin's center was on his failure— on his pain. There's a warning there— about the prism through which Anakin Skywalker viewed his world and the people in it, but that is for other minds to analyze. Although I can acknowledge it, I have not the will nor the heart to join in on such dissection.

Coming next... ACT V: GEONOSIS

A/N:

1. The inclusion of Erden Lars and his speeder crash is, sadly, lifted straight from canon.

2. What started out as an author's note in this spot along the lines of, "In my head canon, Beru..." turned into a full-fledged one-shot spinoff. I hope you'll subscribe to Author Alerts or check out my bio page for "Threads of Love" (technically still the working title). It's set at the Lars homestead shortly after ROTS. It will be posted before Chapter 34 goes up, and I'm very excited to share it.

3. Things will start moving quickly once we get to Geonosis. Tatooine was necessary but one helluva headspace to be in as a writer. So, if you're feeling depressed after reading Suppression these past days/weeks, fear not! Nobody is more ready to get to what's coming than me. The fun stuff is on its way (and thank goodness, because I don't think I have another Tatooine chapter left in me to give). Thank you as always for reading and reviewing.