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Chapter Text

Master Mace Windu was escorting Senator Amidala to a meeting with the Jedi Council when it happened. As they passed the Halls of Healing, Mace felt a spike of pain emanating from an injured Padawan within. He grimaced internally and reinforced his shields. Many of the Padawans and younger Knights who sustained injuries had trouble shielding their pain and distress from others nearby. It could make being near the Halls of Healing…difficult. The Temple’s younglings had to be kept away from the main wing of the Halls these days. Yet another consequence of the war.

Beside him, Senator Amidala’s presence in the Force flared with confusion and fear. Mace glanced sharply at her. “Are you alright, Senator?”

Senator Amidala straightened, though her features looked suddenly white. “I’m fine, Master Windu, thank you.”

Beyond his shields, Mace sensed another uptick in pain reverberating in the Force around them. The Senator gasped quietly, her eyes scrunching shut. “I – I apologize, Master Windu,” she said. “I think I may need to sit down.”

Mace stared at her, confused by the picture that he was seeing. Senator Amidala was reacting to the pain in the Halls of Healing as an unshielded youngling might. She was reacting as though… as though she were Force-sensitive.

“Of course, Senator,” Mace said. “There is an antechamber nearby where you can rest, if you need it. This way.”

Mace watched the Senator closely as they walked. What he was perceiving made no logical sense, and yet, if he was right, Senator Amidala would recover as soon as they moved far enough away from the Halls of Healing.

Sure enough, two corridors later, the Senator relaxed and her color returned. “I think I’m quite alright now, thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s no problem, Senator,” Mace said calmly, though inwardly he was perplexed. He would have to bring this strange development to the Council.

They reached the audience chamber where the present members of the Council and four more members of the Senate were already waiting. Senators Amidala and Organa had arranged this meeting to discuss the future of the clones and what rights they might be granted under Republic law after the war ended. It was a matter of great importance, so Mace set the new problem of Senator Amidala’s Force-sensitivity aside, and focused on the matter at hand.

*

Once the meeting concluded, Mace made his move. He gestured to the other Councilors to wait, prompting questioning looks from most of them, and then went to stop Amidala before she left.

“Senator,” he said quietly. “Could I ask you to wait here in the outer chambers for a few minutes? There is something I must discuss privately with my fellow members of the Council, but then I believe we will need to talk to you.”

Senator Amidala regarded him for a moment. “Of course, Master Windu. I hope the matter is not too urgent.”

“That remains to be seen,” Mace said. Senator Amidala sat down to wait, and Mace returned to the inner chamber.

Saesee Tiin tilted his head at Mace. “What is this about?” he asked.

“Something perplexing,” Mace answered.

Yoda tapped his stick on the floor. “Explain, you will,” he said.

Mace took a breath. “I believe Senator Amidala has developed Force-sensitivity.”

The room was silent for a moment. “How could that be possible?” Kit Fisto asked.

“I don’t know,” answered Mace. “But when we passed the Halls of Healing on our way to the meeting, it was unmistakable. Senator Amidala was reacting to the pain of the injured people within the Halls.”

The five present Council members looked at each other. “Right, were you, to keep her here,” Yoda said. “Investigate, we must.”

Plo Koon nodded. “I will retrieve the Senator,” he said, and walked out. When he returned with Senator Amidala a moment later, the remaining Masters reached out in the Force, trying to find what Mace had sensed.

“Masters Jedi,” Amidala said, “may I ask what this is about?”

“Just a moment, Senator,” Mace said.

Yoda hummed, and closed his eyes. Mace felt it as he reached out and prodded Senator Amidala’s Force-presence. Senator Amidala twitched, and the Force flared brightly. If Senator Amidala were not such a well-trained politician, Mace suspected that she would have jumped. In any case, there was no mistaking that her presence was now that of a gifted Force-sensitive.

“I don’t believe it,” said Saesee Tiin. “You were right, Mace.”

“Right about what?” Senator Amidala asked, showing for the first time her mild discomfiture. “Masters Jedi, what is going on?”

“Nothing bad, I assure you,” said Kit Fisto. “Merely confusing.”

“What is confusing?” Senator Amidala asked.

Mace exchanged a glance with Yoda. There was no easy way to say it. “Senator, it appears that you are Force-sensitive.”

The Senator’s political mask dropped. “What?” she gasped. In the Force, it was obvious that her shock was genuine.

“Earlier, when you felt sick, we were passing the Halls of Healing, where there are several injured Jedi recuperating. You were reacting to their pain as a Force-sensitive might. You recovered as soon as we were out of range of the Halls. That’s when I knew.” Mace explained.

“But that makes no sense,” Amidala said. “I was tested as a child, just like everyone on Naboo. How could I possibly be Force-sensitive now?”

“We don’t know,” said Kit. “I do not recall a case like this at any point in the Order’s past.”

“Seen this, I have not either,” Yoda said. “With your permission, Senator, tests, we would run.”

Senator Amidala considered them all for a moment. “I would like to know what is going on as much as any of you,” she said. “You have my permission.”

*

Kit, as one of the more soothing presences on the Council, escorted the Senator to the youngling wing of the Halls of Healing. There, a healer would re-take her midichlorian count and run other tests in an attempt to understand what was happening. Kit would also make sure to shield Amidala to prevent a repeat of her earlier illness.

Mace watched them go, his thoughts awhirl. Force-sensitivity didn’t develop spontaneously. Was it possible that they had simply missed Padmé Amidala’s ability all these years? It was implausible, but less so than the idea that she had miraculously developed Force-sensitivity as a fully grown adult.

Plo stood next to Mace. “Obi-Wan and Anakin are due to return to Coruscant this afternoon,” he said mildly.

Kenobi and Skywalker. Mace sighed inwardly. Out of all the Jedi in the Order, those were the two that Amidala was closest to. “I’ll comm Obi-Wan and warn him of the Senator’s presence,” Mace said.

*

Onboard the Resolute, Obi-Wan Kenobi furrowed his brow as Mace closed the call with him.

“Everything alright, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, walking up behind him.

“I think so,” Obi-Wan answered. “Mace just called to let me know that Senator Amidala is at the Temple right now, though he refused to give me details.”

Anakin furrowed his brow. “She had a meeting there earlier,” he said, “though she was supposed to be back at the Senate building by now.”

Obi-Wan refrained from questioning how, exactly, his former apprentice was so familiar with the Senator’s schedule.

“She’s in the Halls of Healing for some reason,” Obi-Wan said.

“What?” asked Anakin, alarmed.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Mace assured me she was not injured or ill,” he said.

Anakin relaxed. “Oh,” he said. “Then I wonder why she’s there.”

“I imagine we’ll find out very soon,” Obi-Wan said, turning to gaze out the Resolute’s viewport, where the planet of Coruscant loomed in its bustling glory.

*

As soon as Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka had arrived at the Temple, Ahsoka had rushed off to a study group. As a Padawan, she still had an unfortunate amount of coursework to complete. She had an exam in astronavigation coming up and she’d hardly had any time to prepare for it while they were on mission.

“Tell the Senator I say hello!” Ahsoka called over her shoulder as she darted away.

Obi-Wan and Anakin both smiled fondly after her. “Will do, Snips!” Anakin called after her.

Minutes later, when the two Jedi arrived in a waiting room in the Halls of Healing, they found several members of the Council there. They exchanged a confused glance.

“Masters,” Anakin said in greeting.

“Skywalker, Kenobi,” Mace said with a nod.

Obi-Wan looked at his fellow Councilors quizzically. “What is going on?”

Mace looked at Plo. Neither of them seemed quite sure what to say.

Kit cut in. “I think we’re about to find out,” he said, just as the doors slid open and Healer Vokara Che walked out.

“Master Che,” Obi-Wan greeted with a nod.

“Obi-Wan, it’s good to see you when you are not injured and refusing to rest,” Vokara said. “You too, Skywalker.”

Anakin chuckled. “Good to see you too, Master Che.”

Vokara looked at Mace. “You were right,” she said. “Padmé Amidala is displaying clear signs of Force-sensitivity.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide, and Anakin reacted similarly next to him.

Vokara continued. “I took the liberty of pulling the results of her childhood midichlorian test. Her original count was a little over three thousand – not Force-blind, but certainly not Force-sensitive. When I tested a full blood panel today, however, her count was around seven thousand.”

Anakin’s mouth opened and closed. “What – how is that possible?”

The Councilors looked to Master Che, waiting to see if she had an answer.

“Well,” Master Che said, “if I had to guess, I would say that the sudden jump in her midichlorian count is due to her pregnancy.”

Through his own surprise, Obi-Wan felt Anakin’s mind go blank with shock.

“That information is protected by Healer-patient privilege, but given the unusual circumstances, Senator Amidala gave me permission to share it. Though I do expect you all to keep quiet about it unless I tell you otherwise.”

Mace’s brow furrowed. “Her…pregnancy? How could that affect her Force-sensitivity?”

“It has been long known that there is an exchange in cells and genetic material between a mother and an unborn child,” Vokara said. “A child’s genetic material can be found in the mother’s bloodstream years after she gives birth. A case like this has not been recorded before, to my knowledge, but I think that Amidala’s child is the source of the midichlorians in her blood.”

“If that’s true,” Kit said, “then how is it that this phenomenon has never been noticed before?”

Vokara took a breath. “I believe that it may be a common phenomenon,” she said. “But it might typically go unnoticed because the uptick in a mother’s midichlorian count would usually be much smaller, almost negligible. I think that the child Senator Amidala is carrying may be one of the strongest Force-sensitives our Order has ever seen.”

