Tiaba hummed softly as she knelt by the makeshift washbasin – certainly not ideal, but for now, it did the trick. Her lullaby was an old Naboo tune, a gentle rise and fall that Padmé Amidala might have sung herself under kinder circumstances, but of course, the good senator was nowhere to be seen now, was she? All that remained was the precious cargo she'd carried, two tiny, stirring infants, each letting out tremulous, but almost fragile cries whenever she allowed the lullaby to lapse into silence. Fussy little things, that was for sure.
She dipped a cloth into the water, swirling it once before wringing out the excess. Slowly, carefully, she passed it over the infant's dark hair, rinsing away all the remnants of blood. In the dim glow of the overhead lights, the child's dark eyes flickered open, unfocused and searching. Tiaba smiled, though she felt no true affection for the girl in her arms, she was a means to an end, just like her brother over there.
"There, there," she murmured in a sing-song voice, "No fussing, little one… I'll take good care of you. Everything will be fine soon enough."
Outside the narrow windows, Coruscant's endless sprawl flickered with distant neon lights, but within these private walls, the hush felt nearly absolute. Tiaba glanced at the second infant, squirming in a small basket across the room. So much risk… and yet the reward was going to be immense. Steadying her breathing, she carefully lifted the girl from the basin, more blood remained than water now and the baby shivered in the cooler air, wriggling her arms and legs until Tiaba wrapped a soft towel around her tiny body, pressing the child briefly to her chest. The sensation jolted her with an unexpected flush of triumph, as she held the sum of her ambitions in the cradle of her arms.
They'd actually pulled it off! Now all they had to do was wait.
"It's all right, little ones," she cooed, voice carrying that gentle lilt again. "You'll have a purpose soon enough… a destiny beyond anything your mother or that Jedi could have ever offered. One day, you might even thank me for finding you…"
She laid the baby girl onto a prepared pad, ensuring the towel was snug and turned to the other child. The boy was smaller, his face a little rounder, blue eyes to his sister's brown and small tufts of light hair crowned his little head. "Two perfect little miracles," Tiaba murmured, letting the lullaby drift at the edges of her words. She would do the blood test to confirm their midi-chlorian counts later, but she was betting on numbers never before seen. "Both so full of potential."
Suddenly, the senator's unconscious form in that final moment before Tiaba had taken the children into her own hands flashed in her mind's eye. She'd done her a favour really – what mother wouldn't make the ultimate sacrifice to give her children everything? Now she didn't have to spend the rest of her life dealing with the little brats. She was free to be remembered and revered without the stresses of motherhood.
You're welcome, she smirked.
The boy let out a needy mewl and Tiaba rolled her eyes. "Oh, hush now. I'm sure you'll both learn to love your new life… or at least to properly serve the needs of those who have… invested in you."
Beginning to hum the old Naboo tune again, the soft sound worked well to disguise the soft tremor in Tiaba's voice. Every plan had its price and she knew the galaxy was up in arms searching for the senator. The Jedi too, especially him. Tabia knew she'd covered her tracks, knew she'd scorched every connection that led to her and yet she felt herself beginning to sweat as she glanced outside the windows. No one was coming, she reminded herself. No one knew where they were.
With both children bundled and dried, Tiaba eyed them with the same clinical interest a scientist might reserve for a prized specimen. "You two might not know your place in the galaxy yet," she whispered. "But soon… soon it will be revealed and I alone will be responsible for that revelation."
Her name might not be recorded in history but she would know. The gods would know. Her actions changed the course of… everything.
The lullaby's final notes trailed off into silence as she stood there, breathing unsteadily. In the hush, one of the twins began fussing, a weak, pathetic little cry. Tiaba reached into the crib and offered a pacifier, her fingers lingering for a moment on the baby's soft cheek.
The hush reclaimed the room, broken only by the quiet hum of life-support machinery and the infants' soft breathing. Tiaba cast one last glance at the locked door, ensuring no sign of intrusion and no sounds outside. The galaxy might remain oblivious for now, but she knew better than to underestimate those determined to find Padmé or what was once hers.
