AN:

Ivy – Yeah Sebulba is a dick. I know it's hard not to worry, but try not to! :D

Cheire – lol thanks. Yeah I like the drama (in stories, not in my life haha) :D it's normal if a story takes you inside the protagonist's mind that you want him to succeed in the end. But I don't see Padme as a helpless wife, but I do know some will probably not like my depiction. The general consensus among Star Wars fans is they want to see more of Padme's warrior side like in TPM and AOTC rather than the wife side in ROTS, but I never agreed with that. I love seeing it all; seeing Padme prioritize marriage and motherhood, I think it was a necessary layer to add to her character. So I want to show this stage of her life, dealing with pregnancy in hard times.

Guest 1 - Thank you very much. I do love him a lot (until they changed him :( Not fun for us psychology lovers) Yeah I think Anakin putting Padme on a pedestal has him putting a lot of pressure on himself. But yeah we can't glorify Anakin's chaoticism as you said :D I agree about Obi-Wan and Padme, too, being a symbol of virtue/wisdom.

Guest 2 - Haha! Hold that thought! Yeah Anakin hasn't felt needed, that's true. Kinda sweet and heart wrenching at the same time.

Angie – Yeah Sebulba assaulting someone, especially a pregnant woman proves he couldn't sink any lower. Anakin's punch was quite satisfying :D Padme let the driver go. As for Sebulba, I doubt he can't afford to fix the car; from his dialogue with Anakin, he just wants to make Anakin pay. He's vindictive. And yes, Anakin and Padme need to make some changes before the twins arrive. Anakin is definitely forced to think about that now.

Psychedelic Nightmare

Sebulba blinked through watery eyes, a stinging redness, feeling the rising purple bump on the bridge of his nose. Still in shock, he could barely see another hit coming as Anakin stormed through the living room, defying every thought that spun his vision.

"You fucking laid a hand on my wife?!"

Sebulba could hear the vibrations of Anakin's one track mind as he roared, taking the opening, a mission. His fist came punching through the air a second time, avenging his wife's assault.

This hit almost made Sebulba topple over, but as he drifted back, he shook it off and garnered his own strength. Anakin's temper triggered his own, it resonated deep. Everything could be settled with fists according to men whose ability to reason had turned into useless wisps of smoke, so he balled his own fist. Knocking Anakin back, Sebulba stood with his head held high. Anakin only stumbled for a second before quickly wiping any blood away with the back of his hand. Physical attacks were defeatable, meaningless taunts and no longer registered in his psyche.

Sebulba knew this. He knew how to get to Anakin. Anakin probably enjoyed the fighting part, getting physical. It was mental attacks that pushed Anakin over the edge. Anakin had a lot more discipline with his fists than his mind. His war was always a war of the mind. So, Sebulba craftily let his snaky, sleazy words spill out. "You scratched my ride. I scratched yours."

The rage-filled rampage began to swirl inside Anakin like the pressure of a volcano ripping out of him. He smashed Sebulba down onto the glass coffee table. Sebulba fell back, and little pieces of glass surrounded him, carving his outline, along with a gash in his arm. The fight had now spread to the open floor as both men swung blindly. One's target was one's defeat. They had taken their anger out on each other in every way. They weren't even human anymore. They were animals with blurred minds and battle cries; their punches carried the remnants of their fury, which showed through red skin, white scars, cut lips going pink and red with blood.

Anakin couldn't be stopped. Face flushed and head ringing. It was hard not to be reactive when his anger was knocking around in his head. He punched repeatedly until his hands stung and his knuckles were scraped. But Sebulba grabbed the nearest vase and caught Anakin on the head with it, finally managing to push him off. Sebulba landed on his toes while Anakin cradled his head, standing up slowly.

In the midst of the distraction, Sebulba pulled out a drawer and grabbed a gun, aiming it at Anakin, who was about to charge at him again. The pistol forced Anakin's heels to skim the ground to halt.

"Stay right there!" Sebulba growled, out of breath, his arm shaking but never lowering. "Ever since she came into your life, you've changed. We were so fucking close to having it all! We had the car, we were gonna make it big! And now you've thrown it all away. So you're going to pay me back every cent... Or you better watch your back. I got a whole Hutt army working for me now!"

