Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Oh stars,” Padmé hyperventilates, hand over her mouth. “Oh stars.”

A part of Anakin thinks he should reach out to her. Hold her, wipe away her tears. But that part is so quiet, so subservient to the empty stillness that entraps his entire being. 

Something brushes up against his knee, which is pressed firmly to Padmé’s. She lets out a choked sob and, in his peripheral vision, Anakin sees her bend over for a brief moment. He should, needs to, snap out of it. Or at the very least react. But time seems so sluggish and slow, even as he fumbles with all the information he now has in his own head. Tries to come to some semblance of a conclusion.

The baby. Chunky. Luke. The youngling held tight in Padmé’s arms now, being rocked back in forth as she buries her sobs into his golden hair. The child that emerged from the sand like a supernova in the Force, that giggles when clone troopers take off their helmets and struggles to say Obi-Wan’s name. That has Ahsoka completely wrapped around his little finger and shows unparalleled aptitude in the Force at such a young age. A small but intense ray of sunlight, determined to warm all in its presence.

That light presses up against him clumsily, patting all around the edges of Anakin’s mind. Something like concern pulses from it, from him, like a gentle but firm push on his neck. Anakin’s eyes, as if controlled from an outside source, drag from the data screen to his right, where wide blue eyes stare at him. Stare at him, even as he’s being smothered by Padmé, who kisses and traces every line on Luke’s face and hair with fervor. He allows her, one hand curled into her dark curls, the other halfway between hanging and reaching over the arm nearest Anakin.

Anakin has spent hours staring at that little face, and hours more avoiding it. He has traced every detail, from the flutter of those long lashes to the curve of that small nose. Has seen shadows of himself, of his mother, of his wife, the people closest to his heart. Has seen how it makes his best friend and Padawan melt into putty with a single smile, how it makes his men turn playful and alleviated.

Is it really so bad? A part of him whispers. Is this little light being his, his and Padmé’s, truly ruining?

Luke’s fingertips brush against Anakin’s bicep.

Anakin’s hands tremble as he dares to reach out, to hold Luke’s hand gently between his thumb and forefinger, while his other hand presses lightly to his small back.

Luke beams at him.

It’s like a key being inserted to a lock. A jagged breath releases from Anakin, removing the chains that forced his body, his mind, still. His vision blurs as he wraps a cautious arm around Padmé, another around Luke. It feels like holding his own heart.

Padmé cries harder and presses her head into Anakin’s chest, but keeps her arms wrapped tightly around Luke.

Anakin isn’t sure how long they stay like that, huddled together and staring at Luke while he soaks up all the attention. The longer he sits with it, the more questions arise: why and how did Luke get here? How far into the future is he from? Why was he on a desert planet? Why is Obi-Wan prominent in his memories, but not Anakin and Padmé? What will happen to that future now that he is here? Will he go back?

It suddenly occurs to Anakin how frighteningly little they know about this situation. And all of the potential things that could happen to Luke because of it. This is no longer a question of identity, or who will care for the child—maybe it never has been. No, there are far more troubling matters that need to be addressed, and he’s furious at himself and the Council for not thinking about those before Anakin’s status in the Order.

“He’s ours, Ani," Padmé whispers hoarsely. 

Anakin swallows. He doesn’t know how to tell her the situation is far more complicated than that. That Luke isn’t from this time, isn’t supposed to be here yet. They were supposed to nurture him through Padmé’s pregnancy; set up his nursery, feel him kick for the first time. They were supposed to have first laid eyes on him as he was being born, holding onto each other as they discovered if he would come into the galaxy with a raging cry or peaceful silence. They were supposed to have been there when he first opened his eyes, when he first smiled. 

Anakin’s sure they get to—in the future. He can’t imagine any other alternative. Which means there are versions of themselves however long from now, panicking that their precious son is nowhere to be found. That were already panicked enough to thrust him into Obi-Wan’s arms alone, to send him to some faraway desert wasteland, only for him to end up in a completely different time and place entirely. And that’s if Luke’s future even still exists. 

Padmé calls out of the Senate sick that day, which is exceedingly rare for her. She also dismisses her troubled handmaidens and Captain Typho, and Anakin can see the wince of guilt on her face as she does. But she still hands Luke over to him as she makes the necessary comms, and the moment she’s done, Luke is yanked from his arms and glued to Padmé’s. She carries him all over the apartment—holds him while she prepares lunch, as he naps, as she spoon feeds him, as she tickles and spins him around and plays with his hair. She sets him down exactly once to use the bathroom, and Luke just sits and stares at the door like a loyal puppy.

Anakin, for his part, hovers behind them, agreeing with any question Padmé asks and returning Luke’s smiles, but his head continues to spin and spin, even as he’s admittedly taken by their shared giggles.

It’s afternoon by the time Anakin decides he needs to clear his head, and he does so by locking himself in the office and making upgrades to Threepio (who he keeps powered-down with only a little bit of guilt). He tries to not think about any of it, at least for the time being; Luke, the Order, the future.

His heart skips a beat when his comm eventually beeps, startling him from his hyper-focus on Threepio’s innards. He isn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned when he sees Obi-Wan’s name, but decides to rip off the bandage rather than stew on it.

“Hello, Anakin,” says Obi-Wan conversationally, not that it does anything to put Anakin at ease. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“I see.” Anakin can sense him raising an eyebrow. “And our … guest?”

Anakin sighs and rubs at his temples. “He’s fine too. I guess.”

“How very reassuring.”

“Yep.” Anakin sighs and puts down Threepio’s circuitboard. “Alright, clam up. What do you want?”

A huff, barely audible. “Polite as always, I see. Is it so improbable that I simply wanted to check up on my friend?” 

Anakin doesn’t take the bait. Simply leans back in his chair, arms crossed, and scowls, even though they are not on holocall and Obi-Wan, therefore, cannot see him. 

