Chapter Text
The cast they put on his arm was a bright white color that clashed with his dark Jedi Robes. He hated it, hated the way his skin itched incessantly under it. Ahsoka had insisted that everyone sign it. Parading him around the Jedi Temple and making everyone scribble with black ink onto the surface.
It was a custom among the younglings, she had insisted. Growing up in the temple, as a show of support for whoever had gotten seriously injured. Anakin had gone along with it at the time, an amused smile on his face, if only just because Ahsoka’s antics were a good distraction from how useless he felt. His good arm, his only arm, stuck in a cast up to his elbow all because he had been stupid and reckless and...
Breathe Anakin
He heard his master’s voice in his head. That’s what he would say, wasn’t it? If Obi-wan were here right now. But Obi-wan wasn’t hear right now, and neither was Ahsoka, for that matter. Both of them had already been re-deployed, Master Plo Koon acting as Ahsoka’s master while Anakin recovered. Ahsoka was out there somewhere, and so was the entire 501st, risking their lives for the republic and Anakin should’ve been with them. But he couldn’t be with them, because he was stuck at the Jedi Temple...crippled.
Patience, that’s what the Jedi healer’s had said, as they wrapped Anakin’s arm.
“Your injury was quite traumatic,” she had told him, and Obi-wan, who stood behind, worried for his safety, “it will take time for the bones to mend themselves. They will mend, in time, but you must have patience.
Well, Anakin was sick and tired of being patient.
He paced, back and forth, in his small Jedi quarters. He had already sent Artoo with Ahsoka, figuring that, just because he was out of commission didn’t mean his droid ought to be. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but, looking back, Anakin regretted it. Simply put, he was lonely. He missed any sort of company he could get.
Huffing, Anakin flopped down onto his bed, dumb arm still curled in a sling at his chest.
“Dumb sling” he muttered too himself. He glanced at the clock, Padmé wouldn’t be back from the senate for another couple of hours. But it was better, Anakin figured, to be alone at her apartment than alone at the Jedi Temple. Sitting up in bed, Anakin slid his window open. He always keep the hinges well-greased, but it didn’t matter much anyway. Nobody expected a Jedi to leave through a window when that window was on the fifth floor of the Temple. Still, Anakin always did.
He took care to park his speeder in a quiet area. Jedi were free to come and go as they pleased, of course, but the hours that Anakin spent away from the temple would’ve raised suspicious if anyone had known. Climbing into the seat, he looked down at his sling and frowned. It would be relatively easy, to slip his arm out and use it to drive, but then the healing process would only take longer.
Well, he thought sarcastically, I’ve at least got one arm.
Pulling the throttle on the speeder, he listened as it sputtered to life.
“Ani?” Padmé asked, later, as she walked through the door, having been kept late by the senate, “can you explain to me why there’s a speeder crashed on my landing pad?”
Anakin, by that point, was dead to the world. Having taken pain meds earlier that made him incredibly drowsy. He hadn’t known the meds would make him drowsy when he took them, the Jedi healers had given him two bottles, but Anakin, never one too care about what he did or did not put into his body, hadn’t bothered to decipher which was which before stuffing both into his pocket. The ones he had taken earlier that day had turned out to be the drowsy ones so, after making what he considered to be a smooth one-armed landing with the speeder, he had stumbled into Padmé’s apartment before promptly passing out on her couch.
Padmé smiled, watching him snore. She slipped her shoes off before crossing the room to sit on the couch beside him.
“Ani,” she ruffled his hair, something she could do now that he wasn’t limited to the traditional padawan cut, “wake up Ani.”
Had he been anywhere else in the apartment, Padmé would’ve just let him sleep, but she knew full well if Anakin slept on her couch, he was cranky when he woke up the next morning with a crick in his next.
“Huh?” he startled awake, turning his head to her, “hey angel,” he smiled drunkenly, “did you have a good day?”
Padmé smirked, scratching at his scalp, “you look tired Ani.”
He yawned, “I guess maybe I’m a little tired.”
She laughed, standing, before offering her hand back to her, “let’s get you to bed.”
It was no small feat, half-dragging him to the bedroom. Finally, Anakin collapsed onto the top bed, no sooner did he hit the mattress than he curled in on himself and started snoring.
Padmé sighed, watching his sleeping form, before shutting off the lights and leaving the room. As much as she would’ve liked to snuggle up next to her sleeping husband, she had a lot of work that needed to get done. Glancing at her desk, she picked up her bag she had dropped there earlier. Turning on her holo, she scrolled through various notes she had scribbled during her meetings today. This vote was giving her a headache. An order for more clones would be seen as an aggressive action by the Separatists and only serve to escalate the war, but there were plenty of people in the senate who were favor of the war. People whose industries were benefitting from the fighting, and none worse than the spineless Kaminoans. They saw Padmé’s movement against the vote as a threat to their livelihood. They were after all, cloners.
