AN:

Sunmoonwindandstars – Hahaha love your enthusiasm and your puns! I used a similar expression in this chapter (Cat's out the bag) :D I agree with you about Miraj – she just wants to gain what she can from the situation, whatever benefits her current mood; she doesn't have any personal feelings towards Anakin in that sense.

Cheire – omg I love your reviews so much! I so appreciate how invested you are in the characters and story, and I'm glad you like angst and romance! So do I!


Are We Having Fun Yet?


Never made it as a wise man

Couldn't cut it as a poor man stealing

Tired of living like a blind man

I'm sick of sight without a sense of feeling

And this is how you remind me

This is how you remind me of what I really am


Anakin and Padme lie awake in bed early in the morning, where love is inspired, cajoled, full, unexpurgated.

"I don't want to go to work." Padme groaned as she nuzzled into Anakin's chest, nibbling softly. He holds her close, his fingers drawing long oval shapes along her arm which wraps around his waist.

"Don't." He assuages, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "Stay here with me."

"Oh I'd love to." She moaned longingly. "But I can't." She musters all the strength she can to force herself out of bed and out of his arms, a devastating feat. She heads to the closet where her outfit hangs on the door, the outfit she had prepared last night for work.

From the bed, Anakin props himself up to rest his head on the headboard. He cannot close his eyes, he can't blink for a second out of fear that he'd miss out on this, that he won't soak up all of her as he watches her undress. It is like denying your eyes the sense of silk and satin, air and water, sun and sex. The straps of her slip dress fall down her shoulders, exposing her jewels, golden, fantastic, fusing her sexuality and sensuality. Her body makes a dizziness traverse through him. She is a painting come to life, poetry sung, as she pulls up her black pencil skirt that hugs her waist. She hooks her bra at the front and twists it around her back, fitting her arms through the straps, and her wild hair flows down her back like silky waves, burying her bra straps with her natural cascading curls, riveting, ravishing. Her pretty fingers are elasticated as they button up her white blouse that sheathes her. And she tucks it into her skirt, silhouetting the perfect proportions, the art, the mystery, the woman. His woman.

He shakes his head softly in amazement, aching, begging to indulge in her beauty forever. "Beautiful."

She turns to him, bright-eyed, smiling with radiance. And the look on his face lets her know that here, now, in this moment, she is forever immortalized in his eyes.

She makes her way over to him; her smile can light up any dark abyss, outshining every star in the sky. She bends down to show her gratitude with a kiss. "Wish me luck."

As he watches her walk away, he finds himself wanting to release the bottled secrets. Just take a knife to the cork and let it splatter, open the gates and drown what haunts him. "Padme..." But then he hesitates as he sees her big brown eyes sparkle innocently. And he can't imagine saying something that would dim that light, and darken the gaze that glorifies him now. "Good luck."

Halfway out the door, she pops her head back in. "We still on for tonight? The restaurant opening. Dorme says the food's got rave reviews!"

He offers a gentle nod with a faint smile that locks away his concerns.


Padme and Anakin stand in line at the restaurant, waiting to be seated. Anakin is already impatient, looking at the long queue as if it would look any different than it did a minute ago, given the slow pace in which it moves forward.

It never seems to get to Padme. She understands delay. She finds reward in delay. She's not in a hurry to get to the good part. She knows it'll come. Perhaps she doesn't feel the need to chase highs like he does. He believes they are fleeting; she believes patience is what makes them long lasting. Her hand lightly squeezes his arm, attentively, to pacify him, assuring him they were in no rush.

"Padme!"

Padme hears her name being called from a dining area by the bar. At a rectangular table, a polished marble, a piece of fine craftsmanship, she sees Miss Scintel.

"Miraj!" Padme addresses her with a wave. And the sound causes Anakin to turn and freeze in his spot. That name on his wife's lips makes volatile fears creep in. Padme makes her away over there but Anakin can barely bring himself to follow her.

"How are you?" Miraj sits up straight. A friendly tone seems welcoming to Padme, deceiving to Anakin.

"I'm good. This is my husband, Anakin." Anakin hung back a few steps but Padme took his hand and dragged him over. "Honey, this is Miss Scintel, my best client." She swung a hand toward Miraj, and Anakin's face says it all, he's distant, unapproachable, grim and dour – apt for the occasion.

"Nice to meet you, Anakin." Miraj holds out a hand. An artful hand, Machiavellian. She can hear him trying to constrain turbulent breaths, clenching, breathing from his nose instead.

"...Hi." He mumbles, reluctantly shaking her hand.