Almost everyone’s gaze shifted as one to look at Anakin Skywalker, the most powerful member of the Order to date.

If there had been any doubt in Obi-Wan’s mind about the identity of the father of Padmé’s child, it was obliterated. He rather thought that some others in the room might share his suspicions, but he didn’t think any of them would be sure.

After all, it was entirely possible, even common, for a Force-sensitive child to be conceived without either parent having a particularly high sensitivity.

In this case, however, Obi-Wan was quite sure that that was not  what had happened.

Force, Anakin was going to be a father.

“In the meantime,” Vokara continued, “I would like to have the Senator come in for regular check-ups here at the Temple.”

“Is there a particular reason why?” Plo asked.

Vokara nodded. “She’s only a few weeks along. This is just speculation, of course, but I think that it’s entirely possible that her newfound sensitivity will continue to increase during her pregnancy. Though, of course, this is provided she keeps the child. I don’t know what she’s planning yet.”

Plo hummed in consideration. “If her Force-sensitivity continues to increase, she may need some basic training. She cannot be a Jedi, but she can and should be taught to meditate and shield herself.”

“I agree,” said Kit.

Mace looked at Vokara. “Do you think her Force-sensitivity will remain after she gives birth?”

“To be honest, Master Windu, I have no clue,” Vokara said. “It’s possible. It’s also possible that her Force-sensitivity will return to its original level, or that it will decrease to a point somewhat higher than her original level but not significantly so. There’s just not enough data for me to make a good prediction.

“I intend to contact the mothers of known Force-sensitive children who themselves had childhood midichlorian tests. If I can get data from them, I may be able to see if any of them had a permanent increase in their midi-counts after giving birth.”

“Do that,” Mace said. “What did you tell the Senator?”

“Everything I just told you,” Vokara answered. “She wasn’t aware of her pregnancy before now. I wanted to give her some space to process it.”

Yoda, who had been listening quietly with a contemplative look on his face, tapped his gimer stick. “See the Senator, I would,” he said.

“Of course, Master Yoda,” Vokara said. “Come with me.”

Vokara led Yoda into the other room, and the waiting Masters shared looks with each other, and dispersed.

Obi-Wan placed a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Come, Anakin,” he said quietly. “Let’s go to our quarters. You can see her soon.”

Anakin turned, his face smoothed over to hide his feelings. Through their bond, however, Obi-Wan could tell that he was still consumed with shock.

He sighed internally. This conversation was not going to be fun.

*

Padmé was getting ready to leave, having just finished a comm call with her head of security. Captain Typho had not been pleased with the deviation in her schedule, especially as she had given him no good reason for it. Though as it turned out, the change was entirely necessary. Padmé was pregnant. She couldn’t yet wrap her mind around the idea.

“Senator Amidala,” Yoda greeted as he entered the room.

“Master Yoda,” Padmé returned. “Is everything alright?”

“Hm,” Master Yoda said, his wise old eyes peering up at her.  “Your light, I feel,” he said. “Your child’s light.”

Padmé instinctively rested a hand over her navel.

“The ways of the Force, mysterious, they are,” Yoda continued. “Dark times, these are. Welcome always, is more light.”

“…Thank you,” Padmé said, though in truth she was unsure of what the old master was trying to tell her.

“Hm,” Master Yoda nodded. “Spoke to you, Master Che did?”

Padmé nodded. “Yes. She said that she would like to handle my prenatal care here at the Temple.”

Yoda tapped his stick on the floor. “Meditate, do you?” he asked.

Slightly thrown by the apparent change in topic, Padmé nodded again. “It was part of my training as Queen,” she explained.

“Balance, meditation brings,” Yoda said. He pointed his gimer stick at her chest. “Quiet, inside. Peace. Learn more, will you?”

Padmé was lost. “I’m sorry?”

The old master’s eyes seemed to twinkle. “Force-sensitive, now, are you. A Jedi, you are not. But to center your power, learn more, you may. Will you?”

Padmé blinked, mildly shocked. “I would be honored, Master Yoda.”

Yoda dipped his head, his expression satisfied. “See you soon, I will,” he said, and turned and left.

Padmé looked after him, not entirely sure what had just happened.

*

Anakin and Obi-Wan entered their shared quarters in silence. Finally, Obi-Wan sighed loudly, and decided to get it over with. “You know, there are ways to prevent these kinds of happy accidents,” he said bluntly.

Anakin jumped as though he had been poked with an electroblade and turned bright red. “Master!” he said in embarrassment. Then, the implication of Obi-Wan’s words struck him. “Wait, you know?”

“Of course I knew, Anakin,” Obi-Wan snapped, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not an idiot, and you are not as subtle as you think you are.”

“Oh,” said Anakin. “But we – we did use… protection, you know – we were specifically trying to avoid this kind of situation in the middle of a war.”

“Oh, really,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin sighed. “Obi-Wan, give us some credit. I have no idea how this could have happened.”

“And yet it has happened,” Obi-Wan pointed out. He suddenly felt very tired. “What are you going to do?”

Anakin looked torn. “I don’t know,” he said. “I have to talk to Padmé. I can’t leave her to raise our child without me, but I also can’t just leave the Order and abandon the war effort and Ahsoka. And Padmé has her duties too. There are people depending on both of us.”

Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment. “Do you think Padmé will want to keep the child?” he asked.

“She’s always wanted children,” Anakin said. “We’ve talked about it before. I do too. But the timing is so bad. I don’t know what we’ll do.”

They sat in silence.

“Thank you,” Anakin said.

“For what?” asked Obi-Wan.

“For not telling the Council,” Anakin said. “For keeping quiet all this time.”

Obi-Wan sighed, and looked Anakin straight in the eye. “It made you happy,” he said quietly. “It made you both happy. I had no desire to take that away from you.”

Anakin smiled and shook his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan said. “Having plausible deniability didn’t hurt.”

Anakin hesitated for a moment. “Well, since it’s all coming out anyway, I might as well tell you that Padmé and I are married.”

Obi-Wan choked. “Married?”  he said. “When in the hells did you manage that?”

Anakin looked a bit sheepish. “About two years ago?”

“Force, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head. “Do you have any more surprises to shock me with, or is that all for today?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s it,” said Anakin.

“As long as you’re sure,” Obi-Wan said wryly.

Anakin’s wrist comm beeped, and with a last smile at his old master, Anakin answered it.

“Anakin?” came Padmé’s voice.

 “Padmé,” Anakin said, his voice full of relief. “How are you doing?”

There was a pause. “I’m…alright,”  Padmé said. “But I need to see you. I’m headed back to the 500 Republica. Can you meet me there?”

“Of course, angel,” Anakin said. “I’ll see you soon.”

Anakin ended the call and stood up. “I’m going to tell her that you know,” he told Obi-Wan. “She’s going to want to see you. I’d tell you to just come along now, but…”

“The two of you need to talk,” Obi-Wan finished. “I understand.”

“Thanks, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said. “I’ll see you later.”

With that, Anakin strode out the door. Obi-Wan stared after him. He tried to imagine a small version of Anakin-and-Padmé running about. Correction – a small version of Anakin-and-Padmé running about with a strength in the Force to match Anakin’s. This child would be a force of nature.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan rose and went to make himself some tea.

Chapter Text

Anakin arrived at Padmé’s apartment at the 500 Republica shortly after she did. She opened the door, and as soon as he stepped inside, they embraced tightly.

Padmé drew back. “Ani…” She paused as she got a look at his face. “You already know,” she said.

“I was there when Vokara Che told the Council,” Anakin said apologetically.

“I would have preferred to tell you myself,” Padmé said. “I can hardly believe it.”

She put a palm to her abdomen, and Anakin laid his hand on top of hers. He could feel the baby, glowing bright inside Padmé like a newborn star. Over that was a gentle radiance that Anakin recognized as Padmé herself. Her Force-signature had not changed, it had simply grown more intense. Her presence surrounded their child as a nebula might cradle a young star.

Anakin’s cheeks felt wet, and he realized that tears had welled up in his eyes without his notice.

“Ani?” Padmé asked, sounding confused. Her hand reached up to brush a thumb delicately under his eye.

Anakin smiled. “You’re so beautiful. Both of you.”

“Both of us?” Padmé said.

Anakin expanded his Force presence, letting himself move beyond the confines of his skin. It was something he rarely did, as he could easily overwhelm those around him. But here, now, in this moment, it felt right.

Anakin pressed his forehead to Padmé’s, twining himself with her light in the Force. She gasped as his power swept through her, shining and burning like a sun had compacted itself into her apartment.

It didn’t hurt. It felt like Padmé imagined lightning might feel, sparking through her veins, but there was no pain.

Interwoven with Padmé, Anakin brushed against the light of the star that was growing within her. The light flared in answer, a fledgling awareness reaching out in response.

“Oh,” Padmé said, and now there were tears in her eyes.

They stood together, breathing, as the intensity of the moment faded. Anakin retreated mostly back into his own skin, but the bond he had forged between himself, Padmé, and their child remained.

“I wasn’t planning to do that,” Anakin said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Padmé said immediately. She wrapped her arms around Anakin’s waist, tucking her face into his neck. She felt the tension drain out of him as he hugged her in return, breathing into her hair.

“What are we going to do, Ani?” Padmé murmured.

Through their bond, Anakin felt her uncertainty warring with joy. She wanted the baby. She didn’t know how they were going to do this, and neither did he, but he knew in that moment that they both wanted this child.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Anakin said quietly. “This is a happy moment. This is the happiest day of my life.” He projected his sincerity into her mind, ensuring that she knew he meant every word.

