AN:

Ivy – Yeah :( Thanks for waiting!

Disgal – Yay! Thanks a lot!

Dreamer's Disease

But when the night is falling

You cannot find the light

You feel your dreams are dying, hold tight

Padme and Dorme sat outside a little cafe; their little round table was among many others on the sidewalk. The surrounding views were a clever dance of community, diversity. Everyone's walking in different directions. If the left was the past and the right was the future, then each kick of the heels was full of uncreated messages; some were leaving an inconceivable emptiness behind and others had fallen openly into a lotus land, chasing whatever calls to them with songs of angels.

Padme took a bite out of her croissant and immediately felt an indescribable, unsettling transition, like she had inherited an energy from beyond the surface, a shot of truth rising up her throat – or maybe just a bit of nausea. She jumped up and hurried to the bathroom.

When Padme got back, she looked ghostly. Her stomach floated ripples of foreign weather. It resembled the act of swarming winds over sunny reflective water. It made her sweat and freeze at the same time.

With a disoriented mind that made stress too heavy a burden to carry, her elbow slipped off the edge of the table which creaked. There was a pre-existing crack in one of its legs, leaving it unstable. And she felt the same. Wobbly. She looked at Dorme and shared her concerns. What made her throw up so suddenly? Was it the food? It couldn't have been. Dorme ate the same thing and she looked breezy.

Padme's exhaustion was clear on her face, beaming with a sheen of mirror-like sweat.

"Maybe you're pregnant." Dorme joked, handing her a napkin.

Padme wanted to laugh but she felt her vocal cords hold the laughter back when a waiter came by and tucked a folded piece of cardboard under the leg of the chair. The table stopped wobbling. And the intermission allowed Padme to stop wobbling too. Her skin reddened with suspicion, alive and lurking through shadowy territory.

What if it were true? She had no money, they could barely pay rent, she still hadn't found a job – even with Dorme's help – so just toying with the idea itself was risky.

She looked around the street, behind her and back ahead. She looked at life around them, and suddenly her head and heart was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Some mysterious unforeseen surprise in her gut told her she had something precious unborn so she started to contemplate this little addition. She dared to even get excited.

Wake up, kids, we got the dreamers' disease

Frienemies, who, when you're down, ain't your friend

Every night we smash a Mercedes-Benz

First we run, and then we laugh till we cry

Anakin crossed over the terrain of sand to join Sebulba, who was sitting with his back to a picnic table. Sebulba immediately pointed with his oval, gluttonous eyes at a familiar vehicle.

"See that Jaguar? I want it."

Anakin's chuckle was clearly half-assed as he slouched back, getting comfortable on an otherwise uncomfortable bench. That Jaguar enticed everyone with its rarity, beauty. And of course this only triggered Anakin's paranoia, which came across as a lack of interest to Sebulba, who relied on Anakin's involvement.

"You know what that car will do for my reputation? Only a handful of them were made!"

Anakin reached into his back pocket for his cigarettes, knowing he'd need something to make this conversation worthwhile. "Good luck trying to get it."

"There's a way. The owner," Sebulbla jerked his head in Jango Fett's direction, and Anakin followed his gaze. "–just sold it to the Hutts."

Jango stood beside Aayla Secura, indulging in conversation, beer cans, and fitting in quite well. Too well.

This was their monolithic paradise where pain and suffering is muted, where the outside world becomes immobile for a few hours. Anakin worried, as he always did, that things were about to change, a piece of the culture would be taken away. Anakin hated what others treasured: new faces and changing places.

"And," Sebulba continued, oblivious to the questionable symbol that shaped Anakin's brows. "The big man said I could have it."

That line made Anakin turn back to Sebulba faster than you could say Hutt. "Jabba told you that?" Anakin took a long drag of his cigarette. "What's the catch?"

Seb now sat back, relaxed as ever. He grabbed Anakin's cigarette pack and helped himself to one. After keeping Anakin on the edge of his seat with toe-tapping anticipation, Sebulba held the cigarette between his thumb and index finger as though it were a cigar of sweet, subtle spices.

