Chapter Text
Perhaps he had finally burned so thoroughly he had gone numb. Perhaps he had finally been granted the one kindness allowed to such a wretched creature as himself: death. The only annoyance left was some infernal beeping, though he supposed even the great beyond couldn’t be perfect. All he knew is that he was comfortable. He was surrounded by a warmth that was pleasant.
He thought he had known warmth, heat. He had been raised on a desert planet, and had felt more comfortable with the surety of suns baking his skin than in the cold expanse of space.
There was no comfort to be found in the heat that had granted his Force-blessed unconsciousness. The heat that had hungrily crawled up what was left of his body, licking and gnawing at him with all of the subtlety of knives, the steam of its breath cracking and blackening his skin. Through blinding waves of agony, he thought he had glimpsed the retreating back of his Master, finally leaving him behind.
Just as he had always feared he one day would.
He tried to call out to him, to beg him to put him out of his misery, but his voice had been too hoarse. He had little difficulty calling out to him now, and so he did. But it was too quiet, and his shout was jarring. His eyes slid open, and he quickly realized that he was not clinging hopelessly to a cliffside, magma lapping at what was left of his thighs. Alone. It was somewhere familiar, which surely meant he hadn’t passed on, either. It was the soothing, cool light of morning, the kind to ease you into the birth of a new day. And still, that beeping. That, and soft snores.
Anakin looked to his side, and found a heavily pregnant Padmé, burrowed into a nest of sheets and blankets. Seemingly undisturbed by his cry, she was clutching his arm to her chest. An incongruent image crossed his mind of the very same arm, being used to crush the breath from her lungs, ripping it away as if it was something that belonged to him and him only. As if it were something he could deem her unfit to possess once he’d felt the stab of her betrayal buried to the hilt in his chest.
And yet, her chest rose and fell, her breath still her own. Relief washed over him. She was fine.
He had been awful to her.
Anakin had proved himself entirely capable of the one thing he had thought death preferable to: causing Padmé harm. He certainly deserved any fallout that came from this action. He didn’t believe he would be able to look himself in the mirror without wanting to punch the glass, the shards leaving the flesh of his fists in ribbons, just to be rid of the image of the man who would lay a finger on the love of his life.
He had gone feral on others for less.
And yet, here she was. Asleep at his side, as if he had done nothing wrong. He knew Padmé. She was far too stubborn to allow him the consolation of her company after what he had done.
Anyway, shouldn’t she be seen by med droids? He would have to speak to his new Master about this.
By the Force, that incessant beeping! Anakin sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes. He took in his surroundings, realizing they were in Padmé’s apartments. How had they gotten back to Coruscant? He rubbed his face, and only through this action did it occur to him that he still had a hand to do so. A hand of his own flesh and bone, at that. Sleep alone seemed hardly sufficient to heal the magnitude of what he had endured what must have only been hours before. He’d already learned the hard way that limbs don’t just grow back, even if you’re the most powerful Force user alive.
The pain must have rendered him delirious.
The events of the last day cycle had been far too graphic for him to even imagine, despite all of the horrors he had witnessed growing up as an integral player in a Galaxy in the throes of war. Though, he’d dreamt of many awful things before, each time more vivid than the next. It was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.
“Ani?” Padmé asked groggily, breaking him from his thoughts. Anakin was hit suddenly with a sense of deja vu, though he chalked it up to the similarity between the few mornings he had been fortunate enough to wake up beside his wife. He was reading too far into things; he was always doing that.
“Morning, my darling Padmé,” he replied, relishing the taste of her name passing through his smiling lips. Her riot of curls messily framed her face, and her doe eyes were opened just a crack, peering at him through the fog of sleep. His heart seized at the love he still found there.
“Are you going to let your comlink ring all morning? Surely growing your baby is labor enough to allow me to sleep in a little,” she joked, nestling in closer to his shoulder despite her urging. He watched her eyes flutter shut again, marveling at how he could be the one to comfort such an exquisite creature, when it dawned on him.
The beeping.
His comlink! Of course.
Anakin exhaled, the breath at once easy and long-suffering. It was likely his new Master, already with another mission. Hadn’t he gone through enough turmoil and tragedy in the last day cycle to warrant a little bit of rest? He supposed they had their work cut out for them, what with building this new Galactic Empire.
He pressed a tender kiss to Padmé’s temple and eased himself away from her, moving his pillow to rest beneath her head in his place. She fidgeted briefly, resting a protective hand over her growing stomach, and sighed. He smiled softly. This is what he had sacrificed everything for, and it felt so good to have been right. Together, Anakin and his new Master would find a way to preserve her life once the baby came, and he would have the family he had always dreamt of. It made each gut-wrenching memory that flashed into focus whenever he closed his eyes just a little more tolerable.
