A/N: Welcome to "Suppression Week", where 8 new chapters will be released 24-36 (to allow for the unexpected curveballs of life) hours apart.
The rest of the fic, much like this entire fic really, is humbly dedicated to the special woman who brought most or all of us here. Fictional escapism aside, the way many of us have cherished her, mourned her, and been inspired by her for many years is a real thing of beauty. I have said before that I was terrified to do certain film scenes justice in writing/posting them (and lordy, I was), but nothing compares to wanting to get this post-Geo-to-wedding era right in the best way I know how. To honor her. To push back at the unfair judgements and limited misconceptions which have been hurled at her, at Anakin, and at their relationship for two decades.
Writing Suppression has single-handedly challenged me to take on comedy, angst, the first moments of first love, steamy sexual material, crushing grief, flashbacks, dreams, funerals, a wedding (more on that later ;) ), flirting, heated arguments, a burial preparation, full-blown action scenes, intimately quiet scenes, political intrigue, family dinners, severed limbs, and everything in between— and doing so while honoring a literal library of (two) canon, and filling in the many gaps with original ideas. It was far more than I realized I was signing up for when I started, but it's been worth every single second. This has been one of the most special and fulfilling experiences of my creative life, and I would do it all again for our beloved lady in a heartbeat.
I continue to deeply appreciate anyone who is entertained or moved by this version of a story, in whatever way they choose to express that reaction. For those who have been here since early on, I'm ecstatic to condense months' worth of chapters into 8 days for your bingeing pleasure. I sincerely hope you enjoy.
The casualty numbers below are lifted from canon.
For Padmé.
VI. THE CREDENCE
Chapter 39. Bacta Can't Fix Everything
Come back. Even as a shadow, even as a dream.
― Euripides
When it comes to the ultimate matter of him and me, I have already spoken of my regret for wasting precious time catching up to Anakin's grounded certainty. If I had said yes to him sooner, how would things have been different? If I'd confessed how I felt that night on the hut floor, or if we hadn't taken an entire day to polish the announcement of our feelings before an evening which ended in disaster, would we have left for Tatooine a day sooner? Even if we had arrived just hours earlier, would that have been enough grace from the universe to reach Shmi Skywalker in time? What kind of man would Anakin have become had he not lost his mother and a significant portion of his humanity in one devastating and destructive night?
Somewhere, Fate laughs at me for my questions.
Naboo's luxuriant greenery, cheerful congregation of flowers, and her refreshing water basins.
Tatooine's abundant and corrosive sand, scorching climate, yet magnificent sunsrises and sets.
Geonosis… being, well… Geonosis.
The return to polished chrome plating, starkly bright artificial light, and white— white floors, white walls, white ceilings— aesthetic was jarring after consecutive days spent in biomes so rich in their natural textures.
Not that my current view was much to speak of regardless. I never thought I would be eager just to see a blank stretch of wall, but after over two hours of staring at the same tiny vista of the floor, I'd give anything for variety.
After leaving the fateful hangar, our shuttle had flown to the forward command center, allowing Master Yoda the directive to disembark and reconvene with other Jedi on the ground. Thankfully, the first battle of what would be called the Clone Wars was winding down rather speedily. The Separatist's Droid Army wasn't advancing to attack their unexpected visitors anymore so much as they were defending their backs against them during a rushed retreat.
The lone trooper in the seat next to me departed along with the Grand Master. He went in search of reassignment from his superiors now that his former squad was entirely gone. It wasn't until the doors had closed again and we were pulling away from the command base that I realized with regret I'd never asked him his name. …I didn't even know yet if clone troopers had names.
Master Yoda and his noble efforts of influence may have left us, but Anakin's body was too exhausted to rouse itself to previous levels. Dopey expressions had already given way more and more to interruptions from flinching spasms of physical agony. I whispered a prayer of thanks, for multiple reasons, when he finally laid back and submitted to sedated sleep in his medical capsule.
Initially, we were to fly on to a med-size assault cruiser— one of the breed I'd seen unloading legions of troops during the outbreak of battle— due to there being a fierce military engagement happening above us in orbit. Our side was trying to damage or destroy as many Separatist ships as possible before they fled into hyperspace. With a risk of both enemy and friendly fire, it wasn't deemed safe for our passenger shuttle to fly directly to the hospital ship yet. Our end destination was harbored beyond the asteroid ring amid the explosive conflict between fleets. The idea was to instead catch a ride with a much larger and vastly more fortified assault cruiser still on the surface. We'd make our way into space via its protection whenever it ascended, and from there shuttle to the medship.
But unloading Anakin onto yet another taxi couldn't wait. Once Obi-Wan and I overheard the discussion about the young man's diagnostics trending downward, authority intermixed with our mutual alarm. The military staff— pilot, notably, included— aboard our shuttle wisely decided that flying into the active war zone was suddenly safer than handling the combined and commanding ire of a two-time Sith dueling Jedi Master and a former Queen/current Galactic Senator, each of whom had vested interests in their patient's care. I never would've ignited it, much less used it, but I'm sure it didn't hurt that when I coincidentally raised my right hand to gesture at the medics, the lightsaber I still clutched did some of my talking for me. At my and Kenobi's vehemence, we remained in flight and made a hasty departure for orbit.
{Seizures; blindness; nerve damage; brain damage, a victim may face.}
The first, but ultimately not last, Battle of Geonosis grew silent and small underneath us as our shuttle broke through the reddish-beige atmosphere and soared into the black chasm that waited beyond. On the far side of the asteroid ring, as warned, Separatist starships were clashing in a fiery storm against Republic cruisers. A hot wave rolled through me as I looked out the aft windows and saw the rounded Trade Federation fleet in the distance. Even from our position, I could make out the massive radio transmitters used to send commands to droids on the planet's soil. They'd be operated by cowards in their control rooms, communicating to their moving metal down below to do the killing for them even as they multi-tasked to save their own skins up above.
The sight brought back a pair of scarred memories from a decade before. Such was the last time I'd seen Federation ships consolidated around a single planet— albeit one far more blue, and far less willing to host self-imposing Viceroys.
But my eyes soon took in the many assault cruisers also engaged in the orbital conflict. History would soon come to know these sibling vessels as Acclamator-class trans-galactic military transport ships, property of the Galactic Republic. At the time, I only knew them as yet another reminder. The readiness for war had only taken only some of us by surprise.
