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Padmé has called Anakin six times.
Six.
The first went unanswered.
The second rang until the connection timed out.
The third was declined, which was considerably worse because it meant Anakin had physically looked at her name and decided whatever explosion he was currently standing inside required more attention.
The fourth and fifth disappeared into hyperspace interference.
The sixth connected long enough for Padmé to hear blasterfire before Anakin said, “Can’t talk,” and ended the call.
Now she stands beside her desk with one hand pressed beneath the curve of her stomach and the other gripping her comm hard enough to damage the casing.
“General Skywalker isn’t answering my messages.”
Obi-Wan looks up from the security report spread across her desk.
Padmé had almost said Anakin.
She hopes he didn’t notice.
The faint movement of his eyebrow suggests he absolutely noticed.
“Is the matter urgent?” he asks.
“Yes.”
One of the twins has spent the last twenty minutes attempting to relocate her ribs. Anakin has the medication she needs because he insisted on carrying it after she forgot the packet during their last Senate evacuation.
Her husband has apparently decided being useful once entitles him to become unreachable immediately afterward.
Obi-Wan extends one hand.
“Allow me.”
Padmé stares at him. “I’ve tried six times. What makes you think…”
Obi-Wan taps Anakin’s contact.
The comm rings once.
“Hello?”
Padmé’s mouth falls open.
Obi-Wan’s eyes brighten with immediate, vicious delight.
Padmé snatches the comm from his hand.
“Anakin Skywalker!”
There is a pause on the other end.
“Padmé?”
“I’ve been trying to contact you for forty minutes!”
“I was busy.”
“You declined my call!”
“We were being shot at.”
“You’re always being shot at!”
Obi-Wan settles deeper into his chair.
Padmé begins pacing, or attempting to pace. At six months pregnant, it is less a pace and more a furious orbit around one side of her desk.
“You took my medication with you.”
Another pause.
“I did?”
“It’s in the pouch on your belt.”
Anakin rustles around on the other end.
“Oh.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“I found it.”
“Wonderful. Perhaps you’d also like to find your way back here before your children finish rearranging my internal organs.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Padmé stops walking.
Obi-Wan has gone very still.
On the comm, Anakin says cautiously, “Our children?”
Padmé closes her eyes.
She remembers, all at once, that she is publicly unmarried.
She remembers that Obi-Wan is sitting three meters away.
She remembers that Obi-Wan is Anakin’s former Master, a Jedi Council member, and the single most observant man in the Order whenever he decides observation would be personally entertaining.
Padmé slowly turns.
Obi-Wan is smiling.
Not politely.
Not subtly.
He looks delighted enough to frame this moment and hang it in the Temple archives.
Padmé points one finger at him.
“You heard nothing.”
“I haven’t said a word.”
“You’re saying several things with your face.”
“I was merely wondering whether the plural was deliberate.”
Padmé’s hand drops protectively over her stomach.
Anakin makes a strangled noise through the comm.
“Obi-Wan’s there?”
“He called you once,” Padmé says.
“I thought it was important!”
“It was important when I called!”
“I didn’t know if you had company or not!”
“That shouldn’t determine whether you answer me!”
Obi-Wan folds his hands beneath his chin.
Padmé would like to throw something at him, but every object within reach belongs to her and is expensive.
Anakin lowers his voice.
“Are you angry?”
“I am six months pregnant, missing my medication, and just informed your former Master that you’re the father. What do you think?”
“I think I should come home.”
Obi-Wan’s smile becomes unbearable.
Padmé freezes again.
Anakin seems to realize the error a second later.
“Not home,” he says quickly. “To your office. Your completely separate office, where I don’t live.”
“You left your boots beneath my bed.”
Obi-Wan covers his mouth.
Padmé ends the call.
The office falls quiet.
She places the comm carefully on her desk, mostly because slamming it might activate Anakin again.
Obi-Wan waits.
Padmé looks at him.
He looks back.
“How long have you known?” she asks.
“That Anakin is incapable of subtlety?”
“Obi-Wan.”
His expression softens, though the amusement remains bright in his eyes.
“Long enough that I’m mostly surprised you believed I didn’t.”
Padmé sits down with as much dignity as she can recover.
“You cannot tell anyone.”
“I won’t.”
“Not the Council.”
“No.”
“Not Master Yoda.”
“Certainly not. He’d become cryptic.”
Padmé narrows her eyes.
Obi-Wan rises and gathers the abandoned security reports.
“I’ll leave you to continue your completely professional conversation with General Skywalker.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“My dear, I’ve endured years of Anakin believing he’s successfully deceived me.”
He reaches the door, then glances toward her stomach.
“Twins?”
Padmé points toward the corridor.
“Out.”
Obi-Wan leaves laughing.
Her comm begins ringing before the door closes.
ANAKIN SKYWALKER
Padmé answers.
“What?”
“I love you?”
She closes her eyes.
“You’d better bring my medication.”
“I’m already on my way.”
This time, Padmé lets him finish before ending the call.