AN:

Cheire – I feel the same way about Miraj! You can't help but pity her. I remember that in ROTS, it shows how much of a burden he was keeping to himself.

Guest – Thank you so much. I'm glad you're liking it so far! I agree with you, I think Anakin will always have a little Vader in hm. And it's going to show up a bit in this story :D

Sunwindmoonandstars –Yeah, I can't imagine Padme holding a grudge anyway, especially not toward a 16 year old's poor decisions. As for Miraj and the hero with no fear. . .you'll see :D

Angie – Yeah! I think it's clear Miraj takes the blame for that. And nooo never leave your husband around her :D I'm glad (I think) if this story makes you scream at the characters HAHA!

Ivy – Yeah I have a lot of sympathy for Anakin. And you're right, Padme's only asked for honesty.

Anything For Love

Will you raise me up? Will you help me down?

Will you get me right out of this godforsaken town?

Can you make it all a little less cold?

Maybe I'm crazy, but it's crazy and it's true

I know you can save me, no one else can save me now but you

Anakin arrived home, finding Padme on the couch. Her feet up on the seat; her legs bent in triangles, arms hugging her knees, a self-soothing position.

"I went looking for you." He said as he dropped his key in the bowl, drained, exhausted.

"Told you I wanted to be alone."

He made his way over to her, his hand smoothed down his t-shirt against his chest, scraping off the residual bile from his fight with Miraj. "Padme, we need to talk about this."

"Now you want to talk?" She practically groaned, inert. Faint lines appear around his mouth as Anakin breathed out, a muscle in his cheek flexed. He crouched down onto his knees before her. His hands running down her sides, fingertips gently grazing against her hips. His chin resting on her propped up knee.

But Padme didn't want to look into his eyes. She did have some self-control. Although maybe not much around him. But she couldn't ignore her errant thoughts. And if she lifted her gaze now, the mood they were stuck in would tarnish the sight of the beautiful man that awaits her. She couldn't get past the disappointment; she tried to simplify it with excuses but nothing changed the fact that there was this newfound distance between them now. A dishonesty – from the man who wasn't like the ones she knew in Coruscant. Anakin was different. He was supposed to stay different. They're the indirect, secretive ones. Not him. What happened to her bold, wears-his-heart-on-his-sleeve husband?

"You knew she was my client and you didn't say anything." Her eyes warring with the disappointment, and losing.

"I didn't know how to handle it. What was I supposed to say?" His shoulders sagged, hopelessly. "I was sleeping with this woman . . . oh and she paid me...?"

She allowed herself to finally look at him – the unpolished allure, hair in disarray, and as she expected, soulful, dreamy, apologetic eyes, an ocean deep. Aayla was right, there's so much under the surface. It hurt to look at them.

"She's not over it." Padme's voice was bound with this sullen reality. The honeymoon daze they allowed themselves to get lost in had been splintered, shattered. "I've been reading her book." Her eyes closed as if to bandage up what would pour out. He's the Uncapturable Adventurer... The affliction was too great, and she, despondent. "If you knew what she wrote about you. . .how having an affair with you made her feel–"

"–I don't care what she wrote. And you shouldn't either." Anakin assured, coddling her with strong hands on either side of her when she tried to avert his gaze – determined to bring her back. "You can't trust a word that comes out of her mouth."

She saw his features had gone soft when their eyes leveled. They were worried but warm. Her hands reached up to her face, her fingers rubbing against the crinkles on her forehead before raking through her hair, overwhelmed, confused, irked. But Anakin took her hands in his, this thumbs gentle, sensitive, as they drew calming circles in her palms.

"What she did was wrong, Anakin." Padme insisted, releasing her hands from his.

"And she's gotta live with that. But we don't." His hands coasted up and down her vertical thighs. Hoping they would shed the skin of the past, the pain, the obstacles, and both of them would come back anew, shiny, unpolluted.

But her eyes were still adrift. She hadn't settled on where her thoughts would land on this.

"Padme, you have nothing to worry about." He continued with that same self-assured, firm voice. His eyes caring, soft. "I only want to be with you. All I need to know is you still want that too."

Padme couldn't shake off the thoughts. They were this apparition shadowing the space between them and happiness. Miraj was the apparition, stripping her of everything she knew. Her husband, her career, even the ideas she was working on for this town looked different. But if she could get past it, past the twisting hallway that blocked her, and find an exit, a light, maybe there would be a kind of sanctuary.

"I can't work with her now." She shook her head.

"No." He agreed but it came across like he had made the decision for them. "Just cut her out. We'll move on, okay?"

Padme couldn't find any semblance of language. And Anakin's Adam's apple bobbed as he grew slightly restless in the overbearing silence.

