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Chapter Text

If Anakin had to tear out his eardrums to never again hear Padmé’s screams, he would. But nightmares make no sound, except for the long-lasting echo of fear. The light from the never-sleeping lively city of Coruscant shone through their window in pulses of bright whites, yellows, pinks, and blues. Anakin would not fall back asleep. Not even the comforting sounds of Padmé’s gentle breathing and the assured rise and fall of her belly could lull Anakin back to sleep – not back into the world of nightmares. Not back into the vivid scenes behind his closed lids where he could hear Padmé's scream turn into haunting silence. So Anakin stared into the ceiling of their bedroom, burning a hole into the coffered design with his eyes just as easily as he could do with his lightsaber. 

His mind searched through every word and every piece of wisdom from the Jedi, from Qui-Gon to Obi-Wan to every Jedi that sat on the Council. But he could find no answer. No solution. Nothing to end his torment. Sometimes Anakin wished that the Force did not show him the future, even if it was sometimes the only thing that could save him in a battle.  Knowledge is power, he is always told. But to him, it is always pain.

Restless, Anakin eased himself out of bed, careful not to disturb his sleeping wife. Covering his bare shoulders with his cloak, he pads softly into the grand room. At the floor-to-ceiling window, Anakin felt himself standing over the entire planet. Every pinpoint of light represented a being in the Galaxy that it was his duty to protect. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many battles he won or conflicts he resolved, the lights would continue to burn out. He felt so small and insignificant standing in the highest level of the Senatorial Apartments. But below, all of those beings looked at him standing high above them and prayed their protector would save them and end these dreadful Clone Wars. 

It was no secret that the Galaxy was falling apart, no matter how much Anakin and the Council wanted to lie to themselves. They could send him all the way to the Outer Rim Territories, to planets far from reach of the Republic, to put out fires, but they would never compare to the inferno raging right beneath him. A part of him always knew it. It’s not easy to ignore the crumbling Republic before them.

Anakin assumes it’s fear that keeps them all in ignorance, just as how it’s fear that keeps him awake at night. But Jedi do not give into fear. Or so he is told. But in Anakin’s eyes, fear is what will lead him to answers. Fear is what drives him to save his wife. Fear is not selfish. How can saving a life be selfish? Sometimes Jedi principles seem duplicitous. 

Obi-Wan would chide him for his thoughts. He would encourage him to meditate in silence instead of letting his mind wander in these wild directions. Anakin was never the type to be able to silence his mind. It’s what has makes him such a cunning and powerful Jedi. Many times it is what allows him to stay a few steps ahead of his enemies. If he is able to anticipate every scenario and create a plan to counter each and every one, maybe he can keep everyone safe. But there is a small voice in the back of his brain that says he can’t anticipate everything and he can’t save everyone. Anakin would love to silence it.

He closes his eyes, trying to heed Obi-Wan’s teachings. Anakin stands, feet shoulder-width apart, arms clasped behind his back, and attempts to steady his breathing and focus on creating peace. Still the lights of Coruscant pepper his eyes beneath his lids like a thousand stars. The light show takes the place of his racing thoughts. He allows it to take up the space in his mind, filling it, so his thoughts will eventually quiet. 

But he feels the shift in the Force, one so deliciously familiar to him. It’s a sweetness that envelopes his body, like a caress. It is a feeling of fresh flowers in the warm, salty air of Naboo that brings back memories of a better time. The breeze flowing through her chiffon dress and his woven robes – the ease in which she is swayed by the gentle breeze, taking it up within her and adapting, versus the resistance as he fights against uncertainty. 

“Anakin?” Padmé whispers into the air. He doesn’t turn, not before schooling his expression and softening his twisted brow.

“Padmé,” Anakin’s eyes brighten with the brilliance that only shines in his wife’s presence. “What are you doing awake so early? You should be sleeping.”

He was redirecting the question that Padmé certainly got up to ask him. Both of them knew it. The Jedi Council love to deliberate about how Anakins is hot-headed and action-oriented, but he did pick up a few artful negotiation tips from Obi-Wan. But Padmé was a Senator and before that a Queen, the honey words of politics slip off her tongue easily.

“Anakin,” she looked into his eyes deeply, pulling secrets and fears from the cloudstorm of his furrowed brow. “How can I sleep when you’re clearly not well?”

“I’m fine, Padmé. Let’s go back to sleep.”

“You are not fine, Anakin,” Padmé’s tone was even, but her words were stern. “Do you think I don’t notice? Our bed used to be your sanctuary from the war outside, but now? I hear you fighting through each night, and I can’t take it anymore. I can’t keep pretending with you that everything is fine. You are my husband. I may not be a Jedi or a war General, but it is my job to protect you too. Please, Anakin. Let me in.”

Anakin looked at his wife – beautiful, strong, a woman with a heart so powerful she could move a planet. A woman with endless love and endless good in her. How did he get so lucky to be hers?

“Padmé…” Anakin didn’t know how to tell her. He didn’t know how to bare his heart. Ever since he was a small boy on Tatooine, he kept his fears locked away. He never wanted to burden his mother even more. And the Jedi are hardly sympathetic to personal feelings. But what are a husband and wife if not two chambers of the same heart?

Sensing his hesitancy, Padmé took a step forward. “Sit, Anakin,” she said, patting the crescent-moon shaped velvet couch and sitting as well. Anakin sat.

He flexed his mechano-arm, watching the moonlight glint off of the gold metal. He was used to the lingering pain in his arm, like the ghost of his flesh arm haunting the place it used to be. It was much like the pain in his head right now. How the citizens who cheered for their Hero With No Fear would laugh if they knew just how afraid he truly was. He was just a boy, haunted by feelings and fears and pains that were not real. He felt as if he was falling off a rocky cliff, clawing and grasping for purchase with his missing right hand. None of it was real. Anakin was smart enough to know that. His restless right hand was just in his head, and he could see Padmé’s deep breaths in the rise and fall of her pregnant belly. But fear never had to be real. It just had to find a grasp in your mind and never let go.

“Anakin,” Padmé said softly, gently urging him to talk. She took each of his cold hands in hers, trying to warm them and stop his worrying. “Talk to me.”

And words have a funny way of coming out after being bottled up, like an avalanche.

“You die in childbirth,” tears make his eyes reflective.

Padmé fights to not mirror his fears. She has to be the one to ground each other in this moment. She can’t share in the worry. She must be strong.

“In your nightmares?”

He fights to explain, “Not just nightmares. It’s not just bad dreams. It feels real like a premonition.”

“Anakin…”

“It feels like the dreams I had before my mother…” He took a deep breath to hide the snag in his throat. “Before she–”

“Anakin, our choices decide the future.”

“I won’t let you die. I will do whatever it takes–”

“Stop. You’re not listening to me Anakin,” Padmé interrupts. She can tell Anakin is drowning in fear. Rationale won’t silence the whispers. It hurts her to see him like this – in pain that she can’t prevent or heal. It’s like when she sees him flex his mechano-arm in that one way where she can tell he is having phantom pains from the loss of his limb. She would do anything to erase his pains, but she feels so helpless. “Anakin, come here.”

She pushed back his hair with her hand, tucking a curl behind his ear. He rests the weight of his head, heavy with the weight of his fears, against her soft palm. The gentle pad of her thumb runs back-and-forth against his temple as the rest of her fingers rest in the soft landscape of his hair. Anakin closes his eyes and a stray tear that he was fighting to keep back runs down his cheek, following the path of his scar, as if to deepen the wound. Padmé catches it with her other hand before it falls past his jaw, but more tears fall faster than she can wipe away. She rests his head against his shoulder, and he lets his fear leak out in tears. The fabric of her nightgown, hardly absorbent, becomes damp with the tears of the most fearsome Jedi Knight. Jedi? General? Warrior? He is just as human as the rest of them.

