thisavrou_log | To life more honoured [CLOSED]

To life more honoured [CLOSED]

Who: Anakin and Padmé
When: As the ship starts to return to normal
Where: Starting at Mero Deck, Room 6
What: Talking
Warnings: stc; mentions of slavery

She can say that so far her time here has been interesting, and that is an understatement to its very core. Having attended the medical bay, she does know that physically, there is nothing wrong with her. She is as living as she appears although the ghost of what has happens remains etched upon her. Not viewable to the naked eye and kept confidential in her medical report, there is no outward sign of the invisible grip that had curled around her throat.

From Ahsoka, Padmé had learned about some of the events that had happened before her arrival, about the slavery, and she had been keeping an eye out on Anakin. Or at least as well as she could. It had been hard going with trying to reach destinations aboard the ship for a time although it seems that the more distance that has been put between the ship and the Luminous Sea, the less frequent this events have occurred, at least to her own reckoning. Finding Anakin young again... There had been a bittersweet tone to it.

Of course she still has the little mouse droid that they had built- although in truth, it had all been Anakin- tucked away in the pocket of her skirts, just as that japor snippet is under her clothing, always close to her heart. The ship seems to have settled, and Padmé is aware that some have returned to themselves, which does make her wonder after Anakin.

It is how she comes to be on the Mero deck, standing before the door, waiting for answer to her buzz.

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The sudden flood of memories had been the worst part of it. Thinking back on his childhood is a thing he tries to avoid, nostalgia always tasting more bitter than sweet, especially so early on in that transition from a simple slave on a backwards ball of dust to a part of the greater whole that made up the Jedi Order. As a child, it hadn't been so bad. He had been able to put away a host of hurts, remain unaware of a lifetime of loss shoved into a meager three years, from his mother, to his arm, to the Moira and everything that had come with it.

The ignorance, as they say, is blissful. He'd wondered, after the waves of memories and emotions had rolled over him with such force he'd thought to drown, if this is what amnesiacs ever felt like, regaining everything all at once. If it's ever just too much. If letting it bury him was such a terrible thing. But somehow, whether by grace of the Force or...something else, he'd resurfaced and learned how to breathe under the weight of it again.

Luckily, he's shaken out of that self-loathing--that jealousy of the boy he'd once been, so oblivious to the world of pain lying in wait, or even the man he'd been before all of this had ever happened--by the door buzzer. His heart instantly leaps into his throat, even though he feels nothing but curiosity, and maybe a little worry. It's nothing foreboding, at least not yet, but that doesn't stop him from having to swallow around that anxiety as he pushes to his feet.

He smooths out his better-fitting robes, rumpled through uneasy sleep and three energetic kittens, and finally answers the door. As it opens, the anxiety drops, though his cheeks flush slightly. Instead of nervousness, or jealousy, all he feels in this moment is embarrassment. Padmé is the last person he wants to seem that weak to, and she's bound to remember everything.

"Padmé!" he says, and it sounds too eager. "Are you--is something wrong?" Too paranoid. He clears his throat and tries again. "I mean, good morning?"

Is it even morning?

Had she ability, Padmé would have given the childhood that she had had to every babe in the galaxy. Her parents had been loving and supportive. They had helped to guide her. There had always been enough food on the table and while there had been moments of sadness at some of the sights that she had witnessed, there was also much joy. Sola and her had had a wonderful upbringing on a beautiful planet, but her parents had always been mindful to instill that sense of duty in to their daughters and it had struck home with Padmé.

There is that moment when the door opens, when her heart does skip a beat, feeling as if the sun has come from behind the clouds. Her smile deepens, and while there is that permanent hint of sorrow that has touched her to her soul, there is genuine warmth there for him. Yet there is a slight pause as her eyes take him in, noting the heat on his cheeks and the state of his dress. No judging, but merely observation.

She is reminded of the time shortly after their marriage, when he had seemed unsure and in awe of her. Stepping forward, a hand seeks to settle on his arm even as she goes to brush a kiss against his cheek. She refuses to give him up to the darkness again, vows that she will do everything in her power from going down that lonely path. "Good morning to you as well, and no, nothing is wrong. Although I can leave and return when something is?"

It just might be a slightly impish expression that shifts across her face at that playful banter although the look softens after a moment. She shakes her head though, as it to reinforce her words and actions. "Can I come in? Or is it a bad time?"

