Chapter 5
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars.
A/N:English is not my native language, and I translated the original roughly myself and checked it with the help of a grammar software, so if you find any expressions too raw, let me know. Thank you.
The fic is finished and the full version is also on AO3, posted on my other account. I just need to slowly translate it into English.
Deep beneath the surface of Skitnica lies its largest slum, a labyrinth of natural tunnels and abandoned mining shafts. A world apart from the rest. The local security officer warned them not to go near the underground without caution: "I'm sure that's where the little thieves come from, but just a friendly reminder—your fancy handbag won't buy you safe passage in and out."
Anakin turned abruptly and walked away, his expression dark, as if to silently tell the officer,"Whatever."Padmé understood his disdain for the corruption and slickness of the bureaucracy, but what was behind his sullen mood? Ever since the incident at the night market, he had been brooding, speaking to her only when absolutely necessary. She quickened her pace to catch up with him, attempting to reason with him. A handbag wasn't a big deal—well, although she had a datapad to personally deliver to Queen Jamillia, she was almost certain the little thief had no idea about it. Actually, they could—
"We'll find it."
"Anakin, I want to as well. But we don't know this city, especially the slums outside the government's control. We need a plan—"
"Padmé!" Anakin interrupted her again. "It's no big deal, I can handle it. Remember where I come from?"
Padmé took a deep breath. "Fine, you can handle them. But how? I don't want to stir up trouble here."
Anakin squinted, his brow furrowing deeper, as though her words had stung him. "Don't look at me like that, Padmé."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm just some boy who always screwed it up!"
She locked eyes with him for a full minute. "You think I'd blame you for that? Do you really think I'm that unreasonable?"
"I never said that!"
"You've been angry this whole time!"
"Yeah, I'm angry, but it's not about you." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, as if he were trapped in a situation he couldn't escape. "I know you're not blaming me, but...We've been watched, followed... How the hell didn't I see it coming?"
How could he blame himself for what had happened?
"I know a handbag doesn't mean much, but do you know what that really means?" He said, the self-loathing in his eyes reminding her of that moment in Lars' garage—when he'd been overwhelmed by frustration. "Protecting you is the only thing I can do for you, and I screwed it up!"
"Anakin—"
"I won't let this happen again, okay?" he said, his expression grim and determined. "From now on, I'm the one calling the shots when it comes to your safety."
Anakin's gaze was unwavering, leaving no room for argument; she knew she could never change his mind about this.
"Fine," She sighed. "we'll go with your way. But you have to promise me—no aggressive negotiations."
He blinked, momentarily caught off guard, as if he hadn't expected her to let go of the argument. His tense expression softened. "The cockroaches on Tatooine are as annoying as the sand—you never know where they're hiding. But there's a plant that gives off a scent humans can't detect, and it lures the cockroaches out all at once."
"What kind of scent could bring them out? I mean, them."
His gaze softened, the sharpness in his blue eyes giving way to a tenderness. His fingers curled a stray strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear, before gently pinching her earlobe. A shiver ran through her, and her throat went dry. He always touched her with that warm, human hand.
"Rich, reckless, and...so naive."
Padmé narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. "I hope you're not implying anything, huh?"
"Of course not, milady."
"I'll take...three." Padmé said.
"Three?" The dealer asked mechanically, her voice thick with the local accent."Are you sure?"
"Sure." A sense of unease stirred inside her. She was good at Sabacc, but this variant was unfamiliar. She leaned in close to Anakin and whispered, "Am I sure?"
Anakin's lips almost brushed her temple. "Play however you like."
She felt a mixture of excitement and anxiety as her gaze returned to the table. In front of her, a large pile of credits lay, all of them won by Anakin in earlier rounds. He had encouraged her to play a couple of rounds, and—ever the supportive companion—he stayed by her side, letting her play as she wished. As the cards were dealt one by one into her hand, the crowd's calls for a winning hand grew louder, building in anticipation. Then, a collective groan of disappointment went up as her cards were revealed. The crowd, packed with eager onlookers, seemed more dismayed than she was.
She pouted, a little deflated. Anakin flashed her a bright smile, slipping an arm around her and pulling her closer, almost to kiss her. "You look so cute when you're nervous." He stared at her with that endearing look, yet he didn't kiss her.