“I won’t lose you,” a murmur comes from him. She feels his voice more through her skin than through her ears and resists the shudder that threatens to creep up her spine.

“I won’t leave you,” she whispers into his ear. She gives him a moment and raises his head up, so his red-rimmed sleepless eyes meet her soft brown ones. “Let’s leave Coruscant. You, me, and our baby. Let’s have our baby on Naboo.”

Anakin acknowledges the third person between him and his wife. A small baby, the child of a Senator that is struggling to hold together a collapsing Republic and a Jedi Knight who returns from each battle with more friends and companions left behind on the Outer Rim planets. For the first time, it dawns on him that each time he leaves, he is risking leaving his child fatherless and his wife alone. 

“We need to go, Padmé,” he says in alarm. “Coruscant isn’t safe, and a war is no place for a baby to be born into. We should go now.”

Padmé stops him from rising by tugging on the fabric on the sleeve of his cloak, “We will sleep now. We will sleep and then we will talk about leaving tomorrow.”

Anakin nods.

It’s not that Padmé wants to leave. She would love to raise her child on Naboo, with its glittering Lake Country and the vibrancy that infects each citizen with hope and happiness. But that would be in an ideal world. As a Senator, she feels responsible for the state of the Galaxy, and she worries about what she will leave behind. But with how unwell Anakin has been lately, she knows she has to put her vows to him before the vows of the Republic. She has to have faith in her friends on the Senate and the Jedi Council. Anakin, raised by all the Jedi principles, will always be conflicted with choosing the selfish choice, but that conflict isn’t unique to the Jedi. Padmé will wrestle with regret.

But for now the Skywalkers will sleep soundly. It’s a blissful feeling to sleep so comfortably – a luxury that both Anakin and Padmé almost forgot. Tomorrow will be chaotic, but tonight will be calm and quiet.

________

Anakin, having slept dreamless for the first time in longer than he can remember, overslept. He whispers a Huttese curse, a habit picked up after Obi-Wan scolded him one too many times for cursing in Basic as a young Padawan. Padmé still sleeps on her side of the bed, her tangled curls covering her face. Anakin pushes a stray curl out of her face, and presses a kiss to her forehead. He is late for a meeting in the Jedi Temple, but what’s an extra minute on top of an hour to look at his beautiful, sleeping wife. 

“Anakin?” she mumbles, sitting up. Her eyes are half-lidded, as she adjusts to the blinding morning light. She twists and stretches in place to ease the stiffness in her back from sleep.

“Sorry, my dear,” he says, but he’s fighting down a laugh. Padmé’s hair, which the public has never seen out of place, in its elaborate updos and intricate designs, is frizzy, tangled, and arranged in a warm chestnut brown cloud-like pouf around her head. Anakin loves this morning look because it’s just for him. 

“Anakin, what’s so funny?” She says with sleep weighing her voice down.

“My love,” he says, a smile across his face. “I think a family of porgs has made a home on your head.”

Padmé throws a pillow at him.

“Ouch!” Anakin yells, but they’re both laughing now. She yanks the long sleeve of his robe, and he tumbles backwards onto the bed next to her. He rolls and then pulls her close to him, more gentle than he is known for throughout the Galaxy. Careful of his wife and their baby in her belly, he holds them to him.

Padmé hasn’t heard a laugh so free and genuine from her husband in what feels like ages. It transports her to a time many, many years ago when they rolled around the green wildflower-filled grasses of Naboo, so carefree and so innocent and so very young. They aged decades, hardened by the harsh realities of their Galaxy, in the three years since they wed. So, after hearing the energetic and infectious laughter of the young man whose eyes used to shine as bright as her beloved Lake Country, Padmé was certain – they would leave Coruscant.

“Last night,” she says, cutting through the laughter. “Are you sure?”

She feels Anakin stiffen. It’s a reminder that they are no longer the children who used to treat the hardships they now weather as adventures. Their lives and the fragility of existence is more real than ever, especially with the baby on its way.

Anakin sits up, helping Padmé into the same position, “Yes.”

He is now having trouble looking her in the eye, instead making eye contact with the pool of woven fabric in his lap, the sunlight making him more wary to share his emotions than the protective cloak of darkness from the night before. Anakin swings his legs off of the side of the bed, bending down to put on his boots, as an excuse for what he feels is cowardice. 

Padmé scoots closer to him and places a comforting hand on his shoulders. He relaxes them, just now noticing the sting of tension being released. He still doesn’t turn, he just continues buckling his second boot. 

“Speak with Obi-Wan today,” Padmé suggests.

“And tell him what?” Anakin asks, dejected. “Hey, Master Obi-Wan! Remember Senator Amidala. So, it turns out we are married and expecting a child. Oh, and I’m leaving. Have fun carrying the weight of the entire war on your shoulders.”

“Anakin!” Padmé chides.

“He’s given up so much for me already. He practically raised me since I was nine years old and left Tatooine. I would never be the man I am without him. I owe him.” Anakin’s voice grows quiet with the heaviness of the truth. 

“It’s Obi-Wan, Anakin. He would understand.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Anakin admits.

“Okay, Anakin. I trust your judgement. I just think he might be able to help.”

“No, no, you are right. I’ll talk to him.”

Padmé moved to sit side-by-side with him on the edge of the bed, her left thigh pressed against his right. He took her hands, and held them protectively in his lap, as they stared out into the distance – both of them thinking about all of the hurdles they need to jump before they were finally free to live peacefully on Naboo.

“Shit!” Anakin remembers, “Ahsoka.”

“Oh, Anakin,” Padmé says. 

It never sat right with her with how the girl was thrust into the war when she was just a child. She didn’t forget that Anakin was also nineteen when he fought in the Battle of Geonosis and lost his arm dueling Count Dooku. Too young and too soon were these Jedis thrust into war, and as a result they were left with lasting scars that were more permanent that the ones burned into flesh. But even though she knows Anakin feels the same, they don’t speak about it.

“If I leave, I’m forcing her to take my place, Padmé. But I have to leave. We have to leave. We can’t stay here.”

“You’ve trained her well, Anakin. She’s a fierce warrior, and more importantly, a survivor,” Padmé adds, turning her head to look at her husband, his head bent so that his hair hid his expression from her.

“There’s still so much more she needs to learn, Padmé.” Anakin wrestles with his motivations. “I need to show her so much more, and the war has changed too much about Jedi training. I can’t abandon her.”

“Obi-Wan will make sure she’s fine,” Padmé reasons.

“Yes, of course,” Anakin struggles for a way to find a way to say what he means. “He will teach her the ways of the Jedi, the principles held by the Council, but there is more than that. Out there on those far, far planets? It takes more than Jedi principles to make it home. There are times when the Jedi way is not the right way, and Obi-Wan doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand that I have to – that you just have to do whatever it takes to make it home,” his eyes burn so deep into Padmé’s that she shivers. 

The intensity in which he speaks echoes throughout her ears, and she remembers this is the man that has seen so many of his fellow Jedi and Clones die fighting this war. This is the man that has taken lives with swift arches of his lightsaber without hesitation, without the blink of an eye. This is the man whose enemies cower and run when just the coldness of his shadow falls over them. She has seen the Holonet Features. She knows how the man who is nothing but kind and gentle to her, who practically reveres the ground she walks on, is perceived by the rest of the Galaxy.