"Sleep well," she murmured to the cribs, turning away. "Because soon enough, the galaxy will learn of your birth… and the highest bidder will decide your destiny."
With that, she left the children dozing under the artificial glow, the faint echoes of a Naboo lullaby still drifting through the sterile air as she hummed it again. In the back of her mind, she could almost hear Padmé's voice, so anguished, desperate, fading helplessly into the oblivion Tiaba had engineered. A small price to pay, she told herself, for seizing the future.
Anakin pushed through the front entrance of Ziro the Hutt's infamous nightclub, the pulse of neon lights washing over him like a toxic wave. Drums of bass rattled the floor beneath his boots and an acrid cocktail of stale liquor, spice and sweat assaulted his senses, making the Jedi wince. Lurid holographic dancers spun overhead in ghostly arcs, casting shifting shadows that clung to him as he advanced through the leering crowd enjoying the show.
Glowering at the array of spilled drinks and half-crushed spice vials dusted across the floor – this was a den of vipers, a palace of indulgence and rot. A place befitting some of the galaxy's most repulsive and notorious crime lords. A beast willing to use and sacrifice his own infant nephew to push his agenda was capable of anything. These people, these things had caused more suffering than he cared to think about. It was impossible to forget the horrors the Hutts were responsible for, the lives they'd bartered and sold like livestock. Anakin's eyes shuttered as memories of the sweltering desert heat and his mother's gentle, worrying face crept across his skin. Shmi Skywalker had begun her life owned by the Hutts, eventually being lost to Watto's ownership in a force-damned sabbac bet.
Hutts took what they wanted and cared nothing for the aftermath. They'd twisted and warped entire sectors under their ruthless control for longer than he'd been alive. Anakin remembered being a small, innocent boy whose biggest dream was to free all the slaves from Jabba's oppressive empire. He'd fallen asleep night after night after long days of toiling away in Watto's shop imagining all the ways he would one day bring justice to the Hutts who lorded their power over the innocent. But the will of the force had a different path in mind for him. He was powerless to fight his destiny.
Stepping deeper into Zillo the Hutt's den, the spectre of Shmi Skywalker's life in chains gnawed at him anew – these people deserved nothing more than to feel all the same suffering they inflicted upon others! Anakin wanted to destroy everything and everyone inside these walls with his lightsaber until only ruin remained in the aftermath. But Padmé needed him, his revulsion be damned. He'd debase himself and kneel before the purple-shaded Hutt if it meant gaining the answers he needed to find her.
Countless force signatures thrummed through the smoky air, choking him with all their vile thoughts and intentions for the evening. Garish lights flickered across pale walls as jabbering aliens and small-time criminals paused their shadowed dealings to cast sideways glances as Anakin moved past them. He barely blinked as a stammering rodian scurried out of his way, muttering nonsense about not wanting trouble. He wasn't here for their petty crimes, he couldn't care less about anything other than his wife and where she could be.
Criminal types from every corner of the galaxy milled about, trading stolen goods, haggling over bounties or simply slinking into darkened corners with drinks and spice, their eyes darting his way with equal parts curiosity and wariness. A zeltron bartender froze mid-pour as Anakin passed, the presence of a Jedi unsettling in a place that thrived on chaos. Her vibrant pink skin flushed an even deeper shade as the fragrant purple liquid overflowed the rim of the glass, spilling over the bar in a slow cascade. It splattered across the hooded customer seated in front of her, soaking into his tattered robes and drawing a sharp, squealed curse.
"By the gods – watch it!" The man spat, flinging his hood back to reveal a scaly trandoshan face twisted in irritation. His yellow eyes darted toward Anakin, quickly narrowing into suspicion before flicking back to the bartender, who stammered an apology as she scrambled for a rag. Anakin's gaze watched the scene for only a moment, disinterest etched across his face. The trandoshan wasn't the kind he was looking for – small-time scum, more bark than bite. Someone like him lacked the ambition and resources to target a high-ranking senator like Padmé.