"Give it a few days, I'm sure the ship will find a way." It's been a couple weeks now since the last mishap, it seems right on time. If he recognizes it, does it go away?

He pauses when recognizes that look, that private, playful thing that sends heat down his spine, and he couldn't suppress the smile that results. Not even if he'd wanted to, though he would be hard pressed to find a situation where that desire applied. The situational awkwardness, the heaviness of all those words unsaid, is momentarily pushed aside as he moves out of the doorway.

"For you? Never." He says it, and he never says anything he doesn't mean. (Not intentionally.) While he's blessed with roommates who understand both his relative privacy, and one who understands his relationship better than Anakin is really keen to admit, and while they're both currently absent from the room on job duty, he wouldn't hesitate to demand the space.

(Of course, that forgets about the three needy kittens milling around with their occasional mewling, simultaneously interested in their new company and definitely not all at once, but Anakin finds them distinctly easier to move around.)

He takes the hand on his arm in his own hands for a moment, pulling her just close enough to place a kiss on her temple. It's unbearably tender, even for him, cautious in ways he hasn't been in years, and the thudding of his heart in his chest is an annoyance at best; he doesn't like feeling this cautious, but when any misstep could be the one....

But that's not even the most pressing upset on his mind, and it's certainly not the one that has his words and emotions wrapped in a tight coil like a teenager ill-equipped to deal with any of them all over again. No. That's-- "But if I turn ten again somehow, can we just...ignore everything I say?"

She'd rather not wait a few days anyway, even if something may happen between now and then. She will take the peace, or the image of peace as it stands, and work with it for now. The next obstacle will be dealt with as it comes, but here, in this time, in those paused moments between any disasters that may or may not arrive, it will be used as it needs to be.

In some ways, Padmé can say she knows him better than anyone else in the whole of the galaxy, and yet there are times when it is like those early days on Naboo, when they are still truly getting to know each other. Had she known the information in all its completeness that Anakin knew, she would have sought to root it out on the very spot. She wouldn't have denied or diminished that looms ahead, but Padmé would have sought a solution- still does, wondering how far the influence from this place extends. Beyond death, so why not...

But there is a smile from him, and so long as Padmé can still draw one from him, she knows that it isn't lost. She likely could have guessed what his reply would have been, even if not word for word and only the general gist. She'd move the heavens for him, if she had to, and knows that he would do the same. Yet she also knows that there are times when there are things on the go and that she would not block him if he needed time or space.

Her breath stills but not in a bad way, eyes closing for a moment at the chasteness of his kiss upon her skin. He is a Jedi, honed in the Force and the use of his lightsaber, but that isn't all. No, he may fight in wars across the galaxy, but he is also a person of unsuspecting gentleness. Gingerly stepping to avoid any romping kittens, Padmé does enter in to his shared quarters, yet again admiring the less rustic nature of the ones on the Mero deck. One would think that all quarters would be similar, yet who ever designed the ship had had other ideas in mind.

"You weren't that bad, you know." And it is the truth.

"Are you sure? I remember plenty." Self-deprecating, perhaps, but it's given with a under-the-breath laugh that speaks more of all those compliments he's never quite sure how to digest.

He turns, watching her enter, and nods toward his half-made (because of course it's only half-made) bed. Between the MORO deck he'd started on, all softness and beaches (ugh), and this very alien, almost Kamino-like design, he'd still take this. It reminds him of Naboo, where it not a planet so integrated with its natural elements, but those found in space instead. It's not quite harsh, not quite familiar, but it feels...safe. Safer, at least, but then that might be a result of people rather than the architecture. (How it had taken them so long to realize it is still astonishing.) Anakin follows, hands loosely folded around his back.

"I wish I could say it's the first time this ship has experienced...ah. Technical difficulties. But strange seems to be...normal," he says with a soft shrug. A small grimace follows, and he bites it back--it's worse than "strange," far worse--but it seems unfair to bring it up unnecessarily, to delve into old hurts for sympathy. He doesn't want pity, and he knows Padmé would never, but it has always been difficult subject matter to dig into. Is there ever a right time or place?

The tone doesn't go unnoticed and while her gaze pauses upon him, Padmé doesn't question further upon it. Whether he wills it or not, she knows him well enough, just as he knows her. She won't say that they know every single thought and memory, but her heart has always beat for his, just as his beats for hers. "Very sure, my love."

