As Anakin navigated the cruiser, by himself, through the crowded airspace of Coruscant, he tried his best to block out Cailee's overwhelming annoyance with him. She had been upset with him for the entire journey, after Anakin had to admit that he could fly the ship perfectly well by himself despite what he'd told her. He had never done it before, but he was confident that actually he could easily fly a ship that needed twice the number of crewmembers this one did.

He hadn't told her that. She had been radiating so much hurt and anger in the Force already that he hadn't really wanted to rub salt into the wound.

Her anger had faded considerably when he had explained that he had only been trying to give her a stress-free chance to get hands on with a starship, since she was so proud of her father. It seemed like any suggestion that she take flying lessons would have been summarily dismissed by the palace, but he could let her play with the controls under his supervision and who would ever know? And if he claimed that he needed her help, that would give her a good reason to ignore any objections she expected her grandmother would have if she knew, right?

How was he supposed to know that she had so much trauma surrounding piloting a starship?

But even after hearing all of that, she'd still been a little angry. And her hurt had still been there, loud and clear in the Force.

Anakin hadn't taken it personally, because he knew that her feelings were mostly repressed feelings that had built up over the decade since her parents' deaths, paired with acute embarrassment at the way she had finally broken down in front of him. He already felt like enough of an asshole for pushing her into an emotional breakdown, accidentally or not. Making her reaction all about himself would not have made him feel like less of one.

This latest bout of simmering resentment had come about when he had casually mentioned that he was looking forward to seeing Chancellor Palpatine again, and she had realized that they were going to see him directly upon arriving in Coruscant. Apparently, Anakin should have known that she didn't want to meet the supreme chancellor in the clothes she had been wearing as they entered Coruscanti airspace. Anakin had thought she looked fine, but she had disappeared into her cabin nonetheless, muttering things under her breath that he was sure were not kind to him and radiating annoyance into the Force.

Was it weird that he felt kind of at home being the subject of her ire?

Unhealthy?

Probably. But there he was.

Docking at the supreme chancellor's private landing pad was significantly more complicated than docking on his battleship or at the Jedi Temple. Especially given that he was not flying a Republican ship but an Arkani gunship and, as had become clear, the Council had already revoked all his clearances. By the time he had finally cleared air traffic control and navigated the rather large cruiser through traffic and into the rather small landing area available between Chancellor Palpatine's own ships, Cailee had returned to the cockpit wearing a gown only slightly less ostentatious than some of the costumes Anakin had seen Padmé wear.

At least she didn't have an elaborate headpiece. She had pulled her long hair back into a complicated knot that held it out of her face but let it flow freely down her back, and she was wearing a delicate jeweled tiara. The overall effect was simple and beautiful, in direct contrast to her dress.

Anakin was surprised to find Chancellor Palpatine waiting for them on the landing platform. That hadn't happened since, probably, the time Padmé had arrived as queen, with her two Jedi protectors and Anakin in tow. Palpatine had been a mere senator then.

Anakin knew that Obi-Wan and Master Yoda had always criticized him for being prideful, but was it really so wrong of him to feel proud and honored and a little touched that he had grown up from that nine-year-old slave boy to someone important enough for the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic to make the effort to greet him personally, when he had absolutely no obligation to do so?

"Ah, Anakin, my boy!" exclaimed the chancellor as they approached.

"Chancellor," he replied as he took the last step off the gang plank.

Palpatine grasped Anakin on each bicep and smiled up at him. "I'm so glad you were able to get here today. And looking so well! I worried that you would take your removal from the Jedi Order rather hard, but you appear to be in good spirits."

Anakin smiled back, sincere if slightly brittle. "I am sorry how things turned out, Chancellor. But I have had a lot of time to think about what I want, and I think it was for the best."

"Well, I certainly agree with you there. Perhaps I should have been more open with my opinions sooner; perhaps I could have saved you years of heartache if I had been. But I know how much the Order meant to you. I feared that criticizing them too harshly would cause a rift between us."

"It may have, Chancellor, if I wasn't ready to hear what you had to say," Anakin acknowledged with a sigh. "And after I took responsibility for Ahsoka, I wouldn't have left until I had finished her training. Besides, if I had left sooner, what could I have done?"

Palpatine blinked up at him, seemingly startled, his wrinkled face drooping in apparent hurt.

"I am glad that you leaving the Order has given me such a golden opportunity," he began carefully, "but, son, if you had wanted to leave sooner, I would have found a place for you regardless. Your value to me is not tied to what you can do for me."

Tears welled up behind Anakin's eyes, completely beyond his ability to control. If he had tried to speak, he wouldn't have been able to hold them back, so he did not try. Not that he even had any idea what to say that could possibly convey how grateful he was to his friend for his care and support over the years, and for expressing the sentiment that Anakin had not known until then that he needed so badly to hear.

