Anakin could hardly feel his legs as he trudged back inside the Jedi temple. The sky beyond Coruscant's skyscrapers glowed pale with the first hints of a glorious dawn. He'd been out the entire night, scouring the lower levels with the 501st. Two full days with no sleep or food had stripped him raw, leaving him trembling with fatigue and threaded with a single desperate spark of hope. He had to keep going – had to find Padmé. Yet for now, that search had led him back here, where at least one part of his beloved was safe.
The grand hallways of the temple stood mostly vacant at this hour, bathed in the soft hush of early morning. Up ahead, two younglings, no older than eight or nine crept on tiptoe toward the kitchens, their muffled giggles echoing faintly as they were blissfully unaware of his presence. Anakin's lips curved into a small, weary smile at the sight of them enjoying themselves without a care in the galaxy. The innocence of youth. Had he ever possessed such a precious gift?
He paused there, feeling his heart thudding in his chest. A whisper in the back of his mind reminded him, everyone is asleep… nothing is stopping you from seeing your own youngling now. And just like that, adrenaline flooded him anew. His pulse thumped in his ears. The corridor to the crèche beckoned and he turned on his heel and sprinted, forgetting how little energy remained in his worn-out body. The only thing that mattered was finally laying eyes on his baby.
By the time he reached the crèche, Anakin's lungs were burning and he was gulping in air, but the fierce need to continue pushed him forward. Stepping inside quietly, he scanned the rows of hover-cradles. A hush filled the large room, the infants resting or stirring in gentle motion. His eager gaze noticed there were only two human babies and one was clearly several months old, fussing slightly as a caretaker droid adjusted the blankets. So not… his.
His gaze shifted to the second hover-cradle, drifting in a soft glow of low lamplight, as the twi-lek caretaker dozed softly in the corner. Anakin's breath caught in his throat, heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst out right here. There, nestled in pale linens, was a tiny infant with dark hair and impossibly small fingers curled near their cheek. He stepped closer, fighting the urge to collapse from both exhaustion and sheer emotion. That's my child, he thought, throat tightening. His child, Padmé's child, found in that nightmare place but now here – alive and safe. Still trembling, Anakin bowed his head for a moment, a silent prayer of thanks mingling with a raw, overwhelming sense of loss for the mother who wasn't here to join him.
His hand, callused from battles and heartbreak, hovered inches above the cradle's edge, uncertain if he should even touch this fragile life inside. He didn't know what to do or say. All he knew was that something of Padmé remained before him, someone so small, defenceless and more precious than anything in the galaxy. For a moment, all he could do was stare. When he finally, gently, placed his trembling fingers on the cradle's rim, the baby shifted, its tiny lashes fluttering and Anakin's heart ached. He still hadn't found Padmé. He hadn't saved her, but he had found this miracle – and no matter what, he wasn't going to fail this child. He couldn't.
He closed his eyes, breathing in the moment, letting the presence of the baby wash over him in the force. It was bright and warm, so like Padmé. Tears suddenly threatened at the edges of his vision and spilled over before he could stop himself, but Anakin made no move to wipe them away. He was here. His child was here. And somehow, impossibly, that gave him a shred of strength to keep going until he could bring Padmé home, too.
Anakin's eyes blurred further as he bent to examine the soft glow of the digital chart affixed to the hover-crib. For a moment, the letters meant nothing to his exhausted brain – he only sensed the child's bright, living presence in the force. Then the words registered – Female.
He had a daughter.
He choked back a sob, his gloved hand flying to his mouth. A baby girl. He turned his teary gaze to the tiny form, noting her dark hair… just like Padmé's. With trembling care, he reached out his flesh hand and brushed her silken little tufts. Force help him, he was completely unprepared. What was he supposed to do? He hardly knew a thing about babies! But his lack of knowledge mattered nothing, Anakin's heart tugged him forward, urging him to hold her.
"Shhh," he murmured as he slipped his hands under her tiny body and lifted her close to his chest. Her eyelids fluttered, disturbed from sleep and she made a soft mewl of protest. "It's okay," he whispered, holding her as gently as if she were made of spun glass. "I'm here…" his throat threatened to close over as he murmured, "Daddy's here, little one." The baby's eyes slowly blinked opened – deep, warm brown, achingly familiar. Padmé's eyes. Anakin let out a strangled breath, tears slipping down his cheeks. "You're so beautiful," he breathed, voice trembling with such love and disbelief. It was like looking into a mirror of Padmé's gentle spirit.
Leaning in, he placed the lightest kiss on her cheek. "I promise you," he whispered, voice raw, "I'll find your mother. I'll bring her back, so we can be a family." His voice caught on that last word, imagining for one tortuous moment that Padmé was here beside him, cradling their beautiful little girl in her arms. The visioned faded into his heartbreaking reality as Anakin blinked, the beloved vision of his angel vanishing.