Flying alongside the battle was harrowing, but our pilot was so capable that I wished Anakin had been awake just to see his maneuvers. Shortly after our arrival on the hospital ship, I was reluctantly rolled into separate areas from my Jedi counterparts. Faces eerily identical to both the man who'd tried to kill me and the one who'd been my temporary friend on Geonosis went to work trying to mend a bloodied but mostly distracted woman. They started on the obvious wounds first, until I was forthcoming with my fall from the gunship and subsequent unconsciousness. This revelation immediately halted all tending of the scratches and diverted the focus to head scans.
If there was any part of my entire treatment during my stay on the hospital ship that I dolefully practiced patience for, it was this. Once the information that I'd suffered a head injury was— for better or worse— known, I was wise enough to let them run as many tests on me as they wanted to prove there were no lasting effects. I made a mental note to request that signed copies of these digitized records be sent to both my Coruscant office and the administrative office of the Queen in Theed. There was too high a chance now that somehow, some way, such an injury could be learned of by those who would twist the knowledge to their advantage if they could.
I had been in the political game long enough to know that any of the Senators or factions aligned against me, especially the pro-war delegates, were very capable of using the fact I'd suffered a head injury to undermine my testimony about the day's events. I didn't want my accounts diluted by outsiders sprouting charges of "regrettably questionable recollection."
I was the only person who made it out of that arena who was practiced at giving speeches before the public. Who better to halt a civil war in its tracks than the sole Senator who shed blood at its outbreak?
After my brain had been given the all-clear, my back and right arm were awarded due attention once again. My wounds were cleaned of burrowed sand— a procedure I was very happy to be numbed for— before the deepest tears were stitched together and the area draped in heavy bacta bandages. For all this, I was placed face down on a specially designed bed. It was specifically built for a patient in such a position— there was an oval hole at one end with a cushioned rim, so that I may breathe easily as my stomach lay flat. Because of this awkward position, perhaps even my Senatorial rank, and maybe even my unique gender aboard the male-dominated ship, all this took place in my own private room in the medical ward. I'd been given all manner of antibiotics to negate infection from the nexu's nails. My scraped hands were even smeared with bacta gel to aid their healing from the sweltering vat I'd fought to climb out of. All tests passed and remedies applied, I was finally and officially in a status of observation and recovery.
And here I had been. For over two hours.
Staring at the floor. Ever desperate for information.
More information.
With the exception of the period devoted to head scans, I had been anything but mute during my treatment. I'd urgently questioned my medical attendants— human and artificial— more about Anakin's injuries than my own. When the respondents didn't have a recently updated answer to give, I was not afraid to use my rank, my tear ducts, or shrill volumes I didn't even know my voice was capable of reaching to send someone out of the room until they came back with an answer. I may have left an impressive impression on the solitary clone who'd dubbed me a warrior, but I'd wager I made quite a different flavor of introduction to women and to Senators for the staff of that medical wing.
Even once my observation officially began, a version of this repeated until the staff quickly learned not to open the door to check on me without getting an update on Anakin first; bonus points if they had news on Obi-Wan Kenobi as well. All other mystery about them aside, these clones clearly learned fast.
According to this second-hand discovery, Obi-Wan's arm and thigh muscles were grafted before he was suspended in a bacta tank. Anakin, under a much higher medical emergency code, was placed in a tank essentially seconds after we'd been split up. Although he was being heavily monitored and wasn't in the all-clear just yet, he'd remained inside in stable condition ever since. This information was the only reason I didn't scurry off my pallet and rush to his side. As much as I ached to be near him and see his stable status for myself, the most important thing for him right now was to get rest. With Ani submerged in a bacta tank, I couldn't even hold his hand… the only hand remaining to hold.
And so, I was left to my scattered thoughts, face down on a horizontal table, staring at the same limited view of white floor.
On our last night at Varykino, Anakin appreciatively made a comment about the defined state of my abdomen. My overall "impressive" physical shape was evidently a surprise to my admiring Jedi protector. I had personal reasons for my fitness— I was always an active child and young adult, prone to hikes, long walks, and swimming. It was a lifestyle I enjoyed, and I could see myself making an effort to remain in good shape no matter what career I'd taken on. Of course, regular defensive training helped, and the specific hiring of body doubles cast in part for their similar size didn't hurt motivations either. But more than that, I've always privately felt I had a duty to be in the healthiest state I could attain given the demands of my job. A healthy public servant is a clear-minded public servant, one with energy to fuel her service; possessing the mental and physical stamina to work the necessary long nights drafting or fighting legislation. Nobody wants to be the Senator who sits down midway through their passionate speech in front of the Senate Rotunda because they've gotten winded, just like no one on any committee wants to be known as the first one to call a recess because they are mentally or physically put out by the proceedings.
Ironically, this would in fact be me in just a few short years. I felt new sympathy for such delegates when I was afflicted by a lengthy series of discomforts. Morning sickness. Hunger cravings. Swollen legs, ankles, feet— sometimes a trifecta of all three. Extreme backaches. Digestive heartburn, once so sudden and intense it almost preemptively ended one of my own grand speeches. And even the most creative of waist-widened gowns couldn't hide a lavatory under my skirts too; I'm forever surprised the tabloids never picked up on my pregnancy due to the sheer number of times I had to excuse myself to relieve myself during crucial meetings.
You can't take sick days when you're a Queen, and you don't seek them when you're a Senator. I've always done my best not to let the side effects of mortality impede my duty, whether it be illness or injury. As a survivor of Geonosis, the healing I allowed my body in the immediate aftermath would determine not just how rapidly I was back to my position during a time of war, but at what level of capacity.
I tried to remind myself of this responsibility— this goal to be in working shape as soon as possible for the sake of my constituents— as I laid on that table while Anakin recuperated elsewhere. This action of inaction remains one of the mental feats of my life. Arguably, the sheer exhaustion of the day, scratches and unconsciousness aside, aided greatly. It had been too many hours to count since I woke at the moisture farm and shared one last breakfast with its residents.
But there was one thing I noticed during our arrival and my initial ushering through the hallways which wasn't relevant to my or Anakin's condition. This ship was new. Brand new. The most sterile and orderly but used hospital wings in the galaxy didn't have that same fresh, glossy, being-broken-in-for-the-first time feel of this medship.
My desire to know what I'd missed in my absence was only amplifying.
The galaxy had changed so much in just a matter of hours. So had I along with it. My list of other questions was growing, but my focus was still very much on the apprentice suspended in a bacta tank somewhere in that medical wing. I'd been sure, multiple times that day, that I was going to die. Such an event puts life into perspective for a person.