While there might have been a bit of awkwardness on her own part, as he hadn't been the man that she is married to, Anakin is Anakin. Still generous. Still stubborn. Still bold and confident, and yet also unsure. "Although if you would like a play by play recap, I can certainly give it."

There is that slightly political shift to her face, her stance, although it holds only a moment. If nothing else, such talks likely would end with him teasing her again, but that isn't a bad thing. It was easier then to smile, to laugh, to jest and play. The war has changed many things, shifted the galaxy, made children grow up far faster than they should have.

She doesn't even need to guess which bunk is his, although from what she can see, there doesn't appear to be a tool or piece of machinery within its general vicinity, but perhaps she just isn't looking hard enough. There is a flash of strangeness there. His own rooms at the Temple had been just that. A room at the Temple. His own space, but not one to share with a wife. Her own quarters had always been open, although his own personal touches upon it had been limited.

With her gaze flickering back towards him, seeing him in that stance that she is so familiar with, Padmé lingers for a moment, before focusing on the words. Clearly focused, watchful but not overtly so, she tips her head slightly in acknowledgment. "I have been told, or perhaps warned is the better word. By several, actually. Ahsoka found me, and we spoke a little about some of the events that had occurred."

He keeps the tools, for sake of condensed space, either in the cargo hold along with his starfighter (useless for most things out here, but the added indication of normalcy is something), though he'd claim it was absolutely for sanctioned use on the Moira's transporters. The only thing in the room remotely mechanical is a (mostly constructed, still missing a few plates and pieces here and there) astromech that looks alarmingly like R2, but doesn't trill in greeting the way either of them are used to.

This room is far worse than the Temple had ever become. Where the Temple had been home (until he'd willingly and completely given that designation to Padmé's apartments instead) and it held signs of life and a few (unsanctioned) pieces of his personality, this is far colder and utilitarian in the way the Order likely had wanted from the start. Shmi's hovel had more in the way of character. Padmé's apartments, however, there's a place he'd never wanted to change (except, perhaps, for the fact that he hadn't been around as often as he'd like). She could say all she liked that the apartments on Coruscant had lacked character in their own way--of course, next to Naboo, everything looks plain in comparison--but the space reminded him of nothing but her.

As she speaks, the space around them, already small and bare, begins to feel dark and almost-claustrophobic. It's the sort of reminder he never wants, the sort where he near loses his heart trying to live though and leaves his chest tight every time he thinks back on it. He knows what Ahsoka had referred to, what kind of warning his presence permanently comes with and the awful cavalcade that follows. He can't cover the pain there, nor the fear. His heart is pounding too loudly, his lungs constricting too tightly, to even stop to think about hiding it for her sake and saving her the aggravation, or further heartache.

It's moments like this where he finds himself wishing he'd thought to pull his over-large robes on, where he can comfortably fold in on himself without the awkward fidgeting left so bare. He sighs heavily and slides down to sit on the end of the bed, shoving his fingers under his arms. Both hands have gone cold. There's another small, telling moment of staring at his knees before he can even begin to form a reply.

"Which events?" he asks, the question lacking any push. He knows.

Pain is never something that Padmé wants to cause him. They've both had enough of that in their lives, and she isn't certain what the future holds for Anakin. There hadn't been time to question Obi-Wan further about what had happened on Mustafar after she had blacked out. She knows that Obi-Wan had wanted her to tell him where Anakin was, so that he could kill him, but Padmé does wonder if his Master could do that. Ani was still there, beneath all those layers of hatred and anger, fear and mistrust. Even now she watches Anakin, and knows that he knows what she is referring to.

Padmé hadn't pressed Ahsoka for more information, and in truth, she won't press Anakin either. But, she does want him to know that she is aware, and like always, she is there. That expression of concern shifts across her own face, watching the emotions play on his own. She doesn't need to be within his mind to see him retreat upon himself. His childhood had been nothing like hers, but for the fact that his mother had adored him. That much Padmé knew. She had loved him, truly and deeply, enough to send him off to a life beyond that of a slave. Even then he had been strong willed and outspoken, but not in a bad way. No, in that dusty place, he had been a surprise for the fourteen year old Padmé.

Clothes might give the semblance of a shield, of a cover, but not for Padmé. She knows him too well for that, to be fooled by such actions. Perhaps it would work with others, but he is the other half of her soul and her heart beats for him. It is that graceful motion that has her coming to sit next to him, still not asking or pressing or forcing him to speak. Lightly seating herself next to him so that her knees but touch his own, her expression is tender and gentle, but not pitying. Never that. Almost as if dealing with a skittish creature, her hand moves, until she is able to touch his arm.