Obi-Wan sighs anyway. “Very well. The Council contacted Madam Jocasta for research on our situation, and we may have a theory.”

“I’m listening.”

“Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t much. Time travel was theoretical until our little friend proved otherwise. But in the restricted section, Madam Jocasta was able to find a brief mention of its historical plausibility from around a thousand years ago. In context to something completely different, but it’s so far our only working hypothesis.”

“If it’s so vague and obscure, how do we know it’s what happened?”

“We don’t. Like I said, it’s only a hypothesis, and our only one we really have, since the child is too young to remember or understand what happened to him. But an old Jedi Master reported Sith experiments he had discovered during his lifetime. Time travel was mentioned in the list—again, only in passing. But what caught our attention is that many of these more absurd experiments failed. Not because nothing came out of them, but because the results often were imperfect, if not the complete opposite of what the Sith wanted. The Master theorized that this was a sort of uncontrollable chain reaction in the Force. Something like cracking a whip, wherein the energy is inserted into one end, but it naturally travels to the other and cracks. The action is completed, but in an alternate way than was originally intended.”

Anakin rubs his temples. “So, you think this is the result of a Sith experiment?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Obi-Wan says darkly. “Because it could be that the Sith have accumulated a great deal of unnatural power in Luke’s time, and him being sent here is an opposite effect.”

Anakin’s stomach churns as he realizes … “You think this means we lose the war.”

A few beats of silence. “Maybe even worse. In Luke’s future, which must be the current course we are on, something so catastrophic happens that I am watching over him, away from the Jedi Order and away from you, on what we presume is Tatooine, with a couple that no one recognizes.”

And damn if that doesn’t make sense. Too much sense. Anakin’s mind has quietly wondered along similar lines, but to have it all but confirmed by the Council …

“But not all is lost,” Obi-Wan reassures. “As Master Yoda says, the future is always in motion. This is a warning sign and that means we’re at an advantage we didn’t have before.”

The Tusken Raiders' squeals; his mother’s final, rasping breaths. What good did that warning sign serve but to torture him? The Jedi say nothing is set in stone, yet spit nonsense about destiny. Jedi are peacekeepers and not warriors, but somehow being generals doesn’t cross that line. At certain levels, Jedi philosophy becomes Bantha shit, and Anakin has long decided to pay minimal attention to it, just taking the bits and pieces that actually matter. But this … This is too catastrophic to mess up, too many lives on the line.

Anakin clenches his fists tightly. “So, what’s the plan? And what does this mean for the kid?”

Obi-Wan seems to wince. “The best thing we can do is keep evaluating the boy to see if we can get any more information. As for what happens to him, I believe it’s already been established that that’s up to you.”

“No. I mean what could happen to him.”

“Oh. Yes.” 

Anakin rolls his eyes.

“Well … It’s hard to say for sure, but the likely theory is that the boy is stuck here.” Obi-Wan’s tone is conversational, but Anakin knows him well enough to catch the breathiness in his words, how he clears his throat before he continues. “Even if we did have a way to send him back, everything we know concludes that Luke’s future only exists as a possibility, not a tangible location. Which would make sending him there impossible. The only way would be if the Force were able will it in ways beyond what we know, but it already settled itself by bringing him here in the first place. Why reverse it?”

“I see.” Even though Anakin says it, his mind goes back to that eerie blankness.

Obi-Wan says something else, but his voice feels so distant that Anakin can’t quite catch what it is. But since he signs off the comm, it must have been some excuse to say farewell. He doesn’t recall saying anything more himself, simply spiraling back into the abyss inside himself. 

Luke is here to stay. Or most likely is. 

The big question is answered, but Anakin doesn’t feel the way he thought he would about it. Doesn’t really feel anything. Not rage, not despair; not love, nor happiness. He just … is. 

At some point, the door hisses open. Anakin blinks vacantly at the lack of person behind it, then again as he notices the top of Padme’s head behind the couch as she fiddles with something on the floor that Anakin can’t see. 

A little voice squeaks.

Anakin looks down.

And for the love of the Force, Anakin has know idea how it happened—not with the operating button being at least three feet from the floor, not with Padmé’s constant attention, and not with all of the obstacles from any direction to this room. But there Luke balances against the doorframe, giggling up at Anakin while toddling ungracefully on his round feet. 

Anakin, still trying to compute it all, simply stares owlishly. 

Luke removes a hand from his hold on the wall to reach out.

Anakin thinks, vaguely, that he should do something. Call for Padmé. Bring the kid back to her. Even simply get up from his chair to spot for a fall, which Luke typically tends to do on the few occasions he has been able to stand. A little bow-legged and wide, trying to accommodate those chunky legs.

Luke hums urgently, the blue of his eyes particularly vivid in the low, warm lighting of the room. 

Slowly, Anakin gets himself to rise to his feet. To come around the desk so he faces Luke directly, but stops. Transfixed.

“Da-da-da-da-da!” Luke nonsensically squeaks. And Anakin wonders, for the first time, if he’s actually trying to say things when he babbles, but no one can understand it. That would be frustrating.

Yet, the kid doesn’t look nor feel frustrated in the Force. Urgent, maybe, but not unhappy.

Luke removes himself from the wall to reach with both hands, wobbling on unsupported legs. The momentum has him propelling one foot in front of the other with an uncoordinated stomp. 

Anakin raises a brow.

Luke hums again, and there’s a lilt of stubbornness. Something warm bubbles in Anakin’s chest.

“Da-da-da-da-da!” Luke babbles again, wringing his hands.

Anakin isn’t sure what prompts him to do it, but somehow he ends up braced on his knees in front of the desk, only a foot or two away from Luke. His body seems to know what it wants to do, even if his thoughts and feelings don’t.

With excited breaths, Luke’s back leg comes up heavily in front of the outstretched one. Anakin’s own breath catches.

Then Luke is moving. Ungracefully, but he doesn’t fall, and impressively quick. Each thigh jiggles like gel as he trots towards Anakin, grin wide on his face and arms still outstretched.