Padmé breathed, soaking in the feel of her husband’s arms around her and his presence in her mind; and between them, the shining light of the child whose existence she had just learned of and yet already loved.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay.”

*

In his quarters, Obi-Wan blinked, and instinctively shielded his end of the bond he shared with Anakin. A moment later, a supernova blazed into life on the far end of the bond. If Obi-Wan hadn’t shielded it, he was quite certain the entire Temple would be feeling it. As it was, containing the sheer power Anakin was radiating was a bit like trying to block out a sun with a shadow puppet.

Whatever Anakin was doing with Padmé right now, it was the exact opposite of subtle. Anakin was always incredibly bright in the Force; but he had learned years ago how to coil himself within his own skin so that he did not blind those around him. Obi-Wan had no idea what led him to break with that habit now.

Anakin’s end of the bond pulsed once more, and went quiet. With an effort of will, Obi-Wan relaxed his shields. Reaching out, he explored the pair-bond, gently. He frowned.

Something had shifted. What had Anakin done?

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, focusing more intently on the change in the bond. It hadn’t been weakened at all; the change was rather like… it was rather like the change that had occurred when Anakin had initiated his training bond with Ahsoka. Obi-Wan had felt echoes of her through the pair-bond, just as Ahsoka had felt echoes of him.

It wasn’t unusual for partnered Jedi to bond with each other’s Padawans, but by the time Obi-Wan and Ahsoka had gotten around to deciding to form their own bond, it was already half in place, courtesy of Anakin.

Obi-Wan had never known of another Jedi who could forge Force-bonds between others without the willing intent of those involved.

And apparently, Anakin was doing it again. The shift in their pair-bond was due to the addition of a new presence: Padmé.

Obi-Wan sighed. Padmé had been knowingly Force-sensitive for less than a day, and Anakin had already gone ahead and created a Force-bond with her.

Obi-Wan nudged the pair-bond, aiming a quiet reprimand filled with heavy sarcasm at Anakin.

Really, Anakin?  he thought.

There was a moment of startlement on the other end of the bond, and then a sense of apology reached Obi-Wan. Though, it was followed a second later with a flood of joy-did you feel that-exhilaration-exultation, so Obi-Wan took the apology with a grain of salt.

Obi-Wan sent a pulse down the bond of exasperation-and-curiosity.

In return, he received a touch of later and promise.

Obi-Wan was definitely going to hold Anakin to that promise of an explanation.

Distracted, he almost didn’t notice that his comm had started beeping. Clearing his throat, he answered it. “Yes?”

“Master Obi-Wan?”

It was Ahsoka.

“Is everything alright, Ahsoka?”

Over the comms, Ahsoka hesitated. “I felt…something, with Anakin,” she said. “It was…bright. You felt it too, right?”

“I did,” Obi-Wan answered. He might have been able to successfully shield Anakin’s minor cosmic event from most in the Temple, but Ahsoka was embedded right in the middle of his and Anakin’s pair-bond. It was no wonder that she had felt it.

“You don’t need to worry about it,” Obi-Wan assured Ahsoka. “Everything is quite alright. Focus on your studies, young one.”

Ahsoka paused again before answering. “If you say so, Master,” she said. “I’ll see you both later?”

“I expect so,” Obi-Wan answered.

“Alright,” Ahsoka said, sounding contemplative.

“Studies,” Obi-Wan reminded her.

“I’m going!” Ahsoka said, and ended the call.

Obi-Wan sat back in his seat and sighed. He needed to meditate. At the least, he needed to sort through the aftereffects of the altered pair-bond.

He hoped Anakin had a good reason for his actions, especially since he was going to have to explain himself to Ahsoka as well now.

*

Anakin and Padmé sat together on the couch in the living room, facing out toward the balcony. The sun was getting low in the sky, but it was not yet near set, and its light bathed the cityscape in a pleasant glow.

They were curled together, with Padmé’s legs over Anakin’s lap, with his right arm around her back to support her; and his left hand – his flesh hand – over hers on her lower abdomen.

“This is going to change everything,” Padmé sighed. “I doubt the Queen will allow me to continue to serve in the Senate once this gets out, and if it comes out that you’re the father…”

“I would be expelled from the Order,” Anakin finished grimly. He sighed. “I think half the Council already suspects,” he said. “Given how powerful our child already is…”

“I honestly can’t believe it,” Padmé murmured. “He’s barely more than a few cells, at this point.”

Anakin snorted. “He?”

Padmé looked at him and smiled. “He’s a boy. Mother’s intuition.”

“Well, she is already much more than just a few cells,” Anakin retorted. “You felt it.”

“She?” Padmé asked.

Anakin grinned at her. “Jedi intuition,” he said.

Padmé leaned back into him, so Anakin couldn’t see her face anymore, but he could still feel her smile against his skin. “We’ll have to think of a name,” she said.

“Oh, wait,” Anakin said. “I have to tell you. Obi-Wan already knows.”

“You told him?” Padmé asked in surprise. “I thought you didn’t want to tell him about us.”

Anakin flushed a bit sheepishly. “He already knew.”

“Hm,” Padmé hummed. “Honestly, that isn’t very surprising,” she said. “I never thought you could be very good at keeping secrets from him.”

Anakin huffed. “He doesn’t know everything about me,” he said. “that’s what I have you for.”

“Obi-Wan knows parts of you that I’ve never seen,” Padmé said calmly.

Anakin opened his mouth to protest, and Padmé laid a finger over his lips. “It’s not a problem, Ani,” she said. “I’ve known for years that Obi-Wan is just as important to you as I am, if in a different way. You’re like two halves of a whole. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a part of our family too. So is Ahsoka, for that matter.”

Anakin was quiet for a moment, then shook his head ruefully. “How did I get so lucky as to end up married to you?” he asked, and kissed her hair. “You’re right, as always.”

“I know,” Padmé said, content. “So when are we having Obi-Wan over for dinner?”

Anakin laughed. “I told him you would want to see him,” he said. “Tonight will probably work. Besides,” Anakin winced, “he wants to have words with me about earlier.”

Padmé’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

Anakin touched their bond, and Padmé felt it thrum in her mind. The sensation was so foreign, and yet it felt so natural. Anakin guided her, showing her where the threads of his bond with her intersected with his bonds with Obi-Wan and Ahsoka.

“He felt it when we bonded earlier,” Anakin said. “Ahsoka probably did too, now that I think about it. Obi-Wan was a bit put out with me for doing it without any warning like that.”

“I see,” Padmé said. Now that Anakin had shown her where to look, she thought she could detect a faint echo in the bond that didn’t feel like Anakin or their child. She couldn’t really discern any more than that, though.

“Does that mean all four – all five of us are bonded now?” Padmé asked.

“Not…exactly,” Anakin said. “I’m just not very good at keeping my bonds with different people separate.”

Padmé had never really understood much about what the Force was like and what Anakin could do with it. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like it was going to get much easier to understand even now that she had her own Force abilities.

Well, sort of her own. Her child’s, at least.

“There was something I wanted to mention to you too,” Padmé said. “At the Temple, I think that Master Yoda offered me training? He said something about meditating, and balance. I wasn’t really sure what he was getting at.”

“Master Yoda is difficult sometimes,” Anakin said. “But Master Koon suggested something like that to the Council. A bit of training, so that you can at least shield yourself, so you don’t feel the backlash of others’ emotions and pain like you did earlier.”

Padmé thought that over for a moment in silence. “I didn’t realize it could be like that,” she said. “The Force. I’m not sure what I thought it might be like, but it was…”

“Loud?” Anakin asked.

Padmé hesitated. “…Visceral,” she said. “Is it always like that?”

“It’s different for me,” Anakin said slowly. “When I came to the Temple, before I started my training, I already had really strong shields. I…needed them, when I was a kid. I don’t really remember a time before that.”

Padmé could read between the lines easily enough. There must have been endless anguish in the slave quarter where Anakin had grown up on Tatooine. He’d protected himself instinctively.

Anakin shifted, and Padmé recognized that he wanted to change the subject. “Hey,” he said. “What you said earlier…do you really think the Queen would make you step down as Senator if she found out you were pregnant?”

Padmé sighed. It wasn’t something she really wanted to think about. She had devoted her life to her political career. “Probably,” she said.

“But why?” Anakin said. “Because no one knows you’re married?”

Padmé shook her head. “No, nothing like that. On Naboo, new parents usually don’t work,” she explained. “They’re supported by the community for the first few years of child-raising. Children are the future. Focusing on raising them is important.” Padmé hesitated for a moment, and then added, “plus, as a Senator, I’m…not always safe. Discharging me from duty would be considered a kindness, so that I don’t have to worry about risking my safety and potentially leaving my child without a parent.”

Anakin furrowed his brow. “But if that’s what you wanted, couldn’t you just choose to stop being a Senator yourself, instead of being forced to?”

“No,” Padmé said. “I mean, yes, I could quit, if I wanted, but it’s considered taboo to abandon one’s duties. Since it would be assumed that I would stay on out of a sense of duty even if I wanted to quit, the only solution that ensures that I am not acting solely out of obligation is to have me step down.”

Anakin had a frown on his face. “That’s a mess,” he said.

Padmé shrugged. “It’s the way it is,” she said. “Once our child is older, I’d be able to return to politics, but… who knows what could change in that time?”

Anakin looked down at their joined hands, resting peacefully over Padmé’s navel. “It’s hard to imagine,” he said.