Looking down at the baby, a surge of emotion, love so vast and new it nearly buckled his knees, flooded him. He closed his eyes, letting it fill every empty corner of his soul. In this moment, for the first time since he discovered Padmé had been taken, Anakin felt a flicker of true hope flicker to life inside him. The baby stirred again, making a small, fussing cry and he stroked a fingertip over her soft cheek, swallowing his anguish for now. This was supposed to be a happy moment… If only Padme were here, this might have been the happiest moment of his life. "I know," he whispered softly as the baby's fussing grew louder. "I wish she was here too…"
A subtle shift in the force warned him of someone approaching. Heart lurching with guilt, though he wasn't quite sure why, Anakin reluctantly returned his daughter to the hover-crib. She let out the faintest whimper and he felt as if she'd claimed a piece of his heart and taken it with her as he laid her own.
He glanced over his shoulder just as Obi-Wan stepped into the room, his presence calm as ever yet tinged with deep sadness. Anakin cleared his throat, quickly wiping the tears from his cheeks before the old man noticed. He steeled himself, bracing for whatever Obi-Wan was going to say, even as his mind refused to leave the fragile, perfect little angel he'd just held in his arms.
Obi-Wan stepped quietly to Anakin's side, returning his former Padawan's tired gaze with a rare, gentle smile. He leaned over the hover-crib, extending a careful finger to graze the baby's tiny fist. The infant gave a reflexive grab, her soft little digits closing briefly around Obi-Wan's fingertip. Something warm and fierce stirred in Anakin's chest, seeing his old Master interact with his little girl, even if neither of them quite understood the significance of the moment, it made his heart brim with a secret pride. A flicker of joy crept into his aura, nudging aside the dread that had haunted him for days.
"I see we had the same idea," Obi-Wan said softly, his eyes never leaving the baby's face. "I wanted to meet this little one properly. Yesterday was…full of darkness. We all needed something light to focus on."
Anakin nodded, arms folding over his chest in a weak attempt to appear composed. But he just couldn't tear his gaze away from his sleeping daughter, noticing how her features relaxed back into that perfect stillness of newborn slumber. A small sigh escaped her and Anakin's heart squeezed painfully. She's so small, he thought, so innocent.
Obi-Wan finally straightened, turning a sombre look on Anakin. "Your instincts were correct. The dna samples confirm she's indeed Senator Amidala's child."
Anakin allowed himself a moment of pride, one he quickly tempered with the ache of not knowing Padmé's fate. "She…she looks so much like her," he murmured, voice hushed as if speaking too loudly would break the spell.
Obi-Wan hummed in quiet agreement, thoughtful. "The resemblance is uncanny." He hesitated. For a moment, Anakin sensed the swirl of the older Jedi's emotions in the force – dread, reluctance, compassion. All of it bunched up behind a stony calm his friend usually wore when delivering dire news.
Anakin's breath quickened. He glanced from the baby, her tiny chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath, back to Obi-Wan. "What is it?" He asked, heart pounding for a very different reason now. He braced himself, certain his next words would be yet another blow to the already staggering weight of fear and grief he was carrying. The hush in the crèche seemed to grow heavier, the distant hum of temple life muted by the tension coalescing between them. Whatever he had to say, it wasn't good.
Obi-Wan exhaled a weary sigh, then placed a reassuring hand on Anakin's shoulder. "The Council decided to search Senator Amidala's apartment again last night, more thoroughly this time to ensure nothing was overlooked."
Anakin nodded automatically. "That makes sense," he said, oblivious to whatever hidden weight lay behind the other man's eyes. They searched Padmé's apartment? So what? Unless –
"As it turns out," Obi-Wan continued, voice kept carefully calm, "We did find something. Several things, actually, that… shed new light on aspects of the Senator's private life."
Anakin's pulse kicked up. They can't know… He forced himself to draw a slow breath, ignoring the slight tremor in his hands. If Obi-Wan suspected their marriage, he certainly wasn't letting it show… at least not yet. But why? Where was the yelling? The disappointed lectures on the importance of the Jedi way?
Obi-Wan lifted his gaze, meeting Anakin's eyes with a sympathetic kindness. "A wedding dress was discovered, along with men's clothing, enough that we must assume someone was frequently in her home. Perhaps even living there part of the time." The Jedi Master paused, carefully choosing his next words. "The Council believes it likely the senator may be married… or at least that she was engaged to be married."
Anakin felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. A bizarre mix of emotions, relief, dread, amusement and heartbreak rippled through him. For one surreal instant, he thought Obi-Wan might be toying with him, but the sincere compassion on his old friend's face promised otherwise. Obi-Wan sincerely believed he was delivering devastating news to a Jedi who harboured a doomed love for Padmé despite all reason. A wry, disbelieving laugh threatened to break free from Anakin's throat. Force…how can this get any more absurd? He turned away, clenching his fists at his sides. Because, from the his friend's perspective, the discovery of a secret husband was some stranger stepping between Anakin and the woman he so obviously adored.
He felt Obi-Wan's hand on his shoulder again, gentle as always. "I'm…sorry," he murmured, his voice heavy with compassion he thought Anakin needed right now. "I know how you feel about her, my friend. But it appears she'd been hiding this part of her life from everyone."