"Just say okay." He urged softly with that same silk-smooth voice that purred in her ear, threading through her senses. And it was getting harder to disobey his whispers when he placed his splayed hands on the seat and leapt up off his knees. His forehead almost pressed against hers as his eyes pointed at her full, pink pout, like a slingshot, trying to part it, to gather strength from it. She held a hand up to his chest to keep him at a distance but as her fingertips only lightly touched the bare skin above his t-shirt neckline, it was more of a request than a warning. She looked up at those imploring eyes, fearful, bright, brilliant, dangerous, only inches away from her face, and that silken voice rang through her ears – it was now strained, almost gone. "Please."

She found herself nodding, pinned in place by that scorching, yearning blue gaze, and pulled in by the mouth that hovers over hers, open, impatiently waiting for permission. And as soon as he got it, his lips were drawn to her like a magnet, planting a long, longing kiss. Her fingertips that were lightly stroking his chest have now curled around his t-shirt. Submitting to the urgency in his kiss, she whimpered into his mouth, a noise that leaked out the need for reassurance, repose, consolation. And that noise caused a hungry rumble to escape his throat, rough, sexy, a groan of appreciation. His hands were on her knees, spreading them. Then they slid down her thighs, past her hips and to her back to guide her down onto the couch. He wriggled his hips in between her now parted legs. His body settled over hers completely with a need to be submerged in a promise that they will reattach, and elude the heaving burden of this night. It makes her body scream for his touch, wanting his rough-tipped fingers to never deprive her of how tenderly he touched her. Maybe love has to make you this vulnerable and, in turn, it'll make you strong.

His hands all over her, as his lips taste hers over and over again. And she's locked in the whirling vibrations that colorize what was once black and white. It's the reason why the artist paints when in pain, why the writer writes the tragedies, why the dancer dances away the tears, why the poet still dreams, and why the lover never gives up. The light at the end of the tunnel. Hope.

Will you make me some magic with your own two hands?

Can you build an emerald city with these grains of sand?

Can you give me something I can take home?

Will you cater to every fantasy I got?

Will you hose me down with holy water, if I get too hot?

Will you take me places I've never known?

Anakin couldn't keep still. He paced around the apartment with this jabbing fear, it pierced and poked like a spectre. Padme had left for work before he had gotten up so their communication has been strictly remote. He needed something final, a solution to cement. He grabbed the phone and again dialed the number he had already called.

"Hey, you okay?" He asked

"Yes, Anakin." Padme's voice echoed her frustrations as she rolled her chair under her office desk. "I'm okay. Just like I was when you called five minutes ago."

Anakin ran an anxious hand over the back of his head before sprawling out on the couch, rumpled by intrusive thoughts. He knew he was getting obsessive again.

"It's just – I just..."

Padme could hear his voice breaking through the silence.

"Anakin." She said tenderly, sharing with him her sense of calm to reassure him. "We're okay."

He breathed out a sigh of relief. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She found herself smiling at the sound of his voice. He never liked to show it, the uncertainty, any sign of panic ruffling him, he was good at holding it down when push came to shove, but sometimes it was undeniable. He could only hibernate in makeshift shelter for so long. But everyone needed that, to be understood, even when we weren't the best of ourselves. When we could only offer the underdeveloped side, the one that made us doubt ourselves, the one that forced the immature ego to take over until the sage soul can take the wheel, the one that let you sit in your denial until you had the strength to drive out into the wilderness again.

For the third time, Anakin's phone went off. The ringtone was beginning to sound off sirens in his head, forcing him into a fateful challenge.

"Stop calling me!" He finally snapped when he answered.

It was as though her breath struck through the phone line, a malicious knife, a stiff jab at his temples. Miraj and her hedonistic voice, sweltering and suffocating. "...I still have that appointment with Padme tomorrow. Thought you should know."

Miraj occupied the bane of the conversation, making him feel like a lost creature in a big sea waiting to find out where they are in the pecking order, waiting around for the odd job here and there. There is a time limit, there is a deadline, he knew it, he was just denying it. He had merely seconds to himself, like the clown who stands before his own reflection in the mirror, watching himself fade away as he covers his face with a mask, an obedient mask, to launch the beguiling character that will take the stage.

But no. He tensed up, refusing to unleash that side of him. He is better than that now and ready to dish out every shred of his dignity, or what's left of it. He talked with a gritty voice. "Listen – if you're thinking of telling Padme–"

"–That you killed my husband?" She interrupted, leaving them in this room, the eeriness — a cruel, inhuman jolt, knocking him off balance.

"...Don't push me, Miraj." His voice deep, curt, like the snap of a whip. He was armed, tired of the bait testing his patience.

"Relax." Miraj came across primed for the fray. "Contrary to what you may believe, I'm not in it to make your life hell. I could. But I won't. Just do what I say. She'll never have to know."

