AN:

Cheire - Yeah there's a storm coming... I know, Padme being jealous is a fun change.

Guest 1 - Haha yeah the team jedi tribe is very small these days :D

Guest 2 - Exactly, Anakin has been neglectful lately. Yeah Anakin means different things but I love the Sanskrit one for this. Never heard of the goddess one though lol

Angie - Yup for Anakin and Padme, the tables have turned. He should not lose himself though and include her as you said. And that's exactly right, Palpatine wants Padme out of the way.

The Voice Within

Blue jeans, white shirt
Walked into the room, you know you made my eyes burn
It was like James Dean for sure
You're so fresh to death and sick as cancer
But you fit me better than my favorite sweater
And I know that love is mean

Padme stood behind an armchair in a white t-shirt dress, fresh out of a bath. The cotton fabric loosely hugged her belly and exposed her legs shifting her weight, taking turns to be tucked behind the other. Her damp hair waved past her shoulders and her intimate makeup-free face beseeched him.

"Ani, let's go out tonight. Take me dancing!"

Anakin was standing in front of a mirror fiddling with his tie. "You know I can't tonight, baby. I've got a meeting." He looked over at her lashes lowered to the linoleum tiles. He made his way to her to settle burning complaints that would sprawl up to the sun if he didn't. "We'll do something fun on the weekend, okay? I promise."

She took it upon herself to fix his tie for him, straighten him out with fairly forceful fingers. "It's your birthday on the weekend. We're supposed to have a party."

"Ugh no, no party. Nothing big. Let's just do something small – just the two of us, a simple dinner." He gently tapped her nose with a fondness before reaching for his keys.

Her hands pushed off the armchair and whined, "Anakin... I want to get out of the house. Out of these clothes... I want to feel like a lady again."

"Why don't you call Mon? Do something fun with her tonight."

"Mon has a toddler at home; she can't just get up and go!" She didn't mean to lash out. She wanted to be understanding. He's busy, he's working hard... But she was at the end of her rope with the late nights and neglect. All she had left to give was volcanic.

Besides, Padme wanted to feel feminine tonight, treated with dignity, engrossed in romance among the stars... That's what he used to do for her.

His face dropped to his shoulder. He didn't want to disappoint her. "Tell you what," His dizzying fingers came to her chin, tilting her face up so she'd have to look into those overwhelming eyes. "This weekend, you get all dressed up. . .and I'll take you dancing... " His lips brushed against hers with his light words. "I'm all yours all night long."

He wandered behind her and the sweet rush of honey shampoo assailed him. She could feel his exhales on her nape but she wouldn't turn around. Her bare feet took turns to stretch the back of her toes as her body swayed, drawing his eye. She moved away before he could touch her.

He then jerked her around, evoking a gasp of surprise from her mouth that betrayed her in her quest to not let him off the hook. His hands intrinsically moved to her sides to keep her close. "Come here." He drawled, pulling her in for a dance, a force binding them together. His temple against hers, cheeks touching, hands gliding down to grip her hips, refusing to release her from the tumultuous, passionate energy. And she had to admit it felt good to be desired, loved, and chosen by him.

His lips traced hers whichever way her face turned, chasing a kiss, reminding her that he will chase until he catches. His tongue slipped in her mouth, his desire awakening hers.

And then he left for work, leaving her floating in the aftermath.

I will love you 'til the end of time
I would wait a million years
Promise you'll remember that you're mine
Baby, can you see through the tears?
Say you'll remember

At work, Anakin was looking for something that would prove Palpatine was right about Gunray's intentions. His boss was convinced that Gunray had some convoluted plan to put Palpatine out of business. And it was Anakin's job to find dirt on Gunray before that happened, a task proving to be more and more futile.

He shoved office supplies to the side with a frustrated forearm and his head thudded against the surface of the desk. "I know I'm missing something."

His head rested on its left side, he couldn't lift it. The weight of indelible hassles tired his body before his brain. It was difficult to install himself in the seeds of a company, grow with it, and then try to hose it off by the end of a workday. The residue had made a home in his mind with whatever's left.

He heard a chair rolling back as Ventress got up from her seat. And the click-clacking of her high heels across the floor signaled that she was getting closer. Then she was overhead, not to shade but to enlighten. She approached him with the one thing that always made her stress fade away.

Jutting out from her fingers at a far too appealing angle was a cigarette.

"That's why I say it's impossible to keep a level head in this job without a little pick-me-up." She skimmed the cigarette over his lips as he laid his head. His surly eyes saw her and everything else sideways, afraid to touch the tides that shouldn't turn. Temptation tugging at him, washing him away.