But he doesn’t talk about the war, and she never forces him. His words convey such desperation and devotion that she is just realizing that she doesn’t even know the surface of what he has gone through. He is a victim of these wars that she has failed to stop. Her bare arms feel cold, so she hugs them against her body. Guilt and worry creep up her arms as they erupt in goosebumps. Her husband, the man she loves,  has suffered so much, She is now too conscious of her smooth and unmarred skin compared to his scarred. But as she stares at the uncalloused fingers that now rest in her lap, flashes of red pool in her palms. They have let this war go on too long. The Senate has allowed too much bloodshed, and she is a Senator. 

“I’m sorry,” Anakin starts to worry, watching his wife become still and rigid. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll figure it out. I’ll talk with both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka.”

Padmé can only nod.

“Hey,” Anakin says, tilting his head to try to make eye contact with her lowered eyes. “Padmé?”

Her brows are twisted with worry mixed with guilt and her mouth is bent in a slight frown. But it’s her eyes that bother him. The warm brown that feels like the cozy, inviting hearth in their apartment, has gone cold. 

Anakin pulls her into his lap, placing her head against his chest. She buries her face in the layers of fabric that crisscross across his body. He smoothes down her hair, careful of her delicate curls, and struggles to find words. Padmé is the one with the beautiful and moving words that can turn heads and pull in ears. He tries to channel her grace.

“Padmé,” he whispers, softly. “It took so many hands to tear down this Republic, and it will take even more to rebuild it. You can’t fix everything on your own. And you can’t shoulder the responsibility, even you are not that strong.”

“No more war,” Padmé says, lifting her eyes to meet her husband’s concerned ones.

“Just you, me, and our baby on Naboo.”

But ignorance doesn’t erase the truth. The war will persist. Jedi and Clones will die. Friends of theirs will lay down their lives. Padmé and Anakin may distance themselves, but the fire of war burns an ever-growing radius that threatens their perfect life. War affects everyone, even those who think they are removing themselves from consideration. The blood of the fallen is a stain that tracks in your footprints even as you walk away.

Chapter Text

“Master, wait!”

Anakin could hear the heavy footfalls of someone running after him, but he didn’t turn. He didn’t even acknowledge her presence. He would tell her it was a lesson, but the truth is that he just loved to tease her. Her indignant pout and the way she tries to stand so menacingly despite her small stature was hilarious to him. 

“Ahsoka, learn to run silently,” he said without turning around. He didn’t want to reveal the smirk plastered across his face that he couldn’t hide. “You sound like a Wookiee.”

“I have been trying to catch up with you for three hallways,” Ahsoka says almost out of breath, her voice climbing higher with each word. “And I know you have been purposefully ignoring me.”

Anakin smiles, but she doesn’t see. He has so much love for the young girl that he reluctantly took under his wing. He can’t believe there was once a time where he resented her presence, not that he felt that way for long. The girl and her feistiness crept up on him, until she found a permanent place in his heart. He never had a sibling, but he imagined this was the type of love one would have towards a little sister. 

“And yet, Ahsoka,” Anakin says, picking up his pace. “I have both managed to evade you and identify you. Discretion is key, especially for someone small like you who can easily be overpowered by beings much larger than you,”

“Anakin! Come on! Why would I need to sneak up on you?” Now annoyed and confused as to why her master was being difficult, she starts running, careful not to sound like a Wookiee or whatever Anakin said. 

As she approached him, closing the distance between them, she drew her lightsabers, quietly and discreetly behind her back. The green light reflected off of the shining floors of the Jedi Temple, bouncing the light around the hallway. But Anakin’s back was still turned to her as he walked on, so he should be blind to the weapons that were now crossed behind her back in a reverse grip at the ready. 

If Anakin wanted to play games and turn everything into a training lesson then they could start right now. Silently, she picked up momentum preparing to use it to spring against the wall. She would use the height that this would give her to her advantage to come down and attack him from above with both lightsabers. He would learn a lesson not to doubt her, but he wouldn’t be injured of course – the lightsabers were in training mode. But of course it isn’t that easy to sneak up on the Anakin Skywalker.

He raised his hands casually, and with barely a flick of his wrists, both lightsabers fly into his palms. He spins them with his wrists, artful and elegant, showing off. Anakin swivels on his heels to face his padawan.

“Ahsoka,” he looks down, an eyebrow raised mockingly, “Did you drop these?”

“Shut up, Anakin!” she says too loudly, drawing stares from around the Jedi Temple. It’s widely considered impolite for a padawan to talk to her master that way, but that was never the case for Ahsoka and Anakin. They trade jokes and insults like blows of a lightsaber.

She jumps up, using the wall to boost her, as she originally planned, and grabs both her lightsabers back. He lets her without struggle. 

“That’s no way to talk to your master, my young padawan,” he jokes. He’s holding back laughter as she tries to don a serious expression.

Ahsoka makes a face at him, giving up trying to intimidate him with her anger. It’s childish and funny, but it brings him back to reality. This young girl, who is his responsibility, tugs at his heart. Not only is he responsible for her life but also for her upbringing. Even if he is a young Jedi himself, despite how much he protests his greenness, who is also learning how to embody the principles of the Jedi, it is his duty to make sure that Ahsoka becomes not just a good Jedi but a good being as well. Sometimes, he thinks that Padmé would be better at this than him. He definitely knows that Obi-Wan was better than he is.

“Ahsoka,” his voice turns serious. “Follow me.”

“Aren’t you late for a meeting?” she says, following him anyway. Ahsoka is very attuned to Anakin’s emotions, and she is mature enough to know when the joke is over and something is serious. It’s a lesson she learned the hard way in the midst of battle.

“Yes, but I thought I would miss it and blame it on you.”

“Hey!”

“Joking.”

They enter an empty training room, and Anakin uses the Force to close the door behind him. It’s dark, except for the sunlight that enters through the cracks in the window shades. Cabinets, lined with training devices, are left open and messy, which is no doubt the fault of some Jedi younglings. If he’s not mistaken, Cin Drallig’s lightsaber lessons often made the younglings rowdy and energized in a way where they would forget their decorum. Anakin shakes his head. Any Jedi that leads a training session should have taught them not to leave any traces behind. Leave no tracks. No proof that you exist in a space. That’s a lesson that in this current political climate is almost as important as lightsaber skills. He would be breaking this rule by telling Ahsoka about his plans, but that was a calculated risk he must take.

Anakin flicks the cabinets closed, not bothering to reorder the shelves neatly, “Sit, Ahsoka.”

They sit in the middle of the floor with their legs crossed, facing each other. It’s a familiar position, one he used to find himself in with Obi-Wan, whenever his master tried to teach him how to meditate and quiet his mind. He sees how Ahsoka fidgets with her hands and bounces her legs restlessly. His padawan has inherited his inability to quiet both her mind and body. That’s something he should have worked on more with her. If they had more time, he would teach her to be a better Jedi in the ways he fails to succeed in. If he wasn’t so concerned with keeping them both alive, maybe they could have worked on these nuances that used to be such a high priority for the Jedi. 

Anakin looks at the girl in front of him. She’s small with a slight frame, but he knows she should never be underestimated. She’s a fierce and agile fighter. And more importantly she is good, incorruptibly good. It’s a trait he could never take credit for. Yes, it’s him who teaches her to use the Force and wield her lightsabers, but her goodness is all her own. It fills him with pride. Her eyes are clear and bright, not dulled by time. But he knows she has seen horrors no girl her age should ever see. 

