AN:

Ivy – Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps :D

Cheire – Yeah Anakin longs for validation for his achievements

Guest – haha that's true though. Palpatine knows to dangle power in front of a young man desperate for autonomy and to feel in control. Yeah it's kinda sweet that Anakin is so loyal (sometimes to a fault) and we know he's not much of a flirt :D He should remember to be his kids' role model...

Off To The Races

Clean shirt, new shoes

And I don't know where I am going to

Silk suit, black tie

I don't need a reason why

They come running just as fast as they can

'Cause every girl crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man

Monday morning came quick. Anakin would've liked to have stayed in bed rather than hear that awful alarm go off. He could just sink back under the covers, in bed with his inherent selfishness and rugged nature — and he would have if he hadn't woken up to a love note on his bedside table from Padme:

I could tell you how handsome you are, how smart, how funny, how sweet, how kind you are, how strong and powerful, but you wouldn't hear it. I could tell you everyday and it still wouldn't be enough. You expect too much of yourself. So I'm just going to tell you to be yourself... because when they see what I see, they'll fall in love. I know that much. Love spares no one – not even intelligent women. It makes me dizzy and overflowing with fullness and unable to write short, succinct love notes anymore. They are letters and essays.

He hadn't written her a love note in a while. He should – since she knew exactly what would be on his mind today. This note was everything he needed to soothe his eternally strangled soul. Perfect timing. She knew a wave of fear would come over him. It would be waiting in the wings while he slept. Hibernating, sheltering until his restless mind accepted the daylight in his consciousness. There were no singing birds here. Only thing that woke you up besides an alarm was the sun's glare or loud, sharp horns in traffic.

Thank god for her letter. Thank god for her belief in him.

Anakin got dressed, putting on the new suit Padme bought him, and headed to the kitchen. Padme heard the swishing of his pants behind her. She faced him, jumping up from her seat at the counter. "Look at you – so handsome!" She reached for the lapels, admiring how sleek and sharp he looked. "The jacket's a little loose." She observed.

"I know. Wanted to be comfortable." His words were distant mutterings.

She noticed him shifting his shoulders and cupped his face. "Aw, are you nervous?"

"Just want it to go well."

She knew he was bearing old wounds. He can walk around as confidently as he'd like. He can pretend to be thoughtless. But she knew from his rough-hearted expression that he needed someone to turn his sorrows into salvations.

"Baby, it's going to be great!" She stood proudly before him. The ends of his hair were twirled in circles by her harmonious fingers. It brought his voice back from far away. It was rescuing to look upon her and see her smiling. He would carry that smile with him throughout the day. Her sensual, sexy, intelligent soul unwary of shadows.

Anakin sat in what was probably the largest office known to man. He was trying to be brave. Let go of any preconceived notions, of what isn't him. It was the toughest part of all this: that there were no excuses. He's been given a great opportunity. And he was afraid he'd lose it by being either too arrogant or too afraid.

He did his best not to fidget in his seat, trying to create some persona that would be comfortable in this suit. He tried a smile as he listened to Palpatine talk, who was sitting behind the large desk. Palpatine was a very calm talker. He spoke with a drawl, like he loved the sound of his own voice. He seemed very passionate as he talked about his career. He looked wealthy and satisfied and comfy with his cushiony life.

Anakin envied his aura already, as he instead felt butterflies in his stomach, his heart pounding, throat tickling. A scratching question about to erupt or he'd crumble. He needed a concrete answer. "I'm really grateful for the opportunity. I'm just not sure why I'm here. I mean, I was a waiter, then in construction, and then a mechanic."

"Well... " Palpatine leaned against his high-backed, executive, swivel chair. "Construction tells me you know how to complete a task... Your work as a mechanic proves you're smart – both of which are indicative of your dexterity. And your time as a waiter," He paused, arching one side of his mouth – a lip curl barely noticeable to the untrained eye. "That tells me you're scrappy and you've had to see the not-so-pretty parts of business. You see, the graduates that apply for a job here, they are all the same. They got into the finest schools, had the best apprenticeships, the right contacts. They studied hard and learned to memorize. Like clones. Clones of each other. They all know what to think but not how to think. Your background tells me that perhaps you've seen struggle with your own eyes. And that hardship has taught you how to survive in the real world while those graduates were merely observing it in books. And I need someone with that hunger, immense enough to prove someone wrong. A risk taker. This company needs someone who, as you said, thinks outside the box. And most importantly, I need enough of an ego. Many may fault you for that quality but I believe an ego is necessary to win. It fuels competitiveness."

Anakin knew he had an ego. Everyone who knew him knew he had an ego. Anakin could barely hide his smirk but, nonetheless, he prompted, "What makes you think I have an ego?"