Padmé swallowed her frustration. It wasn't the first time he'd acted this way tonight. He had shown her how to play pool, his hand wrapped around hers, his chest pressed against her back. And he always leaned in, whispering right into her ear! It made her feel flushed, heat pooling between her legs...How embarrassing. Just as she thought his hand might slip into her shirt, he quickly pulled away and stood up, leaving her to finish her shot alone. Later, when they played darts, she scored a perfect round, and a stranger remarked, "Your girl's damn good."He immediately denied it. Earlier, they had been misunderstood all day, but he hadn't denied it even once.
Well, maybe it was because his attention was fully focused on their goal. Tonight, they made their way through the liveliest casinos and bars in the underground slums, playing the roles of a wild, reckless couple—betting huge amounts and treating the whole bar to drinks. She let Anakin take the lead, following his every move. She had never been to a place like this before—the way things worked at the tables, the way people interacted, and the unexpected thrills…It was all completely new to her. Here, she couldn't control the situation or predict what would happen next—Anakin could. He was completely at home in it, knowing exactly where to find the crowds, how to extract key information from the most unlikely sources, and how to stir up the kind of chaos that drew everyone's attention.
A new round began, and Anakin rejoined the game. The relentless clamor echoed around him. The small casino was the perfect silhouette of the underground slums—its low, suffocating walls and the dim, faded glow of colored lights all casting shadows of decay. The sad wooden tables and chairs were stuck with sad, unidentifiable stains. Had it not been for the two rusted greeting droids standing at the entrance, Padmé might have sworn this place was frozen in time, trapped somewhere before the dawn of hyperspace travel.
"All in," Anakin declared, pushing all his chips to the center. The table froze for a second. Then it erupted in a chorus of shouts and laughter. Without a doubt, he was once again the center of attention. Padmé casually squeezed his arm, deftly hiding the same curiosity everyone else shared: their hand looked terrible, yet they'd gone all in. He didn't acknowledge her, instead raising his chin provocatively at his opponent. She had no reason to worry. Beyond his natural talent in the Force, the string of victories he'd racked up tonight was a testament to his brilliance in mathematics.
"Hey, pretty boy, why don't you throw yourself into the bet too?" His opponent, a Rodian, sneered with provocative glee, goading the crowd into jeering.
"Look at that face—I bet his butt is just as smooth!"
"And his girl's not bad either..."
A flood of crude remarks and taunts surged like a scalding wave, mingling with the stench of greasy sweat, rancid breath, and cheap cologne, nearly overwhelming Padmé.
She took a quick glance at the Jedi beside her—still wearing that easy, relaxed expression. She had to admit, Anakin's self-control and focus tonight had deeply impressed her, especially given how hard she'd struggled to resist the urge to topple the nearby man, whose every word came with a spray of spit. Every minute here was soaked in the raw savagery of the place, lacking empathy. How did Anakin manage to fit in so effortlessly, yet remain seemingly unaffected by it all?
A Twi'lek dancer appeared out of nowhere, her hands braced on the table, her bare chest swaying with every movement.
"Hey, handsome, how about a lucky little dance to start things off?"
No, thanks. Padmé thought. But Anakin said, "Let's see how lucky you are."
Padmé was left utterly speechless.
The Twi'lek giggled, her body quivering with amusement, and blew a teasing kiss at Anakin's face. "Well, aren't you a handsome one? If you lose, I'll dance for you... for free."
Anakin shrugged—just shrugged—and pushed a stack of credits toward the Twi'lek girl. She languidly extended her long, voluptuous fingers, grabbing a handful, her fingers grazing Anakin's face before sliding between her breasts, provoking a chorus of crude, lascivious cheers. Padmé felt as though she had been kicked into a void, the sound and movement around her becoming distant and muffled. For a moment, she stared, spellbound, at the sensual dancer, moving so slowly that it almost seemed frozen, swaying in sync with the whistles and cheers as she climbed onto the gambling table.
Padmé snapped out of her thoughts and shot a glare at the Jedi beside her. He hadn't ogled the sultry dancer like the others—he hadn't even watched the "lucky dance" he'd paid for, letting his eyes wander across the crowd instead—but she was still furious.