"A rematch." Seb sent rich, thick smoke Anakin's way. "Prove my top racer is better than his once and for all."

It took a moment for the words to reach Anakin, hijacked by the swirls of smoke. He eventually shook his head. "I'm not doing it."

"Ani! You can beat Maul this time. You're older, more experienced... You have no idea what this'll do for us. With the money alone, I can turn this into the most high profile race track in the world. You'll no longer be a big fish in a small pond. I'll make you a star."

Anakin felt as though his soul had left his body, climbing from one star to another. It was broad daylight and confusing because he couldn't see the stars but he knew his soul was there, hidden behind the clouds poking him with a warning. This could be how you reach heaven, but is it heaven if it's offered by the devil? It felt like a trick – Lucifer in a knight's shining armor. He probably stole the attire.

"Nah." Anakin said finally. "There's nothing in it for me."

Sebulba clicked his tongue, digging for a win in a well where money talks. "I'll give you 20 percent of the prize money."

Anakin stood, ready to walk away.

"25." Sebulba pushed. "30!"

Anakin turned around with utter casualness and certainty. "I'm sorry. It's just not worth it. Padme won't be too happy with me making a deal with the Hutts. We're in a good place right now, I wanna do right by her."

"Fine." Sebulba's dry voice was stained with derision as he adjusted the goggles on his head; his espresso brown hair curling over the band. "Go listen to mommy."

Anakin didn't rise to it; instead he walked off. He wasn't going to dignify it with a response. Only a man who missed out on the love of a good woman would say a thing like that.

"Wait!" Sebulba called after him. "I got it! Artoo."

What was written on Anakin's face was contradictory – doubt and surprise. He prepared himself to reject the smoking chain that clipped indulgence, material, and foolish experiments.

"You'll give me Artoo?" Anakin's sardonic tone made it obvious he did not trust what sounded too good to be true. He wasn't going to fall down the well. Not this time.

"You've worn him out so much I couldn't sell him anyway. You can use the prize money to properly fix him up. You won't have to spend years and years saving up to buy him off me."

It was pulling him again, that thing inside him that wakes up with a dragon-eye, eager, hungry, wanting more and more. Could he find a way to have it all? Why was he always tempted to cheat his way out of a pickle.

There's that masculine seduction that led Kerouac astray. It's so easy for good intentions to become selfishly-driven desires.

"No. I can't." Anakin said plainly.

He had receded into the vault safe from the echoes of excess. As much as it stabbed his heart to say no to the money which could provide him and Padme a facile life, he knew Padme wouldn't want this dirty money. She wouldn't want a life built on backstabbing knives and paid for by greedy criminals.

He headed over to the racetrack, looking at the road on which he drove Artoo many times. The lanes that led him to happiness whenever he had forgotten it existed. The lanes that reminded him to never cure himself of his mad, dreamer's disease. Let it keep burning. Burn it all. Burn everything. Burn inside him as he drove, ever open-minded, nomadic, living alongside peace for as long as he was in that car and the wind blew in his hair. The sand is only visible in the rearview mirror if you look back.

He didn't need Sebulba. He didn't need to be part of their club, their culture anymore. He already knew which roads would carry him to freedom, safety, love. The roads that led to Padme.

This whole damn world could fall apart

You'll be okay, follow your heart

You're in harm's way, I'm right behind

Now set your mark

Anakin walked over to his favourite car, about to hop into a world of fantasy which pops with passion, yellow and fabulous under the stereotypical sun – his favourite kind of escapism. Okay, maybe second favourite. The first was hiding away between delicate linen sheets under a moonlit night with his sweetheart; they are naked, wine-drunk, and in love in the dark. He'd have a full pack of cigarettes beside him. He always loved chasing those hedonistic highs. But with Padme they were deep rivers of fun wrought with meaning. He was a little melodramatic about it but if there was ever a good place to die, it'd be in her arms.

