#(In case it isn’t clear here. Padme tried to stand and fight Anakin again after Kenobi started fighting too.)

[corellianhounds]

Amidala the Resilient

Media: Revenge of the Sith

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,942

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, pregnancy, Force-choking, blood and injuries, traumatic labor and delivery, death in childbirth, no happy ending.

Art Credit: Iain McCaig, The Art of Star Wars, Episode III: Revenge of the Sith

Summary: In a universe where Anakin gradually descended into the Dark side of his own volition from the beginning— where his ambition and love were genuine and admirable, but the temptation of power too much— his turn is something much more destructive and purposeful. Amidala’s plan for retaliation is just as much so.

Padmé Amidala can feel tension twinging in her back and thighs. The pit in her stomach has coalesced into a tight knot as she steels herself for what she must do, bringing a mattock and salt to the ground where pruning shears should have been used long ago.

Anakin had been too far gone for a long time, and the fault lay in her and everyone in his life willingly turning a blind eye too often to his myriad of faults. In the past two hours she has seen actions the result of which came from an upbringing where his temper, jealousy, and ambition were allowed to slide because those who thought him destined for some great cosmic good were willing to overlook occasional— and often objectively justified— acts of wrath and ruthlessness. He had always been so good at justifying his reasons and putting his actions in a more favorable light, showing enough willingness for correction over the years people thought he was receptive to guidance and change.

What she’d come to realize with dawning horror was that the seeds of destruction had been sown long ago, and though the vines had borne occasional good fruit, they had always grown with selfish intent, inevitably choking out everything around them in an effort to keep his own desires hidden behind the barrier of thorns.

In the next hour, she will come face to face with the monster of a man he’s become.

The Jedi master doesn’t know. Kenobi knows she has some plan but wrongfully assumes it is to appeal to whatever mistaken shred of humanity might remain in Anakin. Obi-Wan— even now, even after what they saw— cares for him as a brother and would sooner cut off his own hand than see Anakin completely lost to the Dark. Padmé however has finally seen clarity of purpose.

For Anakin to be stopped, he must be killed.

The ship arrives on Mustafar. Padmé wrenches herself away from the viewport as Obi-Wan lands and she gingerly lowers herself to the cargo hold, donning a cloak. Obi-Wan hurriedly finishes the landing cycle, calling her name as she gathers her strength, but she’s hardly listening to him at this point and she knows she must conceal herself from him so he has no chance of stopping her.

A hand on her shoulder makes her flinch, and the Jedi lets go almost in surprise. “Padmé, you don’t have to do this. I will talk to him.”

“No,” she says, keeping her left hand secured across her waist beneath the voluminous sleeve as she cleared a path to the lowering gangway. “He’s made it very clear he’s past the point of reasoning with the Jedi. I will speak with him, and if I cannot convince him to come with us calmly, or I cannot ascertain his next move, I expect you to do what’s necessary to end this treasonous rebellion. That is an order.”

It was all false diplomacy, of course, for his sake. Padmé had no intention of believing Anakin was anywhere close to the realm of negotiation. They were far past that.

But she needed assurance that she could get close enough to Anakin to act decisively. She couldn’t have Kenobi interfering, not at this juncture.

Oppressive heat surrounded her as she swept down the ramp to the barren ground. Magma roiled and churned, flames flickering at the edge of the peninsula as Padmé approached the figure so cloaked in darkness an aura of blackened energy almost seemed to emanate from his form. The grip of the hidden dagger dug into her hand, grounding her as she approached.

Padmé’s eyes burned with a ferocity to match her husband’s. It was time for this to end.

When Obi-Wan had seen her determination in the hold of the ship he had never for a moment anticipated what it would lead to.

Padmé steadily approached Anakin, cloak and hood protecting her from the blaze. He could see her speaking forcefully with him, her face hidden from view but Anakin’s darkening by the moment in response. His right hand, devoid of glove, clenched the hilt of an already ignited saber, the bloodshine blade standing in stark contrast to his own cloak. Its presence alone was alarming, but Obi-Wan had been subject to so many tragedies that night already, he merely assumed Anakin had readied it in the expectation of facing his master.

What Obi-Wan hadn’t known was what Padmé concealed until she tried to close the distance between them, her own blade in hand. What followed happened in the span of a heartbeat.

Anakin’s saber blocked it on instinct, easily halting the approach of Padmé’s dagger, his eyes widening in surprise. In the following moment his left hand raised and with it, so did Padmé.