It had nothing to do with him flirting so effortlessly with the hot Twi'lek.
It had nothing to do with how he kept acting on his own without asking her.
Absolutely nothing!
As he pulled his gaze away, it collided with hers. He blinked, clearly perplexed by her anger. Then his eyes widened in realization—he understood.
You don't need to be jealous.
Jealous? Who said she was jealous? Had he even spoken? Why did his voice keep echoing in her mind? She threw Anakin a suspicious glance, but he was casually absorbed in the game. The "lucky dance" finished, and as the dancer slid off the table, she reached out to touch his face. He smoothly dodged her attempt. "Good luck, handsome!" She blew him an exaggerated kiss.
She had to gulp down half a bottle of liquor just to keep a blank expression. For Padmé, hiding her emotions was as natural as breathing, but tonight, it felt impossible. There were always hot girls throwing flirtatious glances and blowing smoke rings at Anakin, as though they'd love to devour him whole. He didn't even need to pay, and yet a whole crowd of them would gather around him, gyrating on his lap. She knew he had always been well-mannered, but she just couldn't shake the vivid, unsettling images flashing through her mind.
By the Force, she had never felt such wild, uncontrollable agitation and anger—not even during the maddening hormonal surges of her teenage years. Then again, did she ever truly have a real adolescence? A time when she dared to love and hate without restraint? Had she ever just let herself go, recklessly surrendering to her desires and fury, guided only by instinct? Her head felt like it was about to explode. And when Anakin won yet another round, she emptied the whole bottle of liquor in one go.
"Padmé, are you alright?"
He was at it again, gazing at her with an intensity that threatened to devour her whole. His voice—low, almost husky—poured into her ear like liquid heat, sending a ripple of sensation through her. Her skin tingled with a sweet, soft itch, and her bones turned to jelly.
She glared at him, pouting. Just then, a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, followed by a large head leaning close. The rancid stench of alcohol made her stomach lurch. Without thinking, she shoved him away, but he leaned in again. "Hey, doll—" He didn't finish the sentence. She barely had time to register his face before a massive figure was hurled onto the poker table. Glass shattered, liquor splashed, and chips flew everywhere. All eyes in the casino snapped back to the table—
Lying there—right where the Twi'lek dancer had been writhing only moments ago—was a tattooed man groaning in agony, his face twisted with pain.
Padmé jumped in shock and quickly stood to check on him, but an invisible force shoved her back down.
A series of sharp whistles pierced the air, followed by the gleeful laughter and cheers of the crowd. The casino had become a coliseum, with spectators—who had paid dearly for a thrilling spectacle—urging the two men to fight. The drunk man struggled to rise, only to fall again, swinging his fists wildly at them, causing the crowd to laugh even louder.
Enough!
Padmé stood again, determined to put an end to the farce. But Anakin was faster. In a move too quick for anyone to react to—and with a subtle use of the Force—he yanked the drunk man before them. Anakin's newly installed mechanical hand clamped around the man's neck. Realizing he couldn't fight back, the drunk man's face twisted in fear, and he almost sank to his knees on the table.
"Anakin—" Padmé grabbed his wrist, realizing they were about to provoke an unnecessary confrontation. "I'm fine. Let him go."
Anakin didn't respond, his gaze fixed coldly on the drunk man. The man quickly sobered up, pitifully begging and apologizing. Padmé glanced around. The crowd kept laughing and joking, while the dealer turned away with a bored expression. Two burly men—likely casino security guards—had clearly noticed the scene.
Padmé took a slow, steadying breath. "Anakin, let him go," she said, her voice calmer and more resolute. "I don't want to escalate this."
The burly security guards moved toward them, but Anakin didn't even glance away. He simply raised his hand in a subtle gesture, and the two guards halted at once. Then, with casual ease, he tossed the drunk man to the ground. Almost immediately, the dealer turned away as though nothing had happened. The onlookers quickly lost interest, their attention shifting elsewhere. They were clearly accustomed to such scenes.
"What are you doing?" Padmé hissed. "You almost started a fight."
"Sorry." Anakin shrugged. "Should I apologize for teaching that idiot a lesson for messing with you?"