The Jedi advanced, focused as a predator stalking its prey, until he reached the far side of the club where an immense spotlight pulsed in time with the thundering music. Ziro the Hutt lounged on a raised dais, holding court, his gruesome face half-curtained behind a haze of pungent smoke. The surrounding crowd seemed to shrink away as Anakin approached, trying to blend into the shadows and avoid detection. As if he could care about any of them. He had far bigger problems than their pathetic lives right now.
The scheming Hutt reclined on a cushioned divan before him, bathed in pulsing purple neon. His luminous green eyes gleamed mischievously as Anakin stepped forward, offering a languid wave of greeting with his short, slimy arm. "Well, well, well! Look who decided to visit my humble establishment!" He drawled, his nasally voice dripping with mock warmth. "What can I do for the Republic's golden boy?"
Anakin stalked forward, stopping just short of the dais where Ziro lounged. Beneath the strobing purple lights, Anakin felt sweat beading across his brow, whether from the club's suffocating heat or his roiling anger was anyone's guess. "Senator Padmé Amidala is missing. The authorities have nothing and the Jedi Council is dragging its feet. I want answers and I'm certain your web of spies has already caught the scent."
Ziro's flabby jowls shook with a lazy chuckle. "Senator Amidala, is it? My, my, that's quite a predicament." He snapped his stubby fingers and a gleaming silver protocol droid left his side, disappearing into the smoke. "But why the urgency? I'm sure the Jedi has all sorts of fancy protocols for times like this… Why not let the big boys handle this and have a little fun, hm?"
The droid reappeared on Anakin's left, bearing a tray laden with exotic drinks that fizzed and shimmered in the club's pulsing lights. "Complements of Master Ziro," it prattled, its tinny voice a deliberate contrast to the pounding base in the background. "Might I suggest the – "
The delicate glasses rattled as his gloved hand shot out, knocking the tray out of the droid's grip, landing with a sharp clatter. Liquid sloshed and splattered across the floor – and across the front of Anakin's tabard. He didn't blink at the mess or the sweet scent of alcohol filling his nostrils. If Ziro thought he'd be so easily distracted, he was in for an unpleasant surprise. "I'm not here to party," he hissed, "I want to know what you've heard about the senator."
Ziro's bright green eyes narrowed with feigned sympathy. "Ah… yes, I did see the Chancellor's appeals on the news transmission… Such a pity. The poor dear… She does have quite the habit of sticking her nose in business that isn't hers – but that's the trouble with her type, isn't it? Always meddling, always crusading," his thick mouth curled up in a sly smile. "So driven, so… passionate. And quite a pretty thing too. Tsk-tsk… such a shame."
Every nerve in Anakin's body sparked at once as a red mist clouded his vision, silencing his rational thoughts. Hatred for Hutts, for all their callous cruelty, roared in his mind. The memory of his mother's haunted gaze overlapped with Padmé's beautiful face, fuelling his fury. The music continued thumping in the background, but he sensed the wide-eyed crowd was now focused solely on him and this conversation. The droid at Anakin's feet bent stiffly to retrieve the tray, trembling as if it too could sense the tension rippling from him.
"You don't get to speak about her like that!" He growled. His hands flexed by either side of his body as though already closing around Ziro's thick, slimy throat. "If you have any information on the senator's whereabouts, anything on who might be involved, you're going to tell me. Now!"
He'd known this wasn't going to be a pleasant or easy encounter, Ziro and Padmé had a past. She'd played a part in stopping his schemes to take over the Hutt empire and wounds like that cut deep in the galactic underworld. But no matter what he had to do, Anakin was going to get his answers one way or another.