Anakin has to whip out his arms to catch Luke when he falls forward, almost knocking his head into Anakin’s lap. He squeals and wiggles his feet excitedly as Anakin lifts him up into his arms, bracing Luke’s front against his chest. 

Small, soft hands brace themselves on Anakin’s face, caressing and holding at the same time. Luke’s eyes are bright but crinkled up as he looks up at Anakin in that way he always does. And the more he giggles, the more Anakin revels in it, revels in the sparkling glow of Luke’s Force presence. That look, that emotion … It’s new, it’s always been new, and Anakin has never been able to decipher it because of that. But could it be …?

Luke forces Anakin’s head down with surprising strength. Reaches up and slobbers clumsy lips on the tip of Anakin’s nose. Anakin is too … what? Bewildered Unsure? Doubtful? To sputter away from the the onslaught of baby spit. 

But there it is: in Luke’s eyes, in his hands on Anakin’s cheeks, in his lips on Anakin’s nose, in his happy giggles and wiggling legs. 

“He adores you.”

Anakin looks up at the rough words. Finds Padmé standing in the doorway with a tender, almost broken look on her face, in her shining dark eyes.

Anakin isn’t sure what to say to that. He can’t brush it off or ignore it, not anymore. Not now that he knows the truth.

Padmé comes to kneel before them, sandwiching Luke, who finally looks away from Anakin to smile at her.

“Were those his first steps?” Padmé whispers.

Anakin’s heart skips a beat, even if he doesn’t really know why. His voice is a little hoarse as he says, “I don’t know. It’s the first time I’ve seen him do that.”

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that if he hasn’t in all the time you’ve been together, then they probably were.” She strokes a tender hand through Luke’s hair. “Ani. He took his first steps to get to you.”

Anakin swallows and looks back down at Luke, who squeals that “da-da-da-da-da!” again. 

Padmé gasps a bit. Tears begin to leak from her eyes.

“What?” Anakin asks, urgent.

“Didn’t you tell me he was trying to say Obi-Wan’s name before?”

Anakin shrugs. “Ahsoka thinks so, and she convinced Obi-Wan, I guess. It’s hard to know for sure. Why?”

Padmé shakes her head. “Have you been hearing what he’s saying to you?”

Anakin huffs. “It’s just a bunch of nonsense, Padmé. Baby noises.”

“Da-da-da!” Luke interjects.

Padmé rolls her eyes. “Anakin, babies make those noises because they’re trying to figure out how to talk. They mimic words.”

Anakin examines Luke, whose eyes are boring into him. 

“Da-da-da!” Luke says and pokes a finger at Anakin’s nose.

Padmé sobs. “That’s right, baby.”

Anakin blinks at Padmé, then at Luke. What could a random syllable possibly mean? How could Padmé know?

“Da-da-da-da!” Luke repeats, as if trying to get Anakin to understand.

Well, clearly it has something to do with Anakin specifically. But why—oh. 

Anakin whispers, almost to himself, “…Dad?”

Luke squeals with delight. 

Anakin raises his gaze to Padmé, who smiles brightly.

He’s heard of the word before, a nickname for “father”, the way “mom” is for “mother.” Anakin’s just never known anyone to apply it to himself. But somehow, 

“Da-da-da!” 

Anakin swallows the sudden burn in his throat. “But … why? How?”

Padmé doesn’t seem to have an answer, and if Luke does, he’s unable to communicate it. 

Luke’s hands continue to stroke over Anakin’s face. And now that he thinks about it, there does seem to be a reverence there in that touch.

“Da-da-da-da!” 

Anakin raises a brow. “Yes, Luke?”

Luke releases one of those gasping giggles, but his crinkled eyes still stay trained on Anakin.

Anakin clears his throat. “Dada?” he whispers, pointing a finger at himself.

Luke watches Anakin’s mouth carefully. “Da…da.”

“Dada.”

Luke squirms, with focus or excitement or both. “Dada.”

The moment does … something … to Anakin. He’s still not sure what he feels or wants to do, but the emptiness inside seems a bit warmer than before. Maybe it’s an instinct, or maybe he’s honored and even a little proud that Luke’s first steps to him, and that he now has a title for Anakin specifically (since Obi-Wan got the first attempted word, technically). He’s not sure if it’s a good or bad thing, since now he just seems conflicted about things he doesn’t even know how to consider, rather than simply apathetic.

The rest of the evening is peaceful, pleasant, even after Anakin feeds her the information from Obi-Wan. A mostly quiet dinner of watching Luke smear his face with baby food (a green kind now). Then settling on a holofilm instead of a board game when Luke tries to eat the game pieces (the kid thinks only with his stomach, Anakin swears). Padmé has thrown together a crib for Luke so he doesn’t have to sleep in the bed, but she still insists he stay in the bedroom with them. 

Even with Anakin’s conflict, Padmé has enjoyed their day so much that by the time they put Luke down to sleep, she is already lamenting about having to go to work tomorrow. Work that she usually loves. Anakin doesn’t feel great about it either, mostly because he’s not sure how he’s going to handle being alone with the kid for the entire day. To be fair, it’s not that Luke is the most demanding child—most everyone says so, and what little Anakin does know about babies supports that claim. Anakin just doesn’t know how he’s going to feel about it. He already feels as though he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, and in the chasm he faces is nothing but darkness blanketing the unknown. 

Anakin lies awake most of the night, his mind churning, while Padmé and Luke sleep soundly. He goes over all the options, all their potential consequences. 

It’d kill a part of himself to let go of being a Jedi, and he doesn’t know what he’d do with his life apart from the Order. Maybe become a mechanic? Work security somewhere? In some ways it doesn’t feel all that bad, but there’s still a bad taste in his mouth that he doesn’t really want to unpack. 

