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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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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