Work Text:
Senatorial duties keep Padmé busy late into the evening. Work comes home with her every night. It feels as though with each passing day the Republic is further from ending the war which exacts its toll on so many. But if they have no respite, neither will she.
Her office door opens and Anakin enters, holding a small carton.
“That doesn’t happen to be dinner, does it?”
“It might be. Have you eaten yet?”
“I told 3PO not to bother; I’d just make something myself once I finished working.”
“This is your lucky day then. I’ve saved you from starving to death, since you’ll never be done working.”
He smirks and she shoots him a look, but moves to clear her datapads out of the way as he cracks open their meal. She will not spill food on this address to the Senate Budgetary Committee; she’s been working on it for too long.
The “food” smells greasy and kind of horrid, but it’s what she needs right now. She supposes the late-night rituals and cravings of a junior senator will never leave her. It’s even from that place that Bail Organa’s chief of staff insists going to. What is Anakin doing over by the senate at this time of night?
They pick at the protato curls and Padmé returns her attention to the speech. She mustn’t lose her momentum just because her husband’s returned home with a (delicious) fried meal.
Anakin stares across the desk at her. It would have bothered her when she was younger, but after several years of married life, she knows it’s just Anakin. He likes to soak up things while he can.
He asks, knowing full well it’s the Budgetary Committee address, “So what are you doing, working so late?”
Without looking up, “Official senate business you’d find boring.” Then teasingly, “I could ask you the same thing: what you’re doing, getting back so late?”
He throws back, “Official Council business you’d find boring.”
She lets out a weak laugh, “You find it boring too.” He walked right into that. She doesn’t see his thin smile at the comment.
She tries returning her attention to the speech, head resting on one hand. She’s been struggling with wording all day, and it wears her down.
“I don’t suppose you saw Chancellor Palpatine. He mentioned he might be speaking to a Jedi today.” She grits her teeth, “His mishandling of some of the members of the committee has made passing the budget so difficult! I don’t understand what you see in the man.”
She speaks out of frustration and exhaustion, but the air in the room tenses uncomfortably. She looks up. Anakin no longer watches her and instead focuses intently on the wall, jaw set and face dark.
She’s tired enough to entertain following up with a biting remark about the Chancellor, but holds her tongue. She knows Anakin admires Palpatine for some strange reason, but her annoyance with the Chancellor cannot be the reason for her husband’s sober mood. He’s allowed to have his own politics, even if they’re terribly misguided.
She doesn’t have much of an appetite anymore.
Apparently, neither does he. He stands and moves to clear the remaining food.
Flatly, “I’m going to bed. Are you coming?”
“As soon as I’m finished working.”
“Suit yourself.”
The door slides shut. She is alone and she is angry.
Why does he have to be like this? She admits that his stubbornness is one of his charms, as much as one of his faults. It’s what keeps him from backing down in a fight, why he is so deeply loyal to those he cares about. She is as stubborn as he is, but is better at hiding it.
They love it in each other.
But why support Chancellor Palpatine, of all people? The man was a nuisance, really. Apparently, being married to a senator hasn’t given Anakin the insight to see that.
Padmé sees red and realizes any attempt to finish the address tonight is hopeless. It can wait until the morning. The future of the galaxy isn’t riding on it.
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The cold water she splashes in her face in the bathroom helps clear her head. No point in being angry; it’s just the Chancellor. The budget will pass, whether he likes it or not. Now all she needs is a good night of rest.
The bedroom is only illuminated by the city lights outside; still she can make out Anakin’s silhouette on the far side of the bed. He’s not moving, but she knows he’s not asleep – he’s terrible at pretending. She climbs in next to him; he continues to ignore her; tense as before.
He is such a child sometimes. Child – they are both too young for the burdens they carry.
And yet tonight there is something sinister in his mood. She barely notices, but it creeps into every fiber of his being.
Sometimes she swears she will never know every part of him; if only he would let her.
She kisses him between the shoulders, slender hands spread across his back; reconciliation. The knots within him come undone. Her husband is returned to her.
One day it won’t be enough.
He rolls over to face her; expression serious and penitent. He shifts on top of her; a comfortable and familiar weight; hands tracing her jaw, fingers tangling in her hair.
His kiss is deep and there is an ache in it that she surprises her. She is what keeps him from careening wildly into the unknown, now, more than ever. It is his nature to seek new horizons. The heavens or earth?
He is her escape, her freedom. Earth or the heavens?
She reciprocates.
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The next day will become known as a critical moment in the history of the Galactic Empire. It will not be marked as a major anniversary, but the chroniclers consider it a turning point.
Then Chancellor Palpatine puts in an order for the development of new soldiers. These soldiers are not for the increasingly unstable war fronts. No one is sure what they are for at the time.
Stormtroopers will become a mainstay of Imperial systems.
Not long after, a family is scattered to the four corners of the galaxy.