Anakin also knows that he can’t just throw Luke away, never to be seen again. It would kill Padmé, and while Luke probably would forget them eventually, it doesn’t sit right with Anakin for Luke to one day think he’d been abandoned. Unwanted, except for what he can offer the Order. But if he goes someplace far away from the Order, what happens to the galaxy? What if Obi-Wan and the Council are right, and Luke is a way to change a dark future from taking place?

But more than all of that, Anakin knows that no matter what he chooses, his life will never be the same. Completely uprooted by the chubby little creature in the bassinet at his feet. It’s maddening to think that just a few days ago, Anakin was fighting through another warzone to save the Republic, his future on a steady course, and now he’s deciding what to do with a baby. His baby.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Luke isn’t just some random child in Anakin’s temporary care, he’s a life that has been created by and is entirely dependent on Anakin. His entire future is in Anakin and Padmé’s hands. And if they make the wrong move, what becomes of him?
No matter how Anakin feels, he can’t fail Luke. He won’t.

By the time sunlight peaks through the blinds once again, Anakin doesn’t feel any more rested than when he first laid down. But Luke certainly is, standing with his hands grasped on the edge of the bassinet, grinning at Anakin. 

Anakin sighs and moves to carefully get out of the bed without disturbing Padmé, who surely has a long day ahead. Luke begins to wiggle and hum excitedly, looking like an excited puppy wagging its tail. 

Anakin puts a finger to his lips. “Shh.”

Luke’s eyes widen, fascinated.

“Shh,” Anakin repeats, lifting Luke from the bassinet.

Luke makes a noise that sounds like “jeee.” Whatever that’s supposed to mean.

Anakin holds his breath as he unwraps the diaper, then releases it with relief when he finds no unwanted surprises. Just some dampness. He can deal with that. It’s not the greatest task in the galaxy, but manageable. 

“Dada,” Luke says as Anakin buttons up his onesie. 

Anakin clears his throat. “Is there something you need, little one?”

“Dada,” he repeats unhelpfully.

By the time he’s finished, Padmé is already in the kitchen, treating herself to a cup of caf. Luke squeals in delight when he sees her, to which she laughs merrily and scoops him out of Anakin’s arms.

“Good morning, sweet boy!” Padmé gushes, rubbing the tip of her nose against Luke’s.

Anakin, temporarily relieved, gives Padmé a kiss on the cheek before making a cup of caf for himself. 

“Are you going to be good for Dada while I’m gone today?” Padmé asks.

Luke babbles in response.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Anakin has to catch himself from choking on his caf, realizing what Padmé has just referred to him as. Luke is one thing; he’s not even a year old. But Padmé too?

If Padmé realizes Anakin’s reaction, she doesn’t say. Merely walks with Luke back to the bedroom, likely to hold onto him for as long as possible by getting ready for the day near him. 

Anakin sighs, soaking up the last bit of privacy he’s probably going to have today.   Privacy from Luke, that is. He wouldn’t mind some company outside of all this insanity, or at least the space to think through what the hell he’s going to do. But it’s not like there’s anyone he can really go to about this outside of the Order or Padmé—

Wait. 

Anakin chuckles to himself. How could he have forgotten? 

There are only two people in the galaxy that know what Anakin did after his mother’s death, whom Anakin has confided in and trusted with his life and most vulnerable moments. He can’t believe he didn’t think of it before.

Anakin’s ripped from his thoughts by a shrill scream. 

Padmé.

Heart seized, Anakin darts for the bedroom, lightsaber already ignited, throwing himself into the Force for strength and foresight—

There’s Padmé, not a hair out of place from its extravagant updo, with Luke squeezed tightly to her chest as she smothers his face in bright red kisses.

“Padmé!” Anakin’s voice cracks.

She comes up for air briefly, eyes bright and a little dazed as she grins at Anakin. “Ani! He said it! He said ‘Mama!’” 

Anakin could’ve laughed—the unhumorous, hysterical kind. Instead, he’s frozen in place, trying desperately to calm is panicked heart rate. 

“Mama,” says Luke, as if in clarification.

Padmé makes a sound between a chuckle and a sob and continues to smother him.

Anakin sighs.

————

Anakin isn’t sure why, exactly, he takes careful action to avoid crossing paths with Padmé. Why he waits until he knows she must be in a meeting or in her office before making his own way to the Senate Building, Luke in tow, or why he sneaks the long route to the Chancellor’s office with a suspicious, giggling lump buried in the side of his robe. Padmé has a close relationship with Chancellor Palpatine herself, him having been her confidant at the beginning of her career and loyal advisor as Senator during her term as Queen of Naboo. And, as voted Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, the worlds both she and Anakin fight so hard to protect, there is a natural loyalty and admiration there.

Maybe Anakin just needs to have this conversation with Palpatine without Padmé’s presence, so he might be honest without burdening her. Maybe he worries she’ll disapprove, though he can’t imagine why. Whatever the case, Anakin knows he needs to do this alone. Even taking Luke along with him is more of a necessity than a choice.

But, then again, maybe if the Chancellor actually sees Luke, he’ll be able to offer more clarity. And it’ll take a whole lot less convincing on Anakin’s part.

As he enters the chamber to the Chancellor’s office, Mas Amedda is just exiting. He nods his horned-head once, about as much of a reaction as the Chagrian will ever show, and it suddenly occurs to Anakin that he probably should’ve made a formal request before showing up uninvited. He usually does. Where has his head gone recently?

But before Anakin can finish his self-berating, the silver door slides open, revealing Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine, donned in his usual blue robes, peering up at Anakin with a warm, crinkled smile.

“Anakin, my boy!” he exclaims.

Anakin allows himself to smile, relieved, but still chagrined. “Your Excellency. I apologize for showing up without invitation—“

“Oh, please, none of that!” the Chancellor interjects. “It’s good to see you. Come in and we’ll catch up.”