Fortunately, Cailee chose that moment to step up to his side, saving him from the need to respond.

"And you must be Princess Cailee," the chancellor greeted her kindly, although noticeably less enthusiastically than he had greeted Anakin. He released Anakin's arms, his voluminous sleeves billowing in the wind as he folded his hands in front of himself, and executed the shallowest of bows. "Welcome to Coruscant, Your Highness. I believe this is your first visit?"

"Thank you, Chancellor. Yes, it is my first visit," she confirmed, her tone as formal and stiff as Anakin had ever heard it.

There was something of suspicion and displeasure lurking beneath the surface of her words. When Anakin glanced at her, though, her expression was neutral enough, if not particularly pleasant. So he put it down to nervousness and, maybe, her lingering frustration with Anakin himself.

"Lovely! You will have to ask Anakin to show you the sights," Palpatine declared jovially. "But I'm afraid that will have to wait until later. I plan to hold Anakin's confirmation vote tomorrow morning, and we have a lot to do before then."

"My confirmation vote?" echoed Anakin.

He fell into step behind the man, who had turned on his heel and begun walking towards his private entrance to the Senate office building.

"Yes, of course," confirmed Palpatine, as if it were obvious. "My emergency powers would allow me to hire you without confirmation of the Senate, but ceremony does still have its place. We would be foolish not to have a proper confirmation vote for the Hero With No Fear, of all people. It will be good news we can broadcast to the public, something the senators can use to reassure their constituents about the war effort."

Anakin didn't know how to respond to that. He certainly didn't like it.

He was aware that he was something of a poster boy for the Republic's war effort. He had been flattered by it, at first, until he had realized how shallow his popularity really was. He was young and had surpassing good looks. His fighting style was athletic and had a certain flair that most people, even other Jedi, couldn't match. Obi-Wan had made sure to press upon him how artificial and ridiculous peoples' admiration of him was. Padmé had found the whole thing amusing and had teased him occasionally about how lucky she was to have a sex symbol in her bed.

His silence caused the chancellor to turn and look back at him as they waited for the security doors to open. Anakin's distaste must have shown on his face, because the older man chuckled and offered him a sly grin.

"I know that having your face broadcast across the holonet will not please you like it would other young men, but we all have to make sacrifices for the greater good, my boy. And I daresay your triumph will make the Jedi regret their decision, hmm?"

No, they will think it proves them right, thought Anakin as they proceeded into the building.

The Council would see it as evidence of his arrogance and pride. They would see it as him grasping for power that they thought he didn't deserve and couldn't handle. They would see him as even more dangerous than they would have if he had just stayed on Arkanis. But at the same time, it would make it more difficult for them to move against him, if he were such a public figure.

Before he could articulate his thoughts into words, Cailee pointed out, with poorly concealed disapproval, "It seems to me, Chancellor, that it is not Anakin's triumph that will be on display so much as your own."

Palpatine came to a halt in the middle of the stairs, almost directly between the two bronzium statues that separated the atrium from his ceremonial audience room, the large throne-like chair of his office visible behind him. He spun slowly to face them, and Anakin could see hints of anger in the tightness of his mouth and the flatness of his eyes, even though he wore an agreeable, curious mask.

"What ever do you mean, Your Highness?"

Anakin placed his hand on the small of her back. He couldn't have explained, even to himself, whether the gesture was more to restrain her from saying something unwise or to support her in whatever she had to say. Or maybe to protect her from the supreme chancellor's displeasure, although he had never seen anything of Palpatine to make him think the man posed a threat. It was more that he respected Palpatine and didn't like to see his disappointment aimed in Cailee's direction.

For her part, Cailee seemed completely unperturbed by it. She lifted her chin, both to meet Palpatine's eyes despite him standing three steps higher on the stairs and also, clearly, in defiance of any attempt to cow her.

"I should think it obvious," she asserted calmly. "Most people will not view Anakin leaving the legendary order of warrior monks as some sort of grand accomplishment for him. If anything, it will make him something less wondrous. Diminish his mystique, if you will. But it is undoubtedly a boon for you to steal him away from the Order."

"Oh, well! Obviously it is a triumph for me, my dear," confirmed Palpatine, his kind manner now little more than a veneer to cover how offended he was. "But I would never use Anakin so callously. Your assessment is missing an important part of the picture, one that will ensure the public adores him more than ever."

Based on the way she clenched her jaw, it was clear that the princess was holding herself back from saying quite a lot in response to that.

She settled for biting out, "What's that?"