Ziro let out a loud, theatrical laugh, his bulky form jiggling with the movement. "And here I thought Jedi were supposed to be pillars of calm and control! But here you are, trembling with rage before my eyes…" He pressed a ring-festooned hand to his chest in mock concern. "Is this how you plan on finding your little senator? By throwing tantrums in my club?"
Anakin exhaled sharply, every breath stoking the flaring embers of his anger. For a heartbeat, the urge to activate his lightsaber and carve straight through Ziro was almost overwhelming, but he needed the Hutt scum alive if he wanted to learn what he knew. "I will tear this entire place apart," he hissed, "I'll kill everyone in these walls if that's what it takes to find the senator." No one would miss the scum that frequented this place. He'd only be doing the galaxy a favour by cutting down some of its worst thugs and traffickers. And if someone did care enough to throw him behind bars, so be it. So long as Padmé was alright, he'd surrender happily.
From the edges of the crowd, he saw more than a few hands drift to blasters, but none dared draw openly. The tension roiling in the room was thick enough to choke on. Ziro, though rattled, was too proud – or too damn foolish – to relent so quickly and give him what he needed. The Hutt gave a theatrical shrug, flicking his tail lazily. "Your anxieties do not become you, Jedi. Perhaps you should go calm down, take a drink… and find someone else to bother with your bleating."
Anakin opened his mouth, but before he could respond, a hulking trandoshan bounty hunter shoved through the edge of the crowd, his red eyes glowing with menace. "Ziro don't like no trouble in his club," he rasped, stepping forward as if to block him. "If you ain't here to spend credits, get out. Or be thrown out."
He admired the man's bravery. Or maybe his utter recklessness. The line between the two was often thin and the biggest fools were usually the most courageous, believing in their own power to a dangerous degree. Obi-Wan had said as much and right now Anakin was inclined to agree. If this idiot wanted to suffer, then he was more than happy to oblige. The flicker of a grim smile touched Anakin's lips as his hand hovered near his lightsaber hilt. Perhaps making an example of one fool would finally open Ziro's eyes to his seriousness. He wasn't in the mood for taunting games. Every second wasted in this cesspool of vice and violence brought him closer to losing the woman he loved forever.
If Ziro didn't start cooperating soon, Anakin intended to make good on the storm brewing inside him. He would burn through every single being in this club if it brought him even a fraction closer to finding Padmé. Let them see the lengths he was willing to go. Let them fear him. Tonight, mercy was a luxury he didn't have.
Feeling the darkness swirling inside his chest, the Jedi smirked. "Try it," he spat.
The bounty hunter snarled and reached for his blaster. He was fast – but not fast enough to best him. With merely a flick of his wrist, the force coiled around the trandoshan like an invisible, violent hand, jerking him upwards. With a gut-twisting pull, Anakin threw him straight into the high, dark ceiling, the act almost unseen amongst the smoke and darkness, then, as if slammed by an unseen fist, he crashed back onto the floor. He relished the sickening crunch and the collective gasp that rippled through the club as every being in earshot recoiled in alarm. Even the music stuttered to a stop, replaced by the far sweeter sound of the bounty hunter's rasping moans as he lay motionless by his feet.
Anakin's breath came in ragged bursts. The faint glow of neon illuminated his eyes, cold and furious. "I want answers, Ziro. Now." he snarled, sweeping a glare over the terrified onlookers. A tense hush hung over the club as his seething gaze lifted to the Hutt, his anger radiating like a storm about to break.
Ziro was nearly quivering in his plush, oversized cushions. He forced a weak laugh that died in his throat as his large, desperate eyes darted about the crowd, searching for allies. When none came to his aid, the Hutt seemed to shrink in on himself before Anakin's eyes. Finally, he raised a trembling hand in a gesture of surrender. "P-please," he began, his tongue flicking nervously, "I swear, Jedi – I don't know much."
Anakin stepped closer, fists clenched and trembling. "Start talking," he ordered. Finally, they were getting somewhere… The Hutt might not know much but that was sure as hell more than he did right now and he'd take any sliver of information he could. Did he know about Tiaba? Who she truly was and where he might find her?
