Warm, gentle sunlight bled through thick curtains and shone across Padmé's face, stirring the reluctant Senator awake. Groaning, she buried her face deeper into the soft, pliant give of her pillow, damning the internal body clock created from years of gruelling early starts, often before sunrise. This meant that even on the exceedingly rare occasions she was allowed to sleep in and laze in bed, she just couldn't. Heartbreakingly awake, Padmé stubbornly kept her eyes squeezed shut if only to deny the sun her consciousness a little longer in retaliation for its brightness.
For the first time in months, the Senate was closed – and would be until the end of the New Year's festivities too! Padmé had no meetings scheduled, no bills to redraft and absolutely no obligations… She'd been rather looking forward to sleeping the whole morning away.
She should have known better than to hope…
Beginning so early meant Christmas Day was guaranteed to last forever without the usual delicious distractions of gifts, decorations and an elaborate dinner to enjoy. There wasn't anywhere she had to be, or really anywhere Padmé could be, save for the empty confines of her own apartment. Since Anakin was still away on Dantooine, she hadn't even bothered to procure the services of her usual catering droids today. What was the point? She could think of many things she'd rather do than endure an indulgent spread all on her own.
Like drink, maybe? Padmé might not have stores of ingredients in her kitchen, but stars, she did have wine. And it was Christmas! What better time to revel in a party for one?
Surrendering her battle for extra sleep, Padmé let her eyes drag open as she tried to summon the motivation to rise. What was she going to do today? Binge-watch a few holo-dramas? Order some extremely un-Christmasy takeout? Spend a whole day on her languishing on her sofa as the hours crawled by? Maybe she'd start by enjoying her morning caff out on the veranda. The fresh, powdery snow-effect would be freshly laid and a small taste of home. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend, for a few precious seconds, that she was on Naboo, enjoying Christmas the way she used to as a girl.
Skating across frozen lakes with Sola, pelting their father with snowballs and running for their very lives afterwards, being bundled into soft, warm blankets by their mother after a day of ice-cold fun. All of that felt like another lifetime. Like she was viewing another person's memories rather than her own. She often wondered if Jobal and Ruwee still partook in all of those winter enjoyments, recreating those memories with Ryoo and Pooja while they were young enough to value the innocent joys of Christmas.
She missed that magic now and then. The routines and excitement and familiarity of home, of her family all gathering under one roof for several days and shutting out the rest of the galaxy. All year Padmé looked forward to that handful of days where it had felt like as long as they were together, nothing was insurmountable. Regardless of how busy or distant her work as the former Senator of Naboo's apprentice, they would always have Christmas. At least until a certain someone came into her life and shattered all that into a million pieces.
Giving herself a mental shake, she tried to contain the gutting fog of nostalgia away in the back of her mind where it belonged. The rational, less emotional parts of her mind saw no reason to spend the whole day mourning what was long gone, but some small traitorous part of her heart still ached for the yesterdays of her life and loathed the today.
Firmly slamming all those feelings behind a locked doorway in her mind, Padmé let her bleary eyes finally adjust to the morning light. Something felt… off. Not wrong, but not quite right either. Like a song played a fraction too slowly or a shadow that shouldn't have been there lingering against a wall.
Speaking of walls. They were missing the collection of artwork Padmé had curated across the years, blank where her pieces should be hanging. But how? The Senator was fairly certain that everything was in place when she settled in bed last night – she couldn't have possibly slept through everything falling… Could she?
And where was the armchair which usually sat against the wall? Her breath hitched and her breath started coming out a little too fast as her pulse began to race wildly. Swallowing hard, her throat suddenly felt very dry, Padmé had to admit something was very, very wrong. Just as she reached for the top drawer of her bedside table, where her trusty blaster awaited use, every inch of her body froze in place. Her blood froze in her veins, frosting into pure ice. Her brain throbbed as she began to question the very reality around her.
When did the walls of her bedroom morph from the cool pale blue she'd chosen years ago?
And why were there old holo-graphs of her time volunteering as a teenager hanging on the walls in place of her decoration?
Realisation slammed into her like the shockwave of an exploding starship – sudden, unstoppable and leaving no room to breathe as it tore through her defences. This wasn't her apartment.
Small, distressed noises slipped from her agape mouth as she noticed the frozen beauty outside a small window, thick snow blanketed the vast mountainous view. Instead of an endless trail of rushing skytraffic, small birds sang from frozen tree branches. Her widening eyes dragged across the room, quickly cataloguing the older furniture and a lifetime of trinkets and achievements dotted along shelves.
Even the floral sheets she sat wrapped within were as painfully familiar as everything else surrounding the distressed Senator.
It wasn't possible!
And yet, despite seven long years passing since she last stepped foot inside this place, Padmé Amidala Naberrie knew without a shadow of a doubt, that she was inside her childhood bedroom in her parents' house in Theed.