Both Anakin and I would internalize this truth very shortly, very devoutly, and act very proportionately.
We were all occupied with recovering for that first night. Due to my injuries and the heavy application of bandages on top of them, I was still confined to my state on the bed. My medical wardens had only permitted me breaks to sit up for meals brought in on trays or to use the fresher.
My stitches had to be minded, and the bacta allowed to its job so I could go on and do mine, but I found lingering in this position to be uncomfortable. This discomfort lasted well enough into the night that I finally accepted a mild medicinal agent to help me sleep.
They successfully sedated my body, but on a level of subconscious which cannot be affected by drugs, my soul knew he was not next to me. It made up for his absence with wild dreams.
Vivid dreams.
Silver wisps of her hair moved around her face. Lines carved from a lifetime of laughter and wisdom spread or canyoned with her expressions. Youth which can't ever be bottled by aged skin shone luminously in her brown eyes.
Our environment was a hazy blur, but she was as distinguishable as if she'd stepped right back into life.
"Great-grandmother?" I asked, stepping nearer. I was surprised by my voice. It was not that of a child's— the only voice of mine she'd ever known— but of a young woman.
Her eyes twinkled as she smiled. "Did you see them again?"
"'Them?'"
Her grin broadened. She already had her answer— the fun now was hearing me say it aloud. "The óma willa."
I felt an unreserved rush of excitement as I remembered the cove on the island. "I did! It was wonderful! There were five!"
"You saw them with him?"
I beamed even more brightly at her. Even though his name had not been spoken yet, just hearing it in my mind was enough to elicit flutters in my heart. "With him. Yes." My already irrationally large smile grew wider. "With Anakin."
"With Anakin…" she repeated, a knowing expression matching mine. She approved.
"Anakin..." My voice echoed. She was disappearing but another was taking her place, much farther from me.
"Anakin!"
I was yelling his name now, but without any anxiety. The smile was still on my face.
He was here.
I could see him clearly up ahead.
"Annnnakinnn!" His name was a song on the wind I never wanted to cease singing. The sky above us was cerulean but dotted with white, puffy clouds. Everywhere else was green. Flourishing. I knew this place.
I became aware of a presence at my side. Low. Child-size. We were walking together across the meadow, trying to get Anakin's attention— he was standing where the meadow grass met the waterfall pools. The jester was playing a game, pretending he couldn't hear us as we approached behind him.
"We know you can hear us!" I looked directly at the small figure. It— he— was holding onto my hand with familiar comfortability. He couldn't have been more than ten years old. We continued strolling as a team through the high grass towards the man with his back to us, but my eyes were now entranced by the sight of this face beside me. It was Anakin's face, only… different. His water-blue eyes. His sandy blond hair in a bowl-cut, the way it had been when I'd met little Ani. But this was a different child. Amazingly, I observed hinted features that somehow reminded me of my own reflection.
He beamed up at me with the kind of love I know I'd worn on my own face when gazing at great-grandmother Leia. Unfathomable love. Familial love.
He giggled up at my stunned expression and tugged me forward. "Come on," he laughed, dragging me behind him towards Anakin, who was now turning and breaking into a rapturous smile at our arrival. At Anakin's wide grin— the grin identical to the one on the boy— the child beside me spread his other arm open, as if expecting and ready for a hug. He took another step towards the other adult.
"Father!"
Detonating shock caused me to snatch my hand back. The dream immediately went dark with the loss of touch, ending before Anakin had the chance to lift our son into his arms.
The ship, especially the infirmary, was set into a typical day/night schedule, one well-suited for the circadian rhythm of its human occupants. By the first "morning", therefore, I was about to burst out of my stitches with restlessness. I was over sleeping and anxious for information. I'd been right to gift my body the time it needed to heal— the bacta bandages did their duty well enough during the night that a new, standard issue hospital bed was brought in, and I'd been cleared to sit up.
As I was finishing the breakfast brought to my bed, I'd already made the commitment to get out of there and check on Anakin myself as soon as I was done eating. But when the droid came back to retrieve my tray, it delivered news that there were two Jedi who wished to visit me. They were on their way and would soon be entering my room.
It was irrational, perhaps, to hope the coming pair was Anakin and Obi-Wan. Their wounds were too grave for them to be moving about this early. But I felt the hope bloom and my optimism dared to rise as the minutes went by. Following my arrival, I'd been put into a practical hospital gown, one open to the back to allow easy access to my bandages. I mustered myself off the bed and carefully put on the rather plush, white, floor-length robe which had been in the room ever since I'd arrived. It was thick and soft, with a sleek posh lining around the collar and cuffs. Tying it around me, I then positioned myself near the end of the bed and made fast peace with the status of my hair. I hadn't been cleared to take a shower just yet, and what was once tight coils of pinned strands that had already come loose during the fight for survival now hung haphazardly under my neck as a matted nest.
At the sound of a knock, I straightened myself into a Senator's professional pose, but my heart raced in hopeful anticipation.
"Come in."
Then I watched as the door panel rose, and Jedi Masters Mace Windu and Ki-Adi-Mundi walked through.
My pulse began to race for other reasons.
"Senator," Mundi greeted first, coming to a stop a few feet from the doorway and giving a respectful nod of his head.
"Senator," Windu echoed, in both word and movement.
"Gentlemen." I nodded back stately, instinctively pulling my Amidala mask on.
But I was a fraction too late.
"You're disappointed to see us," Master Windu remarked, a single eyebrow slightly raised. He said it in that telltale way only a Jedi had the ability to— as a confident statement of fact, not as a question. I tried to gauge him, too, but I did not intimately know these eyes the way I did Anakin's, nor did I possess a supernatural emotional reader.
A warning voice in the back of my head called me to tread carefully here. Lying wouldn't get me very far in front of two proficient members of the Jedi Council.
"Well, I must admit," I began with an apologetic smile. "When I heard a pair of Jedi were coming, I had hopes Master Kenobi and his Padawan were well enough to be paying me this visit. I've been eager for updates on them." The last sentence was more of an encouragement for this duo to share information than anything else. Yet I was being authentic as I finished, "But it is very good to see you both are alive and well after yesterday's events."
I noted that while Master Mundi was wearing his brown Jedi cloak over his tunics, Master Windu was not. The fabric of his own beige uniform was spotted in small patches of black burns. I then remembered the smoking trail I'd seen descend from the elevated arena box to the battle floor below.
