AN:

Cheire – Yeah she was too kind :D

Guest 1 – Yeah he's always trying to be that knight in shining armor

Guest 2 – Grievous is cool, I already have plans for him in this story. I picked Dooku because I need his upperclass snobbery for the character.

Slay The Dragon

"What the fuck?!"

Every movement, every word, every breath of Sebulba's was abrupt and grating in the Watto garage where he witnessed the damage that had been done to his prized possession.

Anakin's head and voice sunk low as he spoke haltingly. "I'm sorry, man. We. . .we didn't see him coming."

"What the actual fuck..." Sebulba rounded the car, mumbling in astonishment. His hands hovered in front of him, looking for some proverbial reset button. "24 hours! You couldn't go 24 hours without crashing my car!"

"I said I'm sorry, I... I'll help you fix it."

Sebulba served him a look of disgust. "Fix it? I told you how rare this car is – we can't get the parts around here!"

"Well, we'll find them and have them shipped over. I'll even pay for it." Anakin suggested, loosely swiping a hand in the air.

"Yeah," Sebulba scoffed at him with cold, mechanical eyes. "You can start by selling Artoo."

Anakin's attention froze on those words. It took him a minute to land on his own thoughts. "I'm not doing that... You can take it out of my salary each month."

"Salary? What salary? You're fired."

Anakin tried to think through the shock. Sebulba wouldn't even look up at him. He kept his eyes on the dent of the car. "...What?"

"You're fired!" Sebulba spat.

Anakin's lips parted, speculatively. "I thought we were friends."

Anakin quickly became aware that even at his friendliest, Sebulba was only giving superficial glimpses of an actual relationship. Perhaps Anakin should have known. Sebulba's abraisvenses forced him to see everything as transactional.

"Friends? We were never friends. You're an employee." Sebulba couldn't even let an exhale past the moment before his fist slammed the side of the car. "I fucking made you! Who were you before you came to work for me? A broke farm boy with no prospects, sleeping on your stepbrother's couch. And this is how you repay me–" Sebulba's eyes drifted away from Anakin and sharply honed in on the car. He spotted a pair of underwear on the backseat floor. He lifted the panties with two fingers. Something coarse and ugly and mean shot out of his voice that came right from his chest. "destroying my car to impress your fucking wife?!"

"Fuck you." Anakin snatched Padme's underwear and walked out the door.

But how many corners do I have to turn?

How many times do I have to learn

All the love I have is in my mind?

Padme was lying on the couch when Anakin got home. A picture of innocence and patience and wisdom – before it is lost. She was relaxed as ever. He almost didn't want to tell her. They had been doing a good job through all the struggle of romanticizing the future, believing in their eventual success, even with all its holes they can't fill. He had no answers right now. How to bridge the gap between the life they are aiming for and the one they keep drilling into the ground.

"How did it go?" She asked

Anakin sat down with her, and she stretched her legs out on his lap. He rubbed her thigh in a back and forth motion to comfort himself as much as her.

"He fired me."

"What?!" Padme sat up straight in a flash. "Over an accident?"

"Yup." Anakin kept his voice low. It was the only way to stop his own frustrations boiling over.

"But. . .did you tell him we'd pay half – I'd even ask my parents for a loan!"

"I told him. I told him he could take it out of my salary. . .but he wanted me gone. He told me to sell Artoo."

"You're not going to do that." She warned but he started to look doubtful. Maybe it was his time to pay the piper.

"It makes no difference now."

She grabbed his face, leveling with him. "It's his loss."

"Padme–" He groaned, wanting her to stop with the flattery. It was too much to live up to. But she ignored his grumbling and forced him to face her. She wasn't going to let whatever happened with Sebulba steal more of his light than it already had.

"–No, really. What's he going to do without you?"

"Now he's got the ultimate race car, he believes he can get anyone else." Anakin's voice went dull with exhaustion.

"They're not you." She said firmly. No matter how much he sulked, she wouldn't budge. Something about her reassurance kept his heart fluttering fast like hummingbird wings even when they were too tired, too afraid to fly.

He offered a faint smile and squeezed her hand. And she noticed that was all the effort he had for now. She looked down at their hands. He hadn't let go. Despite everything, he was holding on to her very tightly. He was telling her something. And she remembered what it meant. His fear of loss had thrown him in this state of quiet. The night at the Old Green Park zipped through her memory. He lost something today, which meant his mind was probably tricking him into believing it was only a matter of time until it leads to a domino effect. One loss, one fear sets off another, a chain reaction.

"I'm sorry." She squeezed his hand tighter, letting him know she's right here. "I know how much those races mean to you."

The reassurance of her hand felt like relief. "It's okay. I have you." His words were warm but fading.

She began brushing the hair that was a little too long behind his ears. The soothing strokes were mind-altering. "I'll take care of you."

With her fingers curled around his t-shirt, she pulled him down to her. He gazed at her from her eyes to her mouth with pining eyes, pining for the escape, for the chance to be entangled in each other's souls. He moved closer to her mouth, closed his eyes and whispered, "Forever?"

"Forever." She murmured and he pressed his lip to hers. Suffering never tasted so sweetly. It felt like they kept sabotaging themselves. Yet her kisses make him forget and find himself in her, who he calls home.