"Oh my gods," she squeaked. Her breath caught, sharp and shallow, her lungs refusing to fill. Biting her lip, her frantic eyes darted back and forth across the room as if something, anything around might explain what the hell was going on. Every ounce of pragmatism Padmé possessed desperately tried to piece together a rational explanation for falling asleep in her own bed on Coruscant and waking up in her childhood bedroom several hours away. On another planet.
Did… Did she fall and injure herself in the head and somehow knock all the memories of the event out of her mind in the process? But how? Not to mention, she was far from on speaking terms with any member of the Naberrie family, so unless she'd somehow teleported here without someone noticing, Padmé didn't expect she'd be welcomed, regardless of a head injury.
Sliding out of bed, on wobbling legs, she was only a shade more distressed to find her soft, silky nightdress replaced by a simple, white, long-sleeved one. Her head spun. Someone changed her? No – this simply wasn't possible! She could remember going to bed in her own home just last night! Padmé could recall every single detail of her evening – she'd flown herself home after dragging herself out of her office after her conversation with Anakin. She used the refresher to wash the day away then scrolled on her datapad for a while before falling asleep to the faint hum of Coruscant's bustling sounds outside her open window.
Her heart was slamming against her ribs so hard she swore something was on the edge of cracking inside her.
Hurrying across the room, Padmé shivered as her bare feet met the icy chill of the tiled floor. To do what exactly, she didn't know, but standing still just wasn't an option – her body refused it. However, as she passed the mirrored vanity across from the bed, she abruptly stopped mid-stride. No… No, she hadn't just seen… A flicker of self-preserving doubt clawed at her apparently fraying sanity, forcing her to step back and face the mirror fully, heart racing.
No. No. no… She was crazy! She had to be…
But what she saw made her breath catch and a small, horrified sound escaped her lips.
Staring back at the Senator was a reflection of herself… but lighter. Younger. Her hair cascaded in long, loose curls down her back instead of reaching just below her shoulders as it should. As it did last night. There wasn't a hairstylist in all the galaxy who could achieve growth like this overnight!
Slapping a hand over her mouth, Padmé began to laugh. It was official! She'd lost her mind. This was the only reasonable conclusion – all the long hours and stresses of her life had finally battered her down until all that remained was sheer mania. Maybe, in reality, she was wandering around her own apartment, utterly lost in this delusion… It was either that or she'd somehow woken up in her parent's home, on another planet, years younger than she had been when going to bed last night.
She laughed again. And again. She was mad! Positively insane!
Or maybe this was all some strange dream? Maybe she was going to wake up all over again in her bed in her own apartment and none of this really happened. The approach of Christmas must have gotten her all worked up and unlocked all the memories she didn't like to dwell on any more. Yes! Yes, that made so much more sense! She was still asleep! A blissful wave of relief crashed into her body, battering her mind and heart like rocks along the shore. Padmé felt breathless. Her shoulders sagged.
Oh, Anakin was going to laugh when she told him about this…
Children's raucous laughter shattered the satisfying deliverance robbing her of breath, startling her all over again. What more to this dream could there be? Wasn't driving her to question her mental faculties enough? For a moment, Padmé cursed her insatiable curiosity as she followed that sound toward her old bedroom doorway, just as the high-pitched giggles bled through again, followed by thundering footsteps closer and then further away.
She should just climb back into bed and close her eyes to wait this dream out. Or pinch herself. Anything to wake up as herself, in her own space, again.
But she just couldn't help herself… it sounded so real! Once the door slid open, the Senator was assaulted by a powerful waft of mouth-watering baked goods drifting from down the hallway. The scent drifted around her like a curling tendril of pure temptation, warm and nearly powerful enough to sweep her further out of the bedroom. She stepped into the hallway, stomach rumbling, then paused.
Since when was it possible to smell something in a dream?
Padmé froze as two small figures barrelled around the corner, racing along the hallway and toward her at top speed. Her heart clenched as her bewildered mind recognised their much beloved little faces immediately. Ryoo? Pooja? But – but this couldn't be right… Her nieces were much smaller than they should be. Ryoo was almost a teenager now!
"Aunty Padmé!" Pooja howled, beaming with an excited grin entirely too bright for so early in the morning. "You're finally up! We've been waiting forever!" The girls threw themselves at her legs and the sudden weight shift nearly sent Padmé stumbling to the floor. She'd forgotten how heavy these two were! Crouching, she gathered both girls in her arms and hugged them close. It'd been years since she was around them or had seen a holo-graph… Stars, she'd missed them so much!
The realisation of something she'd always known, but hadn't ever truly let herself feel knocked into Padmé brutally and a near uncontrollable blur of tears filled her eyes. She'd missed so much of their lives, becoming a faint, distant figure in the background of their memories. An absolutely terrible feeling, so she chose to focus on their beautiful faces before her eyes instead. Shouldn't they be bigger? Even if this was a manic dream or bought of hysteria, wouldn't her mind have filled in the gaps of her knowledge with imagination instead? How were they still so small?