Ziro glanced around, wincing as if the very walls of his club might betray him for talking to a Jedi. "I don't know much," he said again, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "There's a… bidding war. Big credits. Galactic-scale figures."
Anakin's heart lurched in horror. A bidding war… for Padmé? The very idea of it twisted in his stomach, spinning the Jedi's world so violently, that he could hardly make out Ziro right in front of him. He remembered what those kinds of things looked like on Tatooine and how the slaver-scum treated the people they were selling, investing and gaining vast wealth by trading living people like objects. His desperation bloomed into pure terror. "What do you mean a bidding war?" He nearly spat the words through clenched teeth. "Are you telling me people are bidding on…" He couldn't summon the strength to finish that sentence, the vile reality of it catching in his throat, burning like acid.
Ziro gave a frantic wobble of his tail, avoiding Anakin's wild stare. "I don't know details!" He cried, "But the figures… eyewatering sums… Someone with your senator's… prominence would be quite valuable." The gangster seemed to blanch at the fury he saw flashing in his eyes. "I – I'm not certain it's her… but after I saw she was missing, I guessed… After all, who else would command that kind of starting price?"
A tremor of pure fear rocked Anakin's entire body. His breathing became shallow as every lungful of air grated against raw nerves inside him. Padmé, his wife, his angel held up for sale to the highest bidder. The revulsion that swept through him almost made him vomit right here in the middle of Ziro's club. There was no stopping his mind from conjuring images of all the worst scum in the galaxy circling her like vultures.
"Who's behind it?" He demanded. "Tell me everything you know!"
Ziro shook his head so vigorously that his gaudy jewels clinked together, rattling against his slimy skin. "I swear, I don't know the details! I didn't bother getting involved. I'm not like my… bigger relatives. Not so keen on collecting pretty little human slaves." He managed a shaky chuckle as if trying to show he was above such things, but that only made Anakin's fury burn hotter.
"You're a liar," Anakin snarled, storming forward again. The overhead lights flickered across his face as his powers surged, reacting to the violent storm of emotions thrashing within him. "If you want to slither away from this in one piece, you'd better give me more!"
Ziro's stunted arms flailed with panic. "I swear, I've told you what I know! A – a hooded human male came to see me this morning, wearing some fancy cloak over his face. Said he was taking… offers." The Hutt swallowed hard, straining to recall every detail. "Wanted to know if I'd be interested but couldn't give me details yet. Just said the purchase would be a wise investment. I guessed it was for the senator but refused to participate. Like I said, I have zero interest in her type… too nosy. Always stirring some trouble. I don't need the bother."
Pure hatred boiled inside him, demanding blood. These people… these animals considered stealing people's lives for purchase and trade investments. Was that all he'd been once, an investment to help Watto build his stash of credits, mere fodder easily replaced when he no longer served a purpose? For a moment, Anakin stood there, dark fury crackling around him like a live wire. The need to do something – anything – throbbed in every fibre of his being as his mind conjured all the atrocities Padmé might be facing right now, wondering where he was, and why he wasn't coming to rescue her. The shame of it fuelled his rage like bellows on a flame. Finally gathering himself enough to speak, he leaned in close to Ziro, his voice low and dangerous. "If I find out you lied to me… that you had any part in this…." He let the unspoken threat hang in the air, between them cutting and cold.
Ziro swallowed hard, his slick tongue clumsy with fear. "I – I understand…"
Anakin stepped back, chest heaving. With every ragged breath, he warred against the impulse to lash out, to make Ziro pay for every single Hutt-inflicted misery he'd ever witnessed or endured. For all the years which were stolen from Shmi, allowing her only a handful to truly live and make her own choices before her death. But no, he had to focus – Padmé's life was at stake. One day, he promised himself, one day he'd come back here and light this vile place up in flames until only ash and memories remained. But first, he had to find his wife.