Obi-Wan’s astonishment lasted only a fraction of a second as he yelled “NO!” Padmé’s feet left the ground as an invisible force clutched her neck in a crushing, intangible grip, and in the breadth of time Padmé scrabbled at her throat, Obi-Wan acted.

Anakin stumbled back from the force of the bolt hitting his shoulder, releasing his hold on Padmé. Padmé crumpled to the ground in a heap, and Anakin’s sights zeroed in on Kenobi, standing at the mouth of the ship with both blaster and lightsaber in hand. Snarling, Anakin stalked towards his old master and brought his lightsaber down, red clashing against blue.

Padmé Amidala, heartbroken and dying, drags herself bleeding to the communication console.

Kenobi can hear her movement in the bay and yells her name, telling her not to move, that he’ll come to help her as soon as the ship breaches the atmosphere, and she stalwartly ignores him, cradling the underside of her belly with one hand and using the other to support herself on the railing around the sparse artillery deck. Her broken ankle protests at every movement, sending lightning arcing up the leg where she puts her unsteady weight. The cramps in her abdomen spread like bone-coral, sharp and hot and agonizing in her pelvis, sides, back— Every tendon and muscle in her body screams at their owner to relent, to succumb to the creeping darkness pressing around her vision, but she cannot allow herself peace until she finishes what she started.

Padmé staggers at the ship’s turbulent acceleration, her forearm slamming out against the bulkhead as the lights flicker, and she curses the unsteady pilot she thought was her friend. Perhaps if she’d been accompanied by someone more decisive, someone whose fatal flaw wasn’t a love too great for a brother that no longer existed, Anakin would have been dealt with and she’d have the wherewithal to fight against the added pain of a labor she was sure would tear her in two.

Sweat pours from her brow and forces her already shaking, slippery hands to scrabble for purchase on the blasted polished finery of a spoiled noble’s ship. Her muscles spasm and she gasps in abject terror as she feels something inside her snap; the membrane within her had ruptured.

Gravity pulls on her bones as her muscles betray her, and she collapses against the bench. Fingernails scrape vinyl and she chokes out a guttural, rending cry of pain in the effort it takes to haul herself upward into the seat.

Obi-Wan is yelling again. Traitorous coward.

Padmé punches in the covert frequency on the transmitter. Her other hand rests on her stomach, her infants moving restlessly under her touch. She forces the hot flashes of pain back, shoving down every instinctive response to curl in on herself.

“Sabé—,” she says into the comm, gritting her teeth and tasting blood once more; the contractions were stronger and with a strangled grunt she yanks the comm closer, ignoring the frantic waves of worry rolling off of the useless Jedi in the pilot’s seat.

“Sabé, if you find the man who was my husband,” she chokes, the creeping black at the edges of her vision beginning to overtake her.

“Kill him.”

Obi-Wan sat listlessly on a bench in the hold, what bloodied clothing he still wore sticking to him like a second skin. His hand rested on the makeshift bassinet, a gun locker repurposed into a cradle.

He could only imagine what directive she’d felt necessary enough to strain herself to get across the sublight waves; he could only imagine because the message was encrypted and the recipient unknown, and her mind had been shielded from his probing. He didn’t know whether to blame his failed use of the Force on the heartbroken, distracted nature of his psyche being pulled in a thousand directions as he’d manually flown from Mustafar’s orbital pull in order to make the jump to lightspeed, or to blame some unknown energy stalwartly blocking him from Padmé’s mind. Reaching out to her had felt like hitting a steel wall.

The tumult of their departure had preoccupied him until he was sure he’d escaped whatever enemy fighters Anakin’s new master had sent after them, the maneuvering less of a dogfight and more of a half-cocked evasive prayer for the hull to remain intact long enough for them to break atmo. Klaxons blared and the astronav’s interface barked orders, warning him of too many systems he already knew were damaged enough that if they took even one more hit to the hull they would be obliterated; shields were failing, exterior panelling being shorn off, the pursuing fighters gaining on them— Until by some stroke of luck he’d found a slip in space to pull through and immediately jump to lightspeed.

Lightspeed jumps themselves were already hazardous to expecting parents’ health. He was terrified of the condition she had been in when he’d finally gotten her onboard, and the fact he could sense her moving with purpose somewhere below decks while he tried to shake the fighters had sent his heart rate skyrocketing.