Only then did her stinging eyes take notice of the clunky datapad clasped tight in Ryoo's arms, bulky and thick compared to the slim, sleek design she usually used every day. What an odd detail to dream about… Her heart thundered as she gently tugged the device free from her niece's grip and held it to her chest. "Why don't you two go get something to eat, hm? I'll be along in a moment." Padmé forced herself to smile.
"Like cookies?" Pooja's bright eyes lit up at the prospect of treats so early in the day and Padmé nodded, her smile growing closer to a conspiratory grin. This was a very strange, very confusing dream, so why couldn't the girls have cookies for breakfast? If she couldn't see them in real life, she was going to savour a chance to be the fun aunt in dreamland at the very least. The girls took off, running hand in hand in search of their promised treat. Somehow, Padmé's short-fused patience held out until they rounded the corner out of sight before activating the datapad's screen and –
Her breath caught. Her heart stammered.
A lovely image of Sola, her husband and the girls burst to life on the illuminated screen but above their sweet faces, the date and time shone and Padmé's whole body began to feel weak. No… It wasn't possible. It just wasn't possible! Yet the screen shining in her hands was unrelenting, so bright her eyes were beginning to sting and yet the Senator couldn't tear her gaze away, even as her heart sunk into her stomach.
December 21st.
Seven years ago.
"How is this happening?" She whispered, chest tightening precariously. How could it be? How could she have somehow woken up in the past… Today of all days! No, no, Padmé needed this to be a bad dream more than anything. But she could feel everything around her – she could smell whatever was baking in the kitchen. Sweat began to bead across her forehead as her mind raced hopelessly. But if all of this was somehow real, that meant she had lived this day before. Seven years ago.
All of her memories of this date came rushing back with a startling clarity. Yes, that was right. She and Palo had arrived for the Christmas festivities just last night. And in a few short days from now, there would be an argument, an intense implosion within her family that fractured everything. She'd left Naboo with Palo shortly afterwards and hadn't returned since. Hadn't been brave enough as the days and months and years passed that they'd been right about the man she thought she'd loved.
She'd been too stubborn to face them and tell the truth about what happened.
"Ah, there you are, my love," as if summoned from her memories, a painfully familiar, smooth voice sent a chill racing down Padmé's spine. She turned slowly, holding her breath and even that wasn't enough to brace herself. There he was… Palo. Her first love. Her first heartbreak. Standing at the end of the hallway wearing the boyish grin that once made her heart flutter.
But not anymore. Not for a long time.
But back then, or maybe back right now, Palo's dark, dreamy eyes, made her young heart race until Padmé was breathless and stuttering around him. His untamed, wavy brown hair offered a promise of rogue charm and his artistic talent and flair certainly hadn't hurt. He liked to whisper poetry in her ear and declare his undying love beneath the warm sunshine and had won her inexperienced heart as effortlessly as breathing.
How many others had he been making all the same promises to?
Palo strode towards her and before Padmé could react or slam the bedroom door in his smug, promiscuous face, he swooped down and kissed her, capturing her unwilling lips, so warm and painfully familiar that she just… froze. Her limbs seemed to sprout roots on the spot, growing, growing deep into the very foundations of Naboo itself. Her mind screamed in protest. It had been a long time since she felt anything for this man.
When Palo finally pulled back, frowning at her icy hesitation, Padmé felt only slightly less nauseous. "Are you alright? You don't seem like yourself?" He murmured.
If this truly wasn't a dream, a prospect she wasn't fully prepared to admit quite yet, did that mean she had to relive everything all over again? Was her life a set-out, already-explored series of events she got to experience one more time? What if she acted differently and changed things? Was something like that even possible? Who knew anything anymore? "I'm fine," she cringed at the reluctance in her own voice. "Just… still waking up."
Palo smiled, utterly oblivious to her feelings – as usual, she supposed – and laced his long fingers through hers. Padmé trembled as she felt her stomach churn where he once made it flutter like the most delicate butterfly wings. Any part of him touching her felt like an intrusion, like an infection trying to pierce its way into the wound she'd healed long ago, but without much clue as to what else she should do, she let Palo lead her through her parent's house and to the kitchen.
Padmé's breath caught in her throat as she laid eyes on her parents for the first time in seven years. Their faces were just as warm as she remembered. It was like nothing had ever changed, and she supposed, technically, it hadn't. Unbidden, a fresh set of stinging tears threatened to give away the storm of emotions swirling inside her. Even if she hadn't been able to admit it to herself, gods, she'd missed them! But she was also surprised by the fierceness of the anger which lit inside her. Why couldn't they have sought her out? Why couldn't they have just accepted what she wanted and let her make her own mistakes? It had been so long, but the mere sight of Jobal and Ruwee left her utterly breathless and overwhelmed.