"Pray you haven't wasted my time," he threatened.
The hush among the patrons lingered, heavy and suffocating until Anakin finally turned on his heel, casting an emotionless glance at the bounty hunter still writhing on the ground, and left. He needed to contact Obi-Wan and tell him what he knew. Maybe this new information would light a fire beneath the Council and if not, he'd go on without their support.
Anakin guided his speeder to land on a discreet platform behind one of the tall support columns near Padmé's apartment. Evening had settled over Coruscant, a familiar blanket of glittering lights masking the city's perpetual bustle. The faint glow of the moon glimmered across the durasteel and transparisteel surfaces, giving everything a pale, haunted sheen.
He couldn't risk drawing attention, reporters were still camped out along every main approach, scanning for any updates to feed a galaxy clamouring for answers. So, with practised skill, he ducked and weaved the speeder through an alternate route, finally cutting the engine in near silence. For a moment, all he heard was the low hum of distant traffic and the thud of his own heart.
Artoo beeped softly, his dome rotating nervously. "We'll be fine," Anakin whispered, though he wasn't entirely sure he believed it himself. "Just stay close and silent."
Quickly and carefully, the Jedi manoeuvred past the roped-off main entrance. Whatever officials had once guarded the door had moved on and Anakin felt a flicker of gratitude for that. He wasn't in the mood for questions he didn't want to or force-laced mind-tricks right now. He keyed in the override code on a side panel and with a soft hiss, the door slid open, welcoming him inside.
Padmé's apartment was dark and empty, every surface stripped from the chaos of investigation. All the evidence had been gathered and logged, leaving the home eerily tranquil. Anakin lingered in the entryway, letting his eyes adjust to the dark interior and felt an ache surge in his chest. It already feels different.
Artoo trundled in behind him, offering a sympathetic low whistle. Anakin exhaled, a whisper of breath that felt like the first he'd truly taken in days. "Go recharge, Artoo," he muttered, more to fill the silence than anything else. "I'll… I'll be fine."
As the little droid rolled off toward one of the auxiliary ports, Anakin walked deeper into the apartment. The faint glow from the skyline provided just enough illumination to see the familiar shapes of furniture and decorations. Everywhere he looked, memories rushed in. He ran a hand over the back of the sofa where they'd sat talking well into the night about Senate bills and starfighter tactics many times. There were other, pleasant, private memories they made in here too, he recalled with a weak smirk. His eyes stung at the thought of how she'd laugh whenever she caught him dozing off mid-conversation, trying his hardest to feign interest in deeply detailed discussions on legislative worries she had.
The aroma of spiced tea still faintly lingered on the carpet.
Moving on, he stepped into the small dining area, where Padmé would sometimes invite a few close allies for discreet strategy sessions, or where she'd wait for his arrival, always with a warm meal ready, no matter how late. His mind drifted to the countless times she'd insisted he eat something, pressing a plate into his hands and giving him that gentle, beloved, don't-argue-with-me smile.
And finally, he entered their bedroom. A pang shot through his heart the instant his gaze fell on the neatly made bed. Without thinking, he switched on a small side lamp, casting a soft glow over the space. This is where I always felt at peace – where she felt at peace…
He approached Padmé's side of the bed, traces of her presence clinging to the sheets and pillows in subtle ways no droid or investigator could sweep away. Her lavender robe lay draped over a nearby chair, the holobook she'd left unfinished on the nightstand – such small details tugged at his soul, each a reminder that she wasn't here. That she needed him and he had no idea where she was.
Anakin collapsed onto the vast bed, the sheets still faintly carrying her lingering scent. He'd been trying so hard to hold himself together from the moment he stepped off that shuttle this morning, nursing his rage and desperation beneath a brittle mask of determination. But now, alone in the silent bedroom they shared so many memories within, the dam finally broke. His shoulders began to shake with broken sobs he could no longer contain.
