[And more than that beside. Children, grandchildren, watching the downfall of the only home you've known by your own hand. If Anakin had any choice, he'd take it and forget all of it. Set himself on a different path, ensure it couldn't happen, and set himself up for blissful ignorance.
The best he can do with what he's been given is try. And that has to be good enough, there is no other choice.
The problem with this explanation, however, is its complication. And Padmé's hesitance speaks volumes. The way she continues to pull away, the fear, and worst is the way she stares at him like the first time he met Luke: wounded.
It doesn't take much to jump to a conclusion. If it has followed that every time she comes back, she remembers more...it isn't just that something is very, terribly wrong, though certainly true from the way she shakes through those tentative touches she does allow. Trembling, even here, even with this change, alludes to so much worse.
Something has happened. To him, perhaps. To her, certainly, though he could go his whole life never considering it. To them?
Force, please, anything but this.
He swallows around the thick rising lump in his throat, and mourns her hand as it pulls away. His own reach up to her shoulders, (so) gently, as if she might break. And for all the places his mind goes, all the things he envisions in that awful consideration, he's afraid she might.]
You don't know the half of it. It's...complicated. [Especially if she remembers nothing about this. Or her children. Or that large sword hung dangerously low over his head.]
no subject
The best he can do with what he's been given is try. And that has to be good enough, there is no other choice.
The problem with this explanation, however, is its complication. And Padmé's hesitance speaks volumes. The way she continues to pull away, the fear, and worst is the way she stares at him like the first time he met Luke: wounded.
It doesn't take much to jump to a conclusion. If it has followed that every time she comes back, she remembers more...it isn't just that something is very, terribly wrong, though certainly true from the way she shakes through those tentative touches she does allow. Trembling, even here, even with this change, alludes to so much worse.
Something has happened. To him, perhaps. To her, certainly, though he could go his whole life never considering it. To them?
Force, please, anything but this.
He swallows around the thick rising lump in his throat, and mourns her hand as it pulls away. His own reach up to her shoulders, (so) gently, as if she might break. And for all the places his mind goes, all the things he envisions in that awful consideration, he's afraid she might.]
You don't know the half of it. It's...complicated. [Especially if she remembers nothing about this. Or her children. Or that large sword hung dangerously low over his head.]
Are you going to tell me what's wrong?