"Gosh, look at you two!" Miraj's lips curl into a wry smile as she sits back to get a good look at them. "Ridiculously good-looking couple."

"Thanks." Padme blushes with cheerfulness.

"You waiting for a table?" Miraj asks Padme, who nods, saying something to the effect of "Uh yeah." But Anakin's mind has trailed off. He finds it difficult to be present. He is working overtime, thinking, stressing, strategizing how to get out of this. And then Miraj's voice puts a match to his distress with a calculated offer:

"You're welcome to sit here while you wait."

"Oh thank you–" Padme exclaimed but was quickly cut off by Anakin's blunt interjection.

"–No." He had blurted it out, causing Padme to look at him with indignation.

"We'd love to." Padme insisted, giving Anakin the side-eye — meeting Anakin's eye-line with a This is an important client look.

Anakin's eyes fell to the floor, trying with all his might to restrict his animosity. Miraj caught a glimpse of his downcast eyes, noticing his glowering face full of gloom as he is forced to sit at the table.

Variations of the pending interaction and alternate universes swim in his head. He is deprived of sanity as he dreads every minute of this. His eyes are locked on the marble table. His fingers scratching at the side of it, anxiously. Padme is talking to Miraj, leaning in to the table, expressing her thoughts with animated gestures, freely and intently. But Anakin isn't hearing a word. He isn't paying attention. He's waiting, wanting someone to call their name, tell them their table is ready. His ear is pressed up against the imaginary wall between him and the hostess – any time now she should utter the words, "Skywalker for two."

"Miraj, I gotta say, I only just started the new chapter but I swear I can see myself in your words. I didn't expect to relate to any of it but when you were talking about how dormant you were feeling until something came along and woke you up!" Padme's distant voice had now reached his ear, as though it had increased in volume, evident and clear, once she rubbed Anakin's knee, dragging him out of the rounds he continued to make in his head with worry. "I know how that feels."

Padme beams at Anakin with a deep fondness but, despite adoring her warm features, all he can offer in return is a delicate, fragile smile.

"Yeah, I know my life has been slightly unconventional." Miraj chuckles softly. And it makes Anakin want to groan at her old hypocritical tricks – always putting on the naive, unassuming act. "But. . .as Joseph Campbell once said, some of us have to go through dark and devious ways before we can find the river of peace."

"That's funny, Anakin says the same thing. He loves that book!" Padme turns to him again, trying to include him in the conversation. But she feels his knee jolt under her hand. He tried to hide it, fearing the mention of Joseph Campbell had revealed too much.

"The hero with a thousand faces." Miraj concluded with a nod. And her eyes set on Anakin, knowing very well how much he loves that book. "Well, we all need to tame our own demons first, right? I'm probably paraphrasing..."

"You are." Anakin almost growled. His full lips had thinned.

"Anakin!" Padme said sternly with a quiet but harsh whisper, discreetly informing him of how rude he was coming across.

"Well," Miraj broke the awkward silence, giving a short mirthless laugh. "Some people try too hard to add meaning to things that don't matter."

Anakin's eyes were like two sour arrows aiming at her, reproving. "Some absolve themselves of any responsibility by pretending nothing matters."

He knows Padme's wide, sharp, critical stare is on him. His eyes lift to meet hers and she sees the change in his features. His face displays something wrecked, bitter. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and Miraj and he exchange a glance, and Padme catches the dark flicker in his eyes. She knows that look. She knows that silence. Anakin's blood divides, hot and cold, splitting him. He feels he is both the demon and the prisoner.

Her eyes drop to the table as her senses heighten. "Do you two know each other?" She says it like she doesn't want an answer, like she already knows the answer. It is shooting her with acute, intolerable truths, the full picture, she knows the secret. It sticks out of a carefully disguised frame. Joseph Campbell. The books. The library.


"And then when I was about sixteen, I got a job doing some construction – some handy work around the house for this woman who had this huge library, which had every book you could ever think of."

Anakin's voice rattles in Padme's head. Their first date.


"Oh my god." Padme's voice is barely audible as her fingers flew to her mouth. She's slowly drifting away, wanting to leave her body. She can't control her shaky finger as she points it at Miraj. Tiny trembles as she closes her eyes as if to rewire her brain and retract what she had just heard. "Hires young man, who you end up having an affair with, to build a pergola in your backyard." Padme says, alluding to Miraj's book. Her finger then moves to Anakin with the same quivering fear. "Construction job at sixteen."