Hot tears blurred the familiar surroundings, the holo-photos of Naboo's lakes and meadows on the walls, Padmé's latest flower arrangement on the bedside table, wilting in her absence. Hatred for himself flared inside himself, he was supposed to protect her! Yet she was out there, being bartered like a commodity for the vilest beasts he could imagine. All because he'd been away too long, fighting to rescue someone else when his love needed him most. With trembling fingers, Anakin reached into the pocket inside his dark cloak and pulled out a carefully folded scrap of white, lacy, silk. His constant companion. A force-damned good luck charm if his survival thus far was anything to go by.
A delicate scrap of Padmé's wedding dress, an intimate token she pressed into his hand the morning he departed for the front lines, just a handful of too-short days after their secret wedding ceremony.
He brought it to his face now, longing for the long-gone trace of Padmé's perfume. It smelled more like him now after so long in his possession, but the memory of her gentle smile, her angelic face so full of unwavering faith in him flashed through his mind, soothing Anakin's every fear and doubt in himself as he claimed his Knighthood a place by Obi-Wan's side. Unable to help himself, he wept into that lace, grasping the fragile fabric as though this smooth little scrap might bring her back to him. Every beat of his broken heart yearned to tell her he would move planets to see her again, to promise her he was coming for her, no matter the cost.
Eventually, as his tears finally stopped, Anakin smoothed out the fragile fabric with his shaking fingers. Closing his eyes, he recalled Padmé's voice and the way the mere thought of her brought him strength to fight through even the darkest days of the war. She was his reason. His guiding light.
Anakin was going to find her. He was going to bring his angel home.
After a time, he heard the soft whir of Artoo returning, the droid's quiet presence a reminder that he wasn't here alone. Anakin lifted his head, face flushed and eyes red-rimmed. Artoo beeped sadly, rolling closer as if to check on him. He tried to muster a grateful smile but couldn't quite form it. Instead, he reached out and laid a hand on Artoo's cool dome. "I'm… okay," he lied, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his flesh hand. "You don't have to worry about me, buddy."
But Artoo's low warble conveyed more empathy than words ever could and Anakin felt a pang of gratitude. He bowed his head, exhaling a shaky breath. "I'll find her," he whispered, a vow meant as much for himself as for the droid. "I won't stop until I do."
In the stillness of their empty home, with only the echoes of her lingering in the force, Anakin cradled that promise like a precious flame. He wasn't going to let the darkness of grief smother it. Somehow, he had to believe that Padmé could sense he was coming for her. And though he felt helpless now, he clung to the shred of hope that tomorrow would bring the clue he so desperately needed to bring her back to him.
Then, the faintest shuffle of movement reached the Jedi's ears, coming from the doorway behind him. No one was supposed to be here… He bolted upwards, sensing a presence drawing close… closer… His hand hovered above his lightsaber, prepared to strike the very moment a threat revealed itself. Anakin felt his pulse racing as a figure appeared in the darkened threshold of the bedroom, a slim silhouette, long dark hair swept over her shoulder, familiar brown eyes…
Anakin felt his heart seize with a wild spark of thumping hope. "Padmé?" His voice cracked pathetically, heavy with longing. He scrambled to his feet, nearly toppling off the mattress in his rush. He had no idea how she'd found her way home, but he didn't care – he just needed to hold her, to assure himself she was real and safe, everything else be damned. His angel was back! She was alive!
But the figure hesitated in the half-light instead of rushing into Anakin's arms where she belonged, and as his eyes finally began to adjust, total devastation crashed over him, robbing Anakin of breath and hope in one crushing realisation. That face, though heartbreakingly similar, was not Padmé's. Instead, he found himself staring at Sabé, his wife's longtime friend and former handmaiden. The resemblance truly was uncanny, the same dark eyes, the same elegant lines of her face – but the moment she shifted, the illusion fell away and he saw the truth.