What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to act? Did they remember anything? Palo certainly didn't seem like he did.
But neither her mother or father seemed all that surprised to see Padmé standing in their kitchen, quashing that particular theory immediately. Jobal was scooping batter into a cookie tray, smiling contently as she worked while her father sipped at a cup of steaming cider, their shared favourite this time of year. The spiced scent danced across the room and she inhaled deeply.
Sometimes, when Christmas was edging painfully closer across the years, and Padmé found herself missing her parents terribly, she'd have her chef droids create a batch just so she could fill her apartment with the smell of spiced cider. It was painfully familiar. It was home. For a few blissful moments as she closed her eyes and let the whole galaxy sink away, her parents were mere walls away not by several planets and unspoken words.
Padmé felt her heart clench as Ruwee and Jobal shared an easy, gentle laugh. Nearly a whole decade had passed them by since she'd heard that sound or was allowed to see their happy, relaxed faces. The sudden agony of it was searing, burning, and the Senator was endlessly grateful for her parents' distraction and Palo's lack of care for a moment as she blinked her tears away.
"Oh, good morning darling!" Jobal chimed, "Did you sleep well?"
Cursing her throat as it tightened all over again, for a moment it was all she could to do nod and pray her eyes weren't too obviously glistening. Her whole universe was spinning and nothing made any sense anymore – but right now Padmé couldn't care a bit about logic and reason, so unlike her usual self but her heart dominantly held the reigns over herself right now. Seven long years ago, all this warmth was a real part of her life, so easily tangible and painfully accessible. And like so many other things, she'd taken it, and them, for granted and let it slip through her fingers.
I've missed you so much, was on the tip of her tongue.
Whatever was going on, whatever strange miracle or mental spiral she was in the middle of, Padmé wanted to let herself enjoy this, just for a little while. When she eventually woke up in her own lonely bed – or in a medical ward most likely – and was forced to face reality again, she would use these new, stolen memories like bacta slapped over the raw, emotional wound of her family's absence in her life.
"I slept great, thanks mom," Her tight throat just barely allowed the words to crawl free but the strangled sound of her voice didn't seem to bother anyone mercifully.
A warm, sweet scent, cinnamon, Padmé realised, filled the kitchen, curling through the air and wrapping around her like an embrace. Nearly every surface was covered in bowls of half-prepped ingredients for the next few days. She saw spices, chopped vegetables and the unmistakable golden crust of Jobal Naberrie's utterly famous and painfully unmatchable shuura tarts. Padmé's stomach growled at the mere thought of the dessert she'd missed so much every year. No chef droid could come close to her mother's skills, regardless of the credits she spent.
Palo's thumb swept an affectionate line across her skin where her hand lay loose and limp in his. His touch felt familiar but in a way that made her stomach twist uncomfortably. Holding his hand again felt like gripping the hilt of a deactivated blaster – familiar in shape but cold and hollow, and lacking the spark that once made it feel alive. Padmé stole a sidelong glance at her ex-boyfriend, he truly was a good-looking man. Deeply sun-kissed skin, dark eyes, tousled hair and a hard-earned athletic body that once had her swooning. He was artfully undone at all times as if he'd just walked away from long days spent hard at work on a masterpiece.
But she could see what she hadn't been able to before. Everything about Palo was carefully constructed. He wore a mask and never revealed his true self until it was too late, like a serpent charming its prey, distracting them with elegance and grace before its sharp fangs lashed out.
All the memories of this, of Palo, the real memory, felt so distant – like something Padmé viewed through a fogged window. Maybe, just maybe, if all of this was real and she wasn't trapped in some fractured memory or caught in the middle of a breakdown on the cold floor of her apartment, she could make different choices… Could she pull away when she hadn't before? Did she even have that kind of power?
What better time to test a hypothesis than this?
Distantly, she could remember how the remainder of this conversation was going to go. She was going to stand here, hand in hand, with Palo while her father asked about visiting his family and he said something charming in response. The exact comment, Padmé couldn't summon to the forefront of her mind, but she remembered the addictive feel of her heart soaring afterwards.
Summoning her courage, she let go of Palo's hand, watching it fall heavily to his side from the corner of her eye. Her arms folded across her chest, a quiet barrier against the possibility of another embrace. She could feel his surprised gaze on her, but she kept her eyes forward, staring ahead as if nothing had changed.
She waited, braced, but there was no thunderous consequence. The world didn't tremble. The sky remained where it belonged… and she was still here.
She was still here.
Realising she didn't have to do exactly as memory served unlocked an ocean of potential Padmé couldn't begin to truly process right now. She needed to sit down, alone, and think about all of this properly before she took any further action. Her mind was screaming to be unleashed, to form a plan and then a backup plan and maybe one more plan just in case and in direct contrast, her heart was singing. Everything about this felt so painfully right, she didn't know where to begin.