Anakin pressed his lips together, fighting the sudden sting of tears from part anger, part bitter hilarity at how upside-down everything had become. He wanted to shout – yes, she's married… to me! But the words lodged in his throat. Now wasn't the time to confess and blow everything wide open. He just couldn't risk it, not with her life still in danger. But that rationality didn't stop his chest aching, regret and sorrow and even a flicker of grim amusement warring within him. Padmé is missing, I have a daughter and the Council thinks she belongs to another man. It was almost too much to bear.
At last, he took a steadying breath. "Thank you," he managed, his own voice sounding hollow in his ears, "for telling me." Then he swallowed, not trusting himself to say more.
Obi-Wan squeezed his shoulder before letting his hand fall. He must have taken Anakin's silence for heartbreak and in many ways, that was exactly what it was, just not in the way his friend believed. "How could this possibly get any more complicated?" Anakin wondered aloud, trembling with fatigue, frustration, and grief. Meanwhile, the tiny life borne of the love he shared with his wife dozed peacefully in the hover-crib beside them, unaware that the fate of their family lay in the balance.
Obi-Wan let out a weary sigh and leaned against the hover-crib, gazing down at the peacefully sleeping infant. "Well, now we have a new question to answer. Who is this man Padme may have married, and why hasn't he come forward to help us find her?"
Anakin's jaw tightened, the muscles twitching in his cheeks. The coil of tension in his chest threatened to snap. He wanted to yell that there was no stranger – he was right here! But how could he reveal the truth without risking everything? "I don't see the point," he managed at last, forcing the bitterness out of his voice. We're wasting time, he thought fiercely. If Padmé was gravely injured, every second counted. "Whoever he is, he's not here right now and he's obviously not interested in helping."
Unsure of where to take the conversation next, and worried any further talk might rip him open, Anakin turned his attention to the baby. She made another soft sigh, her tiny fists clenching in sleep. He slid a gentle fingertip over her hand, careful not to wake her. Wait for me, Sweetheart. Stay safe until I can come back to you. "I'm going back out," he quietly declared. "There are streets, alleys and entire blocks down there I didn't have time to check last night."
Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. "You look exhausted, Anakin. Padme wouldn't want you to run yourself into the ground."
Anakin shook his head, refusing to meet his friend's worried gaze. Padme would want to be home with him and their little girl. Who cared what condition he was in right now? "I'll rest when the senator is back safely," he muttered, glancing at his daughter one last time, just long enough to feel the painful tug of fatherly love and overwhelming desperation to never leave her side again. "I'll find Artoo, grab some caff, and resume the search."
Without waiting for a response, he straightened, squared his shoulders and strode out of the crèche. "May the force be with you, Anakin," his friend's gentle goodbye caught his ears, but Anakin didn't pause to respond. Without the wonderful distraction that was his daughter, all he could focus on was the image of Padmé cuffed to that nightmare bed, hurt and alone. I'm coming, he vowed silently. Hold on just a little longer.
Anakin slipped into Padmé's apartment as the evening light glowed dimly against Coruscant's skyline. The hush of the place felt almost reverent, he supposed the police droids and Jedi had inspected everything thoroughly, yet the space remained hauntingly empty. No other life stirred within these walls. No trace of Padmé.
He paused in the foyer, breathing in the faintest lingering hint of her perfume as he input the security clearances that would allow him entry without setting off his wife's powerful alarm. The memory of the bloodied makeshift hospital room choked him for an instant, but he pushed the image away, forcing himself to focus on the present – Sabé's message summoning him here. But she was late or maybe he was early. Either way, the Jedi found himself alone with his thoughts.
It had been hours since he laid eyes on his daughter. The ache gnawing at his chest reminded him how quickly and thoroughly his life had changed forever in that moment. Part of him wanted to race back to the temple, gather that tiny girl into his arms and never let go. Yet another part was grateful for a moment's distance. The swirl of everyone's voices, Obi-Wan, Master Windu, the clones, the police, had been relentless and he needed time to sift through the chaos in his mind.
He drifted deeper into the apartment, noticing how the early evening sun painted the walls in gentle gold. It reminded him of Naboo, how Padmé's skin glowed in the lakeside sunlight when they were last there together. He swallowed thickly, forcing his eyes forward, resisting the urge to sink into old memories for now. Moving into the living room, he lowered himself onto the pale yellow sofa that had once been a peaceful retreat for quiet evenings with Padmé. Now it felt like a lonely perch, the cheerful colour at odds with his turmoil in his soul. He braced his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands for a moment, exhaustion still clawing at him.
He couldn't stop thinking about his baby girl. His daughter. Those words still felt foreign, yet so right. He'd held her in his arms, felt her warmth and heard the faint hiccup of her breath. Every protective instinct in him roared at the thought of losing or failing her – but how could he possibly be a father if he'd never had one himself? A hollow emptiness spread in his chest. Shmi had never once spoken of his origins. Maybe she didn't know, or maybe she'd wanted to shield him from a horrible truth. It never mattered, Anakin told himself, she was enough. She was his entire universe as a boy. But here he was now, expected to guide a child of his own, something he'd never had modelled for him past nine years old.