As soon as she said it out loud she knew she was right. Yet the irony was that somehow the disclosure of truth felt like the crumbling of clarity. The cat's out of the bag. The tape cannot be rewound. "I don't believe this!" She jumps up from the table like a bat out of hell and runs off.

"Padme..." Anakin gets up suddenly, his chair squeaking as it drags across the floor.


Anakin ran out of the restaurant, finding Padme outside. Before she could walk away, he grabbed her, urging her to face him.

"Padme, I'm so so sorry." He pleaded but she pulled away.

"It's sick. It's sick!" She cried, walking in circles. Hysterical hands at her head. "You were sixteen and she was what, thirty-three?!" She was about to march off but he held her arms in place.

"You gotta understand I had no choice. I had no money, nowhere to go, I – it seemed like a good idea at the time. The only idea..." His words went from hurried and anxious to slow and remorseful.

The lull of realization had her resorting to the same sluggish mannerisms he descended to. The shroud of anger has faded, giving way for sorrow to leap to the surface and take its place. She thought he was better than this. "...How could you not tell me?"

Anakin stood parallel to her, mournful like it was painful to let out a breath. Her eyes display her hopelessness, and the sight stomps all over his heart. "I didn't know how. I was ashamed."

Padme shook her head. Her eyelids close slowly to hold back tears. "So you just let me walk right into that?"

For a moment he is speechless. Staring at her with guilt and fear. It happened. What he didn't want to become a reality. He witnessed the golden-brown sparkle of her eyes dim. Her light no longer glorifies him. It was like watching everything you hold dear burn into a pile of ashes. "I didn't want you to look at me the way. . .well, the way you're looking at me now." His regret, loss, and acceptance all conjoin in one hopeless shrug.

His eyes plead with her but she can't look up at him. The once golden branches that surrounded them, flourished through them with protection are now just dull logs that have fallen and trapped them in this box. His elongated gazes only made it worse, trapping her deeper.

"I gotta get out of here." She decides with a haphazard hand gesture in the air. Her anguish and despondency is sewn together while everything that she held up as a paragon of love's virtues were cutting at the seams.

She walks ahead of him but he quickly clasps a hand on her stomach, hoping to pull her back to him. His face hovering at the side of her head.

"Padme–" Anakin beseeches.

"Alone." She says firmly, but with a smidgen of sympathy, sliding away from the arm that wraps around her, the arm that yearns for her.

"At least let me drive you." He called after her but she held up her hand in protest.

"I'd rather walk."

And she did. All he could do was watch with despair until she disappeared through the faceless crowd.


Anakin rested a hand on the side of his truck, holding his defeated self up. Miraj snuck up behind him, folding her arms as she glances from side to side. He looks so lonely in a busy street.

"You know the best place to blow off some steam is my house."

Without looking up, he grumbles, "Haven't you done enough." A moodiness fixes on his flesh like a lacquer to metal.

"So she knows we slept together." Miraj groaned, sounding irritated by the droning on of a pointless fight. "Could be worse. She could learn what else your hands are capable of."

"Damn it, Miraj!" Anakin slams his hand on the hood of his truck, loud, powerful, blinding. He storms over to her like flippant, unpredictable winds ready to incinerate. He backs her into a corner and waves an unstable finger at her with fury. "Don't fucking play with me. This is my life! This is my marriage. Now that may not mean much to you but it means something to me."

With every word he roars, a wrathful breath hits her face. She can see, feel, and hear the fires of hatred that rage inside him.

"You look good when you're mad." She holds in a smirk and replaces it with an unyielding frown. "But control your temper, people are looking."

He glares at her and she glares right back. The scowls are interrupted by a bystander calling over to them.

"Hey! You alright, ma'am?" The man approaches them with a suspicious eye.

"She's fine." Anakin snapped.

"I'm asking her." The man warned.

Miraj turns to the stranger, giving him an amiable smile, mild, obliging, gracious. "I'm fine. Thank you."

The man glances at each of them, gauging the situation, the energy of the scene before leaving them to it.

Anakin grimaced. "I'll tell you one thing, you got that damsel in distress act down."

He heads back to his truck with a morose tread of his feet.

"Brings out the beast in you." She sings a taunting song, destined to wreak havoc – and enjoys doing it.

With a heavy hand on the door of his truck, he pauses to release a pent-up breath. He gets in the car and drives off.


It's not like you to say sorry

I was waiting on a different story

This time I'm mistaken

For handing you a heart worth breaking

And I've been wrong, I've been down

Been to the bottom of every bottle

These five words in my head

Scream, "Are we having fun yet?"


Nickelback - How You Remind Me