Anakin tells Padmé that they’re having a girl, even though the medical droid is keeping the baby’s gender a secret. He can sense her, even though Padmé insists that they’re having a boy. He would be honored if their daughter was even half as great as Ahsoka – if she had her intelligence, her courage, her incredible wit, or even her charismatic yet fiery personality, he would be pleased. Sometimes he forgets that he and Ahsoka were master and padawan. In many ways Anakin had a hand in raising her, so he couldn’t help this paternalistic instinct he had towards her. 

“Master,” Ahsoka starts to get nervous. “If this is about my training, I am working–”

“Ahsoka, no,” he stops her. “You have been an exemplary padawan. You are progressing quite well in your training and becoming very skilled with the Force. I have no admonishments – actually I have a favor to ask you.”

“Yes, Master,” she says eagerly. “Anything you ask.”

“Don’t agree to anything before you know the conditions.”

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, “I hardly think you’re trying to lure me into an unbreakable oath to steal my soul or whatever.”

Anakin just sighed. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hair had started to gray ever since Ahsoka had become his padawan.

“Sorry, Master. Go on, please.”

Anakin takes a deep breath. He didn’t practice this speech, and he has a bad habit of saying things before thinking. So, he just let his words spill out, “I’m leaving the Jedi Order.”

“No!” Ahsoka stands, her arms flying out from her sides. She stands, now towerering over Anakin, casting a shadow over his sitting form. “You can’t leave me. My training is not done. There’s still so much that I have to learn!”

“Calm down, Ahsoka. Sit and let me explain.” 

The words “calm down” have never in the history of the Galaxy ever succeeded in making one calm down. Ahsoka’s mind flipped between emotions. At first she was scared. How would she navigate her Jedi training and the raging war without the guidance of her master. The Galaxy was large and once again she would fall through the cracks, belonging with no one. But didn't he know he was leaving her alone and directionless? How could he? That was selfish. It was unfair. It was his duty to train her, and he would neglect it and her. What kind of Jedi was he? Her blood boiled. She deserved more than a master that would abandon her. But she was Anakin’s padawan through-and-through – she possessed enough self-worth, despite Jedi teachings, to fight back when she was wronged. 

Ahsoka opened her mouth, ready to chew out Anakin, but he spoke before she had the chance.

“Ahsoka, I have to leave. It’s not because of you, and none of it is your fault.”

 She squinted her eyes in thought, “Because of the Jedi Council?”

Ahsoka was always in the know about the drama in the Jedi Temple, especially the kind that concerned her master. She knows how desperately Anakin wants to be recognized by the Jedi Council by being made a Jedi Master and being granted a seat on the Council itself. She knows he pushes himself to be the best and greatest for this recognition, but despite it all the Jedi Council members continue to be hesitant. Rumors are whispered about their distrust of the supposed Chosen One. They fear darkness in him and his power, unrestrained. What they see as darkness, is what Ahsoka is certain is passion. Anakin Skywalker is protective to a fault, but flaw or not, it is what has kept her alive thus far. 

Anakin, aware of what Ahsoka is alluding to, just stares at her until she looks down ashamed. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

“No,” he continues, calmly. “I’m not leaving because of you or because of the Jedi Council.”

He hesitates, not because he doesn’t trust her. Trust develops naturally with the person protecting your back while you’re in a hailstorm of blaster bolts. He hesitates because this would be the first time he is speaking this truth out loud to anyone who doesn’t live in Padmé’s and his apartment.

“Ahsoka, what I am about to tell you is a secret. It’s important that you tell no one or else you will put me and others in grave danger.”

“I promise not to tell a soul.”

That’s all Anakin needed to hear to continue, “Padmé is pregnant. We are having a baby. To protect her and the baby, we need to leave Coruscant as soon as possible.”

“Oh,” it takes a moment for this to register in Ahsoka’s mind.

Anakin and Padmé’s relationship was the worst kept secret in the Galaxy. Mostly everyone in Coruscant and the surrounding planets knew and gossiped about it, just not in front of either of them. A Senator and a Jedi? It was a story so juicy, no Holonet program could ever dream it up. But the whispers had to evade both Anakin and Padmé’s ears. It was as if everyone was keeping the secret of Anakin and Padmé’s relationship from Anakin and Padmé. They thought they were the only ones who knew of their marriage. 

So, Ahsoka’s brain buffered as she tried to remember how to appropriately respond to this news given what she was supposed to know instead of what she actually knew. That was too difficult to keep straight, so she just went for it, bursting Anakin’s bubble of ignorance, “Congratulations! But I have so many questions.”

“Well, actually, Padmé and I have been married in secret for a few years now,” Anakin starts to explain.

“No, not that. I knew that already,” Ahsoka waves off his big reveal, dismissively.

“Excuse me?” Anakin starts baffled, his eyes widening, comically. 

Ahsoka ignores him, completely unfazed. 

“Why are you in danger? Who is the danger? How do we stop the danger?”

Ahsoka nearly jumps out of her skin, ready to act, despite not knowing who or what the dangers she’d be combatting are. She has a deep desire to prove herself to the Jedi. This ambition keeps her barreling forward and keeps her fears at bay. But it also blinds her. In an attempt to be the perfect soldier, she doesn't always contemplate what or who she was fighting for. Not even seventeen, she wasn’t even granted the time to be able to develop or understand her own moral code.

There was one thing she was certain of. She would do anything for her master. He earned that many, many times over. There is this softness in him that she had the urge to protect, one that many were blinded to. Of course he would deny it and slice her down with her own lightsaber if he heard this from her. Time and war, constant war and conflict, covered it away. It carved up this boy who was once soft and hopeful, who once believed so whole-heartedly in good, as if he was a slab of marble victim to a sculptor's chisel. It was the Separatists, the haunt of the Sith, corruption in the Republic, and the staleness of the Jedi Order that chipped away at him. She worried about the man that they were forming, vulnerable out of the marble, but sharp nonetheless, with angles that had no mercy. 

It jaded him and made him a hard impenetrable fortress. But behind his walls was a boy not that much older than her who loves. He loves so hard some may consider it a fault. But belonging under the umbrella of Anakin Skywalker’s love was the safest space in the Galaxy. It's no shock to Ahsoka that this Jedi fell so deeply in love with Senator Amidala. And her in love with him – who in this cold universe wouldn’t want unconditional constant devotion. 

So, if he asked, Ahsoka would draw her sabers right now and cut down the threat. Someone like Anakin needs to know there are those who care for him too and those who would face evil to protect him. Ahsoka worries about how he isolates himself as a protector, but he’s not alone.

Anakin places his gloved hand on his padawan’s knee to stop her restlessness, “Let me worry about that. We need to talk about us.”

Ahsoka looked up at him, confused, “Us?”

“Your training isn’t done. I can’t leave you like that. I won’t leave you on your own. I want to be here for you, but I can’t. I have been working on new training exercises for you. Some of them are recordings to continue your education. You will see Rex and the 501st to broaden your fighting skills. I will also provide you with a way to contact me – a private two-way comlink. Let me know if you need anything. Ever.”

Ahsoka nodded, silently, taking in his words.

“Also, I need you to keep me updated on everything here – the Republic, the Senate, the Jedi, and the war.”

“Like a spy?” Ahsoka questioned.

Anakin leaned in, a conspiratorial look developing across his features, and whispered, “Exactly like a spy.”

“Is that allowed?”