At my words, Ki-Adi-Mundi's chin dipped, further brushing his white beard against his chest. "Thank you, Senator Amidala. After so many did not survive the day, it is likewise a celebration to see you are still with us."
There was a poignant pause, an abnormal moment in my logged history with these two men. I'd had brief encounters with them both off and on over the years, but I'd never witnessed their demeanors appear as they did now. Understanding, I softly asked, "Is there a final number of those who were lost?"
"Of the two hundred and twelve Jedi who rushed to Geonosis," Windu replied, his already low voice heavy with the weight of his subdued announcement, "roughly thirty survived."
Thirty.
My head bowed and my eyes closed. Images of the bodies I'd seen on the arena floor from the ground and when airlifting out flashed through my mind. The casualty number was even worse than I'd estimated.
Unexpectedly, a voice I never would've guessed would infiltrate the present moment slipped into it.
{Thirty of us went out after her, four of us came back.}
Two very different rescue teams; catastrophic results delivering very similar blows to the heroes.
I lifted my sad eyes and met theirs in turn. "It was a tragic day." Stronger, I promised, "One I will not let the Senate or the Republic forget."
"We are counting on that, Senator," Master Mundi responded, but devoid of either aggressive pressure or mournful plea. However piercing the grief of these men was, they were far better at compartmentalizing than I could or would ever want to be.
"Are your own wounds healing well?" The humanoid Jedi asked the question. His back straightened an inch with the inquiry. The emotional moment had passed, and we were on to the evident reason for their visit— a courtesy check on the resident Senator.
"Yes, thank you. The medical team has been very diligent. I hope all the injured are receiving the same level of care."
Tell me about Anakin. Anything. Please.
Windu nodded. "When we learned you were sitting up again, we thought it best to check on you once you'd concluded your breakfast."
"We were just finishing a briefing with Master Kenobi."
My eyes shot to Master Mundi. For a moment, thoughts of Ani took a step back on the priority list. "He's had a very prolific assignment. I would also like to know what he found out during his investigations. The message we retransmitted seems to have been missing vital information."
He dodged my request smoothly. "Understandable, Senator. But we must go through the appropriate channels and fill in the Supreme Chancellor first, of course."
I set my lips into a straight line. This annoyed me, but I understood the hierarchy.
"Before that, we visited with Padawan Skywalker."
"How is he?" I'd used every tool in my arsenal to keep the desperation out of my voice as I looked to the speaker, Master Windu.
"That was the first question he asked— about you."
I credit the decade spent controlling my features to my ability to stare blankly back at the Jedi. But the emotions swirling underneath were a different story. Anakin was awake and asking about me. Hearing this, a surge of yearning threatened to shatter any pretense. I forced myself to imbue— mentally— the part of a friendly but professional delegate. Already, I knew I would have to learn to bury my true feelings as deeply as possible before I was in the presence of Masters again. Jedi were not telepathic, but they were known as the best interrogators in the galaxy for good reason.
My voice was calm, even. "His status?"
Windu continued, "He's been kept almost exclusively in his bacta tank. He was pulled out briefly in order for us to speak with him, but then he returned to his recovery."
"And his injuries?"
"He will require more time where he is," Mundi answered. "Three ribs were broken, and he still endures grave muscle spasms and soreness, but the worst fears of long-term damage have been alleviated."
I nodded, processing this as academically as I outwardly could. "And… his arm? He had hopes it might, one way or another, be… reattached."
Mace Windu gave a small shake of his head. "Young Skywalker will make a full recovery, but the damage was too extensive; they weren't able to save the arm."
I accepted this answer far quicker than I knew Anakin would. A loss of a limb did not make him any less perfect. I feared, however, he would not see it this way.
"This ship has a BioTech lab onboard. Skywalker will be fitted with a prosthetic even before he reaches Coruscant." A very human expression flickered across Master Windu's face— a mixture of humor with mild annoyance. "I'm sure it's only a matter of time before he upgrades it himself and has the most advanced mechno-arm in the Order."
I remembered Ani recounting his droid-kidnapping exploits to me and Brother Luke. It had been made obvious he had a reputation in the Temple for his affinity as a mechanic, much to the chagrin of some of his mentors.
I couldn't risk dwelling the conversation too long on Anakin, no matter how many hours I could spend talking about him. "And Master Kenobi? How fairs his recovery progress?"
Master Mundi nodded simply. "Thanks to the quick application of bacta in the hangar, he will also make a full recovery. He has already been removed from his tank." A hint of a smile peaked. "Master Kenobi is getting some overdue rest in bed."
I sighed with relief for apprentice and master. "I'm very pleased to hear that."
The rhythm of the conversation swung, and just the slightest turn of the Jedi's shoulders towards the door went with it. The courtesy check was nearing its end.
I smiled like a gracious Senator would. "Thank you both for coming to see me, though I don't wish to take up anymore of your time."
Both men offered small bows. "Nor do we wish to take away from your rest, Senator," Windu answered. With that, they began to fully turn towards the exit.
But I suddenly recalled an important thing I'd neglected to say.
"Wait." The word came out quiet but urgent enough to halt their step. They jointly peered over their shoulders at me. "I haven't said yet how grateful I am that you came to our rescue." I looked into both of their gazes earnestly. "Thank you, most sincerely."
However important it was for me to have said this, I simply expected yet another small nod or polite response before they continued with their departure. Instead, I was surprised when they noticeably tensed. The Jedi Masters exchanged pointed looks with one another, communicating something I was not privy to.
Ultimately, they turned to face me fully once more. They were regarding me now in a way that felt uncomfortably familiar. I'd seen these reproving looks in Palpatine's office when I'd suggested Dooku was behind the platform attack, and this exact pair was quick to tell me I'd gotten it fundamentally wrong.
Master Windu spoke aloud, whereas Mundi seemed content to let his stern expression do all his talking for him. "That will remain the official story."
I titled my head slightly. "And unofficially?"
The tall and imposing Mace Windu stared at me less like I was a distinguished Senator and more like a disobedient problem. "The Jedi who traveled to Geonosis were coming to rescue Obi-Wan Kenobi." He paused, purposely letting his words fill the empty space between us. "We knew he needed our help, and we knew we would be outnumbered. We arrived with reinforcements in case of contingencies we had hoped to avoid." Dark brown eyes bore into mine. "What we didn't know, was that we were coming to your rescue as well, milady, until we arrived on planet. It was a surprise… considering I'd explicitly told Skywalker to stay where he was and keep you out of harm's way."
