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When Padmé wakes, Anakin is already gone.
(Gone from their bed, gone from their home, gone somewhere she knows not.)
She would rather linger, but the one time her husband sets a good example, she will not be shown up.
She stretches, looking out the window to the early morning skyline. She feels the weight of hours already lost; she cannot delay any longer.
The senate’s first daily proceedings are dull; Padmé cannot bother to pay close attention. Her concerns are with refining the budget in the afternoon and presenting with the committee before close of business.
“– additional funds to Kamino facilities have been approved, effective immediately.”
She snaps awake. What in the name of the gods is Palpatine doing, throwing credits around, the day the budget was due? The war already consumes too many of their resources.
She looks around to see if any of her fellows noticed the addition to the morning report. She catches Silya’s eye, clearly spoiling for a fight. Padmé shakes her head, discouraging her.
No, not today, not now.
The Chancellor wanted to hide this. He would be present if he wanted to make a show of it. They will satisfy his false security that they did not notice.
Viceroy Findos continues to drone.
In the security of Mon Mothma’s office, Silya explodes.
“You know he put this order forward to divert our aide bills! He has enough credits to put troops on every damn planet in the galaxy, he doesn’t need more!”
Mon looks down, gathering herself, and then into the eyes of each of those around her. Her voice is firm.
“We must consider the possibility someone has betrayed us.”
It silences all other thoughts.
Bail speaks slowly, absorbing Mon’s declaration, “Are we sure? We haven’t made it much of a secret that we want to shift from military measures to ones of humanitarian interest.”
He looks pointedly at Silya.
Mon remains steadfast, “We finally have assurances from contacts within the Separatists they are willing to compromise, and Palpatine wants to increase troops? The timing is suspicious.”
Mon continues, “I do not suspect anyone in this room, but there may be someone watching us more closely than we previously thought. Do not say anything of a sensitive nature in front of your aides.”
Padmé’s blood runs cold.
She does not see Anakin again until she retires for the evening.
“When you met with the Chancellor last night, did he say anything about more troops? I cannot believe the Jedi Council backed him in that decision. It is why he wanted to speak to a Jedi, right?”
He scoffs, “You’re kidding yourself if you think the Council has any interest in accommodating the Chancellor.”
“But he listens to you; you could stop him from this madness. You could be a go-between.”
She is almost pleading. He does not look her in the eye.
Humorlessly, “I’m trying.”
When they climb into bed, unthinkingly, naturally, she rests her hand on his side. A muscle twitches, startling her off.
It becomes habit.
----------
They sit in the dark corner of the bar, sight unseen from anyone.
They sit in silence, increasingly common. Though Obi-Wan likes banter, it would draw attention to them; an unwise tactic for this mission.
He glances at Anakin, who, to his credit, scans the crowd for their man.
Anakin takes a final swig and sets his glass down, “There he is.”
Obi-Wan turns to spot the suspect, but only sees Anakin pushing forward. Time to chase after him – Obi-Wan is at least assured that will not change.
When he catches up, the scene unfolding is not what he expects. The man dangles several feet off the ground, clawing at invisible hands. Obi-Wan whirls around, looking for the Sith, but only sees Anakin.
“Anakin, that’s enough!” he barks.
Anakin looks appropriately ashamed and distraught, but Obi-Wan’s not sure it is enough. The man drops to the floor in a heap.
“He’s all yours,” Anakin spits at the authorities, turns on his heels and vanishes into the crowd.
Obi-Wan finds him outside, leaning against a wall, gasping for air.
“I don’t – I don’t know what happened there.”
Obi-Wan is as bewildered and lost as Anakin. He tries to reason what happened, to make sense of Anakin’s dangerous methods. The thought occurs to him that the man may have reminded Anakin of someone from his childhood.
He does not know what to say without upsetting Anakin further.
He puts a hand on Anakin’s shoulder.
“Well, it’s over now. It won’t happen again.”
----------
Ahsoka sits in the cockpit of the starfighter; Anakin is under the carriage.
“What about now?” he asks.
Ahsoka tries turning it on. The engine sputters and dies.
“Nope. We’ve got to keep working.”
She hops out of the cockpit and joins him on the deck. Anakin pulls out wires with more force than necessary. She doesn’t need to ask him what’s bothering him; he supplies her with an answer.
“I wish the Chancellor had considered me for Felucia. Being away from the front this long, it makes me –”
He does not finish the thought.
Ahsoka is hurt. Though they both prefer action, some of their best time together is spent repairing and modifying ships, laughing about poor engineering, laughing at some foul joke R2’s picked up, laughing at Obi-Wan’s always-present disapproval.
And she’s sick of hearing about Chancellor Palpatine. Anakin acts like the man has precedence over the Temple in his life. He forgets Jedi political non-involvement too easily. Her run-in with Padmé two days previous included a long rant from the older woman: wishing elections for the chancellorship were sooner, wishing the man was someone else’s problem.
She looks into the mess of wires and spots the problem. The exhaust fan isn’t attached to the fuel line. No wonder the ship won’t start properly.
She reattaches them and Anakin speaks as if in a trance, “I should have caught that.”
Ahsoka bites back a retort and climbs back into the cockpit and gives the start another try.
The engine roars to life.
----------
Months – years of work finally come together.
His whole being aches for want of power, the control it will give him. No one will doubt or question him when this is through.
“I will be back by the end of the week. The senate will know what we are about then.”
He nods, and takes his leave of the Chancellor. It is time to find Kenobi and Senator Amidala, to act as if nothing is amiss.
There is nothing amiss, only their inability to see what the future is made of.
Anakin finds them, together, in conversation near the entrance for Padmé’s seat.
Of course.
They have an understanding that eludes him; a friendship that excludes him readily, dismisses him. He feels his ire rise, though they have said nothing to offend him. Nothing to his face.
Anakin imagines the conversation. They fight his every move, every advancement he has made for the GAR and for the Republic.
It is his legacy and they will counteract it, every chance they get.
Anakin approaches them, and their serious looks soften only slightly.
Obi-Wan speaks first, “Ah, Anakin. Where have you been? Speaking to Chancellor Palpatine, I suppose.”
Anakin says nothing. He knows the judicious use of the application of silence. The Chancellor impresses that virtue upon him in ways neither Obi-Wan nor Padmé have.
“Don’t be horrible, Master Kenobi. Anakin doesn’t like having to be between the Council and the Chancellor.”
His wife looks at him pointedly. His former master’s eyebrow shoots up, unconvinced.
Anakin wishes Padmé wasn’t so informal in front of Obi-Wan.
“Come on, Anakin. We don’t want to keep the Council waiting. They want to send us – and Ahsoka – out to deal with those black market types again. Highly unsavory.”
Obi-Wan’s tone is directed more at Padmé than him, as if they share a private joke.
Bitter resentment grows.
----------
The door closes behind him.
They’re through. She will stand in his way no more. He is unburdened.
He strides away, never looking back.