AN:
Cheire – Aw thank you for your lovely reviews as always! You are right about Jango being a sign. That is my favourite part as well when Anakin declines the offer because Padme means more to him. He loves her very much, you're right.
Angie – Thank you very much. Yeah I wanted to parallel that scene. The pregnancy reveal in rots is my favourite scene of them together.
Disgal – Yeah haha one can only hope!
Guest – Thanks, I'm so glad you like his description. I agree, I think Anakin is one of the most interesting, fascinating characters. His psychology is very fun to dive into.
Church Bells
Birds were singing your praise
I'm still recalling things you said
To make me feel all right
I carry them with me today now
"Two very strong heartbeats." Dr Shaak Ti said swaying a hand toward the ultrasound.
"Two?" Anakin's ears pricked, alarmed.
The cold from the transducer had diminished once Padme heard the vibrations of little heartbeats inside her. This was it. She was behind the curtain, ready to take the stage, willing to dive into the deep end. The lights had come on for her.
Anakin was already set on a stage crowded with realism. His expression was whiter than the white room they were in.
"Twins..." He thought out loud.
"Oh my god!" Padme turned to him, cheeks blushing with brightness. Her exuberance bounced off the four walls. She noticed Anakin's eyes heavy beneath his brows.
"I'll give you two a moment." Shaak Ti declared.
"Baby, isn't that exciting?" Padme beamed once the OB GYN disappeared through the doorway.
"It is." Anakin's drooping mouth was almost immovable as he talked. "It is. It's just... "
"What?"
"It's a lot." He cleared his throat anxiously. "Their lives now depend on me... A kid with two kids. I don't know if I'm gonna be any good at this. I don't even know if I like kids. When they're running rampant in a restaurant beside me, I can't deal–"
Padme took his hand in hers. "–Anakin... I'm scared too."
"Yeah?" He muttered. His stage looked completely different to hers. His mind theatre often shouted back to him, the energy, the history, the orchestra. He always had an audience – fear, hate, suffering. They waited for him. But he knew he could never let his weather of moods stop him; he'd never get anything done. He wanted to be alone, perform alone, but they were going to remain backstage with notepads and critiques. Padme made it easier to tune them out.
"Yeah." She assured. That voice was like church bells calling him away from dark thoughts. "I know it's a big responsibility, but we'll figure it out as we go. These babies are a result of our love. And a house filled with love is all that kids need."
He smiled back at her, glad he had her to do this with. And in the silence, he heard his mother's voice in a background of minimal music—a generational wisdom passed down from parent to parent-to-be—giving him a blank page, telling him to embrace the change and tone. He wished she was here now – to guide him. Maybe her grandchildren will inherit her heart.
I wonder why
I feel so high
Though I am not above the sorrow
Heavy-hearted
'Til you call my name
And it sounds like church bells
Or the whistle of a train
On a summer evening
I want to meet you barefoot
Barely breathing
Anakin smoked outside where the hum of traffic seemed distant and car lights undulated the side of the hospital building as they drove passed. In his solitude was the soliloquy in his head. He did so much inside that head of his. He can travel as a different being without taking a step out of place. He can be anything, a dichotomy. But all he wants to be is... without fear.
He held himself with anchors to this town. Every edge, every corner was a bookmark. The ambition of a bright child, the triggers of a teenager...
What remains through all the tribulations was a, faded at times, goal to charge forward. He never gave up. He was holding onto a lifeline with love. He knew he wasn't nowhere. Even when he was carrying his implacable past around on heavy shoulders, he could hear the hopeful voices in the universe. His mother was starlight with a protective plan. He remembered their chess conversations, where they would play over and over again. He could still hear her praises when he set up a chess board. His mother used to let him win. He had never earned anything through work ethic. But she stopped letting him win when he got good at the game. His skill came easy and that didn't help when life was hard. He was a natural and therefore he wanted everything to come naturally. If it didn't, he'd force it.
Short-term gains were unsatisfying in the long run. And it was now that he was about to become a father that this made a little more sense. It wasn't all about him. He was beholden to his family – and that requires a level of sacrifice that offers much more reward in return.