“Ahsoka, our Galaxy is in the midst of a war that is tearing the fabric of our government apart. Entire planets and systems are being obliterated. Motives are in question, and nothing makes sense. I don’t want you to worry about what is and what is not allowed. Your priority is protecting yourself. Nothing is more important than surviving.”

His stern expression scared Ahsoka. Not in fear of him, but she was beginning to share in his fear. The hopelessness in the state of the Galaxy was starting to seem more grand than she could wrap her mind around. When they were just two Jedi in one battle, it was small and manageable. To hear him phrase the problem as he did, made her understand that this situation was bigger than them. Her master, with his nitpicking and teasing for every minute mistake, was becoming more clear. He saw what she was just now seeing. They were approaching a shatterpoint and just one mistake could lead to horrific and irreversible damage.

“Yes, but–”

He takes her hands in his, the leather of his glove soft but his flesh hand rough in all the places he grips his lightsaber. His eyes are intense, rimmed in dark seriousness, while hers are full of questions, “Ahsoka, do you understand me?”

The question is urgent. There is no time for her slew of questions. Anakin can plan and prepare her but not for every moment. This moment was inevitable. She may have thought it would be way in her future, but the day would always come when Anakin walked one way and Ahsoka walked the other. She just had to comfort herself with the fact that there was no animosity – that if she needed to turn back her master would be there for her.

Anakin is a fierce warrior. Holonet Features paint him as an unbeatable and relentless warrior. He slashes down enemies and wades his way through a battle as if there is no resistance. But he loves even more fiercely. No matter how much he guards his heart, people have found their way to creep in. Obi-Wan and Padmé and even now his young padawan. Anakin fights for the Galaxy and for the Republic, but it doesn’t even compare to how he fights for the people he loves.

“I do, Master. I will remember your training and report to you.”

Both master and padawan stand and walk to the entryway of the Jedi training room. The room is dark except for the light peaking through the slats on the windows. Anakin looks at the girl and struggles with how to say goodbye. He was never good at them, they were always filled with pain and more often than not they were final. Even all those years ago on the hot desert planet of Tatooine when he burrowed into his mother’s embrace one last time, squeezing so tight as if that bond would mean they would never be separated, the sorrow of the goodbye overshadowed all his other emotions. But he remembered how her arms wrapped around him and how her words were soft and comforting in his ears. He knew for certain in that moment that he would carry her love with him no matter where he went in the Galaxy, even if they were to be separated for the remainder of her life.

“Come here,” Anakin opens his arms.

Ahsoka hesitates, not because she doesn’t crave physical affection. What being doesn’t? Aren’t the Jedi just fooling themselves? Isn’t physical touch as necessary as air to breathe? They repress it, the feelings, but denial doesn’t make it less real. Ahsoka has love for her master, and she wants nothing more to be held in those arms that she knows are safer than any place in the Galaxy. She hesitates for a moment because Anakin rarely shows physical affection. There is no doubt in her mind he cares deeply for her and she for him. He’s more of an older brother than the strict, straight-laced master that he pretends to be for the Jedi. 

Eventually she lets herself fold into his arms. The two of them stand together in the quiet of the Jedi training room. Anakin rubs gentle circles on her back, missing his little padawan already. He comforts her to comfort himself. 

“Anything you need, and I am on the first starfighter back, okay?” He says to the little girl wrapped in his arms.

“I’ll make you proud,” she fights back the tears in her voice. “I’ll do everything you ask.”

“You have already made me proud, Snips,” he pulls away, placing gentle hands on her shoulder. And with a forced even tone, he says, “Stay safe.”

________

“You missed a meeting, Anakin.”

Anakin slid down the wall to sit next to Obi-Wan. He felt the weariness in his muscles, as if every part of his body was fighting the battle within his mind. He let his heavy head fall against his bent knees. A pain was blossoming behind his eyes, and the lights weren’t helping.

“Tell Master Windu to keep his head. It’s one meeting.”

“It’s your head he wants.”

“Isn’t it always?” Anakin grumbled into his knees.

Anakin knew he was being unfair. Mace Windu was a revered Master Jedi and an esteemed member of the council. He was tough on Anakin because he had high expectations for his success. He pushed him because he saw the potential in Anakin to transcend the conflict. But Anakin was tired of expectations and talk about his potential. Most of all he was tired of hearing how uncertain his future was and how he had darkness within him. All he wanted was for peace in the Galaxy to be restored without the weight of everything being on his shoulders. It seems as if the prophecy that followed him like a dark storm cloud forgot to leave instructions on how to bring balance to the Force. 

“What’s on your mind? You’re more grumpy than usual,” Obi-Wan asked. 

“I’m sorry, Master. It’s just been a long day.”

Obi-Wan laughed, “The Sun has not even reached its peak. When did your day start?”

Anakin raised his head, eyes dark and sleepless. The circles under his eyes looked like bruises. The bright blue was sucked out of his irises, leaving them colorless and dull. In contrast, Obi-Wan’s face was calm and at peace, but the crinkles that appeared as he laughed, disappeared as he saw the face of his former padawan. A pain tugged at his heart. He saw how the expectations that Anakin faced in the midst of this war were aging him. He was no longer the young boy that ran eagerly to danger with excitement. Now, each time he leads into battle, his footfalls are heavy and solemn – even more so when they return with less of his men behind him. 

“Probably when the nightmares of Pa–, of someone close to me dying, woke me up in screaming terror,” he tried to snap back but his voice broke and he ended up sounding pathetic. 

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped up in horror. His worry multiplied, “What is going on?

“I shouldn’t have said anything yet.”

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan was no stranger to Anakin’s nightmares. 

“Can you meet me and Padmé later tonight in her apartment? Don’t tell anyone else where you are going.”

“You are starting to worry me, Anakin.”

Anakin stood up to leave, not wanting to prolong this conversation and invoke more questions from Obi-Wan. At least not before he had Padmé by his side.

“Just promise me you will meet me later.”

“Anakin, wait!”

But Anakin left, without looking back. Even the strongest, most bold Jedi Knight in the Galaxy was too afraid to face his feelings. 

Chapter Text

Neither the Jedi nor the Youth Legislative Program seemed to think that cooking was a skill required for young leaders to learn. However, when trying to convince a friend to help fake your deaths, a good meal can make all the difference. To Anakin, food was just fuel. He never had the opportunity to be picky. His mom had the magic touch to make even the most meager meal seem like a feast. He never wanted at her table as long as she was there and he was certain her belly was full. And now, when he’s off planet with Obi-Wan, he will eat whatever local cuisine they could find. While Obi-Wan may be hesitant, Anakin knows that the only promise is the meal in front of you, so you eat it fast before it runs away. On the other hand, Padmé was used to Jobal Naberrie’s home cooked meals. While her face would never betray her, she struggled to choke down food that didn’t remind her of home.

Lucky enough, the Skywalker-Naberrie residence had the luxury of C-3PO, who as he boasts, “Contains the knowledge of over four million types of cuisines from all across the Galaxy.”

Although, despite his knowledge, it was an all hands on deck situation – well arms too because C-3PO had R2-D2 helping as well.

“R2-D2!” C-3PO chides, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “Mix that counterclockwise. You need to aerate the batter to provide optimal volume and bubbling to the final bread!”

“Don’t listen to him, Artoo. He’s got his wires in a twist,” Anakin joked. “He’s nervous because he wants to impress Obi-Wan.”

“Master Anakin,” C-3PO directed his annoyance at his maker. “Was it not a direct order to make an impressive dinner for Master Obi-Wan Kenobi? If I recall, that was a direct order, word-for-word!”