"Whee…Whee…"The girl who had just performed the lucky dance whistled at Anakin from across the bar and blew him a playful air kiss.
That was it. All restraint broke in that moment.
"I'm going outside for some air," she said coolly, rising to her feet. Anakin reached for her hand, but she yanked it away. "I can handle it myself."
Anakin didn't stop her this time.
Padmé craved fresh air, desperate for deep, cleansing breaths. Yet she found none—this entire slum felt as though it had been cultivated inside a massive, sealed petri dish. The air was thick and filthy, clinging to her skin like a film of grease. Every breath tasted acrid, like swallowing a mouthful of oil.
The moment she stepped outside, her foot landed in fresh vomit, making her stomach churn violently. Covering her nose, she hopped toward a cleaner spot, trying to scrape the mess off her shoe. In doing so, she accidentally knocked something over. The sound echoed sharply as it clattered to the ground—revealing two naked bodies swaying unsteadily against the wall.
Damn it! She cursed under her breath and quickly turned in the opposite direction. But the other end wasn't any better. In a shadowy corner, smoke coiled around someone hunched over, inhaling spice. The cloying sweetness of the drug merged with the rank stench of the sewers, creating a grotesque, nauseating odor—like decaying meat.
The locals called this place "The Luminous City," a name meant to signify eternal radiance. Yet, those who lived here never saw true sunlight. She didn't need sunlight, nor did she hope for fresh air. What she needed was to escape the stench and find air that was at least somewhat dry.
She kept walking until she reached the corner of an alley. She paused, then turned to face another dimly lit passage and exhaled deeply. The air was still damp and oppressive, but at least there were no addicts or drunks stumbling about, and the smell was slightly less foul.
Inhale, exhale. A shallow breath, repeated once more. Her emotions refused to settle, but at least the alcohol's grip on her was loosening. She had an impressive tolerance for alcohol—it was, after all, an essential skill for any diplomat. But never had she drunk so recklessly, so heavily, with such unrestrained emotion. So close. So damn close! She almost lost her final grip on her emotions—drag her Jedi away, or push through the sultry women circling him.
But what she truly wanted, more than anything, was to yank Anakin to her, right here, in front of everyone, and sink her teeth into his lips. He was hers—everyone should know that. How ridiculous. This wasn't something Padmé Amidala would ever do. Just thinking about it was laughable. And yet she wanted it—wanted it so fiercely she didn't care if it made her look like a ravenous lioness.
Thank the Force! She still had a shred of rationality left. So far, everything was going according to plan, and yet she couldn't shake the unsettling feeling of being out of control. Yeah, out of control. She had always been the one steering their relationship, but in the past two standard hours, Anakin had taken over, leaving her feeling unsettled. Anakin always followed his instincts and emotions, laying himself bare to her—so much so that his honesty often bordered on rudeness. Most of the time he spent with her, he would listen to her, yield to her, and seem perfectly happy no matter what she did.
But tonight, he was so different from his usual always gravitated toward her so naturally, only to pull away just as casually. Was he doing this deliberately to get back at her? Did he think she was trying to control him and felt the need to wrest back control for himself? Was he trying to show her that he, too, could let go and stay in control? Unlikely. No matter how composed and distant he tried to act, the way he looked at her was like that of a wild animal—unbothered, utterly indifferent to its own nakedness.
Wait—where was her wild animal? He hadn't followed her? Uh, Padmé, you told him not to. Force help her, how had she become so utterly unreasonable?
Padmé let out a heavy sigh and braced herself to retrace her steps. But where was the way back? She had meandered through the alleys, each one fracturing into endless offshoots, like the tangled branches of a tree. The shops and houses all looked nearly identical, their signs a chaotic jumble. There were sounds lingering around her ears all throughout her wandering, like whimpers, moans, or perhaps wanton laughter, occasionally pierced by a sharp scream, broken and intermittent, as if echoing from unseen corners or drifting in from some far-off place.
The longer she walked, the faster her heart raced, the heavier her breaths grew, and the stronger her desperation grew to escape. The only people she saw were either zombie-like addicts shambling aimlessly or shadowy thugs crouched in the corners, their piercing stares making her skin prickle with unease. Hell, she was lost. She might never find her way out.
