A/N: Thank you so much for the feedback and reviews on the first chapter! 3 I hope you enjoy this update.
Anakin stepped off the shuttle, blood thrumming in his ears as the cacophony of cheers, holocams, and frantic questions pressed in on him from all sides. The Senate building loomed overhead, its corridors swarming with eager senators and reporters all clamouring for a piece of the returned hero – The Chosen One, The Hero With No Fear, they called him. He loathed the attention, but even more so, he loathed that none of these faces were the one he was so desperate to see.
He scanned the crowd, his heart hammering faster with every glance at an approaching official or journalist. Where is she?
Obi-Wan had already bowed out, giving him a half-smile and a brisk nod before hurrying onto the shuttle to brief the Council. Leaving Anakin on his own in this sea of adoration. Normally, he'd have enjoyed himself a little bit – he wasn't a perfect man, but this time, the swirl of colour and commotion was tinged with a tangible ache. Padmé should be here – she had to be here waiting for him. If he knew anything about his wife, it was that she wouldn't miss his return, especially not after months of separation.
Blast it, he thought, forcing down the swell of disappointment and frustration. The memory of their stolen night together so many months ago replayed in his mind for the thousandth time, more potent than the adrenaline from the battle with Dooku. That night had been everything – comfort, hope, love and just plain desire – and then it was snatched away by duty and obligations. Was it so selfish to want that again, to want her again?
He moved through the crush of onlookers, offering half-answers to the inquiries thrown his way:
"Yes, Master Kenobi and I were successful."
"No, the Chancellor is in perfect health."
"Yes, it was quite the daring mission but Master Kenobi and I trusted in ourselves and the will of the force."
All of it felt meaningless compared to his need to see Padmé. His eyes flicked about, searching for the dark curl of her hair, the elegance of her posture, or even the distinctive glint of Threepio's plating close by – anything to signal that she'd come to meet him. Yet the longer he looked, the more Anakin's hope eroded. Where was Threepio? If Padmé couldn't come, if she'd been kept occupied by some inescapable meeting, she'd at least have sent the droid in her stead with a discreet message. That's how it always went when they needed to connect in public without drawing suspicion.
But the Jedi sensed nothing, no subtle shift in the force that signalled her approach, no flicker of the bond he cherished so deeply. Instead, he felt a nagging emptiness where her comforting presence should be. Something cold and unsettling coiled in his gut just as one of the senators, Bail Organa, reached for Anakin's arm, wanting more details about Dooku's demise, about the battle raging on the Outer Rim, about the Chancellor's rescue. Anakin answered in short, controlled bursts, but his focus was elsewhere, scanning behind Bail's shoulder, over the heads of the crowd and toward the shadows created by the great marble pillars. She still wasn't there. Why didn't she come?
The thought rattled Anakin. For a moment, doubts began to swirl in his mind. Could she be caught up in a Senate emergency? A crucial vote? His imagination skipped to something darker. He'd heard the quiet rumours about threats against prominent senators, Padmé especially. She'd always had enemies… What if something happened while he wasn't here to keep her safe?
He forcibly exhaled, reminding himself to remain calm while so many eyes were on him. Padmé was clever, resourceful, she had her handmaidens and hell, her blaster aim was better than his, if Anakin was being honest. She wouldn't be in danger without sending word, would she? The war had grown more treacherous, he'd seen that firsthand. Amid the chattering throng, a bright holocam flash momentarily blinded him. Shaking his head, he suppressed a surge of annoyance and tried to summon the composure expected of a Jedi Knight. This was not the place to let his emotions run wild, yet every beat of his heart reminded him Padmé wasn't in his arms where she belonged – she wasn't even in his line of sight.
"Excuse me, Senator," Anakin said politely, stepping around Bail and turning toward the main rotunda's broad exit. With Obi-Wan gone, there was no one left to tether him here except the unspoken demands of the Council. But they'd have to wait. Padmé took precedence over all of them.
He paused at the exit, uncertainty gnawing at him. Should he go to her apartment? Would that draw too much attention? After countless close calls, they'd learned to hide their marriage quite well. He knew every unobtrusive route that led from the Jedi temple to her private residence, but what if she'd been delayed here at the senate or was out dealing with some emergency?