She placed the tip of the cigarette in his mouth and the lighter to its end. He found himself taking in a puff as the flame, the flash suffused in his dilated pupils. He inhaled with little puffs until the end sparked completely with the color of fire yellow. What made him feel sick at heart quickly curved his lips. He held the cigarette between two fingers after a drag and lifted his head off the desk with a smirk.

"Oh fuck yes." He stretched himself back up against the chair, closed his eyes and groaned as the ceremony of smoke cleared his head.

Ventress rhythmically dragged her nail along the lighter in her hand. "Welcome to the dark side."

"Honey, I'm home. Just gonna change." Anakin called out as he went to change out of his suit.

Padme, who was in the bathroom, followed him into the bedroom. The sweet, long, late afternoon backlit her husband buttoning up a more casual shirt for their date night. The weekend had come and as promised, for his birthday, they would dine and dance.

The scent she breathed in was at odds alongside her aromatic essential oils burning through cinnamon incense sticks. Her nose crinkled. "Have you been smoking?"

With his back turned, imbued with a sense of guilt, Anakin's jaw flexed. "No."

"Why do I smell cigarette smoke?"

Anakin's lips parted. He couldn't bear to tell the lie. "...Ventress smokes in the office sometimes."

"That's a little rude."

"It's fine." Anakin turned around. His ambushed eyes widened at the sight of the desirous red dress that limned her body, her grace. "Wow, you look..."

He was smitten with every step that narrowed the distance between them. All his nerves came together to fixate on the satin fabric that moved against him as he urged her closer. Her sensual skin knocked him off balance as his hands coasted up the length of her arms.

She pressed her hands to his hard pecs. "Like the dress?"

A satisfied groan replaced what was supposed to be his nod in agreement.

She took his hand under her dress, an invitation guiding him to her red panties to match. That same satin stole his sanity. He already lacked some discipline since the day he took a cigarette from Ventress. He could hardly sustain a sense of self-control now. His lips flew to her neck. A hankering to taste her. It had been so long since they had any quality time.

"Anakin, we're going to be late." A moan helplessly oozed out of her as his hard breaths hit the side of her neck.

"What if. . .we're a little late?" He straightened up and puffed for breath – she was so little in height, and her face tipped up to look into his languished eyes wanting more. He leaned in to take more and she felt so wanted by his mouth. And she wanted it so badly too – his mouth on her. She felt untied and unwrapped as his slow tongue and hands carry her in a head-swiveling kiss.

"It is your birthday, after all." Her voice came out high, shaky, breathless. She was in drenched in trembles and shivers, all delicious and entangled in his arms. She was fine with being late. She wanted him to claim her like he used to; she craved the touch of his hands as his tense bicep brushed against the side of her breast. The sensations were sex and fun and sensitive.

He was grasping onto the soft curves of his woman for dear life, ready to take her, throw her onto the bed so she couldn't escape desire. So he did. With the force of his arms that she loved, he took her with fury, and she encouraged it with her mouth and hands responding to the madness, surrendering to the same exaltations.

He laid her down on the bed and her legs spread wantonly for him. He practically threw himself on her; he did not think, talk, or make love within the lines. He colored her with wildness. Bodies so pliable and pining and pulsing with heat. Everywhere his lips touched sent her into an aroused frenzy. Her fingernails almost scratching through his cotton shirt to pull it off him as their hands ran wild.

Then his phone rang. A jolt to the spine with its grating loudness. He told her to ignore it. His kisses are needy and tenacious, tracing over her cheek, her chin, her throat. His face pressed in between the fullness of her breasts. He let out an involuntary groan that became an almost threatening growl of desperation. Her dress rode high as her legs hooked around him, and his denim jeans were pleasantly rough against her inner thighs. She needed this. She needed him. She couldn't wait any longer.

The phone rang a second time. He wondered how urgent a call it was, but his mind quickly returned to her pulling at his shoulders to come down to her. Finally, his hands were where they needed to be. After unzipping his jeans, those hands, almost angrily, dragged her panties to the side.

Like a headache throbbing suddenly at the base of their skulls, that abrading noise of his phone screeched through them a third time.

With a huff of aggravation, Anakin decided to answer the third call, thinking it had to be important if the caller wouldn't let it go. He was knelt up between Padme's legs, both aching, teetering as unmet needs heaped up around them. His voice hoarse as he answered.

"What is it, Ventress?"

Padme bit the inside of her cheek at the sound of that woman's name.

"Seriously? Where are you? Alright. Don't move."

Padme's head lifted at that, as Anakin hung up the phone and belted up. "You're leaving?" Padme's question was more of an imminent threat.

He stared at Padme's lips swollen from their ferocious kisses – once rosy, now a shadow was casting them by the sharpening of her pronounced cheekbones.