Anakin lets out a breath as he steps into the office. It looks the same as it always has: wide and luscious with a large window bracketing the city skyline; a clean desk with a few sets of chairs; deep red carpet that accents the mute oranges of the walls and decor. In some ways, Anakin feels more at ease here than he does at the Temple, despite this office being the heart of the Republic itself.

“Please, sit!” the Chancellor invites warmly, moving to sit in his desk chair and waving a hand to the one in front of him. “Tell me: how have you been? Last I heard, you were pushing the Separatists off Geonosis and then called urgently back to the Temple.”

Anakin winces, but goes to sit. Unfortunately, Luke, who is still buried into his side, takes the opportunity to wiggle out onto Anakin’s lap.

The Chancellor startles. “Oh my!” 

Face hot, Anakin decides that there’s no use in hiding anymore. “I apologize. The circumstances are … difficult.”

The Chancellor stares with large blue eyes at Luke, frozen for a few moments. Then shakes his head and clears his throat with a chuckle. “Well, I’d say they are indeed. Who is this little … friend … of yours?”

“This is Luke,” Anakin says, refraining from chewing on the inside of his cheek. “He’s the reason Obi-Wan and I were recalled back to the Temple. He just kind of showed up out of nowhere.”

The Chancellor tilts his head. “And they believed you would be better fit watching the child than battling our enemies?”

Anakin has to swallow down a snort. Instead, he explains. Explains how Luke appeared, the visions Master Yoda and the Council were able to gather from him, the DNA tests, all of it. The Chancellor listens, patient and understanding as always, but Anakin can still see the increased widening of his eyes and raising of his brows.

“Time travel,” the Chancellor mutters to himself once Anakin finishes. “How extraordinary.”

Anakin isn’t sure how to respond to that, but he finds it difficult to meet the Chancellor’s eyes. Luke is still and quiet in Anakin’s lap, more so than usual, even as he takes in his surroundings with that intense curiosity, slobbery hand stuffed in his mouth.

“And how are you handling all of this?” 

Anakin sighs. Tries to gather his thoughts. “Honestly? I don’t know. Nothing is ever going to be the same, no matter what I choose, for me, him, or the people I care about. Padmé wants to keep him, and I’m not sure I’d be able to separate them if I tried.”

The Chancellor nods slowly, computing and understanding. “Well, if there’s anything I know, it’s that it would be a tragic loss indeed if you were forced to leave the Order. What a shame that the Jedi would be so quick to give up one of their best for a situation he can’t even control.”

Anakin ducks his head, even as warmth blossoms through him. At least someone seems to think so.

“You are perhaps the most remarkable man I’ve ever met, Anakin,” he continues, drumming his fingers lightly on the desk. “And a wonderful friend, to those close to you and to the Republic. Whatever choice you make, I selfishly must implore that you don’t waste your talents. Come to me, and we can find a way to keep you in the good fight. I would never discard you so easily.”

Ack. If that doesn’t clog Anakin’s throat. “Thank you, Your Excellency,” he says hoarsely. “That means more to me than I can say.”

The Chancellor’s answering smile is warm, if a little sad.

Anakin stumbles around in his own mind. Trying to muster up the words, why he’s here. “What … what do you think I should do? What would be best?”

The Chancellor considers with a light hum. “Of course, it would be most ideal for you to remain in the Order. Stars know the Jedi need all they can get, and you’re one of their best. And you are so young—on the cusp of greatness, really—it would be devastating to watch you be forced to give that up for a child you did not choose to have.”

The words sound right to Anakin, harsh as they are. Realistically, if Anakin surrenders Luke to the Temple, he would be close, but not his responsibility. Safe, and he would learn to let go of attachments in a way Anakin never could. And Anakin could go on with his life. Or at least try to.

But … Padmé. Even if he convinced her, it would break her heart. She’s already fallen so in love with Luke. He thinks there’s a possibility she would surrender him, as attached to her duty and caring for Anakin’s wellbeing as she is, but it would still hurt enough that he doubts things would ever really be the same. 

And that’s not to mention … Yes, giving up Luke sounds right. Most of Anakin’s morals say it’s the right thing to do. But it doesn’t feel right. Makes him feel sickly and conflicted inside. And he hates that he doesn’t know why.

But the alternative …

Keeping Luke, with those wide grins and happy squeals. Watching him formulate his first sentence, watching him grow. Teaching him to connect with the Force and repair droids. Flying beside him, someone just as exhilarated by racing among the stars as he is. Coming home to Luke racing towards him and Padmé’s kisses. It would be new, terrifying, confining. But would it really be so bad? Was watching Padmé and Luke giggle with each other at their peaceful dinner last night so bad? Would being able to love freely be so bad?

And more than that, Anakin would know that Luke is alright. Would be able to control his decision for the rest of his life, to adjust if needed. And the Chancellor already said that he would find a way to keep Anakin involved, even if he isn’t at the Temple anymore. 

But it would still be the opposite of what Anakin has worked his whole life for. It would still be leaving Ahsoka and Obi-Wan and Rex, leaving the life that he’s grown to love, a life that the Order and the Republic depend on. 

And there would be no going back.

Anakin closes his eyes and sighs heavily. 

The Chancellor’s voice drags him from his turmoil. “Anakin, do you mind if I…?” He gestures to Luke.

Anakin blinks rapidly for a few moments. “Uh, yeah! Sure.”

The Chancellor smiles genially, then comes around the desk to take Luke carefully from Anakin’s arms, bracing him on his side. 

“Hello, little one,” the Chancellor greets warmly to Luke.

Luke stares at the Chancellor. Stares, not smiles, not like he usually does when anyone gives him attention. Luke is a friendly baby. Which makes this behavior both peculiar and a little embarrassing.

Anakin awkwardly clears his throat. “Can you say hi to the Chancellor, Luke?” 

The Chancellor offers Luke a winning smile.

Luke bursts into tears.

For a moment, Anakin just sits there, dumbfounded. Never, not since Luke first appeared in that sandstorm, has Luke cried. Then, it had been understandable. But now? In the safety of Coruscant and a new person to pay attention to him? 