Piloting had never been his forte. As soon as they’d hit hyperspace he’d slammed a hand against the autopilot controls and bolted from the dash, scrambling down to the hold below.

He swore under his breath, calling her name and skidding to a halt beside her. Her face twisted in agony, her hands clutching the underside of her abdomen. Obi-Wan knelt beside her, hesitant to move her and instead ran a quick check over her vitals, astonished at what he found.

Broken bones in her leg, fractured ribs, internal bleeding, damaged trachea— how had she even moved?! By all rights she should be dead and yet something had propped her up long enough for her to drag herself to the terminal and send a message.

And now she was in labor.

“Kenobi—” she spat derisively, grabbing his tunic. “Get— up—”

“Padmé, hold still, let me—”

He was cut off as a violent shudder wracked her body, her limbs curling in on herself with a gurgling cry. Panicked desperation lanced through him as he reached out and grasped tendrils of the Force, gingerly cradling her neck and attempting to delicately, swiftly mend ligaments he couldn’t see. If he was even a millimeter incorrect, she would die.

A misaligned vertebrae shifted back into place, and Padmé screamed.

Obi-Wan bit back a sob, carefully tracing his fingers on either side of the back of her neck with as much force as he dared in an attempt to still her and provide what pain relief he could as his own energy was leached from him. Padmé gasped, her eyes flying open, her expression stricken as she looked up at the ceiling. Her iron grip loosened as the tension dissipated, if only in one area. She gulped air as if coming up from the bottom of a lake, and Obi-Wan settled as he felt his strength wane. A concrete task was better than guesswork at unknown variables.

The reprieve didn’t last long; Padmé grunted in pain, convulsing as a contraction rippled through her torso again. Further assessment revealed her leggings and the floor beneath her to be drenched, and Obi-Wan’s panic flared again.

“I have to get you up—”

“If you move me I will kill you,” she spat harshly. She trembled despite the ferocity of her glare, her hand still twisted in his robe. “There is no time— Here and now, Kenobi. Make do.”

“Padmé—”

“Look around you,” she seethed. “There’s no level surface in this blasted ship big enough to work. There are no other choices. There is no one else to help. Sleeves up. Now.”

Kenobi’s brow remained twisted as he stripped off his outer tunic, knowing it was laden with silicate and volcanic dust. Padmé propped herself up on her elbows as he raced to scour his hands and forearms, coming back to remove her boots so he could work her outer garments free. Whether the blood seeping between her teeth was due to the injuries she’d sustained or because she was gritting them hard enough one had cracked, he didn’t know.

Padmé gasped again as the fracture in her shin shifted— He wanted to settle her, to fix this, but the contractions were coming more quickly and closer together. They were running out of time.

He finally seated himself before her, kneeling and shaking in just his undershirt and trousers, feeling acutely unprepared for what was to come. Battlefield triage and casualty care were the extent of his healing knowledge, and though he was adept at relieving or numbing acute nociceptive responses, it was usually with soldiers whose minds were open for him to assess areas of injury. A commander with a blaster burn would be focused on the point where his plastoid hadn’t covered. A civilian’s attention after suffering a fall would be turned to the joints and bones that took the brunt of the effects of gravity.

Labor and delivery were far too different from his experience in the medical field.

And Padmé was still blocking him out.

Her knuckles gripped bone-white to a ridge of floor plating, one knee bent and her foot planted flat. The other lay weakly to the side, and Obi-Wan grit his teeth as he raised it up to rest over his thigh despite the lancing pain he felt radiating from her, tucking a blanket beneath her and readying his hands for whatever instruction he prayed she could give. With him gathering his wits and her gathering her strength, they set to work.

The whole ordeal couldn’t have lasted longer than ten minutes, and it was the longest and most arduous process of their lives. Between her strangled cries, his intuition, and the muscle spasms that told him everything about this was wrong, Kenobi’s concern grew with the pool of blood beneath her, and she forced him to focus on the children, refusing to allow him any modicum of time spent healing her injuries between her screams. Untended bone cracked further as she thrashed, her screams echoing back in the cargo hold.