Anakin sighed hopelessly, about to turn and walk away. He should. He absolutely should. But he knows how these things work. If there's a Hutt target on your back, you might as well be dead. So, like a flash of lightning, Anakin surprisingly spun back around, twisting Sebulba's arm and stealing the gun off him.

Now the tables had turned, Sebulba was facing the barrel of the gun.

"Here's the way it's going to be." Anakin's voice was rough against his own exhales. "You're gonna drop the debt and if you so much as look Padme's way again, I'll come back and finish you off."

Sebulba's expression changed, from petty to personal, fearing for his life. He swallowed hard. "Fine! Consider us even." Sebulba watched as Anakin gradually began to lower the gun from his face. Seb was just about to let his own breath sag out of him when he noticed a demented, dark flicker of chaos in Anakin's eyes. Sebulba knew that look. It meant Anakin had gone to the dark place. Mad, manic, careless.

"Actually," Anakin sounded tired. Tired of preserving anger like a collector. How much anger can one man collect? How much longer will he be the duelist in both mind and heart? The image of Sebulba's hands on his pregnant wife gathered up like an insult in his chest, exploding through the vein in his arm, to his finger on the trigger. "I changed my mind."

The sound of a bullet shot. A curious silence. Sebulba was merely an object on the ground, the bullet now an item pierced in his forehead.

Swirling inside Anakin was familiar realms, a psychedelic nightmare that he has had before. Except it is no dream. A rolled-up carpet wraps around a heavy, lifeless man.

To his right is a dug grave and to his left is a shovel. He is not crying this time. The first time he watched Mr Dooku's face vanish under piles and piles of sand, his tears made little marks in the soil. The second time, he divulged in the predictable patterns of shock rippling within, passing through iridescent moods and leading to hatred. Miraj and the sand were one and the same: a chronic reminder of what he has buried inside him, in the ground beneath him.

His hands shifted body parts, his feet took him down dusty trails, and by the end he exudes nothing but apathy.

He doesn't feel it anymore. It's not going to keep him up the way it once did. Before he expected not to sleep well, not to think well. This time, though, he didn't carry the same pain, the same guilt. The death of compassion is a slow one. You don't even feel it leaving. You barely remember it healing you. It becomes repressed and banned. And you ravage your conscience until it is nothing more than a layer of your soul you now live without.

Anakin headed back to Artoo parked behind these secretive hills. He lifted open the trunk, placing the shovel inside. But sparkling ostentatiously over the nylon mat was Sebulba's flashy, brassy ring.

I see a line of cars and they're all painted black

With flowers and my love, both never to come back

I see people turn their heads and quickly look away

Like a newborn baby, it just happens every day

Anakin came home and the sight made Padme jump out of her chair. His skin pale, coloured only with the look of battle scars and reckless indifference. His hair in disarray - more than usual. Skin scratched and neglected.

"Are you alright?" Padme rushed over, examining the state he was in. Her pleading hands with French manicured nails gripping his mud-splattered t-shirt. She was frustrated and imploring. "Anakin, why did you have to go there and fight him? We have a case! We can send him to jail for fraudulence! There is a better way!"

"Padme, your way doesn't work!" Anakin snapped.

He stepped away as his roughened features clawed through, accompanied by a voice deeper than normal. He saw it in her eyes, what he expected as he drove home listening to the wind whistling along the window's curved opening. He felt he was the one on trial. Her eyes confront him, even if she didn't realize it. Her eyes will one day convict him if she ever knew the truth.

He knew he'd better take a second to cool off. He didn't want to lose his temper. "I'm sorry... But it just doesn't. You go to the police, you go to court, and I can assure you the officer you talk to, the judge assigned to your case can be bought or blackmailed. Sebulba has probably assaulted twenty girls; he is fully protected by the Hutts now. And they know everything about everyone. This was the only punishment Sebulba was going to get."