"I won't force you to speak about it, Anakin." She doesn't answer his question, yet she does at the same time without saying it. She is unwavering, loyal to the core, her belief in him as bright as the stars in the sky. "I'd never force you to do anything, my love."

He leans against her shoulder, all too aware that they're both on the same page of a book he'd rather burn than acknowledge. He has nothing to hide here, couldn't even as he tries to, but is this a burden he wants anyone else to shoulder? Their daughter wields it like a weapon, and as a child, he'd done the same thing on occasion, when the point called for it. But here and now, that's absolutely out of the question. No one deserves that guilt, save, perhaps, for those who perpetrate the practice in the first place.

"I know," he says, murmured against her ear as he turns and presses his face into her shoulder. "I'd just hoped there would be some galaxy out there without this." Something kinder than ours.

He gives a small sigh and sits content in Padmé's warmth for a moment as if he'd find no other source of it again. It won't be a burden if he's careful. He had promised her no more lies, no more shutting out, or down. Force help him, it's a test he's already failing. After a moment, his voice grows quiet, but more firm: "No one deserves this. None of them grew up with this, they don't understand. They shouldn't have to."

It's not fair. He thinks it, even if he's grown up enough to not say as much.

They've found comfort in each other over the years. Sometimes it is in happy moment, like their wedding, although sometimes it has been those hard times. She can recall traveling back from Geonosis, Anakin in pain, wanting so much to gather him up in her embrace and heal all his wounds. Padmé's gaze shifts at his action and a hand rises, to softly stroke at the back of his hair, letting the strands of hair shift through her fingers time and again. There is no further question. No badgering or bewailing. No, she waits, knowing him well enough.

And he does. Perhaps not much, but enough. Her lips brush against his temple, cradling him to her. It is a sentiment that she understands, that she knows, that she shares. There is so much Padmé would like to change in their galaxy, to allow every child the opportunities that she had, to never see someone used or abused or taken advantage of. The Republic should have, although she knows it has failed it's people, but it isn't entirely to blame. No, there had been that outside influence.

"No, they shouldn't have to." She responds, feeling the solidness of his body nestled against her, the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his breath against her skin. Alive. Here. Her grip tightens a little, as if refusing to allow those memories to surface. Her cheek rests against the top of his head, knowing how much it would bother him, trouble him, eat away at him. How it would weigh him down. He is a kind individual, but he always has been, she knows. Even when he had been on Tatooine. "You're a good person, Anakin."

"But what if I'm not?" he asks quietly, still muffled, as if he can hide from the answer. This is the piece that's bothered him the most since Leia's reveal, onward. A lingering worry since Tatooine that he keeps being forgiven for, though he still cannot fathom why. It's clear proof time and again that an unforgiving galaxy fashions cruelty after itself, and even if it's been necessary the few times he recalls, that doesn't make it easy.

That doesn't make it livable.

He nestles into her, knowing full well that he should be doing the opposite, constantly, and as a result, his breathing turns shaky while every word is on the verge of tears. He doesn't want to talk about this, but if he doesn't...what happens then? To him, and everyone around him?

"What--what if the things I had to do to get out are me? I don't--" I don't feel like a good person. He can't ever do enough. Save enough. Accomplish any of it fast enough.

Edited 2016-09-07 03:42 (UTC)

He has no idea that she can guess where his mind goes. Down that path that he cannot know about, one that takes him from her, and in truth, from himself. Yet she has seen it, on Tatooine, but has also witnessed him break down after it. It hadn't been something that he had reveled in or taken pleasure in. No, a moment of anger that had scarred him, she knows, but hadn't turned him. No matter what, and no matter what is said, he is a Jedi, but he is still human, whether he or the Order admit it, and love is not a weakness, but a strength.

It isn't hard to notice the shift in him. Padmé can say that usually she is the one finding shelter in his arms, tucking herself so neatly up against him. It is like they were created for each other, and even now, when it is he curling up against her, it isn't hard to accept it, to offer him her silent strength. Yet that free hand rises as she moves enough, letting her cup his cheek again. Her fingers brush, lightly across his skin.

