AN:

I am so sorry it has taken me this long to update. My heart aches for the palestinian children and I am praying for peace. I just couldn't think about writing.

Cheire – Thank you so much! And thank you for your love of Padme! I agree, Anakin and Padme needed to create a sense of trust.

Guest – Lol. I don't see it that way but I guess art is open to interpretation :D And no, actually that chapter was the first outline I ever came up with for this story.

Sun – Thank you! That's a cool way to look at it as well, the force sensitive describing their skill. And yes, there is still a lot more to the story but at least Ani and Padme are united. And yes! This is where they are conceived. I liked the idea of them naming the children after a pivotal moment resembling a fresh start, like how in the movies Luke resembles a new hope.

Disgal – Ahh thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it!

Angie – Thank you! I am happy you enjoyed their reunion!

Anything Goes

The light of dawn bloomed through the bedroom window. Anakin's eyes opened with a slit to receive any gifts and struggles that may await when he gets out of bed. It had been a journey but things were looking hopeful. He didn't want to get out of bed, though; Padme was already at work and the house was devoid of magic without her. He held onto Padme's pillow, pushing back the lonely looming hours to come.

He eventually lurched upright, transported by soundless tranquility in the air when he found a note on his bedside table from Padme:

I truly, deeply love you

He stared at the note awakened and living; it sprung him to meet nature's smiles.

In the notorious corners of the sand park, Anakin wheeled himself out from underneath a Mustang with tools in his hand. His green polo shirt was splattered with oil. Dusty trails marked the lines on his forehead, along with an instant scowl and squinted eyes from the sun when he found a man hovering over him.

"Hi, is Sebulba here?"

The man asking had an energy that matched his presence. His style was prideful and suave, elegantly groomed but capable of violence at the drop of a silent pin. He looked like a man that knew how to make luxuries work in his favour. He wore an off-white collarless shirt that seamlessly tucked into dark blue slacks and was held in place by a brown belt with a snug metal buckle.

"No." Anakin's face looked like he had cast a spell to put his features to sleep. He was statuesque, a wax figure in all but voice and tone. The expression fitted him like a glove covering intentional anarchy. He wanted to be left alone.

With such a stable face and deliberate ignorance, Anakin crafted a look of deep seething. It was clear there was nothing for this visitor here. Yet the man did not leave. Instead his stance seemed to get wider with assertion, framed with an unfriendliness, like he was rarely questioned and expected his questions answered.

"You're Anakin, correct?"

"Who's asking?"

"Jango. Jango Fett." Jango offered his hand, but Anakin didn't shake it. Anakin got up, dusted himself off and took a gander around the patch of land while wiping his hands on a ragged cloth. But despite what he felt was an invasive, disturbing presence, the space looked how it always looked, like a gigantic sandy carpet unrolled out toward the main road, enclosing the people in the park.

There were all the usual views as well. Unclear faces and chatter lost among the labyrinthian wooden benches that break symmetry in the powdery white sand. Every bench uncoordinated with the other in this disorderly, free, natural setting. The park goers preserved themselves from the scorching heat with their big umbrellas.

There was only one thing out of the ordinary. When Anakin's eyes had circled the park and returned, looking ahead, behind Jango, there was a white Jaguar C-type.

"Nice car." Anakin said, wiping his face with the last clean spot of the cloth.

"Thanks."

Anakin shoved the corner of the cloth in his denim pocket so it hung out like a dead flower, a token of all he collected down the roads that led him here – used, dirty, but still able to bloom.

He peeked inside the car, in which the future and past aligns, a considerate time-travel pilgrimage unfolds and roots itself in the centre of Anakin's stubborn disbelief. He now looked impressed, gripped by branches of inventiveness that go beyond what is possible. Here's a story he has wanted to tell many times but only a few ever got it right – modern tech in an old-fashioned car. Coinciding so peacefully, so superbly, so honorably, like they should have always trusted each other.

"If we're not careful, technology will take over humanity."

Jango allowed one corner of his mouth to lift. "That's why we should work with technology."

Anakin gave him the slightest head nod as his mind went on detours, roaming, invisibly embracing, picturing himself behind the wheel. The old car made reality look better than the man made it seem.

The lack of conversation prompted Jango to saunter off round to the driver's seat. As he stood now between the open door, racing seats, and wood grained interior, Anakin pointed a finger at him.

"You're the new guy working for the Hutts."

Jango held onto the vehicle door to straighten up. "I'm. . .working with them, yes."

"Watch out." Anakin ran a hand over the back of his neck. "They'll be after a car like that."

Jango didn't even flinch at the unexpected statement – or the now more relaxed encounter. Instead he grinned and drove off in a cavalier fashion.

I've been swimming in a sea of anarchy

I've been living on coffee and nicotine

I've been wondering if all the things I've seen were ever real

Were ever really happening

Dorme and Padme followed Vallorum to a brightly lit, rectangular room designed for a conference. The screens were rolled up, the golden sunlight acts as the space's largest lantern playing on the designs along the walls, the paintings and certificates. At the centre of the ceiling, a chandelier of glass tears shed like sea shells, and the centerpiece on the table propped up starched white roses in a porcelain vase.

Padme barely got one foot in the door when Vallorum hung back, impeding her step. He stood stoic at six feet tall with a high, proud neck, broad-shouldered, carrying his value in an expensive, well-fitted navy blue suit.

"Padme, I think you should sit this one out."