He reached out into the force, trying to calm the roaring tide of fear that threatened to shatter his composure. She's all right, he told himself. She has to be. But why, then, did he sense only an absence? Anakin stepped forward, ignoring the media representatives and the swarm of officials calling his name. A tremor of apprehension fluttered in his chest, his footsteps growing swift and purposeful. He had to find her. He had to know she was safe. He needed her more than he needed air, more than all the laurels and praise they were so eager to heap upon him.
Without another glance at the crowd, he sped across the marble floors, following the path that would lead him to her. He couldn't rest until he saw her face – until she was in his arms and he could be sure she was safe. And with each step he took away from the Senate's chaos, a single, desperate thought beat like a drum in his mind:
Where are you?
Anakin slipped through the private entrance of Padmé's apartment, every muscle in his body coiled tight. The corridors were too quiet, too still. It was as if the place had been emptied of all warmth and light. Fear churned in his gut as he glanced over his shoulder where Artoo loyally followed his every step. "Artoo, go back to the ship," he barked, "Be ready for anything." Every instinct screamed that something was wrong, he could feel it pulsing through the force like static electricity on his skin.
Moving deeper into the apartment, he forced himself to remain calm. Yet each step over the lavish carpeting set his nerves on edge. Kitchen… bedroom… guest suites… He opened each door in turn, only to find the rooms empty and neat, just as Padmé liked them. That terrible, gnawing feeling in his chest grew stronger with every step.
The living room was next. A faint hush surrounded it, broken only by the distant hum of Coruscant sky-traffic outside. Anakin's heart was pounding as he turned the final corner – then froze. Just outside the living room doorway, in a crumpled heap of gold plating, lay Threepio. His stomach gave a powerful lurch as his wide eyes saw the beloved droid's entire head was scorched with a neat, blackened blaster hole. Frayed wires spilled out, no longer smoking, their colour warped by heat.
"No…" Anakin whispered, dropping to a knee beside his oldest companion. Gently, he turned Threepio's head, the dull metal bearing the unmistakable sign of a direct, precise shot. It must have happened hours ago – no fresh smoulder or electric whine. Bittersweet memories surged inside his mind, being a boy and building Threepio by hand on Tatooine, the droid's first timid steps, all the times he'd quietly fussed over Anakin's mother, and later, how he'd loyally served Padmé, attending to her every need while he was off-world fighting. Threepio had always been there for his family, filling the silence with polite chatter, sometimes too much chatter – but now…
Anakin's hand trembled against the cold plating, anger and guilt warring in his chest. How many times had he rolled his eyes at Threepio's anxious ways, or nudged him out of the room to get a moment's peace? And yet, in so many ways, Threepio was a part of his family. The only creation of his youth that still remained in his life, a piece of that innocent boy who dreamed of adventure and exploring the stars above.
Anakin clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding as a surge of desperate rage threatened to overwhelm him. The hot sting of tears filled his eyes, blurring the world around him into a chaotic swirl of colours. He tried to focus, but his mind was racing with desperate questions as he cradled his old friend's powerless head. Who could have done this? Did Threepio see it coming? The thought of his anxious old droid, always so loyal, so steadfast and eager to help, facing any kind of danger made his heart threaten to shatter.
Was he afraid?
A tear escaped, slipping down his cheek despite Anakin's best efforts to hold it back and with a frustrated growl, he swiped it away, furious with himself. No! There was no time for this! He couldn't afford to fall apart now. His emotions, as raw and consuming as they were, needed to be shoved aside. He needed clarity, focus – anything to figure out what the hell had happened here and where Padmé might be.
Yet, even as he steeled himself, a low, fearful voice whispered in the back of his mind, insidious and persistent – What if I'm already too late? Anakin shook his head violently, refusing to let the thought take root. No. She was alive. She had to be alive. The very thought of losing Padmé was unfathomable, a pain so unbearable that it threatened to split him apart. He wouldn't let it happen. Not now. Not ever.