"Do you remember that boy on Tatooine? Who had nothing, but gave everything to complete strangers?" She knows that he does, and knows that he is still that boy, that genuine and kind hearted individual. Yes, he has grown, and yes, he has changed, but some things remain as they always have. Someone who will give all that he can. "I do. I remember that and much more. If you can't trust in yourself, trust in me, because I know you, Anakin, and I know that no matter what, there will always be good in you."

There are things he knows he deserves: countless comeuppances that have yet to occur. And in this, there are things he does not: namely, this forgiveness. Her. But he knows enough to know exactly how she feels about him saying as much, and how much she disagrees with the sentiment, no matter how true it feels (and how truer it becomes).

And yet, every time, he leans into that touch he shouldn't have, taking comfort in the proximity. "You know I do," he says insistently. Because he does trust her, implicitly and in all the ways he can no longer trust himself. He wants to believe this is so, that his attempts to help matter, that any attempt to change what is supposedly to come might actually work.

He inhales heavily and stays burrowed in her shoulder. "Do you think we can actually change it? What's to come?"

There is no doubt within her that despite everything that has happened, that there is still good in him. She knows that light exists, but also knows how hard pressed he is going to be to find it. More like than not he will ignore or avoid it, until hopefully someone can remind her. Yet that hasn't happened for him, and if anything can be done with respect to that, Padmé will. She doesn't know any of the hows, but knows that this man resting against her is someone worth fighting fore.

She will carry his trust, holding it like it is one of the most precious things in the galaxy. When he doubts, she will be there to remind, and when he strays, she will guide him back. Here she can do that, here she can ensure that he never has those dark and false thoughts about her, about Obi-Wan, about anyone who cares for him.

"I think we have been given an opportunity here, and that we have two choices. We either accept things as they are and will be, or we don't. Personally, I still have hope and I've never been one to take things laying down. Nor have you. And I'm not about to start now. Come what may, we have either other, and I will always love you, Anakin. Always."

Anymore, there is no one else he trusts more implicitly than the woman next to him and his best friend. Somehow that gets lost, this fact is apparent, plain in how everything supposedly comes to pass, but the longer they stay here, so disconnected and yet given too much information they shouldn't have...it becomes more and more difficult to imagine how that breakdown ever occurred. (The answer, whose machinations were subtle enough to snake between them without notice until the noose is already tied, is obvious. But here, now? It sounds ridiculous.

He knows what he becomes, and most of the truth of it, however hyperbolically delivered, however justifiably angry the accusation has been. But he also knows how much he loathes even the idea of it, how much even the concept of the possibility hurts. He isn't sure that alone makes him a good person, if it can make up for a world of hurt he hasn't even chosen (or if anything even can), especially not when the darkness is always there, always a looming cloud of guilt that hovers.

But any love that can see through that is worth keeping. Worth doing anything for.

He takes in a deep breath and holds it for a moment, nodding into her shoulder. A careful, measured exhale, and he's finally able to pull away (and with only slight red in his eyes).

"What if we left? Right now. Grab everyone that matters and just...leave."

It's a ridiculous idea. It's not even a plan. And he knows that there's no reasoning that makes it a smart thing to do, but he aches for it.

"I wasn't the only one on that Outpost, and I--I tried, but some of us had it worse than I did," he says quietly, swallowing around the rising anxiety that would stop every word in its tracks if he allowed himself to pause. "Obi-Wan's still not right, and your daughter--you'd be better to talk to her about it than I would."

Her daughter. Leia isn't his. Not in any way that matters. Bail's and not even theirs, by all rights. By all the ways Leia seems to want it. If they started over, would that...could they change that too?

"I can't...I can't risk this happening to anyone else." Especially not you.

Edited (ahh formatting sorry) 2016-09-14 01:10 (UTC)

Had she but seen it sooner, Padmé would have moved stars to keep it from happening. Looking back, she can start to see how some of those pieces had fallen in to place, how the bigger picture played out. She had only seen a smaller part at the time, missing the grander one, and it would be something she would regret missing. In the end, she had failed him as much as anyone else had, in not seeing what was going on as she had been as blind as any.

But he isn't embracing the darkness here. He isn't falling in to it's clutches, it's hold, succumbing to it. That alone says more than any words ever could. There are times when actions speak far louder, and here he is, leaning on her, both physically and mentally. It is a start, that. A small start, but a start regardless, more than he might even realize.