I didn't miss the eyebrow which rose with his last statement. There was a question embedded there. He wasn't asking me— yet— how we got to Geonosis so quickly. I don't know if the listeners present in the Supreme Chancellor's office during our communication relay ever heard that we were transmitting from Tatooine. But now, at the very least, he seemed to gather we were not on Naboo.
He very likely could have asked Anakin this question already. But if so, I didn't know what reply had been given, and I wasn't about to undermine whatever had been said. Our time on Tatooine and the events there was Anakin's story to reveal, not mine.
"I'm sure it was quite a surprise," I replied evenly.
"Obi-Wan seems to think he would've still been a prisoner under the Count when we arrived if events had unfolded differently."
Confused stirred. I stared back at the man, not yet understanding his motive in telling me this.
His low timbre dipped further. "Count Dooku told Obi-Wan he was working on his release. Whether or not that would've happened, we will never know."
I exchanged looks with both men, unable to believe they still gave the benefit of the doubt to Dooku, even now. "Surely, that was a lie."
Windu pursed his lips and tilted his head in a short show of contemplation. "He was never just going to let Obi-Wan walk out the front door. However, it is likely he would've been held as a hostage until the Separatists could ransom him for one of their demands. Count Dooku is a former Jedi, milady—" As if I needed the reminder. "— He knows Master Kenobi on his own was more valuable alive."
I fought to keep my mask infallible as I worked with this proposed alternate reality. "Am I to understand, you don't believe he would have been sent to the arena to be executed?"
Master Mundi finally rejoined the audible conversation, though his eyes alone still spoke volumes. "Master Kenobi was not who Nute Gunray wanted dead."
I was.
I felt blood begin to abandon my face as I gazed back at the men staring me down. "You think my unexpected arrival expedited an execution Obi-Wan might otherwise not have faced so soon… if at all?"
"As we said," Windu answered calmly. "We will never know."
There was a stressed beat of breath from our trio.
And then whatever tension there was in the room instantly dispelled on their side of it. The Jedi were looking at me now devoid of either aggressive pressure or mournful accusation. However much their resentment had been felt, they were far better at compartmentalizing than I could ever be. Any grudge had thrived and died within seconds, never even being allowed to the chance to leave the room.
But guilt was not something I let go of as easily as the practiced members of an emotionally restricted Order.
I covered up my rising discomposure by dropping elements of tiredness into my speech. "If you'll excuse me, Masters, I'm quite worn out still and would like to sleep."
An effortless if polite smile emerged on Master Windu's face. "Of course. Be well, Senator." At last, they finished their exit, and the panel door shut behind them. My silent room returned to its near vacancy from before the Jedis' arrival, and yet it felt boisterously crowded by the thoughts and emotions clamoring for prominence.
I didn't remove my robe as I moved into the hospital bed and pulled the sheets up around my shoulders.
Two hundred and twelve Jedi. They would've needed a fraction of that tally to infiltrate the Geonosian hallways and bust Obi-Wan out, maybe more if Dooku was aware of their presence. But they never would've needed to utilize their entire group— more to the point, never would've ended up bottle-necked and surrounded by droids with no way out until the freak miracle happened.
Not unless an unplanned third-party— a high-ranking elected official, one too respected on the galactic stage to overlook; one whose protection had been entrusted to the Jedi by the Supreme Chancellor himself— showed up and made an all too ecstatic Viceroy rush a public execution. And when you're entertaining the masses with death, the more participants the merrier.
The second night in Geonosis's orbit, I finally saw Anakin.
Perhaps no greater section of a starship adheres to a day/night schedule like the recovery ward of a hospital ship. There were strict hours where all but the most essential lights went dark, and patients were bidden to stay in bed and sleep far more than any other part of their admittance. But when it comes to Anakin, I'd left behind a blind loyalty to rules somewhere between a lakeside terrace and an execution cart.
I'd reached the limits of my mind's supplication and my heart's sanity. And I was running out of time. My scratches were healing well after a constant application of fresh bacta bandages and antibiotics. I'd been allowed to shower by myself, without even a droid's cautionary supervision. All these factors combined, I was to be discharged from the medical wing in the morning. I'd learned from my reliable information-gatherers that tonight was Anakin's last overnight in a bacta tank. I didn't know where I'd be moved to, but I was about to lose the nearness to him that our co-residency in the infirmary supplied. Either way, with him out of the tank, all future visits to Anakin would be at a public bedside. At least for the near future.
I couldn't think about the far future. Whether the dreaded but inevitable separation occurred before or after an arrival on Coruscant, the essential luxury of being around Anakin was on borrowed time.
Mindful of the infamous cold of starships and space, I'd wrapped myself in the expensive robe from my room. Then I'd sleuthed my way towards the block housing the bacta tanks, hiding from the night shift as well as Anakin and I had once evaded the passersby on our way to the engine observation room on the Jendirian Valley.
It was beyond reckless, for I had no ready excuse if I was caught. But I never hesitated on my covert mission, not when the magnetic pull to him grew stronger with every step. In time, I at last came face-to-face with the door labeled BACTA TANK REHABILITATION #5. Thanks to knowledge innocently dropped by my medical attendants, I knew I was in the right place.
My eyes found him the second the entry door slid open.
The medium-sized room was cast in dimness and quiet. Most light illuminated from the top of the vertical tank itself, draping its sleeping inhabitant and the surrounding room in a soft, blue hue. Anakin was suspended in a white harness fastened around his waist. A black oxygen mask secured the airways over his nose and mouth. White shorts were his only clothing, and the hems around his toned thighs floated slowly around his skin. The hand of one arm was high, levitating lethargically at chest-level, while the other…
I held my breath as I studied him. His eyes were closed, but he seemed to stir after I passed into the room and the door shut behind me. I wasn't certain if he was simply in deep sleep or under medical sedation. Within a few seconds, either way, he returned to languid inactivity, and I walked further into the space.
It was the first time I'd been alone with him since the arena tunnel. Even then, if one was to count the prisoner guards who had been around us at that moment, the true last time we'd been alone was when we'd tensely walked off the Nubian yacht.
{I'm not interested in getting into a war here. As a member of the Senate, maybe I can find a diplomatic solution to this mess.}
How confident I had sounded. How sure. How little I'd considered that my mere presence might escalate the situation in the worst way and play right into the hands of our adversaries.
Moving slowly, I approached Anakin's tank. There was a smeared pocket of blue, green, and yellow on the right side of his bare chest. Three broken ribs. But the dismaying colors were already fading, something which wouldn't naturally already be happening, but would under the healing power of bacta submersion.