He was not only met with leather seats and interior white stripes. He was met with faces slashed with impatience. Aayla's face was contorted with disapproval – he presumed it was due to his tardiness. The other driver, his opponent, was equally as concerned yet with sleepy eyes that appeared unconcerned. Their little audience said what the others were thinking; there were scandalous shouts from afar calling for the race to start.

Anakin looked up at the skies for a moment to distract from the riled atmosphere. The skies of silver and blue longer now that the sun was going down over raw land. When he faced everyone again, the stormy looks of his peers didn't take up much of his vision. In fact, they had completely dropped from his mind once he saw Padme running toward him. She looked so small but grew bigger the closer she got.

When she came running, it was clear how easily he left everything. And he ran back to catch her up.

"Anakin!" Aayla called after him, fed up as time continues to tick on them.

"Just a minute!" Anakin said curtly, brushing off all the voices behind him. He ran through the park to his wife. He could hear the wind roaring after him.

Padme held on tightly to him as if she needed him to help her stand up. He stroked her arms, studying her wide eyes and shaken core and a mouth out of breath.

"What's going on? Are you alright?"

"Uhm–" She heard the car engines hissing in the background. "You're about to race?"

He nodded.

"It can wait." She assured, not wanting to sabotage his clear head before he performed, but everything about her trembling body shrieked with fear of unseen confessions.

"Padme, what is it?!" He had that razor-sharp glare, pushing and provoking until he got his way. It was time for straight-talk.

"We'll talk after the race." She gave him a look but his was fiercer. In his mind he had to step in and be the hero to save her from her troubles.

"No. Tell me now." By a warning in his stern voice, she knew he would lay bare every taboo before the world with an instant reign if she continued to veil her thoughts. He was like a child who detested surprises. He had to know everything now. If he can't play saviour, the world would pay for it.

"...I'm pregnant."

The words were distinct in a disoriented experience. Her eyes were soft and fearful. But his fear was the one she worried about. And rightly so. He found himself bombarded with one yelling phrase after another, steaming in his head. Knives in his brain would've hurt less. He was haunted by tired self-talk. The kind of talk that he had only ever defeated temporarily, in moments where he was physically present and mentally asleep. It shuts up when he's driving, fighting, fucking, sleeping.

Left alone with his thoughts, he wondered if he was good enough, responsible enough, capable enough. Sometimes his ego patched up the bruises; other times he was controlled by fear, imprisoned by self-doubt.

He looked back at Padme. Her smile was weak but full, full of life and holy. He then felt a strength shine through. It made his soul reach out and capture snapshots of the future. Many little moments spliced together, honest and evolutive. An honest evolution. He realized right here, worries eclipsed by her smile of radiancies, that despite all of the electric hues of madness, the ragged trails and shock, it was okay...

They would have a child and proudly walk along their journey, even when it's a riot.

Who needs a well-ordered life anyway? Only those who don't dare to dream of magic.

"T-that's great." The words came feeble but earnest when he found out how to breathe again. "That's wonderful!"

"Really?" Relief hung off her words. She placed her hands gently on his chest. "I thought with me losing my job and all you'd be worried about money."

He glanced down at her, almost remorseful. He didn't want her to carry the immensity of their burdens. He wanted her to only experience smooth wonders. Let him worry enough for the both of them. "No, don't worry about that. We're not gonna worry about anything, you hear me?"

She felt comforted as he pulled her to him with loving arms. His whispers print on her forehead as he pressed his lips to her flesh: "We've got ourselves a family."

He lifted her up, valiant and ecstatic. With her thighs clamped around his waist and his arms seizing hers, he twirled her around in dizzy circles. Defying gravity, giggling radically, their union was a light winking at the world.

This was it. All their lives wrapped up in one sentence – We are a family.

You've got the music in you

Don't let go, you've got the music in you

One dance left, this world is gonna pull through

Don't give up, you've got a reason to live

Can't forget, we only get what we give

New Radicals – You Get What You Give