Luke’s sobs are jagged and wailing, and his Force signature bleeds with horror and despair, even more intensely than when Anakin first found him. He wiggles away from the Chancellor, practically falling out of his arms to reach back toward Anakin.

“Oh! Oh my!” 

It’s the Chancellor’s stunned outburst that snaps Anakin out of his stupor, that has him snapping to his feet and quickly grabbing Luke back before he burdens the Chancellor even further.

Luke claws onto Anakin, digs his fingers into his collars and curls his toes into Anakin’s robes as if afraid he’d be ripped away. He continues to sob, face red and splotchy and wet, and Anakin awkwardly rubs his back, searches for anything that might calm him down and do it fast.

The Chancellor frowns. “I apologize if I did something wrong.”

Anakin shakes his head vigorously. “No! No, you did nothing wrong, your Excellency. He probably just needs something that I haven’t realized I need to give him or … something. I’m the one who should apologize.”

The Chancellor waves him off. “Not to worry, my friend.”
Anakin winces as Luke continues to whimper into his shoulder. “I hate to cut this short, your Excellency, truly. But I should probably get him out of here before he disturbs you any longer. Thank you for your time.”

“Of course, Anakin. Duty awaits.” The Chancellor straightens himself.

Anakin nods and turns to leave, but just as he’s about out the door, the Chancellor’s voice calls after him, “Oh, and Anakin!”

Anakin turns.

“Remember that the Republic is depending on you to make the right decision. And so am I.”

Anakin is beside himself with embarrassment, even furious at Luke, and it doesn’t quite dissipate by the time he gets home. But it’s not like he can storm away from the baby and leave him somewhere, so he’s forced to deal with the kid until Padmé returns.

Luke himself makes the situation worse. Even after wailing up a hurricane in the Chancellor’s office, the moment the door slides shut behind them, he goes silent, enough for the Chancellor to also not hear. Naturally. To further salt the wound, Luke becomes especially clingy, and even when Anakin puts him down on the floor with the toys Padmé had brought in, the kid is trying to climb up into Anakin’s personal space. He tries to shove him off, but he just keeps coming back. 

Eventually, Anakin decides it’s time Luke have a nap. Probably not the worst idea, even if made with selfish intentions. He plops Luke down in the bassinet, tosses the small blanket over him, and makes sure to shut the door behind him as he storms out of the room.

He trusts that the Force will warn him if something goes wrong.

Feeling somewhat free, Anakin collapses on the couch and throws a pod race on the holo. Maybe now he can finally relax and clear his head. 

Except only a few minutes pass before he opens his eyes to small hands on his face.

His reaction isn’t very becoming of a Jedi, more like a frightened Tooka.

Luke falls back on his rear at the momentum Anakin sits up with. But he simply giggles a bit and points at Anakin like he’s making fun of him.

It takes Anakin a moment to compute what has happened.

The door had been shut. Anakin is sure of it. 

Luke’s crib is gated, built for babies that can stand so they don’t fall out, as Padmé had explained. 

So how the hell …?

Anakin shakes his head. Maybe the door malfunctioned and opened when he hadn’t been paying attention. Maybe one of the gates came undone, allowing Luke to slip out.

But while the door is open by the time Anakin carries Luke back to the bedroom, the gates on the crib are perfectly intact. And if Luke had toppled out of it, he’s certainly heavy enough to take the whole thing with him. Thus, Anakin’s confusion.

Too tired and irritated to deal with this on top of every thing else, he does something that’s probably a little cruel and irresponsible: he cages the kid in.

He ties a blanket over the top of the crib, securely knotting the tassels around its edge to the border of the crib’s gates, ensuring no hole was wide enough for Luke to slip through. It’s essentially a baby prison, but Anakin isn’t so terrible of a human being to not occupy the kid with some toys to accompany him before he falls to sleep.

Anakin triple-checks that the door secures behind him before going back to the couch. This time, he finally has enough time to doze off.

For how long, he doesn’t know. But it’s not long enough when he wakes to an all-too-familiar weight pressing to his chest.

Anakin starts, but not enough to throw Luke, which would’ve been difficult to explain to Padmé and the Jedi. 

Anakin is no longer stunned. Just incredulous.

“What the hell, kid?” 

Luke simply giggles in answer.

When he goes back again to assess the room, the door is open, the blanket is ripped off (somehow the kid managed to untie several military-standard knots), and the crib is still standing upright.

Anakin buries his face in his hands.

—————

“Hello, my boys!” Padmé sings that evening, music to Anakin’s ears.

Luke squeals in delight as she swoops him from Anakin’s arms and peppers him with kisses.

Anakin rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “Oh, don’t allow me to interrupt.”

Padmé snorts and moves to brace Luke to her side so she can embrace Anakin. “Are you jealous?”

Anakin scoffs. “Of a baby? No.”

Padmé pulls away just enough to raise a teasing brow. “You’ve never been a good liar, Anakin.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

She grins and kisses him, and damn if he doesn’t need that bliss, that reprieve from the chaos that has come into his life. Just for a few moments.

A chubby cheek presses against his, a small nose between his chin and Padmé’s. Padmé breaks away with a laugh, and Anakin can’t say he feels the same way she does about the situation.

“Are you feeling left out too, baby?” Padmé coos to Luke, who grins all innocent like he hasn’t been a terror all day.

A nasty part of Anakin is eager to sour Padmé’s mood, at least when it comes to Luke. So, he retorts, “He hasn’t been ‘left out’ all day. I’ve tried to put him down for a nap or to play several times, and he just won’t stay put.”

Padmé’s face is incredulous. “Anakin, he’s a baby. Surely a Jedi Knight such as yourself can contain him.”

Anakin throws out his arms. “Yeah! You’d think! The little demon keeps escaping. Through closed doors, out of his crib—which I barricaded, by the way. It’s like he needs to be touching me at all times, and he’ll use the Force to achieve that end if he has to. Old enough to be trained or not.”