My lips tugged up at the wandering of his Padawan braid. Its end was floating like a feather under his chin. Every few seconds, it rose in the fluid to tickle the skin, and the lower half of Anakin's face would twitch.
The low, mechanized hum from his tank's operation coupled with the oxygen bubbles from his rhythmic exhalations, making for the only sounds in the otherwise silent room. I suddenly, dearly missed his soft snore with a sentimentality that squeezed my own rib cage; he was sleeping right in front of me, and yet— due to the physical and liquid barriers— I could not hear it.
There was an impulse, of course, to tap on the glass and wake him. But I had been so bereft of his presence, I was simply satisfied just to see him. To witness his stable breathing so assuredly; to look up at the vitals monitor next to his tank and see a robust heartbeat.
I found a data pad— the first such tablet I'd seen during my stay on the ship— on a nearby counter and curled up in the folds of my robe as I nestled into a nearby chair. I'd barely tucked my slippered feet off the floor and against my rear when the door to the room slid open.
Not yet, not yet!
But it was only a medical droid. It rolled into the rehabilitation space towards Anakin's tank as if that was its only mission. When it stopped, though, its long rectangular head swiveled to take in the sight of me.
"I'm a Galactic Senator," I rushed quietly but boldly, as if already granted access the droid might respect, even if the Jedi wouldn't if I was caught.
And I'm the woman who loves him.
"I'm allowed to be here."
Fortunately, the droid didn't seem to care one way or the other who I was or why I was there. It regarded me for one last disinterested moment before returning to its check of Anakin's diagnostics.
I leaned forward in my chair. "How is he?"
The thin droid regarded me once more. In a baritone voice, it simply answered, "Progress." Its head swiveled back to its work.
I waited several moments but there was no elaboration. Resigning myself to this response, I reclined back into my chair and let my eyes linger on Anakin's expanding and retracting chest. It was shameful how, even now, I couldn't help but internally react to the sight of his lean legs, defined abdomen, and strong shoulders. He was beautiful, in the way exulted statues raised in metropolises are. The Gods had commissioned this particular art to live and breathe and walk among us.
My sight inevitably trailed to his right arm. Skin had been grafted over where the black, cauterized wound used to be. It was pink and raw, but otherwise looked tremendously better than it had the last time I'd seen it.
The mechanized medic was soon gone, and Anakin and I were alone again. I ignored the data pad tucked in between my bent knees and stomach, content for a while yet just to exist next to him. Then a thought bemusedly entered my mind. With both of our feelings now having been expressed— his first by the fire, mine in the death delivery carriage— was this, of all scenarios, technically our first date?
My lips pulled up at the corners.
As my date continued to slumber in his healing tank, I eventually picked up the data pad. In between periodically looking up at Ani just to see the pacifying movement of his chest and the peaceful expression on his face, I went to work trying to research anything I could on cloning, Kamino, etc. I had only ever heard the name of the planet via Master Kenobi speaking it once, and so I tried every possible spelling combination I could come up with. Camino. Kaymeeno. Cuhminoh. Kamino. All to no avail. It was disturbing how little information of substance there was to be found about the planet through online portals. It was as if these cloners had erased themselves from discovery.
At least some information was being rounded up, and not far away from where I sat.
Our opponents in this war had gifted us something on the very first day of its outbreak: Geonosis. It was a crucial Separatist stronghold, and then it was crudely dropped into our hands before the ink on any metaphorical war declaration was even dry. As such, its offering of information couldn't be neglected, nor put solely in the hands of clones who— although they'd performed admirably on the battlefield— were still untested by such a genre of trust. Decimated though they were, and being located in the Outer Rim as we were— beyond the jurisdiction of the Republic's boundaries— the remaining Jedi were the best and only investigators around for several systems. Geonosian warriors had fled deep into their catacombs, and the Federation droids still operating when their owners escaped were only ever going to be as helpful to our goals as their blasted comrades on the ground. By the time the signals from the starships disappeared, the Federation's lingering army deactivated.
But their foundaries had also been left behind. War rooms had been discovered. Abandoned, yes, and not without levels of sabotage done to them first, but still holding clues hastily and unwillingly left to the Republic if we were able to decipher them. There was also the matter of the involvement of the Techno Union, the Commerce Guild, and others— how long and how much had they been involved, and was there any evidence pointing to this remaining on the planet?
This responsibility almost immediately became the duty of the few Jedi who were neither lost forever nor recovering on the hospital ship with Anakin and Obi-Wan. Less than thirty Jedi pursuing the countless Geonosians into their own catacombs was suicide. But there was hope that the Force-sensitives, patrolling quietly in the shadows better than most others ever could, might capture a reconnaissance insectoid sent out to see if the coast was all clear. After all, everyone was ready to see Archduke Poggle the Lesser answer a few questions. But we'd be content to start with whichever Geonosian we could get into custody.
More than this, after so many of their brethren had fallen, the last thing the Jedi wanted was to fly home when they could stay and help uncover whatever secrets the Confederacy's former headquarters might reveal. Jedi don't believe in revenge, but they seem to believe in avenging just fine. I couldn't help but wonder if the fact that the other side in this civil war was being led by a man who'd been of their own Order only added to their motivation. What optical message did it send when a former pupil of Master Yoda himself— the legendary figurehead of the Jedi Council— was now galvanizing efforts to rupture the government?
No, the Jedi weren't going to just lick their wounds and race home. Hence why the brand new fleet of the Republic was still in orbit, complete with its brand new clone troopers still on the ground— ready to provide backup if the Geonosians decided in mass that they did not want to stay in their catacombs after all while we carried out our investigations on the surface.
But questions would soon come as to why I was still here.
No one was going to expect me to quicken to Coruscant while I was still in the recovery wing, but that would begin to change once I was discharged. After all, I had my own ship. Somewhere. I hadn't brought up the whereabouts of the Nubian yacht presumably still stationed in the exhaust vent, for fear of the questions which would logically follow once I did. Thin as their fold had been rendered, if I said the word, I was sure they'd supply me with another Jedi escort back to Coruscant or Naboo. But the only escort I wanted was the one least capable of making the trip.
They would wait first for me to bring up the matter of my departure. Then subtle, well-meaning hints might be dropped in polite conversation.