His thoughts flickered to Qui-Gon Jinn. A man who had shown him kindness and confidence, who had believed in him fiercely and who was gone far too soon. Sometimes Anakin wondered if Qui-Gon could have been that father figure he'd always lacked, teaching him not just the ways of the Jedi but the balance of being a good man, a good protector. If Maul hadn't… But that line of thinking hurt too much and it led nowhere. Then there was Obi-Wan. His once Master was more like a brother than a father, he mused. They'd shared laughter, arguments, adventures and too many near-death scrapes that only cemented their bond. Obi-Wan had sacrificed for Anakin's sake more times than he could count, but it wasn't the same dynamic a father might offer. Obi-Wan himself had been so young when he took up the mantle as Anakin's mentor. They'd grown up together, in a way.
That left the Chancellor – the one man who had seen his potential from the very beginning, who had believed in him with a depth and intensity no member of the Jedi Council ever could. While the Jedi preached restraint and distance, Palpatine had offered something far more precious… trust, unwavering and fierce. He had listened when no one else would, had believed in him when others only doubted, had guided him through the shadows of this war with a steady, reassuring hand.
Was this what a father was meant to be? A pillar of strength, a presence that never faltered, a voice that understood even the unspoken fears and desires? Their bond was real, unshakable, something Anakin treasured in the depths of his soul. He could count on one hand the people who truly saw him – not just as the reckless Jedi Knight or the prophesied Chosen One, but as a man, flawed yet full of promise. Palpatine understood him in a way the others never did, saw not just what he was, but what he could become.
No matter how dark the days grew, Palpatine was always there – offering wisdom, reassurance, and the belief that Anakin was capable of something greater. He had been the one voice that never wavered, the one person who had never diminished him. And Anakin wanted to be that for his child, an endless well of support, a steady, unwavering force of love and safety. He would not let his child feel the isolation he had endured, the gnawing ache of never quite belonging.
Perhaps he should speak to the Chancellor. He would understand. He always did. And more than that, he would know what to do next.
Anakin exhaled, running a hand over his face. "What if I fail her?" He whispered to the empty apartment and received no response. A father should be steady, strong, and unwavering. This last day alone had proven how desperately he teetered on the edge when Padmé was threatened. How could he keep his child safe if he fell so easily into rage and panic? His gaze drifted to a small picture on a side table – an image of Padmé with her family on Naboo. He saw the bright smile she wore, surrounded by the warmth of her loved ones. That the kind of home his daughter deserved, but how could he provide it – especially while Padmé was out there, possibly bleeding and in danger?
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, guilt and worry gnawing his insides raw. Ahsoka drifted into his mind, unbidden. His former padawan – someone he'd cared about and guided as best he could. But it hadn't been enough, had it? The memory of her disillusioned gaze when she left the Order still stung. Another person he'd lost, another life affected by his failings. I can't do that to my child. I can't. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to breathe through the wave of despair. Padmé was still out there, the Jedi believed that, even if every clue seemed to vanish into darkness. She's alive, he promised himself, she has to be. Their baby girl needed both of them.
He clenched his fists and inhaled. Guilt and dread at battling in his chest, but so did love – and that love gave him a small kernel of strength. I just need to keep going, he thought. One more lead, one more slice of hope, that's all I need.
A beep from the hallway made the Jedi jerk upright, heart thumping. Maybe Sabé had arrived? He pushed himself off the couch with great effort, his aching body begging for just a little longer. Steeling himself, Anakin turned to the door and prepared to face whatever new revelations Sabé might bring. And as he did, he silently begged the force for the wisdom and resilience he'd never truly learned before. If not for his own sake, then for the precious little girl waiting in the temple and for the woman whose absence he felt in every breath.
Sabe burst through the doorway, breathless and flushed, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. Clutched in her arms was a slim datapad, its screen alight. "Oh, good, you're here!" She gasped, struggling to steady her voice. "I found something! I've gone through every single one of Padmé's recorded Senate appearances for the past eight months and security footage here, at the senate, everywhere. Look!"
She tapped the datapad, bringing up a crisp still-image of a woman. The figure was older, hair swept back, eyes vividly green. At first, Anakin's exhaustion-addled mind didn't register anything beyond a general familiarity. But then it clicked – those eyes. The same fearful eyes that had darted back at him in the alleyway…
"Tiaba," Anakin growled and before he could stop himself, a delighted, desperate laugh rose in his throat. Bolts of adrenaline shot through him. For the briefest instant, he almost swept Sabe up in his arms and spun her around in gratitude – but he caught himself. Sabe may look like Padme, but she was not his wife. That kind of affection was reserved for her alone. "Thank you, Sabe," he breathed, the excitement pounding in his chest. "This is it! We have to get this image everywhere. Everyone on Coruscant needs to know who she is and what she's done – she won't be able to hide for much longer."
Sabe bobbed her head, brushing a stray curl away from her cheek. "Don't worry, I still have a few contacts in the major networks. I'll have it live within the hour."
Pure relief flooded him and he covered her hand with his own for a moment, offering sincere thanks. But her smile faltered, apprehension flickering in her gaze. "I… heard about the baby," she said softly, lowering the datapad. "How are they?"
The very mention of his daughter tugged a fresh ache from Anakin's chest. "She's a girl," he said, a small, tender smile breaking the tension in his face. "She's… amazing. Beautiful. All Padmé."