"Why, true love!" the chancellor beamed at her, then turned his grin in Anakin's direction. "The people relish a tale of forbidden romance and love triumphing over all else!"

Anakin stared at him. He knew how shocked he must look, and how stupid the expression on his face must be. He tore his eyes away from Palpatine and turned to Cailee, who looked as gobsmacked as he felt. Her face was slack with surprise, save for her wide blue eyes.

Finally, Anakin managed to croak, "What do you mean?"

Palpatine's bushy brows furrowed in the middle as he frowned, which emphasized his advanced age. Anakin could not place his friend's emotions by his expression alone, but when he tentatively reached out with the Force, he found primarily confusion and worry, mingled with a bit of frustration and a hint of satisfaction.

"I know you thought you had managed to keep it a secret. I don't know why the two of you thought you had to keep things from me, son," began the chancellor. He took two steps down until he was standing just in front of Anakin and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "But as I told Padmé when we spoke several days ago, I know you both well enough to have guessed some time ago that you were together."

Anakin's mouth opened, but nothing came out of it.

"Padmé told me of your recent difficulties, but now that you have left the Jedi, I'm sure the two of you will put all of that behind you. The galaxy will lap up your story, especially when they hear of our dear senator's injuries." As Anakin's entire body went rigid with tension, Palpatine squeezed his shoulder supportively. "That is why you left the Order, is it not?"

"Padmé's hurt? What happened? Is she okay?" gasped Anakin, his voice gaining volume and urgency with every question.

Palpatine's eyes widened incredulously. "Has no one told you?"

"Told me what?" demanded Anakin. When the older man hesitated, Anakin wrapped his fingers around his forearm, a liberty he would never have dared take if he hadn't been so manic with fear. "Chancellor, told me what?"

"She was injured on Scipio!" he sputtered, watching Anakin's face with intense fascination. "There was an attack, an explosion, and she was caught underneath the rubble and burned."

Anakin staggered backwards as if he had been hit in the chest with a battering ram.

"No!" he denied, his mind racing, filled with images of Padmé's smooth, perfect skin charred black and weeping red. When he saw the sympathetic, undeniable downturn of the chancellor's mouth, a shudder ran up his spine and he could feel his hands begin to tremble.

"Anakin," said Palpatine, but Anakin shook his head violently and took another step back.

"Fuck! Fuck!" he groaned. "I have to… I have to go. To see."

He was dimly aware of Cailee grabbing his hand as he turned for the door.


Padmé was curled up on her living room sofa surrounded by half a dozen datapads. She had not progressed yet to getting dressed, much less to making her way back to her senate office or participating in committee meetings or votes. But she had been spending the last few days reading proposed legislation and catching up on correspondence with her colleagues.

It had been good for her. Sitting around feeling sorry for herself and stewing over past decisions had been detrimental for her mental health. That had only made her physical healing more difficult. And the more her healing stalled, the more depressed she got.

She had found herself caught in a vicious downward spiral and had not even realized it.

Until the supreme chancellor's visit. That had gone a long way toward snapping her out of it.

Padmé had turned her attention to work with a single-mindedness she normally did not possess, because otherwise she would have spent all her time obsessing over her husband. Why he had left the Jedi Order. What he was doing. Why he hadn't even tried to contact her. How close he was to the gorgeous, much younger princess. It would have been trading one vicious cycle for another. She had promised herself that she would only allow herself to think of him when she was lying in bed at night.

She had not always succeeded, especially not when reading about something as boring as the proposed annual administrative budget. Thus, when the chancellor's private speeder screeched into her landing pad at a frankly reckless speed, and her husband emerged from it like a Loth-bat out of hell, her first thought was that she must be daydreaming. Padmé had fantasized about him coming to her for so long….

He did not sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

There were no declarations of love.

His bare hand did not caress her face and tangle into her hair.

Anakin fell to his knees before her, eyes wild, and studied her with an intensity and such a fury brewing underneath the surface that the thought fluttered across the edges of her mind that she ought to be afraid. When his gloved fingers—the mechanical ones—traced the edge of the fading pink blister lingering on her neck, she realized abruptly that he was really there.

"Ani!" she sobbed out his name, then promptly burst into tears.

Padmé had not allowed herself to cry since her time on Obi-Wan's star destroyer. She thought that she may have used up all the tears she would ever be able to produce on that one single awful day. But when Anakin surged upwards and wrapped her in his arms, her relief and the sense of security she had only ever felt around him were palpable, and she couldn't have stopped her tears then even if she had been determined to do so. She nuzzled her face into his hard chest and let herself be soothed by the feeling of his embrace, by his familiar scent, by the sound of his dear voice murmuring words she couldn't make out into her hair. And she poured out all the fear and pain and hurt and loss that she had been unable to allow herself to feel since the attack.