As she walked through a narrow alley, Padmé heard someone call her name. Perhaps it was just her imagination, so she kept going. But then the voice came again, and this time, she recognized it instantly.
"Seon?"
"You remember me!"
"Of course." Padmé stepped closer to Seon. He stood with his back to the light, his face swallowed by shadow. "What are you doing here?"
"I live here," he replied with a faint shrug. "And you? What are you doing here?"
Padmé stopped in front of him, her eyes straining to make out his features. His left cheek was badly swollen. "What happened to you?" she asked.
"It's nothing. Just a fall." Seon took a step back, putting a little more distance between them.
"Really?"
He shrugged again. "Miss Padmé, what are you doing wandering around here alone? Where's your friend?"
"We came here for some fun, but I got separated from him," she said, glancing around at the maze of twisting alleys. "I think I'm lost."
"This place is easy to get lost in—and dangerous," he said, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice. "Bullies and drug dealers are everywhere, and gang fights can break out any moment. You shouldn't be here, miss."
"I'm trying to find my way out."
"You'll never find your way out alone, miss," Seon said with a regretful sigh. "Without a local to guide you, outsiders don't stand a chance. Don't be deceived by how empty it looks—eyes are everywhere. The moment they suspect you, or think you're carrying wealth, they'll come out of hiding. What if they believe you're working for the police? Or here to expose some secrets?" Then he gave her that smile again, one laced with mystery and self-assurance. "Let me guide you. I know the safest path to take—"
"Seon, that's enough." Padmé cut through his rambling with an air of calm authority, her face assuming the composed, unyielding expression she so often wore in the Senate. "Do I really look so foolish and easy to deceive?"
Seon nearly bit his tongue, his face shifting as if Anakin had suddenly thrown a starfighter into a steep dive with him helplessly strapped in the co-pilot seat. He had never seen her look so stern and resolute, and it left him momentarily speechless.
"What?" he faltered, his voice dropping to a nervous murmur. "I… I'm not sure what you mean, Miss Padmé."
"Let me make it simple," came Anakin's voice, cutting through the alley with sharp clarity. "You and your little crew stole from us—and now you're greedy enough to try it again."
Seon kept his head lowered, his hands clutching the hem of his shirt. The dim, greasy light cast his shadow long and thin, exaggerating his frail, skeletal frame. Their scheme wasn't complicated. There were five of them in total—the youngest was just seven, the oldest fourteen. They weren't part of any established gang, so they scraped by targeting wealthy, well-dressed tourists with their pickpocketing.
Seon's role was to strike up a conversation with tourists, learn about their travel plans, and then wait for the right moment to create a diversion. The methods were simple, but they were undeniably effective.
"It's a bit better than running errands for drug dealers," Seon said, his timid voice tinged with a hint of smugness. "The cops don't bother with petty theft," he added, as though pickpocketing offered a brighter future than dealing drugs.
Anakin's plan had worked—exceptionally well. Their exaggerated performance had drawn the attention of the local gangs. Sure, their focus was on Anakin—more specifically, his gambling skills. But Seon wasn't done. He had his sights set on squeezing just a little more out of Padmé.
"What were you planning to do to her?" Anakin's tone left no room for deception as he stood firmly on the stone steps at the alley's entrance.
Seon flinched. "No, no, sir, it's not like that! I—I never meant to hurt Miss Padmé!" He shot a desperate glance at her. "Please believe me, miss. I swear, I never intended you any harm."
"Seon," Padmé said calmly, "I'm not here to make things difficult for you. Just stop lying."
"I'm not lying—"
Anakin leapt down from the steps. Seon flinched violently, ducking his head so low it seemed he wanted to bury himself in the ground. Sobbing, he stammered out apologies, claiming he only wanted to help Padmé leave the city and earn a small reward.
"You think I'd believe you? A liar?" Anakin took a step toward him. Seon flinched and shuffled closer to Padmé, trembling. "Don't play games with me. Where are your friends? Where's our stuff?"
"Anakin!" Padmé intervened, her voice firm as she shot him a warning glare. His face was pale with anger, but he stopped in his tracks. Turning her attention back to Seon—who looked like he might collapse under Anakin's glare—she spoke gently, "Seon, don't be afraid."