Sabe's eyes glimmered, relief and hope dancing across her features. "I can't wait to meet her," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
"You will," Anakin promised, determined to keep that vow. "Soon."
For a moment, neither spoke, the weight of uncertainty hanging in the silence. Then Sabe took a half-step forward, something raw and understanding blooming in her expression. She closed her arms around Anakin, hugging him fiercely, like a sibling offering steadiness in the middle of a storm. "I know you're falling apart right now," she murmured against his chest. "But try – try to take care of yourself somehow, okay? You're no good to the baby or Padmé if you… if you collapse under all this strain."
Anakin gently eased her away, awkward in his gratitude. "Thank you, Sabe. Really." His voice was hushed, thick with the weight of unspoken fears. "I'm… I'm going to take this image to the police droids. The sooner they're distributing it, the better chance we have to catch Tiaba."
Sabe nodded, her brown eyes full of determined light. "I'll handle the press," she said. "And if I hear anything…"
"Contact me right away," Anakin finished, managing a faint, earnest smile. With that, he turned toward the door, datapad in hand and steeled himself for yet another mission – one that might finally bring him closer to finding the woman he loved and securing a future for the daughter who already held his heart in her tiny fists.
Anakin strode through the temple's corridors, eyes glued to the streaming coverage on Sabé's datapad. It felt surreal, hearing the voices of countless strangers calling out for Padmé's safe return, more passionately than ever now the galaxy knew about the baby. Commentators and anchors debated theories and conspiracies, political allies swore vengeance against Tiaba, and everyday citizens, people Padmé had served as Senator, voiced their anger and heartache. In every corner of the holonet, the outpouring of support grew louder.
His eyes were stuck to the datapad, hardly noticing the Jedi who stepped aside to let him pass. Indeed, Padmé's name was on the lips of millions, the impetus behind an insistent demand for justice – and hopefully, a wave of fresh eyes vigilant enough to catch Tiaba in her next move. Rounding a corner, he nearly collided with Obi-Wan. The older Jedi offered a quick, apologetic dip of his head. "Sorry, Anakin. I didn't see you there." Then he nodded toward the datapad clasped in his hands. "All the coverage is promising, isn't it? With this much scrutiny, Tiaba might have no option but to emerge – or risk someone who knows her betraying her to save themselves."
Anakin exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "That's what I'm hoping. Every second we lose, Padmé…" He forced the words out. "Well, you know."
Obi-Wan's expression darkened sympathetically, but he pressed on. "Actually, I was just speaking with Padmé's family."
Something tightened in Anakin's chest. Shouldn't he have been the one to do that? To reach out and keep the Naberrie's informed every step of the way. He should have promised them he was going to find their daughter, swore his love and unyielding motivation to bring her home. After all, they were his family too, in a manner of speaking… They might not know it, but they were bound, connected through their deep love for Padme. Maybe if things were different, they could have supported each other through this horror. His heart ached at that, but outwardly, he gave a slight nod, forcing himself to appear calm.
"They're worried sick, of course," Obi-Wan continued, voice low. "They're on their way here. They'll arrive tomorrow morning to collect the baby."
The datapad slipped in Anakin's hand, nearly falling to the floor. "They're… What? They're taking her? Where?" The shock hammered through his system like a pulse of lightning. His daughter. Padmé's daughter. He couldn't lose them both!
Obi-Wan frowned, confusion and a hint of concern creasing his brow. "Why wouldn't they, Anakin? If there's no trace of Padmé and the father is unknown…" He paused, oblivious to Anakin's inner torment. "They have every legal right to claim their granddaughter. They are the child's only known family."
Anakin's mouth went dry. He opened it to protest, to say I'm her father – but the words remained locked in his throat. There was nothing he could say without confessing everything, revealing his marriage and breaking the code. Before he could muster a retort, Obi-Wan shook his head, stepping back. "Excuse me, Anakin, I have to attend a Council meeting. They want updates on the search." But he only stood there, rigid with tension and dread. By the time he found his voice again, Obi-Wan had disappeared down the hallway, leaving him alone in the temple's vast corridor.
They're taking my daughter.
The words seared across his thoughts, spiralling into panic. Losing Padmé was already unthinkable, but to also lose his child to well-meaning relatives who had no idea she was his? I can't let this happen, he vowed, a surge of protectiveness bracing him against his exhaustion. His feet were moving before he made the conscious decision – he needed to see her. Now. If he didn't, his heart might explode from terror. So he hurried down the familiar path, his robe billowing in his wake, the temple's soft lights dancing on polished floors ahead.
By the time he reached the crèche doors, his chest felt tight and his mind was buzzing with frantic possibilities. What am I supposed to do? He had no clear plan, but at least he could watch over the baby and find some semblance of calm in the midst of a galaxy crashing down around him.
Anakin slipped through the creche doors as silently as he could manage, relief flooding him at the lack of caretakers around – they were probably busy herding a group of riotous force-sensitive toddlers in another room. He scanned the rows of gently swaying cribs, exhaling shakily when he spotted the tiny form of his daughter. Practically on autopilot, he lifted her from the cradle, heart hammering as he pressed her against his chest. Even with the chaos swirling in his mind, the simple warmth of her small body eased some of the knots in his chest.