Her hand trails away as he pulls back, although she knows it isn't something negative in him doing so. Her expression remains tender and open, although there is a blink of surprise at that statement. In a way it echoes some of her last words to him, although he cannot know it. She would have given anything for him to have said yes then, to say let's leave it all behind. Let's simply be Anakin and Padmé- simply be. Yet she doesn't doubt that he realizes how farfetched of an idea it is. But how much she would like to do that.

"Easier said than done, my love." And it is, not that she speaks condescendingly but murmurs it. Steal a transport? Find a livable planet? Not that Padmé hasn't roughed it, and not that she wouldn't, but she will admit there are creature comforts she enjoys. Yet she listens as he continues to speak. She wasn't there and she doesn't know too much about it, but she starts to draw a picture as he speaks. Whether he admits it or not, it is right there- that he tried, but she nods gently. Obi-Wan... Her heart lurches, for the both of them, and- her daughter.

Padmé notes that, notes how he says it, and cannot help but wonder why that way. In a way, she is no more her daughter than his. She is Bail and Breha's, the ones who had raised her from an infant, who had supported her and nurtured her and taught her everything they could. She doesn't press about it, knowing it's not the time, but she does understand those unspoken words. "Not everything will always goes as we planned, but that doesn't mean it is a personal failure. You tried, Anakin, and sometimes trying is all we can do. I know that's not the answer that you want to hear, that your generous heart will always want to do more."

"I could fit a hyperdrive to my transport. Borrow the ship's star maps. There has to be something habitable out here."

He gives each response knowing full-well how ridiculous it sounds, and how wholly unprepared any of them would be for such an excursion. But the exhaustion has wrapped itself around his insides--nothing to do with lingering pain from the Outpost--and he aches from the inside-out to find some kind of tenable answer. They live on a ship the size of a Republic Cruiser, and it might as well be no bigger than a humble cargo freighter for all the uncomfortable and unavoidable intimacy it affords.

Despite the desperation in the answer, he knows none of it would be enough. After the Moira's unfortunate pitstops, it has become increasingly apparent how little they know about this galaxy--the details never divulged in (dubiously legal) maps--and how even "habitable" might just mean anything but. There's also still the question of home, and whether it can even be changed. Could he honestly ask Padmé to give up her entire family--one that isn't shattered like his own--to settle among these foreign stars by choice? Could he ask Obi-Wan or Ahsoka to do the same, despite their (dubiously) lingering ties to the Temple? His own?

The loss of the Temple is still a heartache, one that pings deeper than he expects, the echo of a stab wound that stings every time he thinks back on watching the ancient building smoulder. He screws his eyes shut for a moment and forces the images of the dead inside--his fault, there's no question left--away.

"It wasn't enough," he says finally, after a considerable pause. Padmé may always forgive him in ways he cannot possibly deserve, but those three words repeat in tandem, like a mantra, wrapping around his heart and squeezing, feeding into the heart of the fire constantly licking at it. It's just one more thing to add to the mountain of guilt already seeking to bury him past the shoulders. "I didn't stay long enough, I wasn't fast enough, I didn't--"

Making it his own fault is easier. It gives him something to blame, and it's similar enough to the grief over Shmi that the pain is something familiar. It feels better than to face the grim reality that the galaxy is simply meant to be this harsh, and always has been. There's no Chosen One for that.

She knows that he knows. He has remained here, even before her arrival. It isn't, to the best of her knowledge anyway, as if he has been hoarding a hyperdrive under his bed or food sources in his pockets. There is nothing wrong with thinking about it though, but the actual implementation is another matter completely. It isn't as simple as he makes it to be, although a part of Padmé wishes that it was. There would be so many things to worry about, and as much as he would worry, Padmé would worry more. You worry to much. You don't worry enough. "Although I know you like flying quick and fast, some times all we can do is live one day at a time, my love."

Each time he has come back during the war, Padmé could see those new scars on him, both physical and mental. Some of the stories she knew, at least partially from the holonews, but others, she knew, had all but been for her ears alone. He is passionate and sensitive, always wanting to protect everyone and everything. She is much the same, and while she has not been on the front lines (or rather never been on purpose), there has been loss there as well. She knows the feeling of inadequacy, of feeling like a failure, of being unable to protect those who placed their trust in you. It is something that she carries, and will always carry with her, but rather than allowing it to be her weakness, she seeks to turn it to her strength. Any sacrifice should be honoured, as hard as it may be.

And that is it, or a part of it. That there is more weight upon his shoulders she doesn't doubt, but little by little, Padmé would work on trying to ease it, in trying to show that he doesn't need to carry it alone. There are others here who care for him, herself obviously included, and who would help with it. It isn't something that he needs to do alone. "I know, my love. I know."