Palpatine shot him a similar smirk. Both of them were revealing their badges of dishonor on their sleeves. "You were arrogant enough to walk into the most prestigious Law Firm in the city without any qualifications. And to succeed in life you need that delusional confidence. You get in life what you have the courage to ask for."

Anakin laughed, feeding off the high. "You make me sound psychopathic."

"So?" Palpatine retired his smile. His eyes now serious and insightful. "I think Camille Paglia was one of many intellectuals who once hinted that genius and madness go hand in hand. What makes a Mozart can also make a Jack the Ripper. You choose how you channel your crazy."

Anakin left the 7th floor and came down to the 5th. He entered Padme's office, struggling to contain this burning secret. Padme was happy to see him, awed even as he sauntered over. She inched forward in her chair, anticipating when he'd utter a sound.

"So? How'd the interview go?" She pressed, eagerly.

He made his way round the desk and sat on the middle edge in front of her. "You're looking at Palpatine's new personal assistant."

Padme's mouth widened. She shared in his happiness. Her heart and soul drawn to it. "Told you!"

He possessed a sense of flamboyance and mystery as his eyes rolled over the ceiling. "I think he saw something of himself in me." When his eyes returned to her, they were so joyful; he couldn't help it. "I'm on probation. Have to prove I'm reliable, trustworthy. . .good with my hands." A hand coasted along her thigh, pushing her skirt up. And she saw that look in his eye. There he was — virile — with his unrelenting mischievous head tilt.

She reached down and covered his hand with hers. "Anakin... What are you doing?" She bit her lip, holding back a grin as the fingers of his other hand walked over her shirt buttons.

"Anakin..." She repeated coyly, as a hand rose to slide through her hair, giving her tender, teasing tickles on the nape of her neck.

"Celebrate with me." His mouth barely moved when he talked. And he talked oh-so-softly as he came closer. "I'm sort of a big deal now." He joked, while his forefinger fit in the gap between her buttons; his approach was appreciative yet a little hostile. His lips fiercely close to hers, and his other hand remained in her hair. He tugged at her hair bun and held it captive in his fist, in his exhilarating vulgarity.

"We will celebrate–" She said quite desperately, doing all she could not to let her words sound like a surrender. "Stop it!" Padme blushed, took his hands off her and held them lovingly to her heart. "We'll celebrate at home. I promise. Just – don't get us in trouble before you've even started!" She then playfully pushed him away. "Now go!"

Padme made dinner for the two of them to celebrate Anakin's new job. A romantic dinner for two mimicked their evening: wholesome yet spicy. It allowed them to travel without leaving their seats. A spoonful of culture is explored and reinvented in flavors. A mouthful of new and old traditions combine in recipes. A warm meal is security. Every bite is the blessing of love. It felt like redemption. Their new life is laid out on the kitchen island. She's happy. The babies were healthy. He's confident he can take her there, provide for her, and give her the world he intended.

She believed in him when no one else did. The challenge was reminding him to believe in himself, believe that he was more than what people thought of him. And he looked her deep in the eyes when he promised, "It's all going to work out for us now."

After dinner, smooth jazz played in the background. Padme had turned up the volume, and Anakin stood, following her to the living room area. He looked exuberantly cheerful; his shirt now untucked, his tie loosened, looking perfectly messy – the way she liked him.

She felt levitated by the stars as he ran up to her with his boyish enthusiasm and swung her around deftly. It made her giddy. When her feet met the floor, he twirled her around and caught her once her back was to him. She felt long fingers grip her hips and pull her close. She placed the back of her head to his chest as their hips swayed to their own kind of rhythm, marching to the beat of their own drum, dancing in the living room, living in the mystery. Sparks ignited as he pecked the top of her hair with soft lips before resting his head on hers; the right side of his head rubbed against the left side of hers – as one.

Anakin swung her back around to face him and handed her a scrunched up note from his pants' pocket. She quickly realized what it was. He finally wrote her a love note back. He studied her with caring eye contact as she unfolded the piece of paper.

Light of my life, fire of my loins.

They weren't his words. They were the words of Vladimir Nabokov – but she didn't mind. After all, it fit nicely within this context. A man driven by desire is often a tragedy. They say all passion, all greed is selfish. By definition it means to chase satisfaction with no regard for anyone else. But Anakin made it look good. And he made her feel okay with being a little selfish, too. And she was selfishly enjoying him — this — a hero with a tragic flaw.

May he always be this way, she hoped. Magical. May he always be young and adventurous in spirit and make her laugh over and over. May he always sweep her off her feet and never take himself too seriously – and force her to not take herself too seriously. She prayed he would never lose himself to the city. Anakin wouldn't be Anakin if, for any reason, he, one day, didn't play no more.

Sharp Dressed Man - ZZ Top