He turned in a slow circle, searching for a safe, private corner to hold her. Some place no one would see him talking to her like a father. How can I keep you close without exposing myself he wondered desperately. He tried to conjure some last minute, brilliant plan like he always did – maybe could he convince the Council she was force-sensitive and must remain at the temple? But the thought of a midi-chlorian test made his stomach twist. If her reading was sky-high, a match for his own, the connection would be obvious. A dead giveaway.
Weariness crashed over him in waves. His eyes were burning. The baby let out a soft fuss and Anakin gently rocked her, pacing between the cribs. As he passed a large mirror near the caretaker's desk, he caught a startling glimpse of his reflection – sunken cheeks, shadows under his eyes that looked almost bruised, hair hanging limp. He looked like a wraith. He grimaced at himself. Sabe was right, he thought. I'm unravelling. Already he could feel the tremors in his hands, the shaky exhaustion that came from days without decent rest or a decent meal.
He looked down at the little girl in his arms, her face so heartbreakingly small and innocent. How can I keep her safe when I can't even think straight right now? An ache of guilt slammed into his chest and he realized with sickening clarity that right now, he was no fit guardian. He was barely hanging on. She deserved stability, someone who could protect her without question, who wouldn't be off chasing criminals and searching day and night for her missing mother. She deserved a family, Padmé's family, until he could bring her mother home.
Feeling as though his heart might shatter, Anakin crossed to an armchair near a cluster of toys. He sank onto the cushions, cradling the infant closer. She stirred, her tiny eyelids fluttering with fatigue and he let out a ragged breath, bending to kiss her soft forehead, his lips lingering on her soft, soft skin as tears blurred his vision. "I'm sorry," he whispered, voice catching on the unbearable emotion welling up inside him. "I'm so sorry I can't keep you with me."
His face crumpled, hot tears sliding down his cheeks as he realized that, in the morning, she would be in the arms of her grandparents, people who had no idea he was their son-in-law or the father of this precious child. It was crushing, but maybe this was the reality of fatherhood… putting her wellbeing above his own wants and wishes.
Force, she was so small, so unbelievably delicate, all wrapped in pale blankets. Her tiny face scrunched and relaxed with the soft, fragile vulnerability of new life. He held her close, his breath snagging in his chest. She gave the faintest little cry, a mere squeak of protest at the hushed tension around her – already so sensitive to the energy of the force. She was going to be incredible, he just knew it! Anakin quieted her with a light brush of his gloved hand on her forehead.
The Naberries were coming tomorrow. The thought ignited the living fire in Anakin's blood – an animal compulsion that commanded him to protect his child at all costs. He could feel his pulse thrumming dangerously, every beat urging him to lash out, to destroy anything or anyone who threatened to take her away. I can't do this, he thought, heart pounding in his ears. The very idea of letting her go felt like a betrayal. A betrayal of Padmé, of himself… even of the child's future he was supposed to safeguard.
The baby wriggled, a frail cry escaping her. In one trembling motion, Anakin slipped a hand under the back of her head, drawing her closer. "Shh," he whispered. Her tiny fingers curled, catching hold of the gloved tip of his mechanical hand. The gentleness of her grip threatened to shatter whatever sliver composure he was desperately clutching onto.
He pressed his lips together until they formed a bloodless line as his control slipped further. How had she done it? His mother, how did she let him walk away with a Jedi she'd only just met, on the faintest sliver of hope that Anakin might have a destiny of greatness at best and at worst, a life free from the shackles of slavery. How had she mustered that courage?
Anakin closed his eyes against the stinging wetness gathering, blurring his vision. Don't look back… That's what Shmi said as they parted, wasn't it? Don't look back. There had been a palpable sadness in her warm, dark eyes, yes, but a pride so luminous it outshone any hint of her pain. And he remembered – she hadn't broken, at least not until after he was gone. Until he couldn't see the agony his departure caused her. For his sake, there had been no tears in his presence, just a gentle, unwavering faith that her son would do great things.
She possessed a strength he couldn't hope to ever equal. Despite the harsh fate thrust upon her by destiny and the Force, Shmi remained selfless, brimming with kindness and love. How had she kept her spirit so luminous? Others would have folded under life's relentless strain, growing bitter and hardened, but never Shmi Skywalker – not his mother.
The memory of her gentle smile left a hollow ache inside him. She believed… in me. Even though letting him leave meant she might never see him again, she trusted he was destined for something beyond the sands of Tatooine. If Shmi Skywalker had the courage to release her only child into the uncertain arms of fate, didn't he owe it to his child to try to do the same?
Tears burned at the corners of his eyes. He fought them, swallowing hard, rocking his daughter gently, but they fell anyway. The way her eyelashes fluttered and her little hand gripped his gloved finger… was this the last time he'd feel the warmth of her skin against him until he found Padme? Until everything settled enough to allow him into her life properly? The thought of hours or days or even weeks passing without this amazing little girl in his arms… Anakin couldn't stand it.