"T-the bag's n-not with me," he stuttered. "I left it w-with a f-friend."
"Are the things inside still there?" Padmé asked.
"We split the credits, but the rest of it should still be there," he mumbled.
Padmé didn't want to scold Seon; he looked utterly terrified. She sighed and reached out to touch the boy's shoulder. The moment her fingers brushed against him, he recoiled as if he'd been shocked, letting out a whimper. 'You're hurt?" she asked, alarmed.
"N-no, I'm not," he mumbled quickly.
Padmé pulled him into the light to examine him more closely. The injuries were glaringly obvious. Beyond the swelling on his face, the skin beneath his pants and sleeves bore several red, raised welts—some shallow, others deep, like shoe imprints. In a few spots, fresh blood still clung to the wounds. There was no doubt these injuries had been inflicted after they'd parted ways.
"You need to see a doctor," she said softly. She could hardly believe anyone could be so cruel to a child."
Seon pulled away from Padmé. "It's okay, thanks. I can handle it."
Anakin stepped closer. Seon stood frozen, rigid as a puppet, letting Anakin check his injuries. He didn't seem quite as terrified as before.
"The wounds are fresh, but nothing serious," Anakin said to Padmé.
"Serious or not, you should see a doctor," Padmé said firmly.
Seon shook his head. "It's really fine. My friend helped clean them up already."
"Guess that beating had nothing to do with splitting the loot, huh?" Anakin sniffed.
"They're my friends," Seon said defensively.
"Yeah, no kidding," Anakin shot back. "You really stick together, don't you?" His sarcasm cut even deeper.
Padmé rolled her eyes at the Jedi before turning back to the boy. "Seon, would you mind telling us what happened?"
Seon dropped his gaze, stealing a sideways glance at her while biting his lower lip. "My mom…" Before Padmé could draw a horrible conclusion, he shook his head frantically. "No, it's not what you think. It's her boyfriend. He's a junkie with a terrible temper. No matter what I do, it's never good enough for him. But today wasn't so bad—just a few kicks."
Padmé gasped, her expression tightening with shock.
"Please, believe me, it's okay," Seon said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've had worse."
"Why don't you leave him?" she asked gently.
Seon's head dropped again, his fingers tugging at the frayed hem of his shirt.
"She's a junkie too, isn't she?" Anakin cut in, his tone as blunt as ever. "You don't want to leave her. You want to take care of her."
"She's my mother," Seon said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Padmé felt a weight press against her chest, making it hard to breathe. Under the dim, greasy light, she checked the boy once more. The agony of survival was etched into every inch of him—his rotting teeth, his skeletal figure, the haunting scars marking his body. And yet, if he were dressed in clean clothes and standing in the sunlight, no one would notice the fear and anger buried behind his polite smile.
Here, tragedies fell like stones into the ocean—sinking in silence, disappearing without a trace. Her mind wandered to an earlier conversation with Anakin: No matter how hard you try, you can never stop the river from flowing to the sea.
"Please, believe me. We never wanted to hurt you," Seon said, meeting their gaze fully for the first time. "Some of us don't have homes. Others are too afraid to go back. We have no money, no skills. This… this is all we can do."
"I'm not saying it's okay, Seon, but I'm not here to cause you trouble," Padmé said, her voice heavy with bitterness, helpless guilt churning in her stomach. "I just need my bag back. It's not worth much, but it's very important to me."
Seon hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod.
"We'll go with you."
"We'll wait here."
Padmé and Anakin spoke at the same time.
Seon stared at them, his gaze bouncing back and forth in utter bewilderment. The silence that followed felt thick and uneasy, lingering until Padmé finally broke it—cutting off Anakin's growing impatience.
Seon, can you wait for just a moment, please?" she asked softly. Then, turning to Anakin, she said, "Ani, can I talk to you alone?" The rigid lines of his face softened instantly at the sound of his nickname.
"We don't know what's waiting for us on the other side," Anakin said. He was only a few steps away from Seon, making no effort to lower his voice.
"If he was, I'd have sensed it. But it doesn't hurt to stay cautious."
"We'll just get the bag and leave, alright?" she said, casting a glance at Seon. "They're just kids."