He pulled his pair of Jedi-issue pants up around his waist from where they were heaped on the floor, and wondered at how much longer he would be wearing these. He’d fought Sith Lords before, sure, but he couldn’t quite remember at this moment their usual garb. Surely it wasn’t their old Jedi robes. He wondered, amused, at what Dooku used to wear in the olden days when he’d still called himself a Jedi Master. Perhaps it was something he could see about today, provided the mission he was about to be given by his Master wasn’t too taxing. He hoped it wouldn’t be.
He stepped into the living room where his comlink had been haphazardly thrown on an end table. He would have to see about getting a non-Jedi-issue comlink today as well, though he supposed that for now it was serving its purpose. The blasted thing was still beeping away, and he rolled his eyes, his eagerness to please his new Master the only thing keeping him from launching it at the wall with all of his strength. He didn’t check the com frequency before answering.
“What is it, Master?” He snapped, his irritation getting the best of him.
“Anakin, where are you? The emergency Council meeting you called was supposed to start 20 minutes ago! Everybody is waiting for you in the Council Chamber,” admonished an all-too-familiar voice. Anakin dropped his comlink as if scalded.
Why would Obi-Wan have called him, after he had completely abandoned him only last night? Even the echo of the flames devouring him that the memory of his former Master’s retreating back brought to mind were agonizing, and he gagged as he recalled the smell of his burning flesh. How could he have done such a thing to him, someone he claimed to have loved? And why was he demanding his presence now?
Anakin cringed at the sound of his former Master’s voice persisting from the floor, urging him to say something. Another thing occurred to him then. This was eerily similar, if not the same way his day had begun yesterday. He thought of the moment of deja vu with Padmé he had brushed off, and of Obi-Wan’s insistence that the Council was waiting for him, for a meeting he had apparently called.
His last day-cycle had been so traumatic as to have stretched to lifetimes in his mind, so much so that the idea of it having started so mundane as this was hard for him to grasp. But it had. He remembered it now.
Yes, it had!
He had called the meeting to tell the Council of General Grievous’s location, which had been offered to him by the Chancellor only the night before. A mission he had wanted to lead himself, knowing he was wholly capable, despite the Council’s mistrust. But what did it mean that this day seemed to begin in a way so strangely alike?
Could it be that this wasn’t the day after he had turned to the Dark Side, but the very same day? Was that even possible? Though, he knew the Force was entirely capable of a great many mysteries he still had yet to grasp. It was why he had enlisted the help of his new Master in the first place.
He scooped up the comlink, torn on if he should keep up pretenses should his suspicions be true. Obi-Wan was muttering now, but he was pretty sure he could make out some pieces of a tirade over his hard-headedness and time management skills. Well, what could it hurt, as long as the outcome was the same? Before he could think about it further, his hand was pressing the communication button.
“I’m sorry, M-Master,” he said, nearly stumbling over using the honorific. Pretenses, he was keeping up pretenses. “I must have overslept. I’ll be there soon,” he finished gruffly.
“There’s no time for apologies, Anakin. Just get here!” Obi-Wan chided, promptly closing the connection. Anakin scowled, though he was no stranger to being scolded. He felt something stir in his chest that he didn’t want to put a label on as he gathered the rest of his Jedi robes and pulled them on.
Before he left, he stepped into the bedroom he shared with Padmé to look over her sleeping form. For her, he would have to do all of it again. If this was what it would cost to save her, he would, he told himself. “For you, my love,” he whispered as he smoothed a hand over her forehead, her hair. He leaned down to brush his lips over her temple once more. At his touch, she stirred.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, instantly reading the look that had clouded his features. He closed his eyes, and saw his outstretched hand, his clenched fingers. He saw her crumple, and he gasped, opening them again.
Despite the urgency of his summons, Anakin felt his knees buckle, though he covered this moment of weakness by kneeling beside the bed. He ran his fingers over her face again, just to confirm to himself that she was real. His hand finally settled at cupping her cheek. It all made sense. This was the only reason she gazed at him now with concern, instead of complete and utter repulsion.
“It’s nothing,” he murmured, eyes roaming over her face. Her hand surfaced from beneath the pile of blankets, and she rubbed a thumb on the lines between his eyebrows, trying to smooth them out.
“I can’t help you if you won’t let me, Ani,” Padmé rebuked, her words incongruous with the warmth in her depthless eyes. He wished he could escape the day that lay ahead by drowning in them.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he replied, looking away. He clasped her wrist and pressed his lips to her palm. He was startled when she pulled her hand away suddenly, moving to sit up on her elbow. She leaned closer, forcing him to meet her gaze.