But he had no choice – not if he truly wanted what was best for her. The Naberries offered safety, a safe haven where she could be surrounded by the love and stability she needed until their fractured little family could be whole again. It wasn't right for her to remain in the temple, hidden away under a cloud of uncertainty, unclaimed and waiting while he worked to mend the impossible. She deserved more than what he could provide in this moment – she deserved everything. Even if it tore him apart to hand her over, Anakin knew in his heart that she belonged with people who would love her as fiercely as he did.
For a moment, silence settled around him like a whispered promise. Within that hush, Anakin felt a gentle warmth blossom in his chest. Shmi. He could almost sense her presence as though she stood at his shoulder, offering the same quiet encouragement she'd always held in her eyes when he was a boy. For just a moment, he imagined her comforting hand on his shoulder, a silent reassurance that this was the right choice. In that fleeting instant, he almost believed he could turn and see her again, shimmering in the air like a memory made real. But he blinked and the world snapped back into hard reality, leaving him alone with the agonising ache in his chest.
Shmi wasn't here – she'd never been here… and yet he felt gutted all the same.
His heart felt on the brink of shattering. Yet he clutched onto the thought of his mother, the woman who had once made this very same sacrifice for him. If Shmi could be strong enough to let go of her only child, then Anakin had to find that same strength within himself. Because this little girl, his daughter, deserved nothing less than everything he could give. And right now, that meant letting someone else hold her tight until he could bring their family together again.
Unable to speak past the lump lodged in his throat, Anakin rocked her a little longer, just trying to commit every detail of her perfect face to memory – the delicate curve of her eyelashes, the softness of her cheek, the way her tiny hand curled against his tunic. He would find Padmé and they would all be together, but until he could stand as a father in more than name only, this was for the best – no, the only – choice.
He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers for one aching moment. Then, swallowing back his heartbreak, he told himself to be strong. If this is what it means to be a father, I'll do it for her.
Anakin rose from the armchair, gently rubbing a circle across his daughter's tiny back as she stirred. If this was his only night with her, at least for a while, he had to make it count. He passed the other huddled cribs, stepping softly to avoid waking the handful of sleeping infants around them. Slipping through the creche's door, he entered the temple corridors, keeping the baby pressed securely to his chest. "You know, your mother… she never stopped giving me a hard time whenever I did something… less than brilliant." A faint, affectionate smirk flitted across his face. "Like that bantha on Naboo – Force, I tried to ride it to show off and it tossed me straight into the grass. I'm pretty sure she nearly died laughing at me."
The baby's only response was a soft, gurgling coo. Anakin chuckled. Probably for the best – she doesn't need to learn about dangerous stunts just yet. He tightened his hold, cherishing her small weight in his arms. They passed a grand entryway leading to a hallway lined with statues of Jedi Masters from eras long gone, heroic figures captured in regal stances, gazes fixed forward in silent testament to their great deeds. "These," he said quietly, pausing to regard the solemn faces carved in stone, "are some of the greatest Jedi who ever lived. They made sacrifices, fought wars and saved lives…" He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I can't help but think if I ever got a statue here, it'd be a cautionary tale – Younglings, don't be like that guy."
He allowed himself a gentle laugh, though fatigue clung to him like a heavy cloak pressing on his shoulders. The baby squirmed, perhaps in protest at the jostling, so he resumed a steady pace forward. His gaze snagged on a painted mural depicting the legendary Jedi Ryssa Jull, arms extended protectively, light shining around her in a final act of self-sacrifice. "Ryssa Jull," he told the little girl. "Thousands of years ago, she gave her life to save an entire colony from a plague. She was the only one who could create the cure and she poured all her strength into it – afterwards, she was too weak to survive." He sighed, the sting of that story never failing to hit him. "Your mom…she'd admire that. She's always been selfless too."
The baby was uncharacteristically quiet, her face tucked into Anakin's chest. He peered down and found her eyes half-lidded. Despite his sombre tone, she appeared… entirely unimpressed. Anakin snorted softly, shifting his grip to support her head a little better. "You're a tough audience, little one," he whispered, affection lacing his words. "You and your mom… always keeping me on my toes." Then he pressed his lips in a tender kiss to the top of her head, continuing on at a slow amble, letting the hushed halls of the temple cocoon them in peace – if only for these precious moments
They continued through the gallery of Jedi history, torchlit murals and statues silently testifying to valorous deeds of ages long past. Anakin trudged on, conscious of how the baby's presence in his arms kept him tethered, if not to hope, then at least to a calmer purpose. Every little rustle of her blanket, each soft coo, reminded him that despite the darkness they faced, life persisted in its quiet grace. But an unsettled realisation smacked into him – she needs a name. It seemed only right, yet also an honour he was unsure he had any right to claim. His heart throbbed painfully as he thought about Padmé. She should be the one choosing the baby's name, or at least sharing in the decision with him. Not to mention he was about to relinquish their daughter to Padmé's parents, to be raised on Naboo until… Force only knew.