“I know,” said Padmé. “We can keep it secret for a while – there are ways to disguise my figure with clothes once I start to show. And Sabé can act as my double when necessary. But it will all come out eventually.”

“Everything’s going to change,” said Anakin.

“Yes,” Padmé said. Her husband’s face remained contemplative. She stood up, prompting Anakin to look at her in surprise. She kissed him on the cheek.

“Comm Obi-Wan,” Padmé instructed. “I’ll find Threepio and figure out dinner.”

Anakin smiled faintly. “I’ll come help in a bit,” he said.

Padmé smiled back, and walked off.

Anakin took a breath, then activated his comm and called Obi-Wan.

*

Dinner was something of an awkward affair.

Anakin and Padmé had been hiding their relationship for so long that they didn’t really know how to behave in front of someone who knew what they were to each other; and Obi-Wan didn’t seem to know where to look whenever the married couple expressed the slightest affection for each other in a smile or touch.

The food was good, though, and Anakin was happy to be in a room with two of the people he loved most dearly in the universe, with no secrets between them.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “Ahsoka will be expecting us both back at the Temple later this evening,” he told Anakin. “She’s going to want to know what you were doing earlier.”

Anakin sighed. “I thought she might have felt that,” he said.

Obi-Wan gave his former apprentice a slightly incredulous look. “Anakin, if I hadn’t shielded you, all of Coruscant would have felt it,” he said.

“What?” said Padmé.

“And while I know what you were doing,” Obi-Wan continued, “I don’t understand why. Forging a Force-bond with Padmé is hardly going help with keeping the baby’s parentage secret.”

Anakin blinked. “Uh…”

“You promised me an explanation,” Obi-Wan reminded him.

Anakin sighed. “It wasn’t really intentional,” he said. “I just… I felt the baby, and it just felt natural. I didn’t plan to do it.”

“You felt the baby?” Obi-Wan asked, brow furrowed. He reached into the bond, probing. Padmé’s presence was more distinct, now that they were in the same room.

Padmé’s Force-presence was steady and gentle, tempered with the fearless determination that had defined much of her political career. She was like a banked fire or a thorned flower; unassuming at first sight, but full of resilience and hidden strength.

She was closely twined with Anakin’s overwhelming suns-and-deep-infinite-space presence, so much so that it was hard to discern anything else. But Obi-Wan knew Anakin better than anyone, had grown accustomed to his blinding strength over the years; and so he was able to detect the last new presence in their bond.

There was a light, wrapped within Anakin’s Force-presence and woven so deeply with Padmé’s that it was hardly recognizable as separate from her. The light was small, but bright like a star. As he touched it, gently, it flared in response, acknowledging his presence and reaching out in return.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. “Anakin,” he began, “am I to understand that you forged a Force-bond with your unborn child?”

“Yes,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan leaned back in his chair. He felt like he should have something to say regarding the questionable wisdom of Anakin’s actions, but found he was just stunned instead. “I didn’t know that was possible,” he said.

Anakin shrugged. “I didn’t either,” he said. “But it felt right.”

“Can we back up for a second, please?” Padmé asked. “Obi-Wan, what did you mean when you said that all of Coruscant would have felt us earlier?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Your…husband can be very loud in the Force,” he said, tripping slightly over the word ‘husband’. “Your bonding earlier was rather impossible to miss.”

Anakin looked slightly abashed. “Thank you for shielding us, master,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” said Obi-Wan. He looked between the two of them. “You’re definitely keeping the baby, aren’t you,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

Anakin and Padmé shared a glance, then looked back at Obi-Wan. “We are,” Padmé said. “We know it will be difficult, but it’s what we’re going to do.”

Obi-Wan took a breath, and nodded. If the decision was made, it was made. “The Council is going to figure out that you are the father eventually, Anakin,” he said. “You can’t keep it a secret forever.”

“No,” Anakin said, “and I don’t want to.” His words were firm, but Obi-Wan could sense how torn Anakin felt. Judging by the concerned look that Padmé aimed her husband’s way, she could feel it too.

Anakin looked at the questioning in the eyes of his former master and his wife, and continued. “I don’t want to leave the Order, especially not before Ahsoka is knighted,” he said, “but you’re right. The Council is going to figure it out eventually, and I would rather that they hear it from me.”

Padmé reached over and squeezed Anakin’s hand in support, drawing a small smile from him.

Obi-Wan assessed his former student, and nodded once. “I think that is a wise decision, Anakin.”

Anakin’s gratitude for Obi-Wan’s approval was obvious. “Thank you, Master,” he said. “But I’m not going to tell them yet. Ahsoka and I are to leave for our next mission in three days. I’d rather wait until at least after that.”

“Understood,” Obi-Wan said. “Though you should warn Ahsoka before you tell the Council. She deserves to know that she may shortly be without a Master.”

Pained, Anakin closed his eyes. “Of course I’ll tell her,” he said. He opened his eyes. “Obi-Wan, I have to ask – ”

Obi-Wan already knew the question Anakin intended to ask. “Of course I’ll take her as my Padawan,” he said quietly. “It would be a joy and an honor to see her the rest of the way to her knighthood, building upon the strong foundation of her Master.” Obi-Wan bowed his head, showing his respect for Anakin’s work as Ahsoka’s teacher.

A hint of surprise and a great deal of warmth flowed down the pair-bond from Anakin, and he bowed his head in return.

The two Jedi shared a smile, bittersweet though it was.

Padmé watched them both with a fond gaze, then spoke. “I’ll be keeping my pregnancy a secret for as long as possible,” she informed Obi-Wan. “I need to stay in the Senate as long as I can while the war continues.”

Obi-Wan looked at her. “Would you have to leave if your pregnancy was known?” he asked, confused.

Anakin sighed, sensing another attempt at explaining Naboo’s complicated social protocol coming.

*

It was just after sunset when Obi-Wan and Anakin had left Padmé’s apartment.

Anakin hadn’t wanted to leave, but Padmé had insisted. “You need to speak with Ahsoka,” she said. “And besides,” she reached clumsily for their bond, “we’ll be with you the whole time you’re gone.” She aimed as much love and affection as she could muster at Anakin, and felt the baby glow with it.

Obi-Wan watched their interaction with a raised eyebrow, and a certain measure of fascination.

Incredibly, Padmé could actually feel it as her husband relaxed, soothed by her. Even more incredible was the all-encompassing sensation of love that he sent in return. When it wasn’t making her terribly sick, Padmé found she rather liked being able to access the Force.

As Anakin and Obi-Wan’s speeder departed, Padmé found that she could still feel Anakin, nestled protectively around her and the baby. It was as though a thread tied her to Anakin, and though she could feel it stretch with distance, it did not break.

Padmé rested her hand on her abdomen once again. It was a habit she would have to be careful to avoid in public, but one she already found profoundly soothing. The baby shone with contentment underneath her touch.

With a smile, Padmé sat at her desk and set to work organizing her documents for her meetings the next day.

Chapter Text

When Obi-Wan and Anakin entered their quarters at the Temple, they were greeted by Ahsoka, standing in the middle of the room with her arms crossed and lekku twitching.

“What is going on?” she asked.

“Hello to you too, Snips,” Anakin said. “How did the studying go?”

“Well,” Ahsoka answered. “I am going to pass tomorrow with flying colors, thank you for asking. Now what is going on?”

Obi-Wan snorted. “She’s definitely your Padawan,” he said.

Ahsoka smiled sweetly. “I learned from the best, Grandmaster,” she said, and Anakin stifled his own snort. “But seriously. Something was up with the Senator earlier, and then Master Anakin nearly blinded me, and now I could swear our Force-bond is different somehow. Will one of you please explain?”

Anakin winced at the reminder of earlier. “Sorry about that, Ahsoka,” he apologized. “I didn’t realize how it would affect you.”

“Apology accepted,” Ahsoka said. “But what were you doing?”

Ahsoka watched as her master and grandmaster exchanged a loaded glance. Whatever was up, they were clearly reluctant to tell her.

“I think we should all sit down,” Obi-Wan said, in what Ahsoka recognized as his ‘Negotiator’ voice.

Suddenly, Ahsoka was sure that something was very wrong. She looked at Anakin. “Master?” she questioned, and found her voice was smaller than she meant it to be.

Anakin sent Obi-Wan a slightly reproving glance, and then sat down. He sent a wave of reassurance down his bond with Ahsoka. “No one is hurt or ill, Ahsoka,” he said. “There’s just something I need to tell you.”

Ahsoka sat down as well, followed by Obi-Wan. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Then tell me.”

Anakin closed his eyes, and decided to get it over with bluntly. “Padmé is pregnant,” he said. “The child is also mine.”

Ahsoka’s mind froze for a second, and she knew Anakin could feel her shock through the bond. The idea of Anakin and Padmé together wasn’t really a surprise, true, but the idea that it had gotten that far was.

“Is that why she was with the Healers today?” Ahsoka forced out after a moment, keeping her voice even.

Anakin nodded. “Yes.”

“So the Council knows,” she said.

“They know that Padmé is pregnant,” Anakin said. “They don’t yet know that I’m the father, though I do intend to tell them.”

Ahsoka hesitated, meeting Anakin’s eyes and seeing the pain she felt reflected there. “They’ll make you leave the Order,” she said, voice cracking.

Anakin grimaced. “I’m sorry, little one,” he said.

Obi-Wan put a hand on her shoulder. “If you are willing,” he said softly, “I would be honored to continue your training.”