She shoved her hand into her bag, feeling around for a specific memo a colleague had asked her to look over. It was a mess, only loosely organized. After her last meeting had ran late, she had haphazardly shoved all her papers into it, anxious to be home and check on Anakin. Although he wouldn’t say it, Padmé knew that Anakin’s newfound condition was a great struggle for him. She remembered the pain that had laced his voice, just a week ago, now, when he informed her that he would be spending an extended period of time on Coruscant. They had lost the battle, that much she knew, been forced to retreat. Anakin hadn’t bothered to tell her how, exactly, he had broken his arm, but Obi-wan had mentioned that the injury wouldn’t have been as bad if Anakin hadn’t continued to fight with the injured appendage, covering the retreat.
Frustrated, Padmé turned to her bag, dumping the contents onto her desk, and shrieked when something exploded upon contact. She was blinded for a second, coughing up smoke but, when her eyes adjusted, she realized she wasn’t actually hurt. The device sat on her desk, having served its purpose, a flash bang, perhaps put in there to scare her, but not actually cause her any harm.
Her comm buzzed.
“My lady,” Captain Typho spoke, “are you alright? We’re detecting smoke in your quarters.”
“Everything’s fine Typho,” Padmé responded, waving the residual smoke away, “just a dumb party trick,” she coughed.
Static buzzed on the comm for a second before Captain Typho smoke again, “My lady, that’s the third threat you’ve had this week.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, “I’m going to bed, I’ll call you if I need anything.”
She shut off the comm before he could respond. Padmé glanced towards her room, where Anakin still snored loudly. She was grateful she hadn’t woken him, the last thing he needed was to be worried about her on top of all his friends her were deployed. She moved to join him. Shedding the heavy layers of her outfit, Padmé spent a frustrating amount of time in the shower trying to brush hairspray out of her hair. Finally, with her face scrubbed of makeup, she slipped into bed
Padmé was awakened early the next morning by muffled cursing. Anakin’s side of the bed had gone cold, and she could hear him outside, banging around in the shuttle he had been working on the night before. She glanced at the clock, the sun hadn’t even risen yet. For a minute, Padmé considered going back to sleep before hearing a loud bang followed by a punctuated yelp.
Padmé dragged herself from bed.
“Ani?” she said, wrapping a soft robe around her silk nightdress, “do you need any help out here?”
“...need to get to the temple,” he muttered to himself, seemingly not having heard her, head bent over the speeder hood, “but I can’t do anything...useless!” He hit banged something on the inside of the speeder.
“Ani.” Padmé placed a hand on his back.
He shivered under her touch, before extracting himself from the hood. Anakin met her worried gaze with a smile so wide you would’ve never known he had been upset just moments before, “I’m sorry Angel,” he grinned, “did I wake you.”
“Anakin...” Padmé sighed, moving to stand beside him, she peered into the speeders hood, “how can I help?”
“I need to get this speeder working,” he spoke, “I have to go back to the temple but I can’t get the speeder working...my one good arm.”
“Ani,” turning, Padmé placed both her hands around her robot arms, “just tell me what to do and I can fix the speeder.”
It was a slow process, but that was to be expected. Standing behind her, Anakin meticulously directed what needed to be done and how she could do it. After about 45 minutes, they were able to get the speeder to sputter to life.
Padmé smiled, wiping sweat from her brow, “now that wasn’t that hard, was it Ani?”
She turned, to where he sat, brow furrowed, in the driver’s seat of the speeder. Padmé sighed, moving to stand beside him she placed one hand on his back, rubbing circles on the tense muscles there, “what’s wrong Ani?"
He frowned, thinking, before letting out a slightly defeated sigh, “my one good arm.”
Padmé’s heart softened, leaning in, she pressed a kiss against the side of her hair before a thought struck her.
“Ani,” she asked, “what are the Jedi having you do at the temple?”
He shrugged, seemingly grateful for the change of topic, “Sometimes they have me work with the younglings, or help Master Nu in the archives.”
Padmé bit her lip, hesitant to say her thoughts out loud, but she wanted to help Anakin and, right now, this was the best idea she had, “Ani what if you came with me to the Senate?”
“What?” Anakin’s head snapped up, finally meeting her eyes, he was suspicious, she could tell, “why would I do that?”
“Because you love me?” Padmé tried to look offended.
“What I mean,” Anakin smiled, backtracking, “is what excuse would you give the Jedi Council that would make them allow me to do that.”
Padmé smirked, leaning against the side of the speeder, “say there was a really important vote this week, and I have reason to believe I was in danger.”
“Danger?”
“Not any real danger,” Padmé reassured him, “but enough to discourage other Senators from joining my cause. It wouldn’t warrant a full Jedi protection of course, but if there was a Jedi Knight currently out of commission...”
For a second, Anakin’s eyes sparkled, before he harshly shook his head, “the council would never allow it. I’d be useless against any real threat.”
“But there is no real threat,” Padmé reminded him, “the mere presence of a Jedi Knight would reassure senators of that, and you wouldn’t have to worry about sneaking too and from the temple every day."
“I don’t know Padmé—”
“Just let me try Ani,” she placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly, “go back to the temple now and I’ll petition the council as soon as the sun rises.”
“Angel—”
Padmé silenced him, pressing her lips against his cheek, “just let me try.”