Clocks and lights are arbitrary tools. What is night or day when you're on a ship in space? If I were to check the current time on any of the different planets, cities, villas, homesteads, or factories I'd been at in just the past two weeks, none of them would line up. Most wouldn't even be on the same calendar season. I was no stranger to the constant adjustment of galaxy-hopping travel. What I was not used to feeling was that the center of gravity wasn't the weight which pulled my feet down towards a planet's core or a ship's floor, but the distinct pull towards the man in front of me.
I wasn't trying to linger in Geonosis's orbit. I was trying to linger in Anakin's.
I tucked the tablet between my knees and perched an elbow upon one. Then, in my old habit, I rubbed my temple while my eyes drifted over the occupant of the tank. The issues I thought were enough to curtail any relationship had only grown larger. Anakin would need rehabilitation for his arm. After, was he be a soldier in this conflict? Is this what his destiny as a child of prophecy was steering him towards? Even I couldn't ignore that there may not be a coincidence in the timing of the first full-scale civil war in twenty-five thousand years occurring in the same era as an apparent "Chosen One" coming into his prime. Once he was fully recovered, would the Jedi look to Anakin as having an impactful part to play in this?
And my workload in a wartime Senate. Mother of moons, if I thought I busy before…
Several minutes went by as I ran through all the reasons, old and new, why I should get up and walk out of that room and out of Anakin's life. The list of why I should became so long, it got to the point where I stopped and had to ask myself a crucial question. It was a pause, a genuine pause, to host a personal and private conference between my conscious self and the chambers of my heart.
Anakin and I had not had a chance to discuss our relationship since the tunnel, if that could even be called a discussion. No further promises had been made; no declarations repeated. I could still, presumably, fall back on the idea that I'd thought were about to die and was caught up in the somberness of the moment. I reflected on the length of my list of reasons why loving Anakin was a disastrous idea.
Am I just making excuses? Do I want to back ou—
I tried. I tried to finish the second question in my mind— to give myself time to ponder and thoughtfully answer. Perhaps I owed myself an uncomplicated-enough future as I could attempt to start, and so I did honestly try to absorb the question. But before I even finished the thought, the resilience and certainty of the answer stunned me. The wave of absurdity, the audacity of asking the question!
But what happens to us now?
I bit down on my lip as I gazed at Ani. A wary part of me regretted that I had been so silent about Tatooine with Windu and Mundi that morning. Apart from the young man himself, I was the one and only person with both the knowledge and ability to inform the Jedi Masters about the emotional carnage Anakin suffered before stepping foot on Geonosis. It was a burden I did not want on my shoulders, especially now, and as much as I would silently carry it for him if he wanted me to, Anakin's judgment on the situation was inescapably biased.
I reminded myself that he was not a child anymore. I'd begun to see him as an adult long before this, and I had to trust that— biased as he may be— he knew best how, when, or even if to inform the Order on what happened with the Tusken Raiders. Love without respect isn't love; it wasn't my place to disclose his scars for him. I would stand by whatever level of revelation he chose.
A heavy sigh drained from me as my eyes lingered on him. Like sand through a sieve, more than two hours gradually passed. The medic droid continued to roll in once every twenty minutes. Each time it ignored me. Each time I didn't care and would ask it how Anakin was doing. Each time, the baritone answer was the same. "Progress."
During this vigil, I did my best to reel in my worries and fears— over realities which had already been solidified, and others which had yet to be determined— and return to the peace of simply being near Anakin. As if feeling my longing beacon, his eyelids eventually began to flutter. A second after they opened, our eyes met, like he already knew where to find me.
The tablet was already moving out of my lap. Relief and love flooded me. I rose and walked closer to the tank, no longer consumed by the excruciating withdrawal which was brought to an end with the refreshed addiction of his stare. Holding his gaze, I tried to communicate everything I was feeling. I thought back to the way I'd gripped his hand in that Lars bed, and my vow remained the same.
I'm here.
The black oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth didn't hide the corners deepening around his soft eyes. Beautiful blue eyes, which always crinkle in the corners when he smiles.
For a moment, the pain, the exhaustion, the anxiety of these past days parted. His starburst grin came through in his pools alone, and I realized he understood.
Oh, Force, help us.
I almost opened my mouth to speak, but then I remembered he wouldn't be able to hear me through the glass and bacta fluid. Instead, I lifted my right hand with the intention of laying it flat on the glass. Just before I did so, I thought to press the fingers to my lips first, in both a symbolic and literal message. But even as the idea emerged in my mind, the pads of my fingers were already pressing themselves against the tank. By the way his brows pinched in just slightly and his eyes grew solemn, he seemed emotionally touched by my action, and this original idea appeared sufficient enough. I thought nothing more of the addition of the almost implied kiss.
This was the first in a series of innocent mistakes.
Anakin would soon teach me that in the war of love, the total combination of seemingly inconsequential, tiny moments can matter just as much as one grand confession. There is no such thing as enough reassurance for an insecurity-ridden man always starved for it. Especially when it came to me. In this, he would be a very strict instructor. The days allowing for margins of error had passed.
Suddenly, I heard the door to the room slide open behind me. I assumed it to be the droid coming by for its routine check. But I realized I wasn't hearing the familiar sound of its wheels traverse the floor. I dropped my hand, but I was prepared to tell whichever Jedi was there to tear me away from Anakin that I wanted to stay. In that moment, I truly believed nothing could pull me from his side.
That's when I noticed Anakin straighten and appear confused. He was peering over my head at whoever had joined us, and he didn't recognize the joiner.
"Amidala?"
Recognizing the smooth timbre, I turned and made eye contact with the tall, dark wavy-haired man standing in the doorway. My jaw nearly jettisoned from its hinge.
"Jurue?"
None other than Jurue Batar— the lobbyist ally who'd become something slightly more than that over the past year— began walking towards my shocked face. I likewise took a few steps towards closer in utter disbelief. I was sure latent drugs in my system were hallucinating him in front of me. But why him? I hadn't even remembered his existence in almost a week.
"Oh, Amidala," Jurue came to a stand in front of me. Brown eyes the color of Alderaani tree bark scanned mine fervently. There was a quick, awkward pause before he rushed in for an embrace. As comfortable as we had become with one another, this was not usual behavior. The apparent motivation behind his action became clearer as he whispered with epic relief, "You're alive."
Then, as is the more expected custom from his region of Naboo, he placed a kiss to my cheek. But it was worse than this. Forgetting the traditional greeting was coming, I happened to turn my head as he went in and as I was initiating us pulling away from each other. Jurue's lips made contact more inwards than appropriate yet still on my cheek. But from Anakin's angle, Gods only know where he thought the kiss landed.