I look inside myself and see my heart is black

I see my red door, I must have it painted black

Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts

It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black

Anakin came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, giving his damp hair a shake with his fingers to dry off. He could only imagine what Padme was thinking as she remained on the couch. She didn't like him fighting. She was tired of the 'eye for an eye' approach. She was puzzled by the world's obsession with demeaning the high road. While others pray for superficial traits: wealth, looks, power, she prayed for kindness. Even the best intellectuals had to admit kindness was not an expected societal behaviour, yet.

As Anakin got closer, he saw her dialing a number. Rather unfriendly, he asked, "What are you doing?"

Padme didn't look up. "Calling Dorme." She had promised to call her before everything got side-tracked.

"Don't tell her." Anakin's words were defined, sharply and quietly, as he took the phone out of her hand. He knew Padme would be disappointed. He didn't want her to feel like he was hiding her experience away, but he panicked. He couldn't have Dorme gossiping to her and the two women's investigative minds leading each other astray... If Dorme knew Anakin fought with Sebulba, she wouldn't hesitate to point the finger at him if his death was ever discovered. More importantly, it would put Padme in danger.

And as far as Anakin was concerned, Sebulba had to pay for what he did to Padme. And he had to be around in case anything else were to happen to her.

"Anakin–" Padme groaned. He never trusts anyone.

"I'm just trying to keep you safe. Talking about it with her might attract attention."

Padme stood up, setting an example in her tone for exactly how she expected them to behave. There was pure defiance in her decision. "Anakin, I'm not going to hide from Sebulba."

"Just. . .trust me. You gotta let me protect you." He held out his hand, offering her phone back. She couldn't be swept away by another protection claim. He had nothing left to convince her with, just begging eyes and a softer voice. Hopefully she'd see that, in his heart, he wanted to protect them.

The morning had Anakin sitting up in bed, watching Padme's sleek coils fall over her pillow. Her silken skin soft when he touched her cheek. She looked so peaceful when she slept. He wanted her to feel that peaceful when she awoke and never doubt him.

He was torn with the battle in his heart. His poor decision-making. He is the loneliest man in the world. His split-soul incongruous. He is a fighter who dies alone at night and is reborn alone the morning after. His demons feel like home now. He got used to them.

Even with her beside him, he is still alone. He is lost. He can't let her see the role he plays behind the curtain. She is too good for that man. The man she believes in and the man he has to be to protect her is what will always feed the battle in his heart. The duelists strike again.

Her eyes fluttered open. He didn't notice at first; his mind was miles up in the emptiness of the sky. One cloud passing another like a screensaver in his head. It was her touch, a hand sliding across his torso that brought him back safely.

He looked into her eyes. A weakness mingled with his gaze. "You should take the job in Coruscant."

Her head shot up. "Why?"

His eyes left hers, slipping down the duvet of shell designs.

"This is no place for a real childhood. You and the twins, you deserve more... To get out of this town... Start fresh."

Padme pulled herself up to rest against the headboard, looking at him barefaced and sensitively. "Together?"

He looked at the heart-shaped curve of her face, the longing in her rounded, golden eyes, and all he wanted to do was stay in it. In her big, bright brown eyes. Stay exactly where they started, young and hopeful. How could she doubt him? He would go wherever she went. She was his philosophy. Every original thought he had led to her.

He took her dainty hand and brought it to his lips. "Of course." Pulling her to him, he snuck a coy hand into her hair, another admired the lace of her nightgown, keeping her close in a committed embrace.

"What about Obi-Wan? Ahsoka? Your entire life is here."

"It's with you." His hand moved to her stomach. His eyes on her, dangerously perceptive. He could go to some dark places and they're often painful. But she always stabilized him. Padme was practical, natural. She had a way of harmonizing with the world. An organic way to create peace around herself. It was a superpower he didn't have. He would get war-like and mechanical. It was his default setting.

Sometimes he wondered whether it was him or the town that was the problem. He just couldn't do what she did. She adds to the world she is in with whimsy. She sprinkles some fairy dust... Or whatever she did to make life a purposeful labour of love. You better the world by bettering yourself.

He struggles. He wants to shape the world to suit him. To have it bend to him. Every cell in his body is provocative and demanding.

And then life happens...

Reminding him he is held captive in some way... Mother nature is cruel, and defying her comes at a price.