“Don’t listen to Anakin, Threepio,” Padmé smiled. “He’s just teasing you.”

Anakin’s and Padmé’s eyes met, sharing a look of amusement. In moments like this, where they made eye contact, it was as if they were the only beings in the whole Senatorial Apartment Complex or Coruscant or even the whole Galaxy. Everything they needed was in this upper level apartment – the two of them and their two droids. What would they be without their two droids who bicker, filling their apartment with life? They can take the gloom that is brought back from their work at the Jedi Temple and Senate Building and wash it away with their cheer. Though they were astromech and protocol droid, both Artoo and Threepio were more family than if they were made of flesh and blood.

Anakin’s eyes shifted down, a flicker of darkness, clouded in worry, overtaking them. His little family of Padmé, Artoo, and Threepio was about to grow by one. But just the thought, opened the dam – his nightmares and all the worry washed over him, threatening to drown him. Even in this happy moment, with everyone he loved joking around his kitchen, he was struggling to keep his head above water, and he was getting tired of treading water.

Padmé noticed the crinkle that was knotting his brow and the fright that darkened his eyes, and walked closer to him. She would keep him afloat no matter what it took, that was a promise.

“Hand me that,” she said, taking the knife from Anakin. “You’re cutting that all wrong.”

“Padmé, which one of us has just returned from the Outer Rim, hacking up battle droids? I think I can handle a knife,” Anakin joked.

“Hacking implies mindless slashing.” Padmé teases, nudging him away from the cutting board with her hip. “Threepio instructed that each piece should be uniform and half a finger in width.”

They both looked down at the cutting board where an oblong, knobby root vegetable of various deep purples and indigos lay massacred by Anakin’s knife. Some of his discs were so thick that they were see-through while others were a much more than a finger's width thick. What was left of the massacred vegetable was slanted and misshapen.

“In my defense, your fingers are much slimmer than mine,” Anakin laughed, conceding to his wife.

He loved the playfulness in how they argued, but he would always let her win. Not because she needed him to but because she was usually right. He leaned back against the counter and watched as she fixed his mess. Her delicate wrist moved in flashes as the knife hit the cutting board. She worked fast to cut the rest of the vegetables and make the ones he cut more even.

“Imagine how much easier your legislation would pass if you used that knife instead of your word,” Anakin said, admiring his wife.

“My love, I leave the blade-wielding to you,” she gestured to him with the point of her knife. “I promise, I am just as lethal with my pen.”

“I have no doubt,” he replied with a wink.

Anakin continued to watch as she worked, mesmerized by her skill. His eyes would always find her, even in a crowd of millions. And she would always feel his attention on her. It was a feeling so warm and intoxicating that it would take up her whole mind. She felt the full intensity of his stare now. She knew he was always the type to wear his feelings out on his sleeve. Knowing Anakin Skywalker loved her was nothing compared to knowing that Anakin Skywalker radiated with love for her. Padmé Amidala could face the entire Galactic Senate if they were on one side and she the on the other without breaking a sweat, but being face-to-face with Anakin still made her stomach flutter and her head spin as if she were still just a young girl in love. He had that effect on her. Padmé’s knife slipped, and she narrowly avoided slicing her middle fingers clean off. She yelped, and snatched her hand away.

“Careful!” Anakin shouted, but the danger had already passed.

Subconsciously, he flexed his mechano-arm and grabbed it in his human hand. He felt the differences between the cold metal and the warm human skin. The smooth, buffed fingers versus the calloused fingertips. He felt the blood coursing in one hand and the wires ticking in the other.

It’s been years since he lost his arm. A different Anakin who was weaker and impulsive – well impulsive without having the skill he has now to back him up.

He knows how the Jedi view his mechano-arm. It feeds into their fear and wary of him. How the Chosen One is almost inhuman. Something, not just someone, to be feared and kept on a tight leash. There’s darkness within him, they say, and they will never let him forget it. He knows they will never trust him, and he has to pretend that it doesn’t hurt. He could win a thousand battles, master the ways of the Force, and learn every lightsaber form, but he could never truly earn a place within the Jedi Order. He will never belong.

The Chosen One? He could laugh! The irony is that he was chosen by the Force for this prophecy, but he had no choice in this matter. What if he just wanted to be a normal being like the rest of the ones that walked along the streets of Coruscant? What if he just wanted to be accepted by the Jedi Order without the prophecy and his uncertain future hanging over his head? What would it take for him to achieve peace? There would always be a battlefront to send him to or the threat of a Sith for him to destroy. He could be trusted to put his life and the life of his men, his friends, on the line, but he would never be accepted.

But Anakin also knows how Obi-Wan views his mechano-arm. Obi-Wan was there when he lost his arm to Count Dooku’s lightsaber. He knows that Obi-Wan views it as a medal of his bravery and devotion. After all, it was Obi-Wan’s life he was saving that day by taking such an advanced duelist as Count Dooku on his own. Anakin still remembers the fire within him erupting into tall and uncontrollable flames as he saw Obi-Wan struck and fall to the ground. He remembers jumping to face Dooku, no concern for his safety or how he was no match for the skilled Fallen Jedi, but worry only for his fallen Master at his feet. He remembers the pain of his severed arm, the blinding white that danced in his eyes as he threatened to remain conscious when he collapsed beside his Master. And in some hazy memory, he remembers Obi-Wan cradling his head, as they lay on the ground of Geonosis. The warmth and safety he associates with Obi-Wan in that memory is the closest feeling to fatherly affection he has ever known. He knows exactly how Obi-Wan sees him with his inhuman droid arm. Not the Hero With No Fear, as many of the citizens in the Galaxy do, but a hero who fights regardless of his fear because his devotion to his loved ones is stronger.

“Threepio,” Anakin says, coming out of his thoughts. “What can I do now that Senator Amidala has fired me from my task.”

“Set the table, Master,” the protocol droid says without lifting his head from his own work.

“Oh come on!” Anakin complained, although he grabbed a stack of plates regardless. “Even Artoo’s task is above setting the table!”

Artoo whirred and beeped at him, and although Anakin did not remember programming tone into his code, he could sense his teasing.

________

Obi-Wan received an official invitation for dinner at Senator Amidala’s apartment. It came delivered by a protocol droid, not the gold plated one that was often serving Senator Amidala, on a thick parchment paper with fine, calligraphy Aurebesh. It had the crest of the Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo and read as the following:

Master Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi,

You are cordially invited to the Senatorial Apartment of Senator Padmé Amidala Naberrie at 1800 Galactic Standard Time for a fine-cooked meal and discussion.

Sincerely,
Senator Padmé Amidala Naberrie and General Anakin Skywalker

Obi-Wan knew that Anakin was not the type for official invitations or even official dinners. More often than not, Anakin ate his meals, which were always questionable in nature, on the move. He didn’t believe in making an occasion out of food, it seemed wasteful to him. It was more likely that this invitation was Padmé’s doing. She was much more civilized and proper than his former padawan. Through no fault of Anakin’s, of course. There was hardly time for etiquette lessons in his tumultuous childhood.

Obi-Wan knew he shouldn’t worry before there was a reason to worry, but he just could not rewire his emotions despite years of Jedi training. He thought back to Anakin earlier today, clearly distracted and in pain. Not the pain caused by a lightsaber but the pain caused by a heart that was too large for his chest. And that was the problem with Anakin. That was what the problem was when he was a small boy on Tatooine in goggles too large for his small face, willing to gamble his life for two Jedi he just met. It was his problem when he let his anger get the better of him on Tatooine avenging his mother. And it was his problem in battle each time he would risk their lives going back for his clone troopers, even if they were too far gone. Anakin always cared too deeply about the people he loved. He would do anything for them, even if it were unwise. That’s what made the Jedi Council so afraid of him. A man with emotions that flamed so high and the willingness to act without limit was something they couldn’t control, and the Council survived by their ability to control. But this is also what endears Anakin to Obi-Wan so much.