Padme's gaze hopped upward. Her face a chalk-white complexion. With his sharp voice alone, Vallorum gave a terrifying response. A maze of thoughts crowded her head, as varied as the colours of the paintings on the wall.

"Excuse me?"

"This client has had his real estate properties devalued because of juvenile people like your husband who have defiled the entire downtown area with their proclivity for criminal activity. The last thing this client needs to know is how associated you are with that crowd."

Taken aback by the offensive coldness, Padme swallowed words that hurt.

"With all due respect, Mr Vallorum, you can't exclude me from a meeting because of who my husband is. That's discrimination."

"You're right, I can't. But I can put the client relationship first. And if you being in this room sabotages my business, I won't forgive myself."

She felt an upswell of dread in her chest. She knew where this was going. It was only a matter of time until she witnessed the blowback from Anakin and Clovis in the reception. "If you're going to devalue my work in this place, then I might as well quit."

She did her best to conceal her fear at the sight of a rebuke unfurling in her boss' features.

"If you don't respect my rules, you're fired." His words were edged with distaste, hers had gotten lost in the ruins of a rising panic. She didn't know who was right or wrong anymore. Everything inside them that been rearranged; morality was a question mark, sieged, corroded; nothing was conceded.

He was high on intellectualism

I've never been there, but the brochure looks nice

Jump in, let's go

Lay back, enjoy the show

Everybody gets high, everybody gets low

These are the days when anything goes

In the essence of gloomy afternoons and bleak chillness, Padme sat in her car with Ahsoka in the passenger seat. The windows rolled up, the radio turned down, and there was this overhanging silence. Words had vanished at the tip of Padme's lips. She could almost see her breath blown on the transparent windows where she had drawn a heart with solemn, forlorn fingers; and through the window, the view of the street made no sound.

They were parked outside Ahsoka's boarding school, watching the world go by.

"I can't thank you enough for getting me out of trigonometry." Ahsoka tried lightening the mood.

"Eh, when are you gonna use it." Padme's cheery voice soon faded away, replaced with a sigh of secrets. Ahsoka glanced at Padme and took her hand. It was encouraging, and it was going to stay that way until Padme believed it.

"I'm sorry about your job."

Padme forced a smile but it had this flowerlike fragility that couldn't resolve the twists and turns, the ups and downs of a life that can't seem to settle. Choices hop off a plank and land in an hourglass where the sand switches sides on you in a heartbeat. There's no way to tell where you're going or how much time you have to get there. She had demanded herself to embrace freedom over security, so she knew she was on the right side of her ever-evolving history. But she didn't realize how emotionally taxing fighting for your own existence could be.

But one thing was certain: Darkness is not the end. Darkness is the beginning. Darkness is where all things are born.

"I'm more worried about how Anakin's going to react... I don't want to lie to him. We agreed to be honest with each other. But. . .if I tell him why I lost my job, he'll either blame himself or try to fix it. He'll probably go down there and ruin what's left of his reputation." She blew a breath. "Honestly I just can't bare to see the look of guilt on his face."

"Don't tell him." Ahsoka glanced out the window; street lamps were switching on, pushing back the darkness seeping into the sky. "It's like that saying, 'What other people think of me is none of my business.' What your boss thinks of Anakin is none of his business."

Padme came home to find Anakin sitting at the dining table reading Jack Kerouac's On The Road.

"Hey!" His rich sounding voice was the ultimate welcome. She stood to his side and he wrapped both his arms around her waist, giving her a deep, whole hug. His hugs could move mountains, and in this state, a bravery roams from him to her, through them like warm liquid, an osmosis, a wise passage to consolidate – and ease a hard conversation.

Padme sat herself down on the chair to Anakin's left. There was no speed, no urgency in her prepared voice but there was a gravity that she fell back on – a hopeful last prayer in her pocket of wisdom. "I have some news. . .I kinda got fired."

"Why?" Anakin's eyes boldened, chasing his disreputable heartbeat. A sign she had to tape up her language well.

"Vallorum and I had a disagreement."

And she saw him already falling for his own bad reputation, a system of skillful wildness and weaponized emotion.

"You lost your job because of me?" It didn't sound like a question because it wasn't. It was the eradication of sage-burning energy replaced with a wooden voice and a head hung low.

His heart had changed shape before her eyes.

"No." She assured, placing a hand over his on the dining table. "It's because of him."

She wanted to close the doors inside his mind that warped the book of love, light, courage. They were always a few pages away from success... But she was going to fly past the sense of failure that comes with setbacks.

"I'll find something else. And until then our savings give us about a month."

She heard Anakin exhale – an infamous sound of determination.

"No—no." Anakin pulled his hand out from under hers and plastered it on his thigh. "You deserve the time off; take your time to find a job you really like. I'll take care of us."

It was refreshing to see him overcome his initial behaviours of danger. When his shadow self reverts, when he chooses to tell a different story, he comes back to the person he really is. It is a better story full of fairies and peace and replaced memories, where he believes in impossibilities, free from imbedded judgments. That's when his confidence truly becomes a remedy of love.

Little by little, they will get there. They will laugh until life makes sense. They will turn hurtful words into healing ones. They will remember that everything happens for a reason. They will know to accept whatever attracts their souls to grow.

She leaned in to touch her lips to his. There are no fences where she ends and he begins. When they're together, they can forget the rest, forget it all – they hope.

Everyday is a winding road

I get a little bit closer

Everyday is a faded sign

I get a little bit closer to feeling fine

Sheryl Crow – Everyday Is A Winding Road