When she had given everything she had to give, her face ached from crying for so long and she felt empty—hollow—like someone had carved out her insides and left only the shell of her. But she also felt strangely calm, even serene, which made it all worth it.

The pain was still there. She still felt hurt at her friend's betrayal and at Anakin's failure to reach out to her for weeks. And the loss… She would always grieve the loss of their baby.

But she felt now like she would be able to finally face all those things. To process them, rather than hold onto them because they were all she had. To eventually get back to herself—not the Padmé she had been before, but some new version of herself she could piece back together that would at least be recognizable to herself when she looked in a mirror.

When she finally lifted her head from Anakin's chest, she was amazed to see the pink-orange glow of the setting sun. Had it been that long?

She peeked up at his face, which was streaked with his own tears. The sight made her draw in a sharp breath as she tentatively raised her hand toward him. His blue eyes seemed to bore into her very soul, but he didn't move an inch to try and get away. She let her fingertips trace the tear stains down one of his cheeks.

"Hi," she whispered shyly.

His Adam's apple bobbed. "Hi."

Goodness, we haven't been this awkward around each other since before we married.

Padmé was spared figuring out how to start the conversation she knew they had to have by a familiar, soft voice coming from behind them.

"My lady?"

Anakin sat back and looked towards the kitchen door, removing his arms from around her as he went. Padmé felt the loss keenly, just as she suddenly felt that the room was several degrees too cold without his body heat surrounding her. She shivered and pulled her silk robe tighter around herself as she turned to address her handmaiden.

She was brought up short by the sight of the woman standing behind Dormé. The princess of the Regency Worlds looked just as striking in person as she did on the net, and she looked even taller in person. Worse even than her beauty or her youth alone, she was dressed in a stunning gown the color of aquamarine, with a satin ballgown skirt and a separate, fully beaded bodice with a high neckline and cap sleeves. A strip of bare tanned skin showed at her midriff, and she was crowned with a sparkling tiara that Padmé could tell even from this distance was encrusted with genuine diamonds.

Padmé was mortified. She was wearing the same dressing gown she had been wearing yesterday, with her hair captured in a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She knew that her skin was dull and pale, with sleepless dark circles underneath her eyes.

The princess was eyeing Anakin from across the room with a hint of a frown on her beautiful, full lips. Anakin rose from the sofa, and Padmé scrambled to follow him up.

"Yes, Dormé? What is it?" she asked before Anakin had a chance to speak.

Her handmaiden kept her expression neutral, but Padmé could easily read the understanding and sympathy in her eyes. "We ordered dinner to be delivered, my lady," Dormé informed her. "Shall we set the table?"

Dormé was kind to ask, and Padmé knew that she did so only to help her save face in front of Anakin and, more particularly, the princess. Padmé hadn't eaten at the table in weeks; in fact, she had barely eaten at all.

"We don't have to stay," broke in Anakin. "You are clearly unwell, Padmé. You should rest."

Padmé could have strangled him. As if she needed anybody to point out to the princess how unwell she looked. Or felt. But she would not start crying again, not in front of this girl who had probably already seen her break down, before Dormé had ushered her out of the room. Padmé couldn't believe that she hadn't noticed the princess when they had first arrived, but, then again, Anakin had always been able to capture her attention like no one else. She supposed that meant Cailee knew their secret—if she hadn't before, she certainly did after witnessing the display they'd given her. She would have to ask Anakin about it later.

She turned a strained smile on her husband. "Please stay. In fact, I want you to stay the night. You don't have anywhere else to go, do you?"

He looked astonished by her invitation. Padmé supposed that she couldn't blame him, since the last time they had been together in her apartment, she had told him she wanted to separate. But it still hurt. Her mind immediately called up several memories of her having to gently (reluctantly) tell him he couldn't stay, when she was expecting guests or when she knew Obi-Wan or the other Jedi would be looking for him. How had they now come to the exact opposite, where she had to beg him to stay, and he seemed like he wanted nothing more than to run away screaming?

Well, that is, Padmé knew how they had gotten here. She just hated herself for it.

You told him you weren't happy with him anymore, that you don't know him anymore. You told your husband that your marriage was a terrible mistake. That it isn't real marriage. 'Stay away from me,' you said. It's your own fault, Naberrie; you're only reaping what you sowed.

Before Anakin could accept or decline her invitation (and before Padmé could drive herself to more tears standing in the middle of the same room where she had said all those awful things to him), the princess herself swept forward, past Dormé.

"Senator Amidala, I don't want to impose." Stars, even her light, musical voice was lovely. Padmé disliked her enormously, even though she knew that was not fair. "We planned to sleep on my yacht until Anakin is reinstated. It's quite comfortable, I assure you."