"Is this what a good father does?" He murmured to the baby, his tone flooding with guilt. "I'm letting you go with people who don't even know that I'm your father. Your real father." His words caught in his throat, prompting him to breathe deeply and nuzzle his cheek against her downy hair. "What if they give you a name you hate? Or what if they… I don't know, name you after some distant relative I've never even heard of?" The corners of his lips twitched in wry amusement at the notion. "Then again, maybe I deserve that."
He frowned, pressing the thought aside. A name… something to keep between us, he mused. Anakin Skywalker was well acquainted with secrets, what was one small, quiet one just between father and daughter?
Lost in musings, he spoke more Jedi legends into the hush, tales of warriors who overcame impossible odds, altruistic knights who placed the needs of strangers above their own. The baby seemed as unimpressed as before, punctuating his grand retellings with sleepy blinks and the occasional tiny yawn. Her gentle, drowsy expression drew a smile from him and he carefully rubbed a circle over her back, coaxing her into relaxation. They came upon yet another mural, Leia Shule, a celebrated Jedi Master known for her teachings, her commitment to passing on the old ways so they wouldn't fade with time. Her likeness was captured in a sweeping stance, green lightsaber in hand, yet the focus of the image was on her benevolent gaze and the legions of padawans behind her.
Something in the artwork seemed to draw the baby's attention, she kicked her small legs and let out a bright little squeal. Anakin froze mid-sentence, glancing down in surprise. The corners of his mouth lifted. "You like that one, huh?" He whispered, voice thick with fond amusement. The child made another soft noise of delight, as if to confirm it. "Leia…" Anakin tasted the name, trying it out. "Leia Shule was a teacher of the force. A guide. A guardian of knowledge." Slowly, he smiled, pressing another gentle kiss against the baby's forehead, inhaling her comforting warmth. "Leia." The name resonated in his chest, in the space he usually reserved for thoughts of Padmé. "Leia Amidala Skywalker," he breathed next, scarcely above a whisper. The syllables interlocked with a surprising, natural grace. A name that honoured her mother, wove in his own lineage, and, if fate allowed, would forever tether them as a family whether the galaxy knew it or not. Another kick of her tiny feet, another barely-there squeak. Anakin's chest squeezed with unexpected joy. He laughed softly, the sound shaky with unshed tears. "Yes," he said, stroking her cheek. "Leia Amidala Skywalker. That sounds right to me too."
For an instant, as the baby snuggled into him and the universe seemed to hold its breath – no wars, no tragedies, just him and this precious little girl. It felt so real, so pure, that he almost believed they were father and daughter openly… that Padmé was safe and waiting for them in just another room…
But then his smile faltered, remembering all too quickly the dreadful truth of his circumstances. The morning would come and with it, the Naberrie family. Still, in this moment, father and daughter shared a silent promise. Whatever happened, wherever she ended up, they had this bond, this name, forever tying their hearts together.
With a final, soft sigh, Anakin began to retrace his steps toward the creche. Every fibre of his being protested leaving Leia even for a moment, but he had no choice. Someone would surely notice if he disappeared into the temple much longer with a baby that wasn't officially his to keep. Still, he made every step a drawn-out process, slow and lingering, memorizing every sensation of Leia's weight resting against his chest. "You know," he whispered against the top of her head, "I only met your grandparents once, but I – I know they're good, loving people. Your aunt, too. She'll adore you, I'm sure." His voice grew thicker, making it harder to speak. He swallowed around the ache in his throat. "They raised your mom," he added with faint pride. "And she's… well. She's an angel, even if she's infuriatingly stubborn sometimes."
He chuckled to himself at that, though it came out as more of a breathless sound than genuine humour. Leia let out a small whimper, her tiny face scrunching in distress as if sensing their depleting time together. Anakin felt like someone was driving a durasteel spike through his heart. "Shh," he soothed her, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. "It's all right. This isn't… This isn't forever, Sweetheart, I promise. I'll come for you as soon as I can." His voice almost cracked. You'll see. We'll be together – the three of us.
The journey ended far too quickly and Anakin found himself hesitating in the the creche doorway. Steeling himself, forcing his shaking legs to carry him to Leia's hover-crib. The caretakers were still distracted, giving him enough time to gently settle her among the blankets. She stirred, letting out a plaintive cry of protest and Anakin's felt another tear spill over, unbidden. He bent forward, pressing one last kiss to Leia's soft brow. "I'm not saying goodbye," he whispered, cheeks wet. "I'll be back before you know it." Every word felt like a jagged piece of glass in his throat.
Leia's wailing only intensified when he withdrew his arms, her tiny fists flailing in search of the security she'd just lost and it took everything in him not to snatch her back into his hold, damn the consequences. Instead, he forced a pained smile, stroking a featherlight touch along her pudgy cheek. "I love you so much," he said under his breath, voice shaking. "And I'm sorry." His heart twisted viciously as he turned and all but fled the creche. Her crying still rang in his ears when the door slid shut behind him. It was all he could do to keep his fraying composure in one piece as his footsteps echoed in the hallway. He pressed a hand over his mouth, chest heaving with held back sobs.
He didn't stop walking until he was far enough away that he couldn't hear her anymore – too afraid that if he heard her little cries for even one more second, he would rush back in, dooming them both to more questions, more secrets, and the certain fury of the Council.
This was for the best…
It had to be.