But her mind always struggled to reign itself in and let her bruised heart ever truly enjoy things, be it dates with wonderful, perfectly eligible men throughout the years or even something as fragile as hope. Stinging bitterness attacked the very edges of her excitement because, well, she knew where all of this led. She could play around and have her fun, but Padmé knew exactly how all of this was going to fall apart in a few short days. She'd learned the painful lesson of who Palo really was and the betrayal he would commit behind her back.
And she knew the hurt her family created and endured. There wasn't any way around that. Even if she did change things, nothing could truly alter the path she was destined to walk now. Her family didn't want her to become Senator but Padmé's whole life had revolved around getting into office, it was her career, her calling in life, and she wasn't about to walk away from that… so this was indeed a dead end. She could run these memories in a hundred different directions but all roads led to that.
Their disappointment. Her heartbreak.
"Will you be visiting your family for Christmas this year, Palo?" Ruwee's voice snapped Padmé free of her thoughts as he stirred a pot simmering on the stove. He glanced over his shoulder with the casual curiosity of someone entirely nonplussed about receiving an answer, but the weight of the question felt heavier than it should have. She watched her mother's hand shoot out and lightly slap her father's arm – not playful, not but hard either.
A warning. Don't ask that, it said.
She blinked, startled. She didn't remember that happening last time. Her father's question, yes, but Jobal's slap? She didn't remember that at all… Did it happen and she'd just missed it? Or was her mind working to fill in the gaps the way dreams sometimes did – because she still wasn't absolutely convinced this wasn't a dream after all.
Padmé watched her mother, and for the first time, she noticed something in Jobal's face she'd failed to notice before. Disapproval. There it was, clear as the sun shining over the Varykino lakes. She saw it in the downturn of her lips and the faint tightening of her eyes. Her mother may be trying to hide it, but she could see it. She'd just missed it back then.
She'd been far too in love. Too blind.
Palo pulled her closer, sliding an unwanted arm around her waist in that casual, possessive way that used to make her heart skip a beat. He leaned into her, pressing his cheek briefly against her temple before giving her his trademark grin. The kind that had once made her feel like she was the only person in the whole universe to him.
"I go where my heart is," he said smoothly, his voice like honey.
Ah, that was it. She'd long forgotten his charming response to her father's question, once so exciting for her to hear but now, Padmé rolled her eyes before she could stop herself. It wasn't a big roll – just a quick, subtle flick of her gaze upward. Once, those words melted her. She'd felt her heart leap in her chest, convinced that she was his so-called "heart," convinced that their love was a holo-drama romance.
With the benefit of experience, all she could hear was how rehearsed it sounded. How cheap it was.
As her gaze found her mom watching her closely, she knew Jobal had caught her response. She saw her mother's lips press tight into a line, the dislike practically radiating from her body. How did I not see it?
Padmé turned to look up at Palo with eyes that were sharper and more focused without the glaze of love. She watched the way his smile held for just a second too long and how his keen gaze flicked to Ruwee for approval then back at her. It was all just pretend, even then – now. None of it held a shred of sincerity. Real love was vulnerability and raw emotional honesty with each other. It was about openness and a willingness to learn from and trust the other person with every fibre of your being – with your very soul… She'd yet to experience the real thing for herself, but after Palo, she firmly believed it was better to taste nothing at all than to swallow a lie.
But for a moment, her heart ached for her past self anyway. For the girl who'd been so hopeful and bright-eyed, so eager to believe in the fairytale and give her whole self to it. She wanted to be understood and loved wholly and completely and had chased that want with everything she had.
She hadn't deserved this.
Jobal's voice was too light when she spoke again. "You're very welcome here, Palo!" Her smile was wide and warm but her eyes told a very different story and this time, Padmé saw it. Back then, she was so entranced by Palo that she hadn't noticed all the small glances her mother shared with Ruwee. The quiet moments of exchanged concern between parents who weren't sure how to express their worries out loud.
But maybe not so deep down, they knew.
They'd seen through Palo like he were glass before their eyes and they'd tried to tell her, tried to warn her off before her heart was shattered and Padmé just hadn't listened.
Suddenly, her chest tightened with an ache that had nothing to do with love or longing. Her stomach clenched uncomfortably as her emotions plummeted to a deep low she hadn't felt in a very long time. Beside her, Palo was speaking again, something about his family's home on Serenno and how lonely it could be this time of year, but she barely heard him. Her mind was spinning too fast.
This time, I see it. This time, I see all of it.
Her gaze drifted back to her mother, who was carefully brushing flour off her hands, her movements far too deliberate. A smile was still on Jobal's face, but it had the shine of something hollow and false. Padmé should know, how many times did she wear that exact smile in the Senate? More than she liked to count. Her eyes shifted to her father, his shoulders tight, his focus far too fixed on the pot he was stirring.