Padmé shoved down her resentment and moved forward to meet the girl, extending her uninjured hand. They had skipped formal introductions, but Padmé was wearing nothing besides a dressing gown that prominently displayed how hard her nipples were in the cold room, so executing a curtsey seemed somehow beside the point.

"Please, Your Highness, I insist. I haven't seen Anakin in weeks, and we have a lot to discuss."

Cailee's eyes slid from Padmé's offered hand to something over her shoulder, which Padmé knew had to be Anakin. It killed her that her own husband needed to have some sort of silent conversation with another woman to decide whether he would stay with her for the night. It only lasted a second or two, not long enough for things to grow awkward, before the princess took her offered hand and met her eyes.

"Very well, if you insist. But please, don't serve dinner on my account. It has been a long day, and I wouldn't mind retiring early and eating in my room. It would give you and Anakin a chance to speak alone." Just when the tension in Padmé's body had started to ease, and she had started to think that she had misinterpreted the entire situation, and that this girl had no designs on her husband, Cailee's smile shifted, so subtly that Padmé almost didn't catch it, and she added, "You do look worn quite thin, Senator, if you'll forgive my saying so. I think Anakin is right to suggest that you should rest."

Padmé's mind reeled between several different possible responses, none of which would have painted herself in a positive light. And, more importantly, none of which seemed equal to the task of putting the girl in her place. She would have settled for coming across like a bitch if she could only have taken the princess down a peg or two, but her normally sharp mind was still raw with pain and light on sleep.

"Wonderful!" interjected Dormé. Padmé could have kissed her. "I'm sure I have something you can borrow to sleep in, Your Highness. We'll go to my room first and then I'll show you where you'll be staying. Hopefully dinner will have arrived by then."

They disappeared through the doorway that led to Padmé's handmaidens' rooms and her single guest room, chattering away about the restaurant they had ordered from and how excited the princess was to try new cuisine.

"Well," Anakin intoned from behind her, with obvious dread, "I guess we have to do this now."

Padmé slowly turned to face him, dreading herself what she would see. She nearly flinched at the look on his face, as if he were about to be led to the gallows but had resigned himself fully to his fate. She had seen him look similarly, only once, after his mother had died and he had confessed to her the vengeance he had taken. Gods, he had been so young then. She had comforted him, and loved him, and had spent the next three years watching him grow from that eager, uncertain young man into a husband, a true Jedi knight and a leader of his men, a father figure, a hardened warrior…

Then she had put that look back on his face.

"Ani, please," she found herself pleading with him to understand, "I don't want to hurt you."

Something angry and bitter passed across his face, and his muttered response was low enough that she couldn't make it out.

She swallowed, not at all wanting to know, and asked, "What did you say?"

The laugh that emerged from his throat was an ugly thing, devoid of any humor whatsoever. "I said that I'd hate to know how you'd hurt me if you were really trying."

Padmé closed her eyes, knowing it was a fair assessment but still finding it tortuous to hear. When she had sufficiently recovered, some long seconds later, she released a sigh and looked up at him.

"I deserved that," she admitted quietly, refusing to look away no matter how difficult she found it to meet his eyes. "And we both know that I can't make you talk to me if you don't want to. But I think you know as well as I do that we need to talk."

He visibly clenched his jaw and squared his shoulders, then clipped out a succinct, "Fine."

Padmé led him to the small, private sitting room that was situated between the large public living room and her bedroom. They took positions opposite each other on the two loveseats, and Padmé took the opportunity to really study her husband for the first time since he had arrived. His hair had grown a bit longer, which was not surprising—it had always grown at such a prodigious rate, and been so naturally thick and wavy, that Padmé and those of her handmaidens who knew about Anakin were incredibly jealous of him. He was a shade tanner than he normally was, no doubt because he spent more time out of doors with the princess than he could while deployed on a starship or confined to the depths of the Jedi Temple. But beyond those superficial changes, he looked tired. And his face was thinner, his cheeks more hollow and his already prominent cheekbones seeming more razor sharp. It was such a small change that perhaps nobody but Padmé would have noticed it, but notice she did.

"What happened on Scipio?" he broke into her thoughts.

She startled at the sound of his voice and broke her gaze away from her face, embarrassed to have been caught staring, even though he was her own lover and she had spent many hours cataloguing every detail of his face and body.

"I, I went to oversee the exchange of leadership of the Galactic Banking Clan," she began slowly, looking down at her lap.

"With Clovis," sniped Anakin.