For a moment, the Jedi simply knelt there, one hand on Threepio's ruined chassis, the other supporting Threepio's head. "I'm sorry," he murmured, voice thick with grief. "I should have been here. I should have protected you… both of you." His eyes still stung, but Anakin willed the tears away. This was no time for grief. If someone had attacked Padmé's apartment, and then Padmé herself… He refused to finish the thought. Slowly, Anakin set Threepio down and rose to his feet. Every inch of him crackled with tension as the force swirled with his fear. He spared one last glance at his old friend's motionless form – he would restore him even if he had to rebuild every piece of framework and rewire him from top to bottom, he'd bring Threepio back. He swore it to the force itself!
Taking a deep breath, Anakin squared his shoulders and steeled himself, his resolve firm as he moved toward the living room doors. The faint hiss of the mechanisms filled the silence and as they slid apart to grant him entry, he braced himself, ready for whatever might await him on the other side.
The apartment was too quiet, the air too still, and his eyes were immediately drawn to a pile of broken porcelain glinting amid a wide, wet stain on the floor. As he drew closer, Anakin recognised it. It was one of Padmé's favourite mugs – fancy and fragile, just like she loved. She never did care about the cost or impracticality, only the beauty and the enjoyment it gave her. He found that part of her charm irresistibly cute.
But now, seeing something so precious to his beloved wife reduced to shards and a puddle soaking into the carpet, Anakin felt a cold jolt run through him. Padmé would never just drop something she cherished, something must have made her – no, forced her to let it slip from her fingers. A sickening dread coiled in his gut. She's in trouble, he thought, swallowing down panic.
He took a step forward, the crunch of broken porcelain under his boot echoing in the hush. His breath caught in his throat and for a moment, Anakin couldn't move. The surge of fear and fury was choking him, clogging his lungs with the awareness that he hadn't been here when she needed him. She was always there for him, through battle wounds and sleepless nights, yet now, when she needed him most, Anakin had been off rescuing someone else.
Drawing a shaky breath, the Jedi forced himself to focus on the clues around him. The wet stain on the rich carpet and the scatter of porcelain. No sign of a struggle… There were no blaster scorches across the walls or broken furniture. But the air felt wrong, as though it had been torn apart and sewn back together crookedly. His heart thumped in his ears and he closed his eyes briefly, reaching out through the force. Where was she?
He exhaled sharply, stepping around the shards and pulling out his commlink. "I need law enforcement to five-hundred Republica right now!" The words felt surreal leaving his lips, like he was trapped in someone else's nightmare. A lone question pounded through his thoughts with relentless force, why didn't I come back sooner? He should have defied the Council – who were they to keep him trapped in the Outer-Rim for so long? He should have come back, damn the consequences! But there had been battles to win and seeing Ahsoka again distracted him from everything else… Damn it!
Every fibre of him screamed to tear the apartment apart in search of her, but he had to keep his head. There might be other clues, footprints, a forced lock somewhere, anything that would tell him how she'd been taken… or worse. That possibility clawed at his chest, tearing his heart apart. Even the slightest notion that Padmé might be gone ignited a desperate, rising fury within him.
Setting his jaw, Anakin took another trembling step deeper into the living room, senses on high alert. He'd face whatever he had to, be it blaster-wielding kidnappers, bounty hunters or even yet another Sith Lord, all of them were nothing in comparison to his power and fury. He'd kill anyone he had to, burn entire worlds to ashes to get Padmé back.
If someone had dared hurt her… they were going to learn exactly what it meant to incur the wrath of Anakin Skywalker.
Padmé's head throbbed as she blinked against the harsh brightness overhead. Everything swam in her vision for a long moment, her surroundings an indistinct blur of white. Slowly, she made sense of the sterile, the sharp chemical smell and the chill in the air. This was some sort of medical ward… But why was she here? Confused, she tried to lift her arms to rub at her aching temples, but they refused to budge. Her disorientation gave way to alarm as she realized heavy cuffs secured her wrists and ankles to the metal frame of the bed. She tugged, testing them. No give.
A familiar voice echoed from somewhere near the foot of the bed, sending ice down her spine. "Ah, you're up. Nice of you to finally join us, senator."