Ahsoka shook her head. “I’m sorry, I need a moment,” she said. She could feel several different emotions swelling up inside her – anger, and hurt, directed at Anakin for making choices that would lead him to abandon her before she was even knighted; irrational irritation with Master Obi-Wan, for offering himself as her new Master so quickly; frustration with the Code and the Order itself for unfairly taking her Master from her.

Anakin must have caught a hint of the direction her thoughts were taking, because he shook his head. “I knew the Code when I broke it,” he said. “I may think the Code is wrong, but breaking it was still my choice.”

Ahsoka clenched her fists, and her voice rose. “Then why did you – ” she cut herself off.

“I can’t give you a good answer for that, Ahsoka,” Anakin said. “Only that I love Padmé, just as I love you. You’ll always be family to me.”

Ahsoka shook, and felt tears burning in her eyes. She blinked rapidly, forcing them down. She could feel the pain and regret that Anakin was feeling, leaking through their bond even though he was trying to shield her from it. She wanted to go curl up on his lap like a youngling, to comfort and be comforted both.

“I love you too, Master,” she whispered.

Anakin’s presence in the Force, brighter and warmer than any other, wrapped around Ahsoka. The feeling brought her immediate comfort. Obi-Wan added his presence; grounding and solid, affectionate despite himself. With her Master and Grandmaster by her side, Ahsoka took several deep breaths, and released her anger and hurt into the Force. Through the bond, she could feel both Anakin’s and Obi-Wan’s pride in her.

“You’re going to make an amazing Jedi, Snips,” Anakin said.

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan agreed.

“I’ve had a good teacher,” Ahsoka said.

Anakin smiled at her, and she saw relief in his eyes.

Then Ahsoka thought back over the last several minutes, and realized that not all of her questions had been answered. “What did you do to our bond?” she asked, frowning.

Obi-Wan sighed and put a hand over his eyes. Ahsoka looked at him in curiosity.

“Oh,” Anakin said. “I bonded with Padmé.”

Ahsoka tilted her head. “You can do that with someone who’s not Force-sensitive?” she asked, confused.

Obi-Wan dropped his hand. “No,” he said, “but the Senator is now Force-sensitive, so that wasn’t a problem.”

Ahsoka’s lekku twitched. “What?!” she yelped. “What do you mean she’s now Force-sensitive?”

“That’s why she was in the Halls of Healing earlier,” Obi-Wan explained. “The Council noticed her sudden Force-sensitivity and wanted answers. The Healers discovered the pregnancy while she was there.”

“She didn’t even know until today,” Anakin added.

“But – how?” Ahsoka asked.

“Anakin, apparently,” Obi-Wan said, sounding utterly confounded and exasperated with his lot in life.

Ahsoka turned on Anakin. “You can make people Force-sensitive?”  she asked, because she knew her Master was impossibly strong in the Force, but something like this sounded like a youngling’s tale.

“Not me, exactly,” Anakin said. “Our child.”

Ahsoka blinked. “What?”

“The child appears to be sharing his or her Force-sensitivity with Padmé somehow,” Obi-Wan said. “Master Che is looking into it.”

“So baby Skywalker…” Ahsoka trailed off.

“Already takes after Anakin very strongly,” Obi-Wan finished. “And hasn’t even existed for more than a few weeks.”

Ahsoka shook her head. “Just when I think life can’t get any crazier, Skyguy…”

Anakin snorted. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that life can always get crazier, Snips,” he said.

“Around you, anyway,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “My  life was much less out of control before you showed up.”

Anakin shrugged, unrepentant. “Gotta keep things interesting,” he said.

“I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad,” Ahsoka said.

Anakin’s smile was brilliant. “Me neither,” he said. “When we have time, we’ll visit Padmé and you can meet the baby.”

Something was strange about that sentence. “You mean… after the baby is born? Like a year from now?”

“No,” Anakin said. “Before we leave for the Randon system. Obi-Wan already met her today.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Her?”

Anakin shrugged. “I think it’ll be a girl,” he said. “Padmé thinks it’ll be a boy.”

“I’m lost,” Ahsoka said.

Obi-Wan shook his head at his grinning former Padawan. “When Anakin says I ‘met’ the baby, he means I touched the baby’s Force-presence. That’s all.”

“It was more than that,” Anakin said. “The baby knew you were there. She’ll know you, now. I want her to know Ahsoka too.”

Obi-Wan started to respond, but then remembered the way the baby had reached out to him in the Force, utterly trusting and gentle. Aware, in a way that should have been frightening for one so young. “I suppose you might be right,” he said.

Ahsoka looked between them. “I definitely need to meet baby Skywalker now,” she said.

*

When Anakin slept, he dreamed of fire.

He burned. Even as he screamed, he was struck by how familiar the sensation was.

I’ve been here before, he thought, utterly certain.

Darkness encroached on his vision, and to escape the agony, he let it consume him.

*

Padmé woke in the desert.

She could see nothing in the distance but endless sand. Above, an infinity of stars shone in the clear sky.

She turned, and stopped short when she saw the woman standing behind her. They had only met once, but Padmé would never forget her eyes.

“Am I dreaming?” Padmé asked.

Shmi laughed. “Yes,” she said. “And no.”

“I don’t understand,” Padmé said.

Shmi smiled, and her eyes were as endless and old as space itself. “You will.”

“You…” Padmé hesitated.

“Died?” Shmi asked, her smile turning a little sad. “Yes, I did. But death is not an end. Ar-Amu called me home.”

Padmé didn’t know what to think. Something inside her insisted that this was real, even though it seemed impossible.

“Why are you speaking to me?” Padmé asked. “Anakin misses you.”

“I know he does,” Shmi said. “But he walks a different path now. He has for a long time. I told him once that my future was here, in the desert. I told him to go, and never look back.” Shmi sighed, her eyes lifting to the sky. The wind traced over her, lifting her hair off her neck. “My Anakin. He never quite understood.”

Shmi’s gaze returned to Padmé, and she stepped forward to place a hand on Padmé’s cheek. “Your path is mine, as Ar-Amu wills,” she said.

Padmé stared, unsure. “My path?”

Shmi lifted her other hand to Padmé’s navel. “Ar-Amu’s blessing,” she murmured. “It is a heavy burden to bear.”

Padmé placed her hand over Shmi’s on her stomach. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“You will,” Shmi repeated, with an odd little smile.

In the distance, Padmé saw a cloud of dust appear on the horizon. “There’s a storm coming,” she said.

“Yes,” said Shmi. “It will be upon us soon.”

“What do we do?” Padmé asked, glancing around. She saw nowhere they could take shelter; nowhere to hide.

“It is not a question of what we will do,” Shmi said. “But of what you will do.”

Padmé blinked. “What I  will do?” She eyed the dust cloud. It was growing closer and larger every second. Soon it would block out the starlit sky.

Shmi grasped her hands. “You must trust yourself,” she said, her infinite dark-sky eyes growing intense.

“Trust yourself, above all else. The Jedi do not know everything. Ar-Amu will show the way.”

Padmé furrowed her brow, and raised her voice to be heard over the growing winds. “Ar-Amu? Is that the Force?”

Shmi shrugged. “Ar-Amu, the Force – they have always been the same. But they have forgotten that. They have forgotten what it means.”

“What does it mean?” Padmé asked.

The dust cloud roared. The sky was dim and out of reach.

Shmi smiled as though she were sharing a secret. “Mother,” she answered, and the sand overtook them both.

*

Anakin woke, breathing hard, his nerves echoing with agony. His dreams had been strange, muddled and unclear. He remembered fire and darkness, and the Father’s shining blue eyes boring into him.

It wasn’t the first time he’d dreamed of Mortis, but the last few times had been a good deal less painful.

There was a knock on his door. “Anakin?” Obi-Wan called. There was a pulse of concern aimed down their pair-bond.

Anakin closed his eyes in resignation, and went to open the door. “I’m sorry, master,” he said. “Did you get any bleed-over?”

“Nothing clear,” Obi-Wan said. “Are you alright?”

Anakin grimaced. The bright sparks of pain that had accompanied his waking had begun to fade, at least. “I will be,” he answered.

“Masters?” Ahsoka’s door opened, and she wandered out of her room sleepily. “Is everything okay? Something woke me up.”

Anakin really hoped that Ahsoka hadn’t caught anything of what he’d been dreaming. “Sorry about that, Snips,” he said. “Did you see anything?”

Ahsoka blinked in confusion. “No?”

Anakin relaxed fractionally. “Good,” he said.

Just then, Anakin’s comm went off. It was an odd time to receive a call, so he went back into his room to check it, with Obi-Wan and Ahsoka following him.

Anakin picked up his comm and paused, struck with a sudden worry. “It’s Padmé,” he said, and answered the call.

“Ani?”  Padmé asked.

“I’m here, angel,” Anakin answered. “Did I wake you too? I’m sorry.”

“Wake me?”  Padmé sounded confused. “No, I… I had a dream,”  she said.

“A dream?” Anakin questioned, feeling a sense of foreboding. “About what?”

Anakin pictured Padmé dreaming about the things that haunted his nights – death, fire, and darkness. It was the last thing he wanted for her.

“I…”  she seemed strangely hesitant. It was odd in the face of her usual self-assurance. “Ani, I saw your mother.”

Anakin blinked in shock and confusion. “What?” he asked, echoed by Obi-Wan and Ahsoka.

“Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are here,” Anakin said, answering the question he knew his wife would ask before she formed the words.

“You saw Anakin’s mother?” Obi-Wan asked, stroking his beard. “It could have just been an ordinary dream.”

“No,”  Padmé said, and her voice had not a trace of doubt. “It was Shmi. It was so real. It was…”

Anakin touched his bond with her, sending as much reassurance as he could. He really wasn’t sure what to think, but he had an idea what to do next. “Should I come to the apartment?” he asked.