She could remember this moment all too clearly now. How, in the real past, she'd been so caught up in Palo's arms, too wrapped up in the warmth of his presence and her excitement to finally taste love and romance for herself, she'd utterly failed to notice her father's dislike. She'd told herself that Ruwee was just protective – she was his youngest daughter! Darred, Sola's husband had to earn her parents' love and affection once…
But now Padmé wondered if in his silence her father had been quietly seething.
The thought burned in her chest, hot and disorientating. They'd both seen Palo for what he truly was, they'd both known. She could see it so clearly now. Her eyes shifted back to Palo, still talking without notice of his lack of attentive audience. He was gesturing with his free hand, recounting a story about some hilarious misadventure with his art exhibits in Serenno. It was all just so charming. Everything he said, everything he did, was carefully crafted to draw people in. She knew that now.
Padmé slid her body free of his, just a few inches but the separation felt divine. She moved slowly. Quietly. Deliberately. She didn't look at him as she did it, but she sensed the shift in him anyway. She could feel his eyes on her like a weight. "Something wrong?" Palo asked, tilting his head slightly, all boyish charm.
She glanced at him, considering. She didn't want to play her hand too soon. Not yet. Not while he was watching her so closely and especially not in front of her parents. "Nothing," she said, letting a smile touch her lips. "I'm just thinking."
She turned her head away from him, away from the ache in her chest and the cloying heat of his gaze. Her eyes found her mother again. Her father.
If this was a dream, she didn't want to wake up yet. Not just yet.
This time, she wasn't that girl anymore.
This time, she could see them all clearly. Palo. Her parents.
This time, she would remember everything.
December 22nd.
The first thing Padmé noticed as she woke was the softness of the sheets against her skin. Warm, familiar, and undeniably Naboo. It wasn't the sleek, cold fabric of her Coruscant apartment. It smelled faintly of fresh linen and the distant hint of the wildflower oil her mother always used in the laundry. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the soft glow of sunlight spilling through the gauzy curtains. She blinked against the brightness, momentarily disoriented. It was so quiet. Too quiet.
No hum of distant ships. No blaring alarms. No handmaidens planning out her day on her behalf. There was nothing but birdsong from the gardens and the gentle rustle of leaves in the chilly morning breeze.
Her breath released slowly, like she didn't want to disturb the calm or risk alerting anything that she was still here. Her fingers trailed along the slightly worn edge of the quilt, following the familiar stitching patterns her mother had sewn all by herself and it hit her all at once, just as it had yesterday.
I'm still here.
Padmé blinked rapidly, her heart giving a small, nervous thump. This dream was lasting much longer than it should. Normally, dreams were jumbled nonsense or quick flashes of images that didn't quite add up. But this? This was something else. It felt too real. She could feel the faint ache in her neck from the way she'd slept. It was as if she'd somehow been dropped right into the past, not as a guest, but as if she had never left at all.
But that was crazy! She had to be losing her mind!
Her gaze shifted around the room, taking in every detail. The small pile of holo-puzzles she used to find relaxing, the faded poster of Naboo's famous Moonlight Opera which hung crookedly on the wall, the holos of her past self with friends and sweet, tragic refugees she'd met across the years.
It was all here. All of it. Just like it had been seven years ago.
Her breath hitched as she sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. She expected to feel that usual dreamlike disorientation, where everything shifts as soon as you try to focus on it. But it didn't shift. It stayed. The weight of it all sat firmly in place, as unyielding as reality.
Stretching her arms above her head, her muscles were stiff but pleasantly so. Her eyes scanned the room again, looking for any sign that it was going to glitch, dissolve, or melt away like most dreams did when you paid too much attention.
But nothing changed.
The light stayed golden. The fabric of her quilt stayed soft under her fingertips. The gentle chirping of morning birds outside remained consistent. Her stomach twisted, a faint unease creeping up her spine. It's still happening. Her eyes flicked toward the barren space beside her on the bed and relief washed over her in a slow, soothing wave. No Palo. Just her. The mattress was smooth and undisturbed.
Thank the stars for small mercies, she thought, pressing a hand to her face. Her parents had always been strict about that ridiculous "no unmarried couples sharing a bed" rule. At the time, it had infuriated her. She had argued for hours with her mother about it, accusing her of being old-fashioned and overbearing. She'd been so indignant back then, so sure she was right.
Now?
Padmé breathed out a soft, dry laugh. I've never been so grateful for their rules. The idea of waking up next to Palo now, feeling his arm draped over her waist, hearing his smug little "Good morning, beautiful" as if he were the sun incarnate –
No, she shuddered. She'd had enough of that in the real timeline. That kind of attention had made her feel special and adored at the time. Now the mere thought of it made her skin crawl.
Her feet touched the cool tiled floor and she winced, curling her toes against the chill. She glanced around, searching the edge of the bed but saw nothing. She'd forgotten how unprepared she used to be sometimes. Future-Padmé always kept a pair of slippers by the bed, but Past-Padmé? No. Past-Padmé was too busy being swept up in grand romantic notions to think about practical things like cold floors in the morning.