"I'm sorry," Sabé whispered, wincing at his shattered expression. Her gaze flicked to the rumpled sheets, to the tears shining in his eyes that Anakin couldn't bring himself to hide any longer as he tucked that beloved lacy scrap back inside his pocket. "I… I saw your ship and – I needed to speak to you."
For a heartbeat, Anakin couldn't answer. His chest felt too tight and he turned his head away, ashamed of the tears tracking down his cheeks. That flutter of hope which had soared through him moments ago collapsed into a brutal ache. Padmé wasn't here. She wasn't coming home to him and he'd been an idiot to let himself believe it. After a few moments of gathering himself, the Jedi forced himself to speak. "Sabé," his voice sounded hollow, the weight of disappointment still thrumming beneath it. "What are you doing here?"
She hesitated, stepping further into the room's soft lamplight and Anakin sensed a great nervousness flaring to life within her. What did she have to be nervous about? Something inside him braced for impact – his hope for good news collapsing in on itself. The former handmaiden clasped her hands in front of her, guilt clouding her expression with a deep frown. She kept tugging at the sleeves of her simple, green travel tunic, unable to stand still. "Anakin," she began, voice shaking, "What's happening with the investigation? What do you know?"
"I – I have a lead," he said quietly. He inhaled, trying and failing to steady himself before this shadow of his wife's face.
Sabé's eyes shone with barely contained terror. "What lead?"
Despite his disgust, Anakin forced the words out. "There's a bidding war happening – huge sums of credits. It's almost certain it's about her." His voice cracked with such fury. "We don't know who's behind it, but it's… it's real. Obi-Wan is speaking to the Council right now."
Sabé shook her head, her eyes widening with the same horror he felt. He sensed her fear for her friend, her former mistress. "You have to stop this!" She insisted, voice trembling with a plea that bordered on desperation. "You can't let this happen!"
"I won't!" Anakin snapped, his sharp tone allowing for no argument. He was painfully aware of Sabé's fear and her inability to trust anyone to bring Padmé back, not even him. How could he blame her? He was the one who'd been rescuing someone else when his own wife was being taken. "I'm doing everything in my power. I'm not going to let anything happen to her, I promise you."
But Sabé's eyes only blew wider as that rush of fear he felt inside her intensified. "It has to be stopped before it's too late, Anakin."
His frustration spiked – why wasn't she listening to him? Didn't she believe he, more than anyone, was desperate to find Padmé? That he'd do anything and everything within his power and beyond to make sure she was safe again? "Don't you think I'm trying?" Anakin raked his gloved hand through his hair, his words low and urgent. "If the Council continues dragging its heels, I'll do it myself. I know who the top slavers are here on Coruscant – if I have to tear down every last ring, I'll do it with or without their help."
"No," The former handmaiden cut in abruptly, raising her hands in a pleading gesture. "You don't understand! It's not just Padmé's life on the line. That's why the price is so high."
He frowned, confusion etched on his face but the swirling madness of emotions running rampant within her offered no answers. "What do you mean?" Who else could there be? Another senator? More high-ranking women who'd been swept up in this mess? But if that was the case, surely he'd have heard about it by now?
Sabé's lower lip trembled as pitiful tears pooled in her lovely eyes, so painfully similar to Padmé's that his heart began to bleed all over again. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. "I wasn't sure if… if it was my place to tell you – or if anyone else might have done it already," she began, voice trembling. "But then I heard what happened to the staff building and I know she wanted to do this herself… I never expected – " She closed those heartbreaking eyes for a moment, mustering resolve as Anakin bit back his furious need to shake whatever this was out of her. "I never expected things to turn out this way."
He felt his exhaustion beginning to crack and he straightened, wiping at his still wet cheeks with the back of his hand. "Tell me what?" He demanded, more sharply than necessary, but the tension in the air was suffocating. He needed a clue, something, anything, that would bring him closer to Padmé.
Sabé swallowed hard, eyes glistening. "Padmé is…" She paused, voice faltering. "Anakin, Padmé is pregnant."