Padmé’s answering smirk doesn’t do much to help his mood. “It sounds like your son is just as stubborn as you are.”

“He’s not my—“ he begins to say on instinct, then cuts himself off. He tells himself it’s because of Padmé’s wide eyes. Yes, that’s it. “You are just as stubborn, if not more so.”

Padmé considers him for a moment, and he hates that he can’t figure out what she’s thinking. Her feelings are just an amalgamation of complexity in the Force. He expects her to tease him back. If everything had been normal, that’s what she’d do. Instead, “How about you take a break and I’ll take Luke with me while I change. I’m eager to spend some alone time with him, anyway, since you’ve had it all day.”

Anakin wants to bite that the day has been plenty enough, but decides to take her offer of mercy. 

He decides to get some air on the balcony. The day is cool and breezy, enough to card through Anakin’s hair and relax his lungs. The sky is a cloudless blue, and the skylines speckle it with chaos Anakin has come to find familiar. Even the city smells of exhaust, metal, droid oil, and an assortment of cooked foods soothes rather than overwhelms.

Some time passes before a delicate hand touches his shoulder, not the small chubby ones he’s been grappling with all day. Anakin turns and immediately melts into his wife.

“Tell me what happened,” Padmé whispers into the bend of his neck and shoulder.

“I already did, when you first walked in.”

“No, there’s something else,” she insists, pulling back just enough to gaze into his eyes. “Do you … are you considering not keeping Luke?”

Anakin debates. Lie, and keep her happy, only to tear it away? The truth, and break her heart now?

His silence must be answer enough because her eyes grow sad, and he hates himself for it. “Can you tell me why?”

Anakin looks back through the apartment window, trying to buy himself time. “Where is he?”

“I put him down in his crib.”

Anakin shakes his head. “He’s not going to stay there.”

“Maybe, but he’s there now, so you can answer my question.”

Anakin still can’t bring himself to look at her, so he turns away.

“Ani …” she trails off, a rare moment of Senator Amidala unsure of what to say. “This isn’t an interrogation. I don’t expect you to answer anything but with the truth.

Anakin releases a breath. “I don’t know, Padmé.”

“You don’t know why you don’t want him?”

“No,” he clarifies. “I don’t know what to do.”

A few beats of silence, then she moves to hold him again from behind. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t either.”

He stiffens. “What? I thought for sure you wanted to keep him.”

“I do. But … I also want to keep my career. The Republic needs my voice in the Senate. I want to keep my friends. My freedoms. And you. We haven’t even been able to be a properly married couple yet, not really. Everything has been private. I don’t think it would be fair to him if we hid him away, and if we did decide to go public, we would have to figure out how to be parents before a normal couple. And I would never be able to raise him if you weren’t by my side for it.”

“So … that’s it?” His voice is barely a whisper. “We give him up?”

There’s a pause as Padmé takes a shuddered breath. “As a Senator and a Jedi, that would be our duty.”
Anakin swallows. “But?”

“But,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. “We aren’t just a Senator and a Jedi anymore, Ani. Whether we like it or not, we’re his parents. We created him. Now or in the future, our secret love created him. And whatever becomes of him will be our responsibility too as his parents.”

“I know.” And he does. That responsibility is what has been weighing on him the most about all this, even more than his place as a Jedi. Something he never thought would happen with anyone other than Padmé, and even then he had only jeopardized his Knighthood, simply found a way to do both.

“All this has got me thinking, too,” she continues, almost hesitantly. “I won’t pretend to know or understand very much about the Force, but you told me Obi-Wan said that Luke was brought here to undo evil, or balance it out, or something.”

“Yeah?” But what does that have to do with this decision? There’s no disputing that whatever they choose to do with Luke, the Council would need to know everything that happens, even be allowed to evaluate him further. To see what he’s here to change.

“Why him specifically, I wonder?” she asks. “Why not some other Force sensitive child? Or a Jedi, or someone who’s at least old enough to tell us what to fix?”

Anakin shrugs. “The Force is weird like that.”

“Maybe,” she acknowledges. “Or maybe he’s here to push those closest to him from making a mistake. A mistake that costs the galaxy.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Just think about it with me,” Padmé insists. “What would’ve happened if Luke had never shown up? I would’ve continued in the Senate. You would’ve continued fighting on the front. Our marriage would be kept secret. We would continue on as we have been. But Luke’s very being here forces us to consider, very heavily, going a different way.”

“But he would do that in the future anyway, when we find out you’re pregnant.”

“Maybe circumstances are different in the future,” she says. “Maybe something horrible happens and by the time he’s born, it’s too late for us to fix it. Anakin, he didn’t recognize me when I first met him. I know that now. The light in his eyes when he sees me now isn’t the same as it was then. What if he’s an orphan?”

Anakin’s very blood goes cold at the thought. The thought that Padmé might …. “This is a pretty big decision to make to base it off of ‘what ifs’.” 

“That’s true, but it’s still gotten me thinking. When I went to work today, all I could keep thinking about is how much the Republic seems to want to fight this war. That no matter what I say or do, greed overpowers the decisions to keep this bloodshed going. It’s made me wonder if we’re fighting on the wrong side.”

“We’re not,” Anakin snaps, pulling away from her embrace. “And you’re starting to sound like a Separatist.” Separatists who send battle droids to do their dirty work. Who formulated at the behest of Count Dooku and the Sith. Who wipe out innocent populations for experimentation and force the sick and starving out of their homes.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Ani,” Padmé whispers. “I know Count Dooku and his goons are evil. But the politics behind it all, and the systems and people that make up the Separatists … it’s far more complicated than good and bad, and if we’re going to put lives on the line, we have to be completely sure we’re doing the right thing.”

“My loyalty is to the Republic, Padmé,” Anakin says waspishly.

“And so is mine,” she reassures. “I’m only saying that maybe our current course isn’t what’s best for it.”