"Clovis and I traveled together from Coruscant, and the leader of the Separatist Senate met us there," Padmé clarified. She still felt a bit vexed by Anakin's jealousy and complete overreaction to Clovis's romantic overtures towards her, but that was overwhelmingly outweighed by the events that had followed. "You were right," she admitted, "about Clovis. He had been working with Dooku the whole time. He let the Separatists invade Scipio and had me arrested. He planned to turn me over to Dooku."

Anakin snorted contemptuously. When Padmé chanced a glance at him, his eyes were full of steel and he had an impressive scowl on his face. She looked back down and focused on the chipped polish on her thumbnail.

"We were in his office when it exploded. I don't know exactly what caused it, or if it was purposely done, but the building started to collapse and the platform tilted so that we both started sliding towards the edge. Rush went over; part of the building landed on my arm and pinned me in place." She lifted her cast to show him, as if he couldn't see the big honking thing while her arm was settled in her lap. "The building was on fire, and I, I felt it... the heat, my skin blistering. Then I passed out, from smoke inhalation I think, which I am quite glad of. I woke up in the med bay of a Republic command ship. You'd have to ask Obi-Wan for the details of my rescue."

She had not intended that last bit to cause any additional strife, but Anakin drew in a breath so sharp that it was nearly a hiss.

"Obi-Wan knew?" he growled so lowly that Padmé could almost feel the rumble in her own chest from across the small room.

"I—yes. I mean, he rescued me. I—" Padmé cut herself off abruptly before she revealed more.

She had been on the verge of revealing that she had begged Obi-Wan not to tell Anakin that she had been hurt, but that wasn't exactly true. She had always expected that Obi-Wan would tell Anakin in general terms what had happened on Scipio and that Padmé had been injured, but she had begged the man not to tell Anakin about the baby. She needed to do that herself. It wouldn't be right for him to hear it from anyone but her.

Now, though, she couldn't imagine telling him, not when he was so angry and things were so difficult between them. She needed his comfort; she needed him to grieve with her. If he reacted in anger or if he said something hurtful in response to learning about the loss of their baby, their relationship would never recover. She would never be able to forgive him for that, not even if she knew he didn't really mean it.

And, possibly worse (though it was a close call either way), if he were to react exactly how she needed him to and then he forgave her for her harsh words, she would always think in the back of her mind that he had only taken her back because of the baby. Because she had, inadvertently or not, emotionally manipulated him by dropping that news on him to end their argument.

No, she couldn't possibly tell him now. Once they were back to some semblance of normalcy around each other, then she would tell him.

Rather than continue down that slippery slope, Padmé questioned, "No one told you what happened?"

"No," he seethed.

His tone made her feel as if she were treading water in the dark and some monster she couldn't see was circling beneath her. But for her part, she was so relieved to hear that.

"Oh," she breathed out, feeling some of the tension leave her body. "I thought you knew. I've been wondering for the past few weeks whether you hate me so much that you didn't even care that I was hurt."

Padmé heard the rustling of his clothes, and by the time she dared to look at him, he was already stepping across the room. He sank down next to her on the loveseat and took her good hand in his.

"I don't hate you, Padmé. I could never hate you; I love you. But I am mad at you, and… upset. And I've spent a lot of time thinking about what you said."

"Oh!" she whimpered mournfully. "I never should have said those things to you."

When Padmé tried to meet his eyes, she found that he was staring off into space.

Anakin did not turn back to look at her, but eventually, after a few deep breaths, he said, "But you meant them."

"No!" she denied. She tightened her grip on his hand when he tried to pull away, jerking him back towards her. "Ani, please! I meant some of it, but most of it I said in anger and, and fear. And even the parts I meant, I should have expressed more calmly, more kindly."

He went rigid and still, which was somehow even worse than when he had been actively trying to pull away from her. "Fear?" he repeated. "So you meant that part? That I scare you?"

He did. What he had done to Clovis was abominable and completely uncalled for. The way that he almost always turned to violence rather than seek a peaceful solution frightened her and sometimes appalled her. The rage he always seemed to have simmering just underneath the surface, for the past half a year or more, scared her, even though she had never entertained the thought that he would turn it against her. And what he had done to the Tuskens… Well, Padmé had thought at the time that it was an anomaly due to the agony of having his mother die in his arms. But it didn't seem so much like an aberration now as just an extreme example of what he was capable of if pushed.

But she had fallen in love with that boy, on the cusp of manhood, who had confessed to her what he had done. And she had seen the other side of him: the husband who loved her more deeply than she had thought it was possible to love, the lover who worshiped her so passionately that it almost made her believe in soulmates.

"That is one of the things I should have expressed more gently," she answered carefully, deliberately choosing her words. "I'm not scared of you, as such. I'm not worried that you will hurt me. I am very afraid of some of the things you have done."