Maybe he needed a little less Jack Kerouac and a little more Joseph Campbell. After all, he and Jack shared too many of the same adolescent cries, shortcomings – craving selfish notions, wanting to be indebted to nothing and no one, desiring everything at once, and treasuring personal goals over community. Keep true to the glowing embers of new horizons, leave everything in your dust and find greener pastures. But at what cost? Joseph Campbell believed in the wisdom he obtained from mythology. He found something deeply unsatisfying about a life with no sacrifice and beholden to no other life.
He then heard a clacking of shoes and the rustle of a skirt, and he knew it was Padme coming to join him. He wanted to talk to her, tell her everything, show some solidarity so she knew he would rise to the challenge even when afraid. No matter how deep or dark the hole, she understood. She was the only one who understood.
"Ready to go?" She asked, pressing a gentle hand on his back.
His glance at her seemed superficial at first, until his words followed. "You see this?" He held up his cigarette and tossed it aside, a final act, an extension of his belief. "That's my last one."
He gave himself the rough push he needed.
"Really?" She looked up at him with great reverence.
"For you. And for them." He murmured as if to himself while putting a hand on her belly, sending the vow from his mouth and through his faithful fingers. He pulled her in for a hug; her hair soft against his cheek. They were tethered to each other, absorbing this new beginning. He knew she'd be a great mother, and their babies would be in the safe hands of a woman who would teach them to have bold, flying dreams.
He feared he had drifted so far away from the man his mother wanted him to be. He didn't want to make a mistake. He didn't want his unresolved trauma to be all he passes on to his children. He didn't want to cower when they needed him most. Fear, again, hides in the smoke of doubt.
The words of Joseph Campbell bounced in his head, an intuitive reminder. "The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek."
As I lay me down to sleep
This I pray
That you will hold me dear
Though I'm far away
I'll whisper your name
Into the sky
And I will wake up happy
Padme sat at the dining table. This was her second attempt at making sourdough bread. She had this calling suddenly on a sunny afternoon to bake bread. Maybe it was the fluttering hearts inside her that inspired her to nest.
Anakin entered the room and noticed Padme's dedication. It made her look serious – her lawyer face contrasted with her relaxed at-home vibe; her hair in a messy bun that rests on the top of her head with loose strands escaping every which way. She wore a deep purple t-shirt of his that looked like a dress on her, and her fingers were flour-covered. She was every inch an angel. He smirked to himself and sat opposite her. "You good?"
She nodded without looking up. Her eyes glued to her task, kneading... kneading away with this new perception. She was making home smell like a home, full of baked goods – each included the most important ingredient: a happy mood.
"Listen, I'm just gonna meet Wald downstairs for a bit, okay? Let me know if you need anything from the store." His palms braced the table, lifting himself up.
"Hmm." Now her forehead lined as she looked closely at the curious soul that is her husband. "Going down for a cigarette?"
"No." He grinned at her squinting at him. "I told you, I'm quitting. You don't believe me?"
She sighed deeply. "You have a way of. . .not staying out of trouble." Her voice was musical even when she held in a sneer.
"Me? Trouble?" His voice soft as he feigned shock, but his smile gave him away. Even on his best behaviour, it sparked with deviance.
Hovering over the dining table between them, he hooked his finger around her t-shirt neckline, where the V-shape connects at the point, and dragged her to him. He glanced down at her breasts, smitten, before tilting his head at an angle to stick his mouth to hers. His tongue played a dangerous game in her mouth, taking, taking her as his, and she was hanging on, mentally pinned down.
She backed away, not falling for it, before he could steal another voluptuous kiss.
This man mimicked the bread she had kneaded, always sliding through with hearty layers, carrying such richness. If the pleasure he brought runs through her fingers so long with legs for days and wings of forever, imagine the heartache he could bring if he ever developed a yin to his yang.
This man... she thought. He is sex and volatility and a renegade.
It was the fun of it. A tantalizing hobby in a bubble of supreme life. They celebrated the little moments, the big moments, all of it. Sometimes, with a stitch of self-deprecating humour. They sang with happiness come rain, snow, or shine. It never snowed here but metaphorically it did—on them—a lot. Not today though. Today they were creating more memories of the two of them before they become a family of four.
It's not too near for me
Like a flower I need the rain
Though it's not clear to me
Every season has its change
And I will see you
When the sun comes out again
Sophie B Hawkins - As I Lay Me Down