Her stomach twisted in sudden fear. The tea, she remembered. I passed out… there must have been something in it! She forced back the grogginess, trying to gather her thoughts but panic spiked again at a more visceral worry. Whatever was in that tea had knocked her unconscious within seconds, it had to be powerful – if it could do that to her, what about the baby? Padmé strained against the restraints to reach her abdomen, but the cuffs held firm, preventing her from touching the bump beneath her robe. She swallowed hard, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Please let the baby be all right.
Footsteps approached the edge of the bed and Padmé's heart lurched as the figure came into focus. Tiaba – Tiaba – the woman who had been her ally, her confidant and close friend these last few months. The one she had trusted with her secrets, with her pregnancy, when she couldn't even tell her own family.
"Why?" Padmé managed to croak, her throat raw and dry.
Tiaba only watched her with an unreadable expression, then tilted her head slightly, a coldness behind her leaf-green eyes that Padmé had never seen before. The older woman's posture radiated a sort of detached authority, as though she had shed the gentle, caring facade she had known. Suddenly, betrayal crashed over her like a frigid wave. Her chest constricting and for a moment she couldn't breathe at all. This was the woman who had comforted her, had taken care of her and listened to her deepest worries! How could it have all been a lie? How hadn't she realised it was a mask?
She glanced around, searching for a weapon, a key panel, a pin to pick the locks of the cuffs – anything. But the room was startlingly empty – just the bed, the glaring overhead lights and some equipment she could barely make out. Her voice shook as she tried again. "What have you done? What do you want?"
Tiaba stepped closer but kept just out of reach. Her eyes flickered briefly to Padmé's restrained hands, then back to her face. Gone was the warmth she'd come to rely on, all the kindness from before was nothing but a distant memory. "Try to relax. It will be better for us all if you don't try and fight."
Padmé's heart hammered painfully as hot tears gathered in her eyes, threatening to spill. "I trusted you," she whispered, voice trembling. "I – I thought you were my friend!"
Tiaba's lips curved in a small, tight smile. "That was your mistake, but it certainly made things so much simpler."
That stung like a slap. Padmé forced herself to swallow her fear and think. If she could just get her talking, maybe she could glean something, anything, about who she was working for or where she had taken her. She tugged again at the cuffs, futile, and wished desperately for even a fraction of Anakin's strength or Obi-Wan's calm clarity right now. Her whirling mind flashed to Anakin, his face when she last saw him, the warmth of his arms around her. Did he even know she was missing? Her pulse sped up, a flicker of hope warring with dread. He'll find us, she clung to that thought. If anyone could tear down the galaxy to rescue her, it was Anakin Skywalker.
But for now, Padmé was alone, bound to a metal bed in an unknown place with a woman she had considered to be a friend standing over her like a warden. Gathering what courage she had left, Padmé took a steadying breath and lifted her chin, eyes narrowing. "Whatever you're doing, you won't get away with it, Tiaba."
Her heart hammered in her chest as Tiaba stepped forward, that cold, mocking confidence still shining in her eyes. The older woman flicked her gaze over Padmé's cuffed wrists, her lips curving into a self-satisfied smile. "I suppose there's no harm in telling you the truth…" Her tone was casual, almost flippant. "Not like you'll be telling anyone."
A chill crawled over Padmé's skin at those words. What was that supposed to mean? She wrestled again with the cuffs around her wrists but to no avail. Deep inside her, fear mingled with fury. Why was she playing these games? What did she want? "Why are you doing this?"
Tiaba folded her arms, pressing her lips together in a mock pout. "Now, now, senator. Don't act all surprised on me. I've had my eyes on you for a while." She leaned in slightly, voice lowering. "I saw you and Skywalker one night, a little over a year ago, in Pulse – yes, Pulse – dancing the night away without a care in the galaxy, both of you so confident no one was going to recognize you." She paused to smirk. "But I did."
Padmé's eyes widened, memories flashing in her mind. She and Anakin had snuck out in civilian clothing, no robes, no senate finery, just one stolen night of freedom in a neon-lit club in the lower levels of Coruscant. Anakin's idea… I should have known someone would see us. She clenched her jaw, the guilt stinging her anew. They'd been careful! She thought they had, but apparently not careful enough.