Anakin tried again to yank his hand away, shifting in his seat as if he intended to get up. Padmé clung to him with all her might and threw herself sideways, tangling one of her legs with his and wrapping her arm around him. He grunted when her cast collided with his ribs, but he went still. They both knew that he could have easily escaped if he wanted to. Padmé risked releasing his hand so that she could reach up and grasp his jaw to turn his face towards hers.

"Anakin, I love you. This war hasn't been good for either one of us or for our relationship. But I love you, and I know that you love me. Please forgive me for what I said, and if you believe nothing else, please believe that I want to be with you more than anything."

That was the gods' honest truth. She had been lost and alone for weeks, until she had found herself wrapped in his embrace again. The feeling of his body against hers, the smell of him in her nose, had made her feel whole in a way she hadn't felt since before Scipio.

She needed more of that. She needed it as much as she needed to breathe.

With a vigor she hadn't known she still possessed, Padmé pushed herself up and captured his lips with hers, letting her hand trail down from his face to wrap around the back of his neck. He gasped into her mouth and otherwise did not react, at first, until she drew his bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled roughly, just the way he liked. Then, between one breath and the next, he gripped her almost painfully around the waist and tilted his head for a better angle, demanding entrance to her mouth with his tongue, which she eagerly granted.

It had not been her intention when she had kissed him, but Padmé was acutely aware that she was straddling one of his thighs. The rough fabric of his trousers was rubbing almost directly against her core, with only her flimsy cotton knickers between them. She ground herself harder against him, moaning into his mouth at the delicious friction.

"Padmé…" he groaned, half question, half encouragement.

She rocked herself against his thigh again and tangled her hand in his hair.

"I want you," she assured him, her lips brushing against his with every syllable. "I need you."


The entire trip so far had been a disaster. Some of that was entirely Cailee's own fault. Anakin had tried to do something nice for her, and he had inadvertently opened a can of worms, and she had reacted badly and been forced to face emotions that she had carefully suppressed for the better part of a decade. She had taken her pain and her mortification out on him.

Unfairly, she knew. She had known while she had been doing it. She just hadn't been able to stop.

Then they had finally met the supreme chancellor, and Cailee had been shocked at the way he interacted with Anakin.

It had been like he was trying to take credit for things he had never actually done, namely helping Anakin leave the Jedi, even though he had admitted himself that he had never actually said anything to Anakin to encourage him to leave or to assure him that he would have a place to go if he did. It was easy enough to make such declarations after Anakin had already left the Order (without Palpatine's knowledge, at that), but he had apparently never bothered to actually help the boy he called son.

And that was another thing: Whenever he had said something particularly emotionally heavy (or particularly suspect, in Cailee's opinion), he had called Anakin "son." Cailee could understand why. Anakin had practically melted right off the bone both times the chancellor had done it.

And Palpatine sure hadn't appreciated Cailee challenging him over blatantly using Anakin to bolster his own image, even though it clearly bothered Anakin to be the poster boy for the war. She would have to file that interaction away to examine later, when her mind wasn't otherwise in turmoil.

When Anakin had heard that Senator Amidala was injured, he had been in such a hurry to leave that he had seemingly almost forgotten Cailee was there. He had seemed on the verge of running out the door and leaving her alone with the supreme chancellor and his security force. During the journey to the senator's penthouse (which they had made in the supreme chancellor's personal speeder, which Anakin had stolen from the landing pad without a second thought), he hadn't said a single word to her. She had been too worried to try saying anything to him.

Then she had seen the way he looked at Amidala. The way he held her. And just before Dormé had ushered her away from the couple, the way he cried at her pain.

He still loved her. Whatever had caused them to break up, it hadn't been at Anakin's behest. He hadn't gotten over her. He still wanted her.

Cailee was quite irrationally hurt by that, not because she had ever really thought he belonged to her (She hadn't.), but because she had found out that he wasn't even available to think about being hers. Not even if she ever screwed up the courage to ask him. Cailee could accept that. She wasn't entirely crazy. She hadn't even fully entertained the idea of being with him, since she knew her grandmother's expectations for her laid elsewhere. She just needed a little bit of time to get over her disappointment and then they could go on being friends.

But that didn't mean she wanted to hear them.

She hadn't been sure, at first, what she was hearing. There had only been a few sighs to start with, so high and light that Cailee, trying to fill in the blanks in her mind, had briefly wondered if the senator had a cat. But then there had been a creaking sound, followed by a long, distinctive feminine moan, and she had realized, to her horror, that she was listening to them have sex. Cailee had stared at her ceiling, absolutely unnerved yet fascinated and unwilling to do anything to impede her ability to hear.