By the time Kenobi had swaddled the two squalling— living!— infants in what sterile dressing he could find from the field kit, Padmé had gone a sickly pale. Her skin was waxy under the recessed halogen lighting, her hair sticking to her forehead. Dark circles rimmed her eyes and different muscle groups continued twitching of their own accord as if sparked by electricity. Obi-Wan was torn between ensuring the infants had been properly cared for, and wanting to drag Padmé to the captain’s berth to fully assess her wounds and heal her: Padmé kept stubbornly shoving him away, tears tracking unnoticed down her face as she continued to choke out instructions for the care and keeping of her children.

He’d finally been forced to stop when that iron grip returned in full force— Padmé grabbed his arm and yanked him down to where she had propped herself up against the wall. Kenobi lurched forward, her ashen face now level with his. She forced her voice to obey despite the strain in her throat, rasping the words she needed to say.

“Keep them away from him.” The venom in her tone was undeniable. “You keep them safe, Kenobi, get— get them as far away as you can—”

Kenobi grunted, refusing to let her continue her orders. He pressed a palm to her chest, willing those wisps of energy to sustain her just a few moments longer as he tried to haul her up into his lap, coax her arm around him so he could lift her— If he could just get her somewhere comfortable, somewhere clean, if he could focus—

Padmé shrieked in pain, clawing at his chest and arms, and the sum of their separate fights came crashing down on him as the Force dissipated from his mind’s grasp. His knees gave out, his strength sapped from the energy he had poured into her, and they lay heavily back against the terminal yet again. The children cried distantly behind them.

“Padmé, please…” Obi-Wan pleaded, tears streaking down his face, but she shook her head yet again.

“Keep them safe,” she coughed, begging for the first time. “Get them away f-from—”

“He’s gone, Padmé, Anakin is gone—”

She shook her head fiercely, squeezing her eyes shut. “No. He’s there. I can feel him.”

“Listen to me— Anakin is dead, I saw him—”

“You’re wrong,” Padmé said. Her breath rattled. Tears dripped from her chin. “If— If you won’t k-kill him then t-take care o-of them. Wh-Whatever it takes.”

Her chest hitched as she gasped around the liquid filling her lungs. Her bloody hand trembled against his neck. She hiccuped, her eyes went glassy, and her hand fell away.

And in the stillness of hyperspace, Padmé Amidala Naberrie passed from one life to the next.

It had been an hour since then. Only an hour since Obi-Wan had had to keep himself from buckling under the weight of his grief, an hour since he’d sobbed on the floor of a ship as one of his oldest and dearest friends died in his arms. The former queen of Naboo, dying in the bloody cargo hold of a stolen ship, her own life stolen from her by the one person the two of them had trusted beyond measure while her infant children cried out for comfort he felt wholly incapable of providing. Obi-Wan wept alongside them, digging his fingers into the cold, unfeeling floor, wanting to scream as the agony of heartbreak threatened to overwhelm him.

So many dead, or lost. There was no solace even in the Force.

But as Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself doing so often in his life, he shoved his feelings down into the furthest recesses of his broken heart, let go of another loved one returned to the Force, and turned himself back to the task at hand.

The infants were asleep now. He’d shakily scrubbed at his face and arms with cold water and spared only enough time under the sanisteam to ensure he was clean enough to handle them before finding a spare undershirt for himself. He fed them, cleaned them up, and held both of them together against his chest as they squirmed, dissatisfied at their situation before accepting their present accommodations and falling asleep. By the ship’s chrono he had roughly two standard hours before the ship was due to drop out of hyperspace.

He sat unseeing in the captain’s berth with the ad hoc bassinet nearby. Padmé was still in the hold; he couldn’t be two places at once, and he couldn’t stay down there with the children.

Something bothered him about the infants in his arms, though. Once the girl had passed from Padmé’s body, it almost seemed like the barrier keeping him from sensing Padmé’s thoughts had broken. He was too drained and scattered to dwell on it as his last moments with her had been focused on her well-being, but despite his utter exhaustion he had a suspicion that had already begun to crystallize under the sheer openness of the twins’ young presences within hyperspace.

It troubled him.

Whatever message she’d sent was evidently received by the people she’d needed it to. Bail Organa met him at the hastily assembled but covert rendezvous, his ensuing shock and horror upon entering the ship’s docking ramp turning to commanding resolve as he followed the trail of destruction to Kenobi’s station. Organa had to shake him from his stupor before Obi-Wan could tell him of Mustafar, of the newly appointed Sith and Padmé’s scheme, and of Padmé’s last words. The senator’s brow furrowed. He knelt next to the Jedi, looking over the sleeping children.

“What of Anakin?”