Anakin scoffed. "Do you know why their pickpocketing is so simple yet so effective? Because they're just kids!"
He made a fair point. She didn't have to go, but guilt drove her to see if there was something—anything at all—she could do for those kids. Then there was another reason, one she refused to admit even to herself: a small, petty desire to push back against Anakin for his constant disregard and controlling behavior. It was undeniably childish, but she couldn't help it.
"Anakin, I've made up my mind."
He narrowed his eyes at her. She met his gaze without flinching, refusing to back down. They stared at each other, locked in a silent tug-of-war, until Anakin finally relented.
"Have it your way."He said.
"Thank you."
The tightness in Padmé's chest loosened. Anakin's behavior tonight had spoken volumes: he was no longer the boy she could easily sway—he wanted her to yield. She needed to send her own message in return: she didn't mind his need for control, but she required reciprocity. It might not have been the hallmark of a healthy relationship, but the strange exhilaration she felt couldn't be denied.
At Padmé's insistence, Seon received basic treatment at an unlicensed clinic. Afterwards, they stepped onto a broad, brightly lit street. The walls were covered with vivid, eccentric graffiti, and both sides of the road bustled with lively roadside stalls. Workers just off their shifts, others heading to their next, and aimless wanderers filled the area, laughing, shouting, and milling about. It wasn't as lively as a night market or as chaotic as the midday rush, but for the first time in the underground city, Padmé could sense the breath of life weaving through the air.
At a small craft stall, Seon stopped to call over a girl who couldn't have been more than ten years old. Her hair puffed out like a head of cauliflower, and she wore a vest that trailed down to her heels, making her thin, angular frame seem even more emaciated. As she listened to Seon, her sharp, unrefined gaze remained fixed on Anakin and Padmé, carrying an untamed intensity that felt almost primal. Feeling the awkward tension, Padmé turned away, letting her eyes settle on the flow of people bustling along the street.
Anakin shadowed her closely, saying little, his expression fixed in a silent declaration: "I don't agree with your decision, but I've given up arguing." It was clear that he had followed her the instant she left the casino—probably to annoy her and lure Seon out by letting her wander alone. She sighed. They needed to have a real talk. But then again, if he wasn't speaking to her, she wasn't exactly eager to speak to him, either.
Seon quickly returned to them, standing nervously in front of Padmé. Padmé's gaze flickered instinctively to the girl—still in the same spot, staring at them with a blank, unreadable expression.
"Here's your bag, Miss Padmé," Seon said, holding it out to her. "I'm sorry, but I can't promise everything inside is still there."
"That's all right," Padmé said, turning her focus back to him. She took the bag, carefully removed the remaining items, and secured them in her utility belt. Then she slipped a few credits into the bag and offered it back to him. "Seon, keep it. I hope it'll help you for a while."
Seon's eyes widened in shock. "You—you don't have to—I'm not worth it."
"Let us decide if you're worth it, alright?" Padmé said, glancing meaningfully at Anakin. "What do you think, Anakin?"
At the mention of Anakin's name, Seon lowered his head. "I really can't accept any more kindness, Miss Padmé."
"Take it, Seon," Anakin said, his tone firm but kind. "And take care of your mom."
This was probably the simplest way Anakin could express his understanding toward Seon. Back at the clinic, he'd even asked the healer to run an extra examination to ensure Seon's old injuries hadn't caused any lingering damage.
Seon's gaze darted between Anakin and Padmé before he dropped his head. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," he finally said.
"There's no need to apologize, Seon. I forgive you," Padmé said, holding the bag out to him once more. "Take it. I hope we'll get the chance to meet again someday."
He tilted his head, casting a sidelong glance at Padmé, his gaze distant and unfocused. Then— as if he'd just glimpsed something horrific—his expression twisted into panic.
"What's wrong, Seon?" Padmé asked.
A desperate scream tore through the chaotic hum of the late-night street. Padmé's head whipped around, and she caught sight of a girl sprinting toward the crowd at the far end of the road—it was her, Seon's friend!
Her piercing screams seemed to set off the street's "emergency response system," triggering a cascade of stomping feet and shouting, layered with reverberating echoes. The deafening noise swelled like water boiling furiously beneath a sealed lid, surging toward them in a tidal wave. Instinctively, they braced themselves in defense.