I pulled out of his arms, but his hands lingered in a tender grip below my shoulders. "What are you doing here?"
I could feel Anakin's eyes drilling tunnels through my skull.
Jurue lifted a shoulder and eyebrows as if the answer was obvious. "War. These mystery soldiers. I was on Naboo, and I came as soon as I heard. It's everything we worked against. But I hear they're the reason you're still aliv—"
Still dazed, I shook my head and interrupted him. "What are you doing here? How?"
He nodded, registering my continued shock. "Your head scans were received at the Queen's office. I got here as fast as I could." He let go of my shoulders to open his hands wide. Thankfully, he rested them at his own sides after the expressive movement. "And here you are. When I arrived, they told me visiting hours weren't open, but, well, I was adamant." Jurue smiled sheepishly. "I may have said some things and pretended to hold a higher rank than I actually do. But it worked. And, of course, when you weren't in your room, I went searching for you. There's a droid— the thin one with the weird head— it told me you were in here." For the first time, his focus lifted to the man in the bacta tank.
I stole a look over my shoulder at Anakin. He was watching us. His eyes weren't soft anymore.
"This is Anakin." I fought to clear my head. "He's the Jedi who was assigned to protect me when I left Coruscant and went into hiding."
Jurue's face looked like he'd just gotten confirmation on something he already suspected. "I knew it. When you sent me that message, I knew something was going on. I suspected you weren't tucked away in your apartment. You aren't the kind to sit silent in the midst of all that's been happening and watch from down the street on the HoloNet. But I definitively knew you were in hiding when Palpatine was granted the emergency powers."
I could still feel Anakin boring into my backside, demanding that I turn round and acknowledge him again. However, Jurue Batar suddenly had my absolute attention.
"…Emergency powers?"
Now Jurue looked at me stunned. "Didn't you hear?"
I shook my head impassionedly. "I assumed there was finally a vote on the Military Creation Act, or that the Senate decided to draft a new piec—"
"No, no. This Grand Army of the Republic was only authorized by powers granted to the Chancellor when Representative Binks got up in front of the Senate and proposed—"
"Stop."
Unpleasant emotions were rapidly rising. Even from behind, Anakin could read me too well— he'd be able to see I was getting upset. But he wouldn't understand the gist of the conversation due to the muffling power of the bacta fluid. I didn't want Anakin thinking I was getting upset at this individual who was a stranger to my bodyguard, and Anakin himself then getting upset from inside his tank.
So, with all my great intelligence, I made the situation worse. I left the room with the mystery man who'd greeted me with a kiss.
At least before I did so, I looked over my shoulder and sent a mournful look at Ani. His brow was a topographic map of frown lines. "Be back soon," I mouthed, meaning it. Then I faced Jurue again. "Follow me."
I led us out of the rehabilitation room and down the hallway. I wasn't careful about ducking the night shift this time. I was on Senatorial business dealing with matters of galactic importance, and I would be happy to throw such truthful reasoning at whoever dared impede my walk. But mindful of the early hour and the recovering patients around us, I had to traverse far from Anakin's bacta block before Jurue and I reached a hallway I felt safe we could speak freely in without waking anyone up.
Once in said corridor, I spun on my heel and stared down the man who'd kept up well with his long legs.
I felt fire in my bloodstream and fought to control my voice. "What exactly did Jar Jar do?"
My feet were quiet as they moved through the sleek hallways. Much like my plush robe, my hospital slippers were of noticeably high quality. They did half of my sleuthing for me.
I was grateful. Tiredness wore on my body, and I didn't have the energy to put into being a covert sneak as I retread the route to Anakin's bacta room.
After Jurue filled me in on the radical emergency powers instigated by Representative Jar Jar Binks of Naboo, who had apparently gotten over his fear of heights enough to make a rousing speech to the Senate, I'd practically flown to the bridge of the ship. I'd arrived demanding, and slightly panting, to be shown to the nearest comm station.
It seems the night/day schedule onboard wasn't arbitrarily set that way. Its twenty-four-hour flow was synced with the exact time as 500 Republica— the upmost center of government on Coruscant, capital of the very Republic this fleet belonged to; home to the Senate Rotunda, the Jedi Temple, the Supreme Chancellor's office, my own apartment building, and one Jar Jar Binks. I learned about this symmetry when my comm call woke him at the same time at his apartment as the time implemented to those on board the hospital ship.
Not that I gave Jar Jar much of a chance to mention the lateness of the hour. I will say, to his credit, he seemed elated when he finally blinked his groggy eyes for the last time and realized the caller was me. But then he appeared a little less enthusiastic as I grilled him over what prompted his proposal.
It wasn't that I disagreed outright with what he had done. But what of provisions? Fail-safes for such a monumentally bold empowerment of the Chancellor? In the compassionate rush to save one life (unknowingly, three) on Geonosis, a critical responsibility owed to a Republic of trillions had been overlooked.
I'd sent Jurue to his apparently assigned quarters on a neighboring cruiser and returned to the medical wings alone. Though the adrenaline had departed my body, leaving me exhausted and moody, I didn't want to go to bed without seeing Anakin in private again. Even more importantly, I'd promised him when we left that I would be back soon. That was almost an hour ago.
But when I entered BACTA TANK REHABILITATION ROOM #5, my heart sank to the floor.
Two droids— not the medical assistant kind, but the cleaning crew kind— had already shut down Anakin's completely empty tank. Lingering bacta residue mixed with disinfectant suds to slowly run down the inner sides of the glass, like palms and pads of fingers falling away. It was being sprayed by an arm attachment on one of the droids. The other followed behind with a towel.
"Where is the patient who was just in this tank?" I swallowed. I feared I already knew the answer.
And I did.
Anakin had been taken to a proper bed— in the open bay for recovering Jedi, where I could not follow. His time in bacta submersion was finished.
"Progress," I muttered to myself, morose. The droids ignored me.
I wiped a closed, tired eyelid with the back of my hand. Then I turned around and dragged my feet back to my room. After all, I was to be discharged in a few hours.
Sleep came for me quickly, though my mind did its diligence trying to keep me awake first with worry over the disturbing update I'd heard— an update delivered by Jurue Batar's unexpected arrival. Unbeknownst to me, I had every right to be concerned even more than I was about issues near and far. My dear Anakin and I were on an immediate crash course towards a long line of misunderstandings and rushes to judgment, a tragic tendency we would never truly escape.