The creaking had grown louder and more frequent, a quick, sure rhythm to accompany Amidala's moans. They had progressed from wordless noises into a chant. Ani, Ani, Ani… Anakin! Fuck me! Oh, oh! Ani! Cailee had blushed so deeply that she could practically feel her heart beating in her forehead, but that hadn't stopped her from imagining what they must look like… What it would be like to take Amidala's place.

It had seemed to go on forever. Cailee had marveled at that, somewhere in the back of her mind, because she had thought that foreplay was supposed to last a long time but then, once the man put himself inside, it was over really fast. Maybe her cousins' lovers they had told her about just weren't very good, because, based on the sounds, she was pretty sure that everything she had heard had been Anakin and Padmé actually fucking. More importantly, though, Anakin's moans had joined the senator's coming through the (terribly thin!) walls, and Cailee's entire body had trembled at hearing his voice that way.

She felt… dirty. It wasn't like she had heard them on purpose. It wasn't her fault the walls were, evidently, as thin as a wet piece of flimsi. But, despite the fact that she was utterly embarrassed and also pea green with envy, she had… enjoyed it. She had lain awake for at least an hour after they had finished, fantasizing about it being her in that bed underneath him.

The next morning, she spent far too long contemplating whether she would be better off to put on the clothes Dormé had lent her, which were too short for her by several inches, or to put back on her gown, which was wholly inappropriate for the situation, entirely in an effort to delay having to leave her bedroom and look either of them in the face. While she was lingering in her room, she discovered quite accidentally that the veranda outside her bedroom connected to the senator's bedroom. She had seen the large veranda the night before when the senator's handmaiden had shown her the guest room, but she had not ventured out onto it. Anakin apparently thought that she was safe enough in the senator's apartment (or maybe he was just so horny he hadn't thought a whit about her or her safety), but that didn't mean Cailee had been willing to venture outside into the open by herself. She had contented herself with cracking open one of the windows so that she could hear the water trickle through the fountain in the center of the balcony.

"Ani?" called Padmé. Cailee would never be able to forget the sound of her voice. "What are you doing out here? Are you alright?"

"Fine," he replied, so quietly that Cailee had to strain to hear it, even though she nearly had her ear pressed against the opening in the clari-crystalline window.

There was a pause, and when the senator next spoke, she sounded unsure of herself.

"I, I don't want to start a fight," she told him hesitantly. "But you don't seem fine. You, you were... last night you were absolutely magnificent, physically, but you didn't seem to be there with me emotionally. And then I woke up alone in my bed this morning, and I found you out here brooding."

Anakin audibly sighed, but it sounded resigned or maybe sad, not at all sensual like the noises he had made the night before. "I just need time to process things, Padmé. You've had weeks to think about what you wanted to say, but I've only had one night to think about what you said."

"I understand," replied Amidala, but she sounded disappointed. "But, darling, you will have to process later. We have things to do this morning."

"Stop it, Padmé. You can't distract me with sex again."

"What?" she cried out. "I'm not trying to distract you with sex! I was just going to kiss you good morning! And, and I wasn't trying to distract you with sex last night either! Is that what you think?"

"What else am I supposed to think?" he demanded with a huff. "We were in the middle of a conversation, and you pounced on me!"

"I didn't pounce on you! I was just trying to stop you from leaving!"

"Oh, well, that sounds a lot better," he returned, tone so full of sarcasm that Cailee could practically hear the roll of his eyes. "Okay then: I was trying to leave, and you seduced me to get me to stay."

Amidala let out an offended, irate little scream that made Cailee imagine the woman stomping her foot in frustration. She couldn't actually see them from her position, so it was possible she was entirely wrong about that.

"Anakin, I wasn't trying to distract you," she began, nearly yelling at first but nearly sobbing by the end of the sentence. "If anything, I was trying to distract myself! I, I needed… I felt so… so… Oooh!" she exclaimed, her voice rising again now. "I can't believe you think I would throw myself at you like some, some whore to try to avoid a discussion. A discussion THAT I STARTED!"

Cailee heard a noise that could only be the slam of the veranda door, but she did not hear Anakin call for the senator or chase after her. She felt a tiny, niggling, irrational spark of hope reignite in her chest, which she immediately tried to push aside. She couldn't let herself start down that road again.

He was her bodyguard. Her friend, at a stretch, but that was all. They were going to get through whatever political shenanigans the supreme chancellor had planned for Anakin's confirmation as a general in the Army of the Republic, and then she was going to spend a few weeks on his battleship just until his apprentice turned up some information with her investigation. Then Anakin was going to arrest or kill (probably kill) whoever was trying to assassinate her, and she would go home. And she'd probably never see him again after that, except on the holonet whenever Palpatine had use of him.