Padmé spun back to Seon—he was gone! Anakin grabbed her wrist, pulling her close. Back-to-back, they instinctively fell into a defensive stance.
By now, the street corner was packed with a dense throng of gangsters. A Mirialan, likely the gang leader, sat shirtless on a stool in front of a stall, one leg lazily propped on a floating table. The same girl stood before him, her face streaked with tears as she cried and pointed in their direction. Three boys appeared out of nowhere—she recognized two of them as the ones who had bumped into her at the night market—and crowded around the leader, babbling incessantly. From the buildings lining the street, creatures of every kind began to emerge, their greedy eyes fixed on the scene below. A group of bare-chested youths, rifles slung over their shoulders, stood with tense postures, ready for action.
She hated that Anakin had been right again—compassion was such an easily exploited weakness. Maybe this was Seon and his friends' plan all along, or perhaps the girl's spur-of-the-moment improvisation. Either way, it was pointless to dwell on it now. The people here were like the falumpasets of Naboo's jungles—any perceived threat to their territory would send them swarming out in full force.
"Don't worry," Anakin murmured softly in her ear. "We'll be fine."
Padmé could sense how much effort her Jedi was putting into keeping his anger in check. She didn't think the situation here was any worse than Geonosis, but shame tugged at her—she wanted to apologize for her earlier display of pretentious stubbornness.
The moment the leader began to speak, Padmé knew there would be no room for civilized negotiations.
"Looks like we'll have to resort to aggressive negotiations," she said.
Anakin glanced at her, his expression lighting up with a hint of excitement. "Never dealt with gangs before, have you?"
The Mirialan declared they would engage in "fair negotiations": "It is our responsibility to protect our children, and you've been bullying them…" He stroked the girl's head as he spoke—smirking, his eyes glinting like a rat watching a cornered piece of cheese.
As Padmé observed him, it felt as if she were back in the Senate Chamber, staring at the massive screens that magnified the faces of seasoned bureaucrats. Their chins were always lifted, their expressions dripping with arrogance as they methodically spouted a load of nonsense.
"If you mean greedy, savage cave dwellers," she said, unable to suppress an eye roll, "then yes—pretty much every single day!"
After a beat, Anakin let out a dry scoff. "You just gave me another reason to hate politics."
"Good to know we're both experts at dealing with people like that," she replied with a faint smirk.
Their eyes locked. In that instant, they were perfectly in sync. Mayhem often struck in the blink of an eye, and the best way to break free was to unleash an even more absurd and unexpected chaos.
Padmé fired a shot into the air, releasing a burst of blue electronic mist that detonated above the crowd. Panic erupted like a laser cannon blast, sweeping through the street in a tidal wave of confusion. People screamed and shoved, surging in all directions, tripping over one another as they scrambled for an escape but found no way out.
After that, everything blurred into a frenzied rush. They ran without pause, weaving through the maze of alleys, climbing up and down as they dodged gunfire and surging crowds, desperately searching for an exit. The turmoil they had unleashed only attracted more pursuers. The locals, with their intimate knowledge of the twisting streets, tracked them with ease—every alley they passed betrayed their presence. The tangled streets, like a spider's web, funneled them again and again into the path of furious locals.
At a crossroads, a child stumbled and fell, and Padmé instinctively dashed forward to pull them to their feet. A mob of thugs charged in, and Anakin sprang into action, his lightsaber spinning in a blur as he deflected the blaster fire. After tucking the child into a safe corner, Padmé turned just in time to see a bolt graze Anakin's shoulder—but before she could react, he grabbed her and pulled her into a nearby shaft.
The shaft was narrow and low, cloaked in impenetrable darkness. Its walls were slick and slimy, reeking of a sharp, moldy stench that stung her senses. Padmé crawled after Anakin, their movements slow and cautious. The deeper they went, the harder it became to breathe. Her chest felt crushed under the weight of an invisible stone, and her limbs grew weak and unsteady.
The ground beneath her hands and knees grew wetter, softer, more unstable—she had barely registered the danger when the earth gave way with a resounding crash. A metallic clang echoed through the darkness as they plunged into an underground river.