Obi-Wan shook his head tiredly. “I cannot sense him. I don’t believe Anakin is alive.”

“… Who else did she contact?” Bail asked.

Tears dripped onto Obi-Wan’s shirt. “I don’t know.”

Bail sighed, bringing one hand up to rest on his shoulder. “I am truly sorry, Obi-Wan. For everything.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t respond.

Bail’s team, handpicked and vetted by the senator himself, worked below decks as the men weighed their options. The aftermath of the despotic coup was rippling out and changing by the minute; the Jedi had been slaughtered and scattered, the clones had broken all communication, and the Senate had reached a fever pitch of chaos. Anything that needed to be done had to be done now.

The feeling of loss that bordered on consuming him was one he’d rarely felt in his lifetime as acutely as he did now. The comfort he found in the Force was absent. He’d felt like a ship unmoored when his master was killed. Now it was as though he’d been dropped into the middle of a hurricane.

Bail’s hands were clasped loosely together against his forehead, elbows resting on his knees as he bowed his head in thought. Kenobi could have been a corpse for how still and gaunt he was.

“Obi-Wan…” Bail began. “Are you certain Skywalker is dead?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “I cannot sense him at all.”

Bail was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “… But you, of all people, couldn’t sense what must have been growing within him. Is it at all possible the body of Anakin remains, but the reason you cannot find him is because the man we knew is entirely lost to the Dark?”

A chilling fissure of clarity cut through Obi-Wan’s senses. His reaction told Bail everything he needed to know.

Even if it was only a suspicion, they could not afford to waste time figuring out the emperor’s next move. Anything that could be used to motivate Vader had to be hidden from public knowledge. They couldn’t leave a trace of his past behind.

Bail mulled over his thoughts, then stood, gesturing for Kenobi as his resolve hardened to steel. “Come. We have work to do. We will mourn when we are done.”

Sabé trembled with the effort it took to control her breathing. She stowed her bag behind the seat of the starship and brought the engine to life, moving with purpose as tears streamed unbidden down her face.

The ship rose, coordinates locked in place to meet the others of her gathering retinue. These weren’t the orders of former nobility, of a governing senator— This was the last request of a dying friend, someone whose very existence was woven into her bones. Padmé Amidala’s death would not be in vain.

Sabé looked out beyond the stars, her breathing finding stasis despite the ocean of grief beneath it.

“My hands are yours, Padmé,” she said to herself. “For as long duty compels them.”

She wasn’t going to kill Anakin. Not until he felt every bit of the pain and suffering he deserved.

Notes:

The line “clarity of purpose” comes from Saw Gerrera in the Andor TV show

I wrote Sabé’s line before seeing that one similar was used in one of the books. Good to know I was on the right track with a character I know very little about lol

[stellarstarwarsimagines]

The Love We Have

Pairing - Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Summary - Based on the request: “How can I live with myself if I don’t at least try and save you?” You know that Anakin has turned to the dark side. Thanks to your visions, you know if Anakin fights Obi-Wan, it will lead him to a terrible fate. What you don’t know is if you have enough time, and the strength to stop it. 

Word Count - 2,159

Warnings - None! Just hope that you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!

As you typed up the message and sent it out, you tried not to let it make you panic, the fact that you couldn’t feel him anymore. For so long Anakin’s force presence had been a calming relief, a constant in a changing time, something that you could count on. 

Now it was gone. 

Telling yourself over and over that he wasn’t dead wasn’t as much of a comfort as it should have been. Not after watching what had happened at the Temple. You had to remind yourself it wasn’t over. You still had a chance. 

As long as you got there before Obi-Wan did. 

When you landed on the fiery, lava filled planet though, you realized you hadn’t. You found Padme laying on the ground, clutching her neck. As soon as she saw you, relief flooded her face. “You have to go after them!” She said, grasping your hands tight. “I’m afraid if you don’t they’ll kill each other.” 

“Are you okay?” You asked her, squeezing her hands, trying not to think about the fact that she was right. 

She nodded. “I will be, just go! You can save him. I know it.” 

You hoped that you could. Running away, you managed to catch sight of a droid on some type of speeder. You knocked it sideways and jumped on top of it, taking off in a random direction. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, feeling the force around you and reaching out. You weren’t able to feel Anakin’s force presence anymore, but you could feel something. Pain, despair, anguish . . . feelings that could only belong to a master whose apprentice had betrayed him. 