His kisses grew opportunistic... foraging for what sensations diminish pain. They are good at this, remembering the good stuff, popping on the rose-coloured glasses as they search for the bond. There's bliss in the midst of the abyss.

He groaned into her mouth, quenching a longing when he swept a hand down the sides of her body. He was like an artist. Always torturing himself. And for what? For the art of racing? For romance? Most would record the sorrows, questions, fears of their egos on film, write them out in a journal, photograph them, paint them... He'd just memorize how it all feels, deeply, then suppress it all until it eats him from the inside. He'd inevitably act out eventually. But she's here, making him feel and act like the hero of his own story.

The scent of their love lingered as they breathed in more kisses. He kept his hands and mind busy, on her, engaging only with what clings him to happiness. This fantasy, where there is no thinking to be done. She was happy to see that the hurt and disappointment written on his face earlier began to waver. It takes away so much of his innocence. Because if there was one thing she found irresistible, it was his determination to feel alive.

So ridiculously, irrationally, desperately alive. And it aroused something in her every time.

One more hungry kiss and they would've lost their heads – but they were interrupted, snapped out of the spell of urgent desire.

"What was that?" His eyes narrowed toward the little space he created between their torsos.

Padme let out a breathy chuckle, their faces still hot and their hearts pulsating. "I think one of the babies just kicked!"

A slew of exhales left his smiling lips as he felt tiny thundering under the palm of his hand when he touched her belly.

"Perfect." The tip of his nose brushed against hers before they shared a more profound kiss.

Happiness, more or less

It's just a change in me, something in my liberty

Oh, my, my

Happiness, coming and going

I watch you look at me, watch my fever growing

I know just where I am

Anakin heard the squeaking and shutting of the front door from the bedroom. Padme had just arrived home that evening and he knew she was heading his way from the clatter of her heels on the tiles. Anakin was a sight she was more than happy to come home to – he lied there, shirtless, his head propped up against both of their pillows and he had an old, worn-out novel in one hand. He wore his hair in its usual, perfectly disheveled look.

"Hey! How was your evening with Dorme?"

Padme knelt up on the mattress beside him with an upbeat, affable grin. "Good. I. . .sold my car to a friend of hers."

"What?" Anakin sat upright. "You sold the BMW?"

"Yeah." She blurted it out so effortlessly.

"Padme–" He placed his open book faced down on his thigh. "Why would you do that without telling me?"

"Because you'd try to talk me out of it."

He gave her a disapproving look. She was turning into him. Using his excuses. Not sure he liked it very much.

"But," His frustrations soughed out of him. "You love that car – it's your car!

"I don't have a strange attachment to my vehicles like you." She smirked. "Besides, we've already got Artoo and Threepio – or what's left of him."

He remained silent. And she knew it was at an enormous cost. She was certain that the fight with Sebulba would have the set off the dragon. The dragon in him that fed off the hell within him. It was difficult to slay the dragon. Sometimes, it even hurt to conquer it, sever the ties to familiar feelings and quick responses that were rarely well thought out. Sometimes, his anger was even comforting for him.

She was proud of how well he was handling it, but she worried there was a lot more going on in his mind than he was willing to share. He was trying to bandage the scar that loss leaves behind. Maybe he would even try to fool her that he had already gotten past it. He'd survive it by dancing it away with her. But in reality it would be suppressed until it burned. And then it'd be too late. It'll come flooding back with a vengeance to remind him that he hadn't let it heal, he'd just been sleeping through it. Or worse, he was picking at it in all the wrong ways, never letting it go. He'd anesthetize what he can't handle – the stresses and anxieties of life – with false bandaids the instant ego provides.

He craved more. More than the life he was handed. He wanted to be happy. He wanted the fire within to settle down. The former was clearly affecting the latter. Or perhaps it's the other way around.

"Look, even if you don't say it, I see how hard it is for you, losing your job at the races. And I'm sure it's hard enough without adding the money factor into the mix. So, I just wanted to take some of the stress away."

Her voice was disarming, and it quickly became obvious that all he needed to be happy was her. It was always her.

"You. . .are an angel." His fingers found their way in her hair as he pulled her close. He planted his lips on her cheeks, her eyelids, her nose, painting his love through each kiss like an artist to his muse.

They lied down together. Her head rested on his chest that heaved slower and slower with potential for peace. Now he would finally relax. He kissed the top of her head, and for a moment it seemed like the calm had finally settled in that heart of his.

He tipped her chin up, craning his neck back to look at her. And he threw her off when his soft features began to shine with deviance. His mouth followed the path to hers. "I'm going to eat you up."

He rolled over her and tickled her. If this was her punishment for going behind his back, she was completely fine with it. The drama of their life alone was rather interesting, seductive, and eternally safeguarding them in their solitude. Now time could stand still and be put to good use. Her girlish giggle was smooth and satisfying. And their grinning faces came together again; his tongue whispered a command and she obeyed with her open mouth.

Well, I'm a lucky man

With fire in my hands

I got a love that never dies

I got a love that'll never die, no, no

The Verve - Lucky Man