Tiaba's smile curled further. "Imagine my surprise when, after some investigation, I discovered the Chosen One and Naboo's illustrious senator weren't mere lovers but married." She gave a short, giddy laugh. "Oh, that was priceless!" She continued, unfazed by Padmé's horror. "So I applied for the position as your handmaiden. And, fortunately for me, those little blessings inside you came along not long after."
Padmé frowned, her mind spinning. Blessings? She felt her pulse jump again. "What are you talking about?"
Tiaba laughed and moved around the bed, every step echoing in the sterile white room. "That's the downside of a secret pregnancy, isn't it? No regular check-ups, no official scans. Just a bit of creative… subterfuge on my part to keep you in the dark." She reached for a screen bolted above Padmé's head, a standard medical display, she realized with a jolt of dread and tugged it down so she could see. An image flickered to life on the monitor, unmistakably an ultrasound, as ghostly shapes appeared amid shifting static. Even without medical training, Padmé recognized the forms right away. "Congratulations, senator," Tiaba purred, rotating the screen fully into Padmé's line of sight. "It's twins!"
Padmé's vision tunnelled for a moment, her heart thudding so violently she thought it might burst free of her chest. Twins? Her breath caught and a tremor ran through her entire body. There isn't just one child to protect… There are two…
She couldn't lift her hands to touch her belly, the restraints made sure of that, but she longed to, needed to, just to assure herself of the lives growing within her. Tears gathered in her eyes and slid hotly down her cheeks. This was the first time she'd seen them, her babies and the circumstances couldn't have been more horrifying. "They're…" Her words caught in her throat and she swallowed. "They're so small," she whispered, voice trembling.
"Oh, they'll grow," Tiaba said, in a tone that sounded almost soothing, as though discussing an interesting laboratory specimen rather than the precious lives Padmé carried. "They'll be well looked after, I promise you that."
Padmé's eyes darted between the screen and Tiaba's smug face. If this woman's goal was to break her, she was doing an excellent job of it, she swore to herself she would not break, not while she was watching. But despite her best efforts, her tears fell freely, even as anger burned behind her gaze. "I don't know who you're working for or what you want… but Anakin will come for me. He'll kill you if you harm me or our children!"
Tiaba just shrugged, a cold smile still on her lips and Padmé felt as though someone had struck her when the horrid woman abruptly pushed the screen away, cutting off the precious sight of her unborn twins. A keening sound of loss built in her throat and her vision blurred all over again with fresh tears. She twisted her wrists in the cuffs, desperate to reach out, to fight – anything to keep the echo of that ultrasound image close.
"Wait!" she pleaded, voice raw and shaky. "Please – " But Tiaba only sneered, her earlier smugness taking on a sharper edge. Padmé's heart was pounding erratically and she sucked in a breath, forcing herself to speak even as her throat constricted around every syllable. "I – I can give you credits! All you want!" She choked out, hoping, praying, that this was about money, that Tiaba might be convinced or bribed or threatened. Something. "Name your price. I'm wealthy, take it all if you like, just – just let us go. Let my children go!"
A flash of pure contempt sparked in Tiaba's eyes and Padmé felt her hope die in her throat. "Do you really think I need your measly store of credits? Do you have any idea of the potential you're carrying?" Her hand hovered a few inches above Padmé's stomach as though she could sense the tiny lives beneath. Her skin crawled, a cold knot of fear coiling in her gut.
"Any child borne of the Chosen One will be…" Tiaba's lips curved in a predatory smile, "Limitless. If raised correctly, they could rule everything. Everything. And I know a few high bidders who'd do just about anything to get their hands on that kind of power."
Padmé burst into tears despite every effort to hold herself together. Her voice trembled as she tried again, desperation clear in every word. "I'll give you whatever you want – my entire fortune, my seat in the Senate, my homes, ships – everything! Just – please, please don't hurt them!"
A gleam of sadistic amusement danced in Tiaba's eyes. "I'm not after your trinkets, senator."