“Please,”  Padmé said.

“I’ll be on my way,” Anakin said.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Obi-Wan asked.

“If he’s coming, you’re not leaving me out,” Ahsoka said.

Anakin raised an eyebrow at his Padawan. “You have a test tomorrow,” he reminded her.

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. “It’ll be fine.”

“Padmé?” Anakin checked.

“I don’t mind,”  Padmé said.

Anakin sighed. “Then we’ll see you soon.”

*

At the apartment, Padmé sensed Anakin and opened the door before any of them had the chance to buzz in. Her curly hair was down, and she wore a robe over her nightgown. She embraced Anakin, and he held her tightly for moment, temporarily forgetting the presence of Obi-Wan and Ahsoka.

When they let each other go, Padmé smiled wanly at Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, and invited them inside.

As the door closed, Padmé gave Ahsoka a hug as well. “It’s good to see you, Ahsoka,” Padmé said.

“You as well, Senator,” Ahsoka said.

“Just Padmé, right now,” Padmé corrected.

Padmé led them all into the living room to sit down.

Anakin sat next to Padmé, keeping hold of her hand. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “Angel,” he said softly. “What happened?”

Padmé took a breath. “I don’t know,” she replied, equally soft. “I don’t know how to describe it. It was a dream, but it felt so real. And I remember it perfectly now. I don’t usually remember dreams so clearly.”

“You said you saw my mother,” Anakin said.

Padmé nodded. “We were in the desert, like on Tatooine,” she explained. “It was night. She told me a few different things, but honestly, I didn’t understand any of it. She kept saying the word Ar-Amu.”

Anakin’s eyes went wide. His shock was clear in the Force to all three of them.

“Master?” Ahsoka asked.

“Ani, what is it?” Padmé asked.

Anakin stood, scrubbing his hands through his hair as he shook his head. “I haven’t heard anyone say that in a long time.”

He looked at Padmé, a long, considering look. “I think maybe you actually did speak to my mother,” he said. “Or her spirit, at least.”

Obi-Wan stared at Anakin. “Anakin, how could that be possible?” he asked. “Once someone passes into the Force, they’re… gone. There’s no record of something like this.”

“The Jedi don’t know everything,” Anakin said.

“She said that too,” Padmé said.

They all looked at her. “What?” asked Obi-Wan.

“Shmi. She said that the Jedi don’t know everything, and that I had to trust myself.” Padmé explained.

Padmé hesitated. “Anakin, what is Ar-Amu?”

Anakin’s eyes were strangely guarded. “My mother didn’t tell you?”

“I thought maybe Ar-Amu was just a word for the Force, from the way she was talking about it,” Padmé said. “Then she told me that it meant ‘mother’.”

Anakin paced for a moment while Padmé, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka watched him, confused. This clearly meant something important to Anakin, though none of them understood what.

Abruptly, Anakin stopped. “Wait here,” he said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

They stared after him.

“What?” Ahsoka said.

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly. “I don’t know,” he said. He looked at Padmé, brushing against her presence in the Force. “I think there may be something extraordinary happening,” he said quietly, though he didn’t elaborate.

Obi-Wan remembered how on Mortis, he had spoken with a spirit that looked like Master Qui-Gon. After, he had dismissed it as an illusion, but now he wondered.

And he wondered, more, what all of this could mean. The Jedi don’t know everything, Anakin had said, and apparently Shmi had too. He couldn’t help but think of the times he had been convinced that Anakin was a sign from the Force itself. Maybe the Jedi hadn’t been listening well enough to the message Anakin carried.

It was an idea the Council would not like.

Anakin returned from the kitchen, carrying a tray with four steaming cups on it. The scent that wafted through the room was familiar. It was a tea that Anakin had made sometimes during his apprenticeship. Obi-Wan hadn’t had any since the war started.

Both Ahsoka and Padmé seemed to recognize the tea too as Anakin handed them each a cup, ignoring the puzzled looks they were all giving him.

Anakin raised the cup to his lips, indicating for them all to do the same. Still confused, they did so, and they all drank.

The tea was nutty and spicy, warm and comforting to the senses.

Padmé lowered her cup after taking a long sip. “Anakin, what is this about?”

Anakin took a deep breath, looking around at them all. “This is tzai,” he said, his voice loaded with meaning. “It’s…” Anakin sighed. “It’s important. It’s something we only share with family.”

Obi-Wan blinked at his cup. The random – and rare – instances of Anakin sharing this tea with him suddenly took on a new and loaded meaning.

The first time Obi-Wan had tasted this tea had been nearly two years into Anakin’s apprenticeship. He’d been assigned a solo mission – which Anakin had protested strenuously. Obi-Wan hadn’t been that happy about going on a mission both without his Padawan and without back-up, but the Council’s decision had been final.

When Obi-Wan returned to the Temple three weeks later, tired and bruised and overwhelmingly glad that Anakin had remained safe at home, he’d trudged to his and Anakin’s quarters after giving his report to the Council, ready to fall straight into bed. Instead, he’d been greeted with Anakin’s presence in their kitchen, along with two steaming hot mugs of a spicy-smelling tea.

Now, looking back, Obi-Wan began to understand the significance of that moment, and of the quiet time they’d spent drinking that tea together.

Obi-Wan looked at his now-grown apprentice. “You never said,” he murmured.

Anakin shrugged. “It’s a secret. All the important things are for us.”

“Us?” Padmé asked quietly.

“The children of Ar-Amu,” Anakin answered, equally quiet. “The slaves of Tatooine.”

Anakin looked down at the cup in his hands. “If I’m going to tell you our secrets, we’ll do it over tzai,” he said firmly. “That’s the way it’s done.”

Padmé reached over and laid her hand on Anakin’s. He gave her a small smile, shifting the cup he held to one hand so he could interlace their fingers.

Ahsoka had been listening quietly, sipping her tea. She’d had this tea once before. Anakin had handed her a cup one night without any explanation. It had been on one of their rare returns to the Temple, about six months after she had become his Padawan.

“So Ar-Amu is a goddess?” Ahsoka asked.

Anakin nodded. “Ar-Amu is the Great Mother. She is the desert; the all, the everything.”

Anakin paused, and in his silence, Obi-Wan sensed that there was some sort of deep conflict going on in Anakin’s mind.

But Anakin pushed it down and moved forward.

“My mother…” Anakin trailed off.

Padmé squeezed his hand.

“When I was young, my mother told me a story,” Anakin began. “She told me that Ar-Amu had come to her in dreams, called her out into the desert. She said that Ar-Amu had blessed her with me – that I had no father, but two mothers.”

“The prophecy,” Obi-Wan whispered, remembering Qui-Gon Jinn's conviction.

Anakin glanced at him, but continued without acknowledging what Obi-Wan had said. “I stopped believing her so much, when I was older,” he said. “I thought it was her way of protecting me from reality.”

Anakin shook his head. “I don’t know what I think now.” He looked at Padmé. “And now you’re pregnant, and my mother shows up in your dreams to tell you of Ar-Amu.”

“She used that phrase,” Padmé said. “Ar-Amu’s blessing. She said that Ar-Amu’s blessing was a heavy burden to bear.”

Padmé looked at her stomach. “And then a sandstorm came for us, and she told me that Ar-Amu and the Force were the same. The dream ended when the sand reached us.”

A thought struck Padmé, and she turned her gaze toward Anakin. “So your mother said that you were conceived without…” Padmé trailed off.

Anakin nodded. 

“That might actually explain something,” Padmé said thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how the birth control failed,” Padmé said. “We were so careful. It shouldn’t have been physically possible for me to get pregnant right now. But maybe…” Padmé hesitated, realizing how strange it sounded. But then, all of this was strange beyond words. “Maybe it didn’t matter what we did,” Padmé said. “Maybe we couldn’t have prevented this.”

Obi-Wan stroked his beard. “You’re suggesting that the Force played a part in this,” he said. “That your child’s existence was the will of the Force itself.”

Ahsoka shrugged. “Given everything we’ve seen, it’s not the craziest idea,” she said. “It might even make a strange kind of sense.”

“It’s a lot to think about, certainly,” Obi-Wan agreed.

Anakin had been drinking faster than the rest of them. He drained what remained of his tzai, and set the cup down, remembering something.

“Ahsoka, remember how I wanted you to meet the baby?” Anakin asked.

“Yes?” Ahsoka said.

Anakin reached out in the Force, touching Ahsoka’s presence gently. Ahsoka followed his lead, reaching out herself.

Anakin guided Ahsoka to Padmé’s nebula-presence and to the tiny star forming within her.

Small though it was, that little star was blindingly bright. Ahsoka’s awareness brushed gently along that tiny, glowing presence. As she did, its light flared even brighter for a moment, seemingly waking from a restful peace.

Ahsoka’s breath caught, and a smile appeared on her face. “Hi, little Sky-baby,” she said.

Anakin chuckled. “Sky-baby?”

“Skyguy, Sky-baby,” Ahsoka said. “It makes sense,” she justified, and then yawned.

Anakin immediately yawned too, then sent Ahsoka a playfully chiding look for making him yawn.

“I think we should return to the Temple to sleep,” Obi-Wan said, eyeing the younger members of his lineage.

“Don’t even,” Padmé said. “There’s been too much back and forth tonight. You and Ahsoka can stay here and return to the Temple in the morning.”

The look on Padmé’s face communicated quite clearly that she would not take no for an answer. There would be no polite rejection of her hospitality.