Another wry smile tugged at her lips. She missed the girl she used to be sometimes.
Her fingers ran through her tangled hair as she tried to remember the exact events of today Seven years ago, just before Christmas. What happened today? She scrunched her face, pressing her fingers into her temple as she tried to piece it together but her head spun and began to pound violently.
Instead of memories of today, flashes of last night came in quick, blurry pieces.
Her father laughing at something Darred said. Her mother shooing Ryoo and Pooja out of the kitchen. A familiar scent of cinnamon and cloves – ah, yes, the mulled wine. She remembered her father making it in a large ceramic pot, his sleeves rolled up, face flushed from the heat of the stove. The sweet, spiced scent had filled the house so thoroughly that it lingered long after the wine was gone.
The mulled wine.
Padmé groaned softly, rubbing her eyes. That would explain the ache behind her eyes and the weighty, sluggish feeling that made her thoughts feel like they were wading through syrup. Her father's mulled wine had been stronger than she realized back then, and she'd forgotten all over again last night. She winced, tilting her head to the side as she felt the faint ache shift to the base of her skull. Not quite a hangover, but painfully close.
Seven years later and I'm still feeling the consequences of my choices last night.
Her feet carried her toward the small dresser in the corner of the room where she slid open the top drawer, half-expecting it to be empty. But no – it was full of neatly folded clothes, just as it had been back then. Her fingers brushed over them, soft and familiar. She recognized every one of them, right down to the pale green dress that had always been too big on her but that she refused to throw away.
Her throat tightened. She gripped the edge of the dresser for support as her breath suddenly became unsteady. Her heart thundered painfully in her chest, thumping hard and fast. Her fingers pressed into the wood, her nails faintly digging into the surface.
This wasn't a dream, was it?
Her gaze darted around the room, scanning for anything – anything – that would tell her otherwise. But nothing flickered. Nothing shimmered. Everything was solid. Her breathing shallowed, her pulse loud in her ears. No, no, no, this was impossible!
But it wasn't. Padmé was standing here, wasn't she? Her feet were cold on the wood. Her muscles were aching from the awkward way she'd slept. Her head still buzzed from the mulled wine. None of that happened in dreams. Dreams weren't this… real.
Her hands gripped the edges of the dresser for dear life and she leaned forward, her head bowing as her breath came in sharp gasps. She squeezed her eyes shut again, commanding herself to calm down. To breathe.
Eventually, she was able to take a long, deep breath, filling her lungs to capacity before letting it out. It helped. Not by much, but every little helped right now. The Senator released their hold on the dresser and she shook out her hands, feeling the tingle of blood rushing back to her fingertips.
If this is real… she thought, her eyes slowly lifting to the mirror hanging on the wall. She looked hard at her reflection, her wide brown eyes staring back at her, her face just as young as it had been seven years ago. Her skin was smoother, unmarked by the subtle signs of stress and grief she had carried for years. Her lips parted slightly, her breath fogging the glass for half a second.
Her own eyes stared back at her, more aware now than they had ever been. If this is real, she thought slowly, her heart steadying, then I'm not just a spectator anymore. Padmé straightened her back, shoulders squaring as a spark of something unfamiliar but welcome settled into her chest. If this was real – if it truly was seven years ago – then she had something, a weapon in her arsenal that she didn't have the first time around.
Clarity.
Her eyes narrowed as she gazed at herself in the mirror.
This time, I'm not that girl. I'm not blind and I'm not helpless.
Her gaze flicked toward the doorway where she could hear the faint sound of footsteps – probably her mother moving around the kitchen. Palo would be here soon, leaning against the doorway with that smirk he always wore.
Padmé exhaled slowly, trying again to recall the events of this day from last time. There was a family dinner. She hadn't quite finished her shopping yet and she visited the markets… Then, it hit her. Her heart jolted. Her breath caught in her chest.
Anakin!
Her eyes widened as the memory swept over her. She rushed across the room to the window, pressing her fingers against the frigid glass as her gaze fixed on the path outside. Unbidden, her heart began to race in her chest, faster than it had since she woke up. She remembered exactly how it was going to happen, she could still picture it as clearly as if it were all playing out right in front of her. Today was the day Anakin arrived to spend Christmas with her and her family!
Her pulse practically vibrated in her ears, her lips parting in quiet excitement. Pure warmth bloomed in her chest, hot and all-consuming. Her hands pressed harder against the window. He was coming! Her gaze darted to the clear blue sky, scanning the horizon for any hint of a ship. She knew it wouldn't be for a little bit longer, but her heart didn't care. She was searching for it anyway. Searching for him.