She could barely breathe, panic pressing on her lungs like a suffocating weight. "Anakin will – " she started, but Tiaba cut her off with a raised hand and an overly dramatic pout.
" – never find you," she said, her voice dripping condescension. "You'll be missing for a while, presumed dead eventually. We both know how quickly the galaxy's collective attention drifts. They'll mourn for a time – oh, the headlines, the tributes – then bury an empty coffin somewhere beautiful on Naboo and move on." A harsh laugh escaped her. "Everyone who knows you're carrying Skywalker's child has been… dealt with. And your pregnancy was never public knowledge, was it?" She shrugged, the gesture cold and cruel. "I'm the only one who knows your secret now, Padmé."
Padmé's tears stung hot against her cheeks. She wrestled with the cuffs yet again, ignoring the pain biting at her wrists. Everyone who knew has been dealt with? The faces of Dormé and Eirtaé swam in her mind, along with her security team who had been loyal friends and even poor, earnest Threepio. Her sobs intensified until she could hardly catch her breath. It felt like the whole galaxy was caving in around her, each of Tiaba's words plunging deeper, ripping apart every fragment of hope Padmé was trying to cling to. She swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice even as it cracked with grief.
"You're wrong," she managed, her voice low. "Anakin… he'll never stop! He'll search for me forever."
Tiaba's lips quirked, but her smile lacked any real humour. "Mmm. Well, I look forward to watching him waste the rest of his life, scavenging through every corner of the galaxy for someone who's long gone."
Padmé squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to inhale, to fight the terror and despair unravelling her thoughts. I have to be strong. For myself. For the twins. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms until a spike of pain flared. Keep it together. You're not beaten yet. Steadying her ragged breathing, she opened her eyes and glared at Tiaba, determination flickering amid the tears on her face. "I promise you," Padmé said, her voice quivering but earnest, "you won't get away with this."
Tiaba's cold laugh resonated in the white room, sending a fresh shiver of dread along Padmé's spine. Her pulse thrummed loudly in her ears, nearly drowning out the older woman's words. "I'll thank you now," she said, savouring every syllable, "for this precious gift you're giving me, since we won't be chatting again, I'm afraid. So thank you, senator. The four of us," she tipped her head at Padmé's belly, "will be very happy together, at least until their new owner comes to collect."
A rush of pure terror knifed through Padmé. Her hands strained against the cuffs, fingernails digging uselessly at cold metal. My babies… Before she could speak, the door hissed open. A man – tall, broad-shouldered, features obscured by a thick, grey hood – strode in. "It's done," a deep voice slithered from beneath.
"Well done, my love!" Tiaba beamed, "You're just in time – we're about to get started."
He regarded Tiaba with a nod, then advanced to Padmé's bedside. She tried to recoil, but the restraints held fast. "Don't…" Her voice scraped, coming out more plea than demand, but his grip was unyielding as he forced a mask over her nose and mouth. The pungent stench of chemicals flooded her senses and panic gripped her lungs. Padmé fought to hold on to consciousness, frantic thoughts slamming through her mind. She coughed, eyes watering as a bitter tang filled her throat, but the edges of her vision began to blur and darken. No, no… She willed her body to resist, to stay alert for her babies.
A tremor ran through her when she felt Tiaba's cool fingers slip beneath her robe and in one humiliating motion, the woman tugged it open, then pushed up her nightgown, exposing her swollen abdomen to the chilled air. Padmé gasped, but her body felt sluggish and uncoordinated, her wrists ached as she thrashed in the cuffs, desperate to shield herself, to protect her unborn children.
Tiaba's face, twisted with a near-reverent focus, floated in Padmé's faltering vision. She caught a gleam of metal – something long, sharp… clinical. A scalpel? A blade? She wasn't sure. All she knew was raw terror.
"Such possibilities…" Tiaba murmured, her tone almost awed.
Padmé's heart hammered but her muscles betrayed her as numbness seeped in, her entire body too heavy to fight any longer. She tried to scream, or beg, or curse – anything – but the sedative pulled her under like a riptide. Darkness expanded at the corners of her vision, swallowing the glint of metal, the sterile white walls and even the hateful image of Tiaba's triumphant face.
Everything went black.