"I'm so sorry." He began, tormented by the look on her face, but Padme raised a hand, already rejecting his excuse. "But she's with Gunray's ex-assistant at a bar right now. This is the smoking gun."

Padme shook her head away from him as he bent down to repent with affection.

"The night is not over. I'll get back as soon as I can." He tried to wear her down with a kiss. The first one didn't work, the second was a little better. But when his mouth drew away from hers, all the heat he tried to salvage from their earlier encounter was replaced by feelings of frigid jealousy and a disrupted life. Anakin was true to history, following the footwork of Clovis' excuses. Right on cue. First it's a party, then it's a meeting. Now an emergency.

The night, and maybe even the life, she had been waiting for was tucked away with lust and let-downs and anger, as her husband left it all behind.

You went out every night and, baby, that's alright
I told you that, no matter what you did, I'd be by your side
'Cause I'm a ride or die whether you fail or fly
Well, shit, at least you tried
But when you walked out that door, a piece of me died
Told you I wanted more, that's not what I had in mind
I just want it like before, we were dancing all night
Then they took you away, stole you out of my life
You just need to remember

One week later, certain deadlines Palpatine had weren't being met. He had called Ventress in to see if she had anything to report on in particular. In the stately office, Ventress slouched back in her seat. She had a way of looking unsatisfied all the time, indifferent, uninterested. Palpatine liked that about her. You had to take your time to suss her out. Give so much thought to every little gesture she made. And if anyone ever did figure her out as he did, she'd fear them – for it meant that they could outsmart her lessons learned.

Palpatine's forearms braced the desk in front of him. "How's it going with Anakin?"

"Fine." Ventress glanced at her fingernails, thinking they could use a little maintenance. She seemed to be severing herself from the discussion. And Palpatine noticed every subtle cue. The way her eyes didn't look up, the way her fingers trembled slightly.

"Just fine? Things are moving rather slowly, Ventress. What's the hold-up?"

Ventress seemed to cower at that. She found it difficult to string an answer together as she sat with self-division and something regrettable. Her mind was dug six feet under the sea. It felt like it had gone under for a while.

There were miles of silence since he last spoke, so she had to come out and say it. "You do realize if we go through with this, you're basically corrupting an innocent man."

Palpatine gave a quick indrawn breath. "If you knew what he was capable of, you wouldn't call him that." He stood to view the evergreen privacy of the garden just outside his office window. It looked tiny from up here. The fallen blooms alerted him to the fact that he had no time for a faux pas.

Her teeth dragged over her bottom lip. "He's not like us, Sheev. He's a family man."

"I'm a family man." He said with his back to her still, so Ventress joined him by the window.

"He's a good person for the most part. We're confusing him. We're taking advantage." She said with shame.

Palpatine gave her a look, violating, suspecting her of weakness. And he spoke with a tone so effortlessly harsh. He could make words sound meaner than they were. Using such little volume and strategically placed dramatic pauses, cruel and dignity-stealing. "Oh don't go all soft on me now, Asajj."

Padme was officially on maternity leave. She had her morning coffee with the sunrise and was more than ready to make her daily chores fun, accompanied by Motown music on the record player. The first noise heard though was far from motivational soul pop songs. It was a knock on the door.

It was her chatty colleague, Jar Jar Binks. Except he wasn't here for work. He was here to hand her a gift bag from Anakin. Well, it looked like a gift. But after Jar Jar had left and she opened it, it was much, much worse.

It was an expensive, beautiful gold necklace. Or a disappointing message that he will be home late again tonight. An apology in a gift bag. Hollow. To her, this was not an offering of sentimental value like the wooden pendant she wore around her neck. No. This was all the pitfalls, the obscurities, the abysms, empty gestures, soulless characters piled together.

She felt taken for granted. She longed to return to her happier self, and she needed him to return to himself. They'd be wiser for it.

She returned to her chores instead, changing the song list, a kind of therapy as she tended to the laundry. A delay in the misery, to show no feeling. She collected items of clothing from the basket to place in the washing machine. The heavy load overflowing out of her arms, and out of Anakin's denim jeans pocket, something rolled out onto the ground.

A second of sincere suspense as she looked down, dropping the pile of clothes on the floor. An involuntary emotion lurched at her. Gravity pulled her to her knees to pick up a full cigarette pack.

A bleak, ominous chillness raced down her throat, leaving fear in her stomach, as the voice within told her: He's a liar.

Big dreams, gangsta
Said you had to leave to start your life over
I was like, "No, please, stay here
We don't need no money, we could make it all work"
But he headed out, said he'd come home
I stayed up waiting, anticipating and pacing
But he was chasing paper
Caught up in the game

Lana Del Rey - Blue Jeans