Anakin shakes his head. He’ll admit that his trust in the Jedi Order has been shaken, but the Chancellor is the best hope for the Republic. He keeps the Senate in line, far more than to allow the kind of corruption Padmé’s speaking of to have any actual merit. And if he’s the one giving the orders to keep fighting, Anakin’s following them.

Padmé sighs, as if reading his thoughts. Maybe she is. She comes up beside him to take his hand firmly in hers. “Come with me.”

Anakin is about to ask what she means by that, but is instead tugged back into the apartment. Through the living area, up the steps and through the door to the bedroom.

Luke stands in his crib facing the door as if he had been waiting for them. Knowing his Force sensitivity, it’s likely he had been. He smiles brightly at the both of them, reaches an arm out to be lifted.

Padmé greets him happily, lifting him into her arms. “I think it’s time you had a bath, little man.”

That seems like a job perfectly suitable for one person. Anakin says as much, but Padmé’s eyes are sharp and insistent in answer.

The bathtub is too big, and sonic is too harsh for a baby’s skin. So Padmé ends up filling up the kitchen sink with water and various baby soaps that she must have had someone order. Anakin stands behind her and mostly watches with a fresh towel, unsure of what he’s supposed to be doing.

Admittedly, Luke’s first reaction to the water is hilarious. He stares bug-eyed at it, and then when he’s finally lowered into it, all rolls of baby chub, he goes all stiff like he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to be handling his current predicament.

Padmé giggles as she washes him, starting with his hair, which sticks straight up once properly soaped. Padmé plays with it for a few moments, giving the kid all sorts of ridiculous hairstyles. Luke begins to giggle, and Anakin can sense he only does so because Padmé is having so much fun with it. 

“Take that cup there and pour it over his hair,” Padmé instructs Anakin. “I’ll cover his face.”

The water is warm and foaming when Anakin dunks the cup, and he does his best to carefully wash out the soap from Luke’s blond curls.

Luke squeals at the sensation, and once Anakin has backed away to dunk the cup again, the little demon decides he’s not the only one that should be wet. 

With far more force than even Luke’s chubby arms should be able to produce, he slams his fists into the water, right in Anakin’s direction. An impressive amount of water soaks the front of Anakin’s shirt, which both the kid and his traitorous wife decide is the funniest thing of the decade.

He freezes for a moment, and yes, he’s irritated at first. Luke’s been giving him hell all day. But then he sees the golden smile caressing Luke’s wet cheeks, the delighted pink of Padmé’s. 

And he smiles.

“Oh, so that’s how it is, huh?”

Luke and Padmé continue to laugh.

Anakin cups some of the water in his flesh hand, then forms a loose fist. “Don’t start fights you can’t win, little man.” He squeezes the fist.

A squirt hits Luke in the neck. He squeals and slaps at the soapy water again.

Thus begins Anakin’s water fight. With a baby.

By the time it’s over, most of the bathwater is on Anakin and Luke rather than the tub itself, and Anakin’s clothes are dripping a puddle onto the floor. Luke is a fit of giggles, the kind that he had been making in the speeder. His face is tomato red, his eyes gleaming, as he struggles to control the breaths entirely overtaken by giggles.

Something stirs in Anakin’s chest at the sight. Something warm and full and blissed. It’s the lightest he’s felt in … a long time.

They finish the bath, dress Luke in a new orange onesie. He falls asleep relatively fast, perhaps even at a new record for him. 

Anakin still makes sure the door is shut when he and Padmé leave him.

As Anakin cleans up the mess of water and Luke’s new high chair (Padmé had apparently been very busy yesterday), Padmé puts together a late dinner for the both of them. It’s peaceful, quiet, content. And it occurs to Anakin how domestic this all feels. Domestic in a way he’s never experienced.

It’s not the worst feeling.

When he later goes to settle on the couch beside Padmé, he winces as a sharp pain goes through his foot. Lifting the leg, he finds one of Luke’s toy blocks digging into it. 

He can’t say what prompts him to do it, but he bends down to pick up the block. Takes his place on Padmé’s right and feels it between his hands.

He keeps his eye on the block, the way the green paint glints under the dim lighting, as he asks, “Why did you really make me do that?”

Padmé’s quiet for so long that he isn’t sure she’s heard him. But she eventually wraps both of her arms around his bicep, holding him close. “To make you see what I’ve been seeing from you.”

Anakin moves his gaze from the block to Padmé. Her eyes are deep and shining. “And what is that?”

“You feel a connection to him, deeper than I think you’ve felt for anyone or anything,” she whispers. “And that scares you. Makes you question things you never have before. I saw it in your eyes the moment you first told me about him, and it’s been growing stronger and stronger. The DNA test only solidified it.”

No. That can’t be it, surely. Yes, he feels a connection to Luke, but that kind of affection … Anakin would know. Anakin would know if he loved Luke. Just like he knew he loved Padmé and his mother.

He would know.

Right?

“I’m scared too, Ani.” She threads her fingers with his. “So much could change. So much could go wrong. But I can’t ignore what my gut tells me. Neither can you.”

That feeling he gets when Luke collapses into a giggle fit. When he took those first steps toward him. When he says that word that’s been reserved just for Anakin. When Anakin looks into his face and recognizes himself, his mother, Padmé. When Ahsoka plays with him and Obi-Wan smiles that rare smile while holding him. That. Whatever that is, it’s getting stronger. Padmé’s right about this, at least.

A tear falls down Anakin’s cheek. Has it always been this strong? Had it been this strong five minutes ago? An hour? Yesterday? 

“Forget about all of it, just for a moment,” Padmé continues. “If you knew tonight was the last time you’d ever see him. That tomorrow his life is going to be placed in the hands of someone else, and he might go the rest of it without knowing he was cared for. Would you be able to let him go?”

Anakin looks back at the green block in his hands. Lets himself feel the tug in his heart. “No.”

And he has his answer.