And some days it don't come easy

And some days it don't come hard

Some days it don't come at all

And these are the days that never end

And some nights you're breathing fire

And some nights you're carved in ice

Some nights you're like nothing I've ever

Seen before, or will again

Padme came home to Anakin waiting for her. He was standing there like the hero she needed him to be, with open arms, his unique genius hands that made her feel safe. She fell into him, and his protective hold, as he palmed the back of her head. He kissed her shoulder, sheltering her. Her being so responsive to his protection, accepting his help made him feel worthy. The incarnation of the creature pursuing what is worthy of the reward. The creature in all of us that longs to be understood.

They lied down on the couch, her head on his chest, blanketing him with her cozy, homely warmth. His fingers ran through her long luscious locks, twining in a snug, feathery cloud, reaping the reward.

"You good?" He asked as his gaze rolled over her, hoping they had found stability in each other and solidified the bond.

"Yeah." She sighed with ease as they watched TV. She was relaxed, which made him relax. Until his phone went off again, making his stomach turn. His face singed with stress and disapproval.

"What?!" He ground out a harsh whisper as he stood in the bathroom. His voice charring through the phone. Miraj ignored the glint of irritability.

"My place. 9 o'clock."

Anakin hung up, anger boiling, worrying that he could no longer discard the past. Avoidance couldn't push past the pressure and it certainly was failing to evade the roaring sounds that form with the sediment of his mistakes.

And some days I pray for silence

And some days I pray for soul

Some days I just pray to the God

Of sex and drums and rock 'n' roll

And some nights I lose the feeling

And some nights I lose control

Some nights I just lose it all

Anakin trudged back over to the living room. Padme was where he left her on the couch, but now she was sitting up, enticed by the TV show she was watching. She looked peaceful, in her heaven-laced state, wrapped up in the throw blanket. He almost couldn't bring himself to say what he was about to.

"I uh I gotta go help out Kit." He cleared his throat. "He. . .wants help clearing out his shed."

"Now?" Her eyes rounded slightly but remained on the TV.

And he felt his feet almost staple to the floor, wanting the house to claim him and keep him here. Growing hatred for himself prickled his skin, an awful awareness that made him feel two inches tall.

"There's a leak in the garage." He was afraid she would catch onto the scratching axe-like sharpness that lined his low, quiet voice. It would give him away, his shame, disgust bleeding out.

"Okay." She said like it was nothing. And in some ways, it made him feel worse. She trusted him. That giving nature of hers that made him feel safe, he was now taking advantage of. So he didn't look up. Those perfectly glistening brown eyes would kill him.

You're doing this for her. He reminded himself. For us.

"Don't wait up." He headed to the door with slow, relief-seeking steps, a relief that didn't come. In fact, the lack of relief grew more and more apparent when he was about to turn the doorknob.

His hand hovered for a second. He couldn't go through with it, crippled by guilt. His attention swung back to Padme, who sat comfortably on the couch, her legs tucked under the blanket that she held close to her chest.

He hurried over and took her face in his hands. Long fingers splayed either side of her face, her hair caught between his brawny palms and her soft cheeks. He forced his lips on hers, his tongue dipping deeper to find salvation. This wasn't just a kiss, it's a plea, lingering with desperation.

"I love you." He breathed out heavily.

She smiled up at him, surprised by his emotional neediness. Sometimes all she could chalk this up to was his eccentricities, his manic moments, a cunning, seductive, intellectual manipulation of sorts — except he was totally and utterly genuine and honest with his emotionalism. It was all quite charming, exciting nonetheless. Her nails dragged ever-so-gently along the edge of his jaw, which tightened in response. And he was met with her tilted smile that he wants to be tethered to forever. "I love you."

But I'll never do it better than I do it with you

So long, so long

And I would do anything for love

But I'll never stop dreaming of you

Every night of my life, no way

But I would do anything for love

Anakin approached an old chalk-white building, a staple of ancient Greek style with its column-like structure. An intimidating, grand, historic, and unfortunately familiar place. The two-story architectural beauty now had a deck where it once was surrounded by fine sand. There were still a few gnarled branches of false greenery by the entrance, snaking along the walls. Biting. Like the homeowner.

The night was quiet, all he could hear was air soughing as he approached the door that still looked like a polished antique. He had stood before it many times. He glanced over to the pool house, which was once his address, for a year.

He roughed a hand through his hair in frustration before rounding his hand into a fist and tapping the door.

He always did this, looking for ways to duct tape it all back together, a version of life he can work with. Even if that meant finding temporary reprieve in the quick fixes, the easy way out.

The door opened, with Miraj Scintel behind it. "Hello, handsome."

Anakin hissed out a breath before walking in, "Let's just get this over with."

I would do anything for love

Anything you've been dreaming of, but I just won't do that

Meatloaf - I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)