She felt a small, breathless laugh escape her lips. Her reflection in the window stared back at her, her cheeks flushed, her eyes brighter than they had been in ages. The excitement came rushing in like a flood, so powerful she almost felt dizzy from it. At this point in time, Padmé hadn't seen him in months – not since he'd left Coruscant to return to the front lines. In her real time, in the present, she hadn't seen him in weeks. He was always gone now, the busy hero the galaxy always made demands of, always too far away, and every holo-call they shared was too short, too burdened with talk of strategy and updates on negotiations.
But this? This was different.
Her eyes squeezed shut, her heart squeezing with something far more painful than excitement.
Because she knew. She knew how much war was still left ahead of him at this point in time. Two more long, gruelling years. Two years of late-night holo-calls, stolen moments of peace and the constant, gnawing worry that she'd wake up one day and he'd be gone for good. Two years of watching him grow harder, every loss and every battle chipping away at the bright, happy man she adored.
Her stomach twisted with unease, sharp and sudden.
It's going to be okay, she told herself firmly, her eyes opening again to focus on the distant courtyard. He survives. We both survive. The war ends. We win.
But it didn't matter. It didn't matter that she knew how it all turned out. Standing here, back in this moment, back in the peak of the Clone Wars, it felt like she was drowning in its darkness all over again and Padmé hated it. Hated the feeling of helplessness it brought.
She hated the way she'd spent every day back then counting down the moments until Anakin's next transmission. She hated every war report that had his name listed next to "engaged in battle," and every sleepless night spent staring at a holoprojector that refused to light up.
Two more years of that.
Padmé felt her heart aching with the weight of that prospect. She breathed in slowly, forcing herself to release the window, finger by finger. Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe.
Her eyes lifted to the sky again and she knew what was going to happen next. She could see it so clearly in her mind. The subtle rumble in the distance. The soft hum of the ship's engines, quiet at first but growing louder and louder until it echoed over the entire estate. Her family's voices would rise in excitement. Ryoo and Pooja would bolt out the door, shouting and laughing as they ran to greet their favourite visitor.
Padmé's heart gave a painful thud in her chest. Her breath hitched.
She remembered all of this. She remembered it so vividly it hurt. She'd run outside too, heart pounding in her chest, too eager to be calm, too desperate to be able to pretend she was anything but thrilled to see him. And then he'd step off that ship in his Jedi robes, bearing that scar across his eye for the first time, his hair wild, his gaze sharp but so, so soft when it landed on her.
Stars, I've missed him.
Anakin was her best friend in the galaxy, at every point in time, and there was no one she trusted more. No one she enjoyed spending time with more. He was her greatest, and only, comfort after her relationship with Palo imploded and he helped her put herself back together afterwards despite his own war trauma he was dealing with at the time. He'd been forced to witness things no one should have to endure, yet spent his energy on her, as if a break-up took precedence over his pain. She didn't deserve him. No one in this damaged galaxy ever could. Not the Jedi, not the Republic, no one.
Her gaze locked on the path outside. Her eyes didn't blink. She wasn't going to miss a second of it this time. The house was so quiet that she could hear her mother's soft humming drifting from the kitchen and Pooja's distant giggling echoed somewhere. It all felt so achingly familiar.
Her heart twisted at the sound of it. The warmth, the light, the feeling of being home again regardless of what was happening. Padmé hadn't realized just how terribly she missed it until now. She hadn't realized how long she'd been cold.
The hum.
It started quietly, barely a sound at all. But she heard it. Her eyes widened, her body going still as her breath caught in her chest, waiting. Wating until… There it was! Her heart surged in her chest as the soft, distant hum grew louder. She leaned forward again, eyes scanning the sky. It was faint, but she knew it was there. It was coming.
Her eyes darted left, scanning the horizon, her breath quick and sharp now.
Come on, come on, come on –
The sound grew louder, unmistakable now. The steady, rhythmic thrum-thrum of a ship's engines descending toward the estate. Her pulse quickened as she finally saw the ship cutting through the sky, sleek and fast, its hull catching the sunlight.
Her breath hitched, her chest so tight with emotion she thought she might break apart right here in her childhood bedroom. Her hands flattened against the glass again and she pressed her forehead to it, unable to take her eyes off the ship as it drew closer.
He's here!
She wanted to see every inch of that ship as it hovered closer, see every detail as the landing gear extended, hear every faint creak and shift as it settled on the ground.
Unable to contain herself a moment longer, Padmé spun away from the window, her breath coming out in a sharp, exhilarated gasp. She threw open the dresser and pulled out the first dress she could find. Her fingers working quickly, heart pounding, barely thinking, just moving. Her hands shook as she pulled on her dress and her pulse echoed in her ears. Her feet hit the floor with a soft thud, her hands brushing over her hair, smoothing it down as quickly as she could. She didn't care if she looked perfect. She just needed to get outside right now!
She darted for the door, her heart in her throat. Her eyes were burning, her breath unsteady, but none of that mattered right now.
Anakin was here!