“Try me,” she challenged. An image forced its way into his mind of her face, contorted with anguish, the eerie orange glow of magma making her cheeks shine with tears. “Stop now, come back!” she demanded, in a tone much like the one she had adopted now. He seized her wrist again, desperately this time, silently begging his wife to ground him. She was the lone rock he clung to as his mind was flooded with a sea of visions of her suffering.
“It’s not worth troubling you, I assure you,” he answered, his voice thick. Breaths short and ragged, he ran a protective hand over her swollen belly. “The Council is summoning me for an emergency meeting. I’m already late,” he added, forcing his tone to cool slightly. He hoped the urgency in his words was enough for her to let it go.
“Fine,” she sighed, resting her hand over his own. He thought of the unborn miracle that resided there, of how much unbridled love he felt for them already, for they were half him and half his favorite person in the entirety of the Galaxy. Another glance at his wife, and he knew she was thinking something similar. She let her eyes flutter shut again, though whether it was contentedness at his presence or a determination to catch a few more stray minutes of sleep, he wasn’t sure.
She’d given up easily… too easily.
“But we’re talking about this later,” she added, after a pregnant pause. There it was. He stood, reluctantly disentangling his fingers from hers. He leaned over her again, kissing her temple once more.
“I love you, Padmé,” he whispered. Though she didn’t reply, he caught the faintest smile on her rosy lips. Before he could convince himself to stay, he turned and left the room.
“R2,” he called as he passed the droid. The steadfast little thing beeped a hearty greeting, but Anakin barely mumbled a response, too preoccupied with thoughts on how exactly he was going to carry out such a momentous day over again. The astromech fell into step behind him anyway, accustomed to his Master’s brash and distracted manner.
“Master Ani!” Threepio greeted, delayed, from behind them.
“Not now, Threepio. I’m late,” Anakin snapped, momentarily surprised at the pang of guilt he felt after dismissing him so quickly.
“It doesn’t do to be late, Master Ani. Bad etiquette. I should know!” the droid responded, and suddenly he didn’t feel so guilty anymore. Chiding himself for considering violence against a thing that meant so much to his late mother and his wife alike was enough to stay his hand, though he hardly berated R2 for the vulgar insult he tossed Threepio’s way.
A pang of self-hatred struck him then, a sourness in his mouth not unlike the days-old blue milk he and his mother had often been forced to drink to stave off dehydration. He’d been able to stop himself from harming a droid for the simple reason that his wife adored it. Yet he’d been unable to do so when she, the one he loved most, had tried to take a stand against him. Would wonders never cease?
The pair stepped outside to the landing pad, where his new ETA-2 awaited him. The default green of its wings felt wrong to him. If he were to lose his limbs as he was destined to this very night, would he ever get the chance to paint it yellow again?
Oh, Force. How had he already forgotten?
As Anakin and R2 climbed into their respective places in his starfighter, he was hit with a troubling thought. Was this an alternate timeline, or was he doomed to repeat the day exactly as it had carried out before, being slowly crushed under the pressure of its outcome? Did he possess the power to change things?
And if he did, would he want to?
Anakin was fond of his limbs. He would rather not part with his healthy, unblemished skin, or the way his breath filled his chest with an ease that required hardly a passing thought. Even more harrowing, he knew little of his wife’s fate in what he had started to tentatively consider an alternate reality. Had Padmé survived the knee-jerk reaction to his blinding flash of rage? He hadn’t remained awake long enough to get an answer.
Obi-Wan had been right about one thing at least, he thought, as his starfighter approached the Jedi Temple.
Anakin was unfailingly hard-headed.
As he climbed out of his ship, his feet dropping to the temple’s landing pad, he decided that if he could change a few things about this day, he would. He might have felt some regrets over some of his actions the day before, and wasn’t completely against the idea of going about them in a different way.
Though, would turning to the Dark Side be enough to save Padmé’s life as he had hoped? There was no evidence to suggest otherwise. But images of her unmoving form, the pit of despair in his stomach at the realization that he had somehow been the cause of her hurt had plagued him in every waking moment since. Yes, that was one thing he would do anything he could to change, to reverse. He couldn’t hurt the love of his life again; he could hardly believe he had been capable of it in the first place. It was as if something entirely other, a black thing that peered at him incessantly from the recesses of his mind, had taken over his body when true anger shot through his veins.
And, well, if there was anything he could do to be able to keep his powerful form just as it was, he would do it. That made two things he would change about this day. He didn’t know if he could, but nothing was stopping him from trying. Well, he didn’t think so, anyway.
He ordered R2 to stay with his ship as he rushed into the Temple. Though the droid was known to be at his side almost always and he was still new to being a member of the Council, he had already gathered that his presence might be frowned upon.
Then again, just a day before, he had learned of the depth of treachery the Jedi had committed against his Master, against him. Why should he care what they think?
Tomorrow, they would simply cease to exist.