Sure enough, it led you to Obi-Wan standing above Anakin with his lightsaber lit. “Don’t try it.” You heard him yell out. 

Just like he had in your vision. 

“You underestimate my power.” Anakin replied, and you knew what was about to happen. 

Your hand shot out of its own accord, “NO!” You screamed, your voice echoing throughout the scene as well as the force. It bent to your will seemingly without your own thoughts, Anakin’s form that had been flying towards Obi-Wan shot up even higher, out of reach of the lightsaber that would have cut off the rest of his limbs if you had been a second later. 

Anakin landed on the ground, several feet behind Obi-Wan, and you scrambled over to him before either of them could get to each other once again. Anakin’s now reddish colored eyes were wide, his mouth parted as he looked at you. “You’re alive,” he gasped as you fell on your knees beside him. 

You tried not to focus on the darkness in his eyes, instead noticing the wetness there, your brow furrowing at his words. “Of course I am,” you said, your hands reaching up to cup his cheeks. “Oh, Ani . . . What have you done?” You asked, your own tears dripping down your face at just how close you had been to losing him mere moments ago.

“The Chancellor . . . he told me you were dead. He said Obi-Wan had killed you. . . ” Anakin said as his hands traveled over your sides, curling into fists and then smoothing out. It was like he was trying to reassure himself that you were there. 

His words surprised you, but you had to admit the brilliance in them. The amount of thought the Sith Lord had put into this plan continued to astound you. There were three people that would be sure to keep Anakin on the path to the light. Ahsoka, who Palpatine had already taken care of, Obi-Wan, and you. What better way to get rid of his last two obstacles than make up a story where Obi-Wan was responsible for your death? And of course with both of you vanished . . . what other choice would Anakin have than to believe it? “Obi-Wan is the reason I’m alive, Anakin. He saved me when the Clones attacked.” You told him. 

Anakin glanced from you over to Obi-Wan who stood behind you, his lightsaber still lit, but lowered. “No . . . That can’t be true! The Jedi- they kept you from me! They found out about our relationship, and were afraid you were going to the dark side! So they got rid of you!”

“Anakin, we’ve known about the two of you for months.” Obi-Wan spoke up. 

“For years.” You added, remembering Master Yoda’s words. 

“If the Council had thought either of you were turning, don’t you think they would have separated the two of you?” Obi-Wan added, and finally, he deactivated his lightsaber, crouching down beside you. 

At the expression on Anakin’s face, you wanted to sob. You wanted to hold him to your chest, run your fingers through his hair and kiss him until the past couple of days vanished from your memories. You would have to wait though. Right now you were in danger of losing the love of your life to the dark side for good. If you had anything to say about it, it wasn’t going to happen. “Ani, the only one who’s tried to hurt me is Palpatine.” You told him, pulling down the top of your robes to show the lightning shaped burns on your skin. 

His hand reached up, his eyes widening at the marks as he brushed his thumb delicately across them. “No, it . . . it can’t. The Chancellor wouldn’t lie to me.” His voice sounded so broken, and you knew he couldn’t deny what he saw. There was just one person who could have made those injuries on you. Yet he still resisted. You didn’t understand why he was so desperate to believe anything that Palpatine said. 

“He did . . .” Your hand ran through his hair. “You have to tell me what happened. Why are you so determined to believe him?” You asked. 

Anakin leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. “I’ve been having visions. Nightmares. Of you getting killed.” Memories of waking up to an empty bed, of dreams Anakin didn’t want to discuss even when it was plain to see how they haunted him filled your head. “Then I thought you died, and I wasn’t there to save you. The Chancellor said he could bring you back with the Dark Side of the force. Our powers together could do it.” 

“But I’m not dead.” You reminded him. 

“You will be! Unless I can stop it.” He clung to you like a dying man, the desperation clear in his eyes and touch. You had always known how much Anakin loved you, but you had never seen his true grief at the thought of losing you.

It was almost too much to bare. “I’ve been having visions of you too. You and Obi-Wan fighting, but I stopped it from happening. I stopped it from happening right now. Without turning to the dark side.” You leaned forward to rest your forehead against his, closing your eyes. “We can stop yours too. Together.” You felt his head shaking back and forth, and through the force you felt a flicker, a familiar presence making a small appearance. “This isn’t you, Ani. You are good, you are light . . . you are the love of my life. I can’t lose you to the dark.” 