Obi-Wan acquiesced. “If you insist, Padmé,” he said.

Padmé smiled. “I do insist.” She stood. “Let me show you to the guest rooms,” she said. “Then maybe we can all finally get some sleep.”

Chapter Text

Anakin woke in contentment. His wife was in his arms, and he could sense his Padawan and his Master in the next rooms over, safe and nearby. He hated being separated from any of them. Unfortunately, he rarely got to have them all together.

Stretching, Anakin leaned up on one elbow to gaze at Padmé’s sleeping face. Carefully, he brushed one errant curl away from her eyes.

After all these years, he’d never quite kicked the habit of waking with the first light. He didn’t mind, though. Some days, the quiet times before anyone else woke were his favorite moments.

He considered Padmé’s features – the brush of her eyelashes, the freckle on her left cheek, the shape of her mouth. He remembered his first thoughts on seeing her; how he’d wondered if she was an angel. It had made sense. To his eyes, she’d seemed to shine. It was as though her very presence had been a promise, though he wasn’t sure of what. There were some things that had been easier for Anakin to perceive as a child.

It was a strange thing to think. His power was greater now. He had toppled towering buildings with nothing more than his will. That was something he couldn’t have done as a child. But still, it seemed there was something he had lost.

When he was young, he’d had an intuitive understanding of many things. That understanding was what had allowed him to fly so well at such a young age. He’d known the winds and the sands and the sky without having to learn them. He’d also had a sense of people that he had since lost.

As a child, he had always known who could be trusted and who could not. Sometimes, he could see a person’s future shrouded around their shoulders. He could see the potential of death or freedom or suffering as easily as he could see faces.

These days, he couldn’t seem to remember the last time he had perceived the world in such a way.

The conversation of the night before had brought back many memories, some which warmed Anakin, and some which shamed him. There were things he had forgotten, because he couldn’t bear to remember them.

Keekta-du, he thought unwillingly, and sighed, feeling guilt deep in the pit of his stomach. I have abandoned my people.

There were many reasons he didn’t often think back on his childhood.

The last time any of this had come so close to the surface had been the Zygerria mission. But with that, at least, he’d had an enemy to focus on. This was different.

The rain will come, and the desert will be restored, he remembered his mother whispering to him in the night, laying a kiss on his hair.

It was the story he’d known his whole life. The Great Mother’s promise to her children. One day, the Masters would be cast down, and the slaves would be freed. The rain would fall, and the desert would bloom with life once more.

And more, Anakin had known that it was his destiny to make it true. At least, his mother had believed it, and he had too. He had been chosen, marked for it from birth – and before, according to his mother. It was in his name. Anakin, the One Who Brings the Rain; and Skywalker, for Ekkreth, the Sky Walker, the Slave Who Makes Free.

That was the future that Anakin had known for himself as a child – to one day win his own freedom, and then to overthrow the Hutts and win freedom for his people.

But that was not what had happened. The Jedi had found him, and they seemed to think he was chosen too; though they feared him for it rather than loved him for it.

Is this what you wanted for me, Ama?  he thought, shifting his gaze from Padmé’s face to the ceiling. Should I have stayed with you?

Maybe you’d be alive if I had.

But then, she hadn’t wanted him to stay. She hadn’t expected him to stay. She hadn’t even been surprised that the Jedi were going to take him away. Looking back, thinking about the things she’d told him and the way she had acted in the months leading up to his freedom, it almost seemed that she had known he would be leaving.

Anakin squeezed his eyes shut as undefinable emotions tore at his chest.

Next to him, the Force flared, and Padmé shifted, inhaling deeply.

“Ani?” she murmured, reaching out to link his hand with hers. “Is everything alright?”

The turmoil in Anakin’s chest calmed some at her touch. “It is now,” he replied, lifting their hands so he could press a kiss to her fingers.

Padmé smiled fondly at him. “Good,” she said. “I think you worried the baby.”

Anakin jerked in surprise, immediately reaching down his own bond to the child. Sure enough, he found a trace of confusion in the baby’s Force-presence, as though the child had sensed something discomfiting that they hadn’t understood.

“I’m sorry, little one,” Anakin whispered, leaning over to press another kiss to Padmé’s abdomen, making her giggle. He sent a pulse of reassurance down the bond, and felt the child settle into something closer to sleepy contentment.

Padmé pulled him up and kissed him properly.

“Good morning,” she said as they pulled apart, smiling.

“Good morning,” Anakin echoed.

From elsewhere in the apartment, Anakin felt the quiet hum of waking minds. “I think our guests are awake,” he said, stroking a thumb over Padmé’s cheek.

Padmé tilted her head into his hand. “Time to get up, then, I suppose,” she said. She poked him in the side, prompting him to move off her so she could stand up.

With a sigh, Anakin did so, curling lazily into the still-warm sheets as Padmé stood. She snorted as she went to her closet. “I know you’ve been awake for ages already,” she said, looking back at him. “You always are. How am I up before you?”

Anakin sat up. “Maybe I just like to enjoy the mornings,” he said.

Padmé rolled her eyes, flicking a hand at him as she turned back to her clothes, missing Anakin’s muffled noise of surprise. “Get dressed,” she said. “I think we have time for a quick breakfast before the three of you have to be back at the Temple. Doesn’t Ahsoka have an exam today?”

Padmé glanced over her shoulder. “Anakin?”

Anakin was staring at her, his tunics flung haphazardly over his head and shoulders where he sat on the bed.

Confused, Padmé stared back at him.

Anakin pulled his undershirt off his head and chuckled a little incredulously. “You might need that training a little sooner than we thought,” he said.

Padmé blinked, looking between him and the dresser where Anakin’s clothes had previously lain folded. “You mean I…”

Anakin nodded. “Yep.”

They stared at each other a moment longer.

Padmé looked down at her hands, examining them. “That’s surprising,” she said.

Anakin stood and made his way over to her to hold her hands in his own. “At least it wasn’t completely unexpected,” he said.

Padmé smiled wryly, imagining if this had started happening with no warning whatsoever. “True,” she said, and kissed Anakin’s cheek, then lightly pushed him back. “Get dressed.”

“As my lady wishes,” Anakin said with a wink.

Padmé shook her head, hiding another smile as she returned her attention to her closet.

*

“Senator Burtoni’s bill will be voted on next month,” Bail Organa said, pacing the office in which he was meeting with Senators Padmé Amidala, Tendau Bendon, and Riyo Chuchi. “I got word this morning that Senator Orn Free Taa has thrown his support to her.”

Padmé’s back straightened in surprise. “What? I thought that would be politically untenable for him. Doesn’t his alliance with Cham Syndulla rest on a promise to reduce the numbers of clone troopers on Ryloth?”

“The key words are ‘on Ryloth’,” Bail said with a grimace. “He can support the production of more clone troopers so long as they are posted anywhere but Ryloth.”

“And with him will go a good half of the Senators from the Gaulus Sector,” Riyo said, a frown on her face. “That is bad news indeed.”

Tendau shook his head. “We don’t need to fund the production of another two million clones,” he griped. “We need that funding for relief efforts on war-torn worlds. The more money we pour into the war, the longer it will last.”

“I agree, Tendau,” Padmé said. “Those funds would be much better used for relief and rebuilding.”

She considered for a moment. “What if we put another bill up to vote at the same time?” she asked. “One targeting the same funds as Senator Burtoni’s bill, but aimed towards providing relief. If we can redirect those funds for aid on worlds like Ryloth, we might be able to sway votes from Senator Free Taa and those like him.”

“If we do that, it’s possible that neither bill will pass,” Bail said. “We’d be using up political capital to effectively accomplish nothing.”

“In this case, nothing might be the better option,” Padmé said.

“I agree with Padmé,” Riyo said. “If we can at least stall the passing of the clone production bill, that would be a success. If we manage to pass a relief bill that could do some real good, even better.”

Bail sighed. “I don’t disagree,” he said. “But that’s not how our actions will be seen.”

Tendau made a chuffling sound, laughing in the way of Ithorians. “All of us have been accused of being traitors on multiple occasions for opposing military action and greater orders of clones,” he said. “At least this way we can point to a motivation that is not ‘unpatriotic’.”

That earned a half-smile from Bail. “I have some media contacts that might be able to help us spread that narrative,” he mused. “If it’s spun the right way, we might just be able to garner enough support to actually pass a relief bill. But if we get painted as though we are simply trying to prevent any real action from being taken, we’ll have less influence to prevent the next bad bill.”

Bail looked at Padmé. “It’s a risk.”

“It always seems to be,” Padmé replied. She looked around. “Are we in agreement?”

The other three senators nodded.

“Alright. I’ll draft the bill today and send it to you all tonight. If we submit it to emergency committee within the next couple days, we should be able to vote on it in the same session as Senator Burtoni’s bill.”

“I’ll bring Mon Mothma and some others in on this, and I’ll speak to my contacts in the media,” Bail said.

“Senator Chuchi and I can start feeling out the senators currently supporting Burtoni,” Tendau said. “I can think of a few that would be tempted at the idea of relief funds dedicated to their homeworlds.”

Riyo nodded in agreement.

With that, the senators said their goodbyes and separated to do their work.

Padmé sighed. Before she got started in earnest, she had a message to send to the Jedi Temple. As Anakin had said, it seemed she would need some training sooner rather than later.

*

With the completion of her astronavigation exam, Ahsoka was done with the required coursework for junior Padawans, and would be graduating to be a senior Padawan.