Anakin mentioned earlier something about nightmares, and although he didn’t explicitly say so, Obi-Wan knew they concerned Padmé. Obi-Wan knew how he felt about the girl. She was the sun that he revolved around. She was the very thing that kept his heart beating. Their marriage was the worst kept secret in Coruscant, but it’s a secret that everyone kept because Anakin was too important to the Jedi and Padmé was too important to the Senate. And both of them were too important to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan loved in his own way too, and he didn’t have it in himself to stop Anakin’s young infatuation or the true, deep love it developed into. He may never admit it to himself, but after his own bad luck in love, he needed the hope he saw in the young couple. A reminder that in a world full of darkness and loss, where he felt he was cursed to be left alone in, love still survived.

But it was the nightmares that had Obi-Wan concerned despite all his training to keep his mind calm. Anakin never slept well. From the day he took him off of Tatooine, he was always between fitful bouts of sleep and pacing under the moonlight. When he was a small boy, tiny enough to fit in his arms, Obi-Wan would pick him up from his tangled bedsheets, wipe away the tears that he would try to hide, and take him away from his tortured mind. He would tell him old Jedi stories that all younglings are taught about planets far, far away and Jedi heroes. Eventually, Anakin would fall asleep curled in his arms, and it would be Obi-Wan who would stay awake all night, fighting the nightmares that he couldn’t even foresee.

And then Anakin grew up, and his nightmares grew with him. He became better at hiding the signs – feigning sleep and stifling screams. But one night, Anakin told Obi-Wan about the dream that kept knocking through his consciousness. Screams and pleas from his mother begging Anakin to save her from a threat that was too blurry and out of focus to see. Anakin would run to his mother in his dreams, but no matter how fast he would run, the ground would never bring him close enough to save her. Obi-Wan knew the boy always missed Shmi Skywalker, the only family he had known before he joined the Order. It tore at his heart to leave her on Tatooine, dooming to her lifelong fate as a slave, when he, feeling as if he did not deserve it, was freed. For years, Anakin begged the Jedi to let him go back for her, to free her, so she, the wonderful, kind, selfless woman he knew, could live the life she deserved. But the Jedi were always fiercely against attachments. To them, Shmi Skywalker was just a rope tying Anakin to a life he left behind on Tatooine. She was another force that would control him and influence his decisions. But Obi-Wan knew better. She may have been a tether, but it was to his innocence and belief in good. She was his humanity. His mother was the first love and security that Anakin knew as he navigated a life as a child slave. She protected him when he was in need, and he wanted to protect her forever. Anakin at his core was a protector.

But his dreams stole his sleep, and Anakin was too late. Shmi Skywalker died after days of holding on just to see her beloved son’s face one more time. And when she caressed his cheek in her bloody hands and looked upon him with her fading eyes, she saw a grown up version of the boy that she once raised. Not the soot-covered toddler, the tinkering boy whose face was always rosy from the heat of the two suns. She saw a tall young man in Jedi robes, with fierceness in his eyes. He was still her son, who she loved until her dying breath, and even as she rejoined the Force, but there were new facets chiseled into his character that she could not recognize. And that pain was worse than the thousands of cuts on her broken body.

Guilt is what remained after Shmi Skywalker was gone. Anakin’s guilt for not reaching his mother in time. Nothing could cure that wound. No words from Padmé or Obi-Wan. He knew he had the power to save her, but he was too late. His fault. He abandoned his mother, and she died. Obi-Wan’s guilt for taking a child from his mother, no matter what the Jedi principles said. If he only found a way to take Anakin back to his mother to visit or even the first night he had a nightmare about her. He raised the boy according to the principles of the Jedi and the teachings of Qui-Gon, but somewhere deep within him knows that he was no replacement for the nurture of a mother. And now the boy is forever marred from the tragic loss of his mother and his dark actions in the aftermath. And Obi-Wan will carry that responsibility, weighing on his conscience forever.

This is what went through Obi-Wan’s head as he raised his fist to knock on the heavy enameled door of Senator Amidala’s apartment. He rapped against the door twice, with sure loud knocks, and politely took a step back with his arms at rest behind his back.

It was only a moment later when the gold protocol droid opened the door. When C-3PO was first built, he was a beat up scrap parts from Tatooine – a product of young Anakin Skywalker’s desire to ease his mother’s difficulty, the embodiment of his love and devotion. C-3PO was looking much more refined now, freshly shined and oiled. He bowed before Obi-Wan in greeting.

“Master Kenobi!” he said, fumbling, “Welcome to Senator Amidala and Master Sky– well just Senator Amidala’s apartment. May I take your robes? Perhaps offer you something to drink?”

Obi-Wan just laughed and walked in, “Thank you See-Threepio for your hospitality, but I am good.”

Padmé came over from the kitchen area, wiping her hands on a towel. To an outsider, Padmé Amidala would look overdressed, but those who saw her on the daily, would recognize the signs of a casually dressed Padmé. Her hair wasn’t in an updo. Her warm-brown curls fell across her shoulders. Two silver pins kept the top half of her hair in place in an elegant braided knot. The intricate knot was an homage to the sailors’ knots customary in Naboo. Recreating these knots as braids in her hair has been a soothing way to calm her fidgety fingers. She’s even taught Anakin, who is surprisingly adept at hair styling, a few knots.

“Welcome, Obi-Wan,” Padmé said, reaching out to Obi-Wan with open arms.

Hu hugged the girl back. Physical affection wasn’t something that came naturally to the Jedi, but this felt right. He had an overwhelming sense of warmth and protectiveness for the girl. It stemmed from their first meeting when she was Queen of Naboo in disguise as her handmaidens and blossomed along with Anakin’s own affections for her.

“I was very honored to receive your invitation,” Obi-Wan said with a smile. He would venture into the topic of why he received the invitation as the night went on, when the moment was right.

“Anakin and I are very grateful that you will be joining us tonight,” she said, leading him past the threshold of the foyer.

She always had honey words, but unlike her politician contemporaries, she meant them honestly. It is always what has set her apart as someone to trust. It’s why people seek her out as a confidant or even just an ear for their troubles.

But now Padmé was staring daggers behind her, pointedly in Anakin’s direction. Her husband was looking at his scuffed up boots, not making eye contact with their new guest. He hadn’t left the safety of the kitchen area as if some invisible force was keeping him away. Still, he felt Padmé’s burning eyes, who looked as if she was trying to scare him into his host duties. Without looking up, Anakin walked over. It was very uncharacteristic of this war hero to lack courage. He could face Siths like Dooku and Ventress but not his own friend. It was because he knew what he would have to ask tonight. He knew what he would have to do. And that scared him much more than anyone wielding a red lightsaber.

“Forgive me, Master, for my impoliteness,” Anakin said humbly, extending his hand.

There was something about his tone and his expression that knocked Obi-Wan years back to when the boy was his padawan. A boy who used to turn to Obi-Wan with eyes that assumed Obi-Wan had all the answers in the Galaxy. An innocent little blond boy, less jaded by war wounds and the weight of his responsibilities, who thought being a Jedi meant carrying a laser sword and exploring planetary systems. To someone, the word “hero,” was less complicated – a fictional tale rather than a tired warrior constantly having to redraw the line between right and wrong just to keep the evil at bay.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan said, pulling him closer by their enclosed hands. Anakin would die to protect others, but Obi-Wan would do the same to protect Anakin. It was his personal responsibility, one beyond the promise he made to Qui-Gon. It was the protectiveness of an older brother. Obi-Wan took Anakin’s shoulders in his hands, a firm grip, but the young man wouldn’t look up.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan pleaded, giving up on the formal pretenses. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Anakin was never good at hiding his emotions. His face was always a direct reflection of his heart, but he did his best to school his expression. He tried for the warm host expression that Padmé had, “Let’s eat dinner first. Threepio really outdid himself.”

The smile on Anakin’s face was eerie. It terrified Obi-Wan even more, but he obliged. The three of them found themselves seated at the large table in the dining room. With the amount of beautiful dishes piled high with food covering the table, the wood was hardly visible. Such a meal was way too extravagant for the three of them who could pass a can of food around a starship and just as well have a pleasant dinner. That was the benefit of good company.

“This is excellent, Threepio,” Anakin said, another forkfill of food already halfway to his mouth. “I’m so glad I programmed you to be an exceptional cook!”

Protocol droids couldn’t blush, but the way the light danced across his gold cheeks made it seem as if he did. “Master Skywalker, I am always pleased to serve you.”

Anakin put down the fork, looking intensely into the two lights that made See-Threepio’s eyes, “Please old friend, don’t call me Master in the same sentence you talk about serving. We both escaped Tatooine and the business of masters and servants.”

“Yes, Master Skywaller,” 3-PO amended. “I only wished to show my appreciation for my maker.”

“We’re family, Threepio, regardless of who wired your consciousness,” Anakin replied with a smile.

“Now that we are on the topic of family...” Padmé started, trying to shift the conversation. All night, she was trying to nudge Anakin into being honest with Obi-Wan, but he has been dodging her words as if they were shot out of a blaster.

Obi-Wan looked between the two of them. They both sat so rigid, well as rigid as Anakin and Padmé could sit in such close proximity. He could tell their knees kept knocking under the table and their pinkies kept brushing against one another as if, if they went too long without touching, they would cease to exist. But something in the air shifted, a moment that would never be the same again. As if a veil was being lifted and a truth that could never be rehidden would be revealed. It’s a dangerous moment, this shift in the Force, not in an evil way, like in the presence of darkness or the Sith. But it was a moment in which irreversible truth would come to light – a moment where the path forward only went through.

Obi-Wan felt a shiver down his spine.

“Master,” Anakin said. Now that he was talking, he found his voice to be confident and unwavering. It was not the truth of his marriage he feared, he found solace and pride in being Padmé Amidala’s husband, but it was Obi-Wan's potential reaction that caused hesitation. “Remember after the Battle of Geonosis, when you returned straight to Coruscant and I escorted Padmé back to Naboo?”

“Yes,” the response from Obi-Wan sounded like a question. He felt as if he knew where this was going.

“Padmé and I,” Anakin looked over to his wife for strength.

“Anakin and I realized as we were riding to what we believed were our last moments alive that we loved each other. Faced with our imminent death in the arena of Geonosis, we realized that despite all the forces pulling us apart and telling us that we couldn’t, or that we shouldn’t, we loved each other. So when we returned to Naboo…”

“We wed,” Anakin finished, letting out a rattled breath.

Obi-Wan just laughed. He laughed until tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and got caught within his smile crinkles. Not only was it funny to watch the young couple in front of him squirm as they thought they were dropping a bomb, but it was so relieving to finally hear the truth from their own mouths.

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, wiping his tears with the corner of his napkin. “Remove the storm cloud that has taken up residence above your brow. Calm down, it’s not that serious. I have suspected that you two were married for all these years. I just didn’t have the heart to break that news to you both!”

“But it is that serious,” Anakin said with a sharpness in his voice and growing anger. “It is that serious and even more so because Padmé is pregnant.”

The laughter stopped cold, and Obi-Wan met Anakin's steely eyes across from him. In this moment, understanding fell between them. Obi-Wan sensed Anakin’s fear for what it truly was – a deep, cold fear that threatened to take everything Anakin held close to his heart away. And Obi-Wan too felt that fear wrap around him, constricting him in the same icy embrace, choking and suffocating.

“And the nightmares,” Obi-Wan could hardly speak. “In the Temple, the nightmares you mentioned?”

Anakin’s eyes burned into his friend’s. “Were of Padmé dying in childbirth. Like my mother, who died before I could reach her. I won’t let it happen again. This time will be different.”

Anakin’s voice was cold and determined. His even tone did not fool anyone. There was a reason why his battalion was the most successful. He fought to be victorious, and he rarely lost because he does whatever it takes to win. Anakin took Padmé’s hand in both of his, protecting her with every bit of his human flesh and machine parts. And he would sacrifice every being of flesh or machine to keep her from dying. That promise was just as deep in his eyes as his words. Obi-Wan knew it, and Padmé feared it.

“Anakin,” Padmé said, taking her free hand and placing it on top of his. She needed to release the tension in the air before it became explosive. “It won’t happen. It’s not real.”

“I know,” Anakin said with more confidence than he felt. “Because I won’t let it become real.”

Padmé looked down to the abandoned food on her plate. Pressure was building behind her eyes, and she could feel a headache blooming. Soon, the stress will be over, she promised herself. She wasn’t the jealous type, but she yearned for her sister, Sola’s, life at times like these. A wave of tiredness washed over her, and she wished could remove her thoughts and their worries and place them neatly beside her elaborate headdresses in her closet and just sleep.

“Padmé” Obi-Wan interrupted her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

She had missed the last few exchanges of their conversation. Anakin was tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear, and turning her face so it met his, which was twisted in worry. His knuckles grazed against her temples, feeling for a fever, “Are you sick? Do you feel unwell?”

“I’m okay,” she said, wiping the beads of sweat at her hairline with her sleeve. “I think I'm just tired. And a little overwhelmed.”

“Perhaps we should continue this conversation tomorrow?” Obi-Wan suggested.

“No, no, I’m good,” Padmé said firmly, sitting up straighter and brushing away Anakin’s concerned hands. “Where were we?”

Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged a wordless look but neither was going to argue with Padmé.

“Well, my love,” Anakin started. “I, uh, was just asking Obi-Wan to help us fake our deaths so that we may flee to Naboo.”

“That is not a simple request, Anakin. Not only is it absurd, but to be successful right under the Jedi Council’s noses would require deception and lies.”

“There is no choice but to succeed,” Anakin insisted. “Otherwise fate will bring the death of my wife and child.”

“What of your responsibilities to the Order and to the Senate,” Obi-Wan inquired.

“They managed before us, and they will manage after,” Anakin answered coldly.

“It pains us to leave,” Padmé tried to soften his sharp words. “We care so deeply for the Republic, but we fear that there is no other option for us.”

“I understand.”

“You do?” Anakin’s eyes widened in shock.

“Yes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed. “You keep yourself so bottled up that you forget that I know you. I raised you to take the Jedi principles to heart, but I know too well that your heart was already too full to make room for Jedi detachment. I will help you with whatever you need, you have my word. Just promise me one thing, Anakin.”

“What is that, Master?”

“While you are raising your child on Naboo, please don’t forget about the other children across the Galaxy – the children whose parents are dead and whose homes are destroyed by the war you will have left behind – those children who have no one else to look out for them.”

Anakin and Padmé ducked their heads in shame, for the first time feeling selfish for choosing their family.