You felt a hand rest on your shoulder and opened your eyes as Obi-Wan joined in on your hug, putting his other hand on Anakin’s shoulder. You were afraid that Anakin would shove him away, but he didn’t. He met his gaze with tear filled eyes. “I love you too, Anakin. You’re my brother. Don’t let the Chancellor and the dark side use you and turn you into a pawn for their own uses.” 

With every word the two of you spoke, Anakin’s force signature became stronger and stronger, and you could tell that he was fighting the darkness inside of him. He turned back to you and spoke in the most broken, agony filled voice that you had ever heard. “How can I live with myself if I don’t at least try and save you?” 

Your vision had become blurry with tears, but you didn’t need to see to hold him close. “By knowing that I would rather die than see you become something you’re not.” 

Then, like a spark in a black filled night, Anakin’s force presence lit up inside of you, brighter than it ever had. You clutched him to your chest as you both sobbed for everything that had happened, every life that had been lost, every lie and manipulation forced upon the two of you, every crack in each other’s hearts until your tears ran dry and you were both gasping for breath, scared to let the other go. “How . . . How can I -”

You cut him off before he could finish saying what you knew he was going to. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll figure all of it out together.” You assured him, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Right now, we have to get out of here. It won’t be long until Palpatine realizes what’s happened.” 

Anakin nodded, but looked past you at Obi-Wan. “I-I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan. For not believing you.” 

He gave Anakin’s shoulder a squeeze. “It’s all right, Anakin.” Obi-Wan said with a sad smile. Before he could say anything else though, a ship flew over your heads. “Who’s that?” Obi-Wan asked, gripping his lightsaber in case of danger. 

But you smiled. “Help.” 

By the time the three of you had made it to the landing pad, the ship had docked and two figures were speaking to Padme. Anakin and Obi-Wan froze in shock as you approached them, a genuine smile on your face. “I see you got my message.” 

The Torgruta turned around and met you in a tight embrace. “I felt him come back.” Ahsoka said when you pulled away. 

You nodded, “but he still needs us.” 

Ahsoka bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder where she caught sight of her former Master. “Anakin . . .” Was all she said before she ran over to pull him into a hug. 

“Snips . . .” His eyes were once again filled with tears, but he returned her embrace tightly. The sight warmed your heart. 

“She’s missed him.” The other voice said from beside you. 

You sent Rex a smile. “He’s missed her too.” You turned to Padme then reaching for her hand. “You know this isn’t over. Even if we’ve got him back.” 

“I know.” She said, her jaw tense as she looked off in the distance. “Palpatine is going to pay for this.” 

Her anger surprised you for a moment, but then you realized how much Palpatine had played her as well, being her confidant and friend. You gave her hand a squeeze. “He will.” You replied, your eyes landing on Anakin once more, and for the first time, you noticed they were shining blue again. 

_____________________

“Ani . . . You need to rest.” You told him. You were sitting next to him on a cot while he laid down, fighting sleep with every breath that he took. When the last time he had slept was, you weren’t sure, but right now you knew it wouldn’t be long until he passed out from sheer exhaustion. 

“I’m afraid I’ll wake up, and you’ll be dead again.” He told you, his fingers clutching at your robes. 

Your heart stuttered at his words, sympathy in your eyes as you looked at him, brushing your fingers through his hair in a motion that you knew soothed him. You wanted to kill Palpatine for making him feel like this. For hurting and manipulating him so terribly. “That’s not going to happen.” You promised him, and leaned down to meet his lips in a soft kiss. Even though it had been way too long since the two of you had been able to share a kiss, there was nothing heated about it. It was a kiss of reassurance, of comfort, to remind him that you weren’t going anywhere, and when you pulled away, there was a gentleness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “We’ve still got a vacation to take remember? Not to mention a wedding to plan.” You reminded him, nuzzling your nose against his for a brief moment. 

“Don’t forget about the kids we’ve got to have.” Anakin mumbled, his eyes already drifting shut. 

“Never,” You murmured against his lips. 

He was asleep a few moments later. You turned out the light and left him with a kiss on the forehead, sure you would be able to feel any distress in his force signature if something happened. You closed the door behind you and made your way to the common area of the ship where Obi-Wan, Padme, Ahsoka and Rex waited with a hologram of Bail Organa and Yoda. They all looked up when you entered the room, and you sat down in a seat, taking a deep breath and glancing between them all. “So . . . How do we take Palpatine down?”