That soft comforting noise as she stroked her fingers through his hair. There has always been high expectations for him, pressure from all parties, and she knows that she herself had added to some of that during the war, yet never would her faith in him falter. It hadn't yes and she knows even now, it never will. "But you tried. You tried. You didn't just think of yourself, or your own survival. You tried, Anakin, and as broad as your shoulders might be, you cannot carry everyone upon them. Sometimes the tasks we meet are so insurmountable, but you tackled what you could, Ani. You didn't just give up."

He curls back into that touch, those coos, and just basks in the comfort for a moment. He knows he really shouldn't, but in feeling everything so keenly, he can't bring himself to pull away. Not when everything Padmé gives is presented willingly. No matter his hurt, he cannot hurt her in the process. There's no forgiveness to be found in that.

"I know," he says quietly with a sigh, and presses a kiss to her temple. "You're right, of course."

The only way Anakin knows how to honor a sacrifice is to not see it happen in vain. It's too difficult to know if that's the case for home, how much sacrifice he owes honor to, and how much more will be his own doing.

"I just--" he pauses, unsure how the words he wants, even if he knows he's in the only company not about to judge him for them (not wholly, anyway). Padmé understands so much, so acutely, even the things he doesn't always say, and it's one of the things he loves the most: she understands. "I don't like feeling like this."

Helpless.

Edited 2016-09-22 14:14 (UTC)

As much as Anakin thinks that he shouldn't Padmé thinks that he should. She wants to do better here, to have them do better, although she knows both of their shortcomings. At home, too bound by duty, there had been too much that she had ended up missing, much to the detriment of each of them. While they had both known going in that nothing would be conventional about the marriage, the simple fact that Padmé could say is that she loved him. Loves him still.

To be able to be open isn't something that just turns on. There is no switch that just makes it just magically happen. In that way there is still a freshness to it, something to be marveled at with all that has happened. Yet step by step, day by day, moves them forward. Together. Always together.

Her eyelids flutter as a soft smile caresses her lips as he places that kiss. Saying it and believing it though are two different matters, and Padmé knows that it may well chew at him, just as it would with her. She knows him well enough to understand that, but she will be there, and continue to be there. A hand comes, to rest on his chest. "I know. Even when I first met you on that dusty planet that really was far too warm, I could tell that about you."

Too warm and barely warm at all. Tatooine is a sore subject he can't ever seem to shake, no matter how far removed they are, or how much farther away they get.

"I don't care what galaxy it is, I can't let this happen anymore."

The admission is quiet and breathed out with a hitch in his shoulders that betrays a swallowed sob. He hasn't cried over this in years, tells himself he won't--that he can't--and yet, all he can think about are his broken promises at home, the solution the was seemingly put on indefinite pause, and how those promises can't even be met when he doesn't have the same rules to uphold or to hold him back.

If it isn't meant to be, if it isn't right--and he knows it isn't--why does it keep happening?

A hand comes to meet hers, fingers loosely lacing with her own as she presses against him. If it had been her--if she hadn't miraculously been gone the one month when it mattered--would he have ended it any better?

"Thank you," he says, just as soft. All the Council has ever wanted is this sordid history put behind him, ignored, 'dealt with.' It's never like that with Padmé. Never has been, not when she'd been able to see him as a person quicker than most anyone he'd ever met. Not a tool, not a moneygrab, not a prophecy, but a person. He isn't sure she'd ever understand the significance, but it matters.

She knows all too well that there are things beyond their control, events that will spiral, trickling between their fingers like drops of water, until there is nothing left. It doesn't mean that an effort wasn't made, but merely that life is about living. It has those joyous moments and it had those darker ones. There can be no light without dark, and without dark, the light cannot shine as bright.

Padmé knows him well enough to know that he will do what he can, and more. That he has and always will push himself, and even if he saves a ninety nine people, he will regret not saving that extra one. The Hero With No Fear is what they call him, but she knows that despite that title, that he does fear, has seen the manifestation of them, knows how they can burn and consume, and yet how there is still that tendril of light, a sole flame that will never be extinguished.

"You don't need to thank me, my love." That soft murmur as she in turn presses a kiss against his temple. Her words are truly spoken, but there is also acceptance given as well. "No matter what, I will always be here with you."

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To life more honoured [CLOSED]

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