There would still be more coursework to complete as a senior Padawan, of course, but she would have a great deal more freedom to choose the subjects she wanted to learn more about. Classes required for junior Padawans were simply the basic subjects that all Jedi should have a working knowledge of.

Normally, the senior courses would be chosen by Padawan and Master together based on interest and aptitude. Ahsoka wondered whether she and Anakin would do so before he left the Order.

She sighed. At least he would see her become a senior Padawan under his tutelage.

Ahsoka and Anakin would have two more days at the Temple before leaving for their next mission, to rest and celebrate Ahsoka’s advancement. There was precious little time for such things during the war.

Obi-Wan, however, would be leaving tomorrow – ostensibly to handle diplomatic negotiations on Bothawui between the Bothans and their neighbors, the Dresselians. Dressel had not joined either the Republic or the CIS, and given its nearness to Kamino and lack of advanced weaponry to defend itself, there was some concern that it could be used as a staging ground for another attack on Kamino. With the Senate making noises about clone production gearing up again, Kamino was a very high-value Separatist target.

Obi-Wan would be trying to convince the Dresselians to join the Republic – or at least, to allow the Bothans to station scouts in their system.

Ahsoka privately thought that he was going for a different reason. Obi-Wan was the most in-demand negotiator that Jedi had. The talks between the Bothans and the Dresselians were a bit low-stakes for him. It was an important matter, but it wasn’t an emergency.

Given the fact that the Bothans had one of the most extensive spy networks in the galaxy, Ahsoka suspected that Obi-Wan was going to personally collect sensitive intelligence. Though of course, she wouldn’t ask, and if she did, she doubted anyone would confirm it.

Ahsoka and Anakin would have their extra day, and then they would leave for the Randon system. The Randon system stood at the intersection of several key hyperspace lanes near heavily contested worlds like Umbara and Onderon. Separatist forces were moving uncomfortably close to the area, and if they got control of those hyperspace lanes, it would be a disaster for many Republic-aligned planets like Kashyyyk and Toydaria in the Mid Rim Terriotories.

Like her Master, Ahsoka preferred open battle to the subterfuge of diplomacy, so she was glad to have a different mission than her Grandmaster in this case, though she was disappointed that he would be leaving so soon.

After completing the astronavigation exam, Ahsoka and three other Padawans had gone together to the Room of a Thousand Fountains while they awaited their results. They sat now in a small grassy area just off the path, circled by trees.

[I hate doing hyperspace calculations manually,] Anaanardrr said mournfully. She was a wookiee with pale brown fur, and stood a good head and shoulders taller than her fellow Padawans. She typically went by the nickname Nana, as her true name was very difficult for other species to properly pronounce. [I’m so glad it’s over.]

Agel, a reddish-pink Mon Calamari with a perfectionist disposition, sighed. “If I could do it again, I would,” he said. “I didn’t anticipate those star cluster questions.”

[It’s not like any of this is going to matter to me,] Nana said. [I’m training as a Healer.]

“Well, you never know,” Ahsoka said, looking up at the high glassy ceiling. “But at least you won’t have to do it again.”

Lyan, a human girl with light brown skin and cropped black hair hummed. “Unless we failed,” she pointed out. “Then we’d get time off for meditation and then have to do the tests all over again.”

[Don’t even suggest that,] Nana said.

“I’m sure we all did fine,” Ahsoka said. “We all studied hard.”

“Easy for you to say,” Agel said. “You know this stuff better than any of us.”

Ahsoka shrugged. It was true that she wasn’t particularly concerned about the results of this exam. She had always been fairly good with mathematics and physics, and Master Anakin had ensured that she was very well-versed in everything to do with ships and spaceflight.

“And you surpassed us all with your report on political history between planets in the Inner Rim,” she replied.

“We can all be good at different things,” Lyan said. She stood and stretched, then leapt up lightly to land on a tree branch. She settled there, looking down at her fellow Padawans. “Like I, for one, am good at patience.”

Agel snorted. “You? Patient?”

Lyan smiled. “I can feel you and Nana worrying about our results from here,” she said. “But me? I’m perfectly calm. We’ll find out when we find out.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that the next time I watch you scarf down a jogan fruit in ten seconds flat,” Agel said, prompting the others to laugh.

They lounged around in the gardens a while longer, until all of their wrist comms simultaneously beeped.

“We’ve been summoned,” Lyan said, hopping to the ground.

[Good luck, friends,] Nana said, sincerely.

“See you guys soon,” Ahsoka said.

*

There was a quiet knock at the door to Padmé’s office, and then the door slid smoothly open. Engrossed in her work, Padmé did not notice.

“Senator Amidala?”

Padmé started, looking up. “Chancellor!”

She shut off the datapad she was working on and stood to greet Chancellor Palpatine. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Chancellor Palpatine chuckled. “The lateness of the hour,” he said. “I was just leaving, and I saw that the lights in your office were still on.”

Padmé glanced at her chrono, blinking in surprise when she saw that it was well past midnight. She’d sent drafts for the relief bill to Bail and Tendau earlier, and was working to incorporate their language changes and new intel. They were trying to focus fund allocations to the in-need systems whose senators supported Senator Burtoni’s bill.

It left a bad taste in Padmé’s mouth to prioritize something other than the needs of the people, but it was necessary to push the bill through at all. That was how politics often went, unfortunately.

“I didn’t realize how late it had gotten,” Padmé said to the Chancellor.

“You know I have always admired your work ethic, my dear,” Chancellor Palpatine said. “But sometimes I worry that you neglect your own health in the process.”

Padmé’s smile was slightly strained. She appreciated that the Chancellor meant well, but she really didn’t need him to fuss.

“I manage, really,” she said, then blinked, clenching her jaw. Maybe she had stood too quickly, because she suddenly felt intensely nauseous.

The Chancellor watched her with slight concern creasing his brow. “I’m sure,” he said.

Then, to Padmé’s relief, he chose to shift the topic, perhaps sensing that she did not want to talk about it. Mostly, she wanted to focus on calming her stomach. It would be embarrassing if she vomited immediately following an assertion of her own health.

“I hear that you’ll be presenting a new bill when the Senate next convenes,” he said.

Padmé nodded. “To allocate funds to relief efforts on planets suffering the after-effects of battles,” she said. “I was just looking over the damage reports from Altyr V. Nearly their entire population has been displaced following the Separatist occupation.”

Palpatine shook his head. “It’s truly terrible,” he said somberly. “This war drags on much too long.”

“It does,” Padmé agreed, quiet. She still felt nauseous, and it was only years of training as Queen that kept it from showing on her face.

“There are those that think a show a military strength could bring an end to it sooner,” Palpatine said neutrally.

“Will you be supporting Senator Burtoni’s bill?” Padmé asked.

Palpatine hummed, noncommittal. “As Chancellor, I must maintain a certain level of neutrality,” he said.

It was something Padmé had heard many times before. “I know,” she said. “But do you agree with her?”

“It’s a complicated issue,” Palpatine said, a hint of weariness in his voice. “I think that without decisive action, this war could drag on for many more years. And that, I would not stand for.”

“I understand,” Padmé said. “But with respect, I don’t believe sending yet more soldiers to battle will do anything but encourage the conflict. The path to peace is diplomacy.”

Palpatine considered her seriously. “And yet, every attempt at diplomacy so far has failed.”

Padmé sighed, remembering with regret her dear friend, Mina Bonteri. “That does not mean we should give up,” she said.

“I would never expect you to,” Palpatine said. “I know you better than that.”

Padmé gave him a small smile.

He smiled back, and then nodded respectfully. “I should leave you to your work,” he said. “I hope that you get some sleep at some point.”

Padmé chuckled as she saw him out. “I’m sure I will,” she said.

Once the Chancellor was gone and the door was shut, Padmé’s composure dropped. She walked swiftly to the fresher, where she was rather violently sick.

She felt a little better after, and shut her eyes where she sat on the floor. Maybe she did need to look after her health a little better, now that she was pregnant, she thought. Her body might not be willing to take the abuse she sometimes heaped upon it anymore.

*

“Congratulations, Ahsoka,” Master Plo said. She could hear pride in his voice, even though his mask rendered his face unreadable.

Anakin and Obi-Wan both stood next to him, smiling.

“When you return from the Randon system, you’ll take your first solo mission as a senior Padawan,” Obi-Wan said. “The Council has assigned you to lead a group of younglings on their Gathering.”

Ahsoka smiled. It wasn’t exactly a high-stakes first mission, but it was a good one. “I will be honored to do so, Masters,” she said, bowing respectfully.

“Excellent,” Obi-Wan said as she rose. “Now, I imagine you have a celebration to get to?”

Both Anakin and Plo Koon chuckled.

“Obi-Wan’s right,” Anakin said. “We all remember our Padawan days.”

Ahsoka shook her head. “It can wait until tomorrow,” she said. “Today I’d rather celebrate with you.”

“Are you sure, Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Of course,” she said. “I was thinking we could have dinner together. Maybe at Dex’s?”

She looked at the three masters hopefully.

“I’m game,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan stroked his beard. “It has been a while since we’ve been to see Dex,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“I would be glad to join you also,” Plo Koon said.

“Perfect,” Ahsoka said, satisfied.

Anakin slung an arm around her shoulders. “It’s so sweet that you want to spend time with your old masters instead of your friends,” he cooed teasingly.

Ahsoka ducked out from under his arm, and teased back. “Well, Barriss won’t be back until tomorrow anyway.”

Obi-Wan and Plo chuckled. Ahsoka looked around at three of the four adults she was closest to in her life, and was glad. She knew